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lovingperfectionsblog · 2 years

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Tout

Pierre Gasly x Reader

Summary: Pierre needs help writing a love letter.

Warnings: Language, little bit of drinking mention.

Word Count: 2402

Authors note: I am so sorry this took so long, there has been so much going on my side. I hope it is okay and I can’t wait to hear what you all think 

_____

“Open up!” Charles knew Pierre was hiding behind the hotel door, but he wasn’t letting his friend miss out on another night of drinks with the other drivers, “Come and get drinks with us mate!”

His knocking was incessant.

“I am busy Charles!” Pierre looked as frustrated as he sounded, pulling the door open so quickly that Charles was momentarily concerned it may come off its hinges, “no drinks tonight, not until I’m done.” Offering no further explanation as he retreated back into his room, closing the door behind him as he left.

Charles braced his hand against the closing door and followed Pierre in, gearing up to argue with him about having to take a break from work and try and convince his friend that this is what they all needed after the abysmal season so far, but instead he was stopped mid thought when he saw Pierre’s bed, littered with crumpled up papers, notepad abandoned amongst them and a very distressed looking Pierre sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“Mate, what’s going on?” it was only when Pierre briefly looked up to his friend that he noticed the very small sliver on a tear beginning to brim, “Shit, are you okay?” Charles stood awkwardly, unsure of what was happening, but sure that if it was enough to make Pierre cry it was bound to be awful.

“She’s going to leave me” Pierre hated saying it, but he knew this was exactly where it was headed.

“What do you mean she’s going to leave you?” you could absolutely not, by any means, leave Pierre. Charles knew how in love Pierre was with you, he was absolutely smitten, spoke about you like you were there goddess of love herself and he would be devasted if he lost you.

“We got into this massive fight before I left for the race and she basically just said she feels like I don’t actually love her because I never open up to her and she feels like she’s just there as some sort of entertainment for me,” Pierre paused, the entire fight replaying in his mind, “I made the woman I love with every ounce of my being, question if I actually did because I am so emotionally stunted I cannot open up and be vulnerable, God I am a dogshit boyfriend” Pierre felt sick at the thought of viewing you as nothing other than a little play thing for himself when in reality he would willing give up his soul in order to keep you if that’s what it took, “So I’m trying to write her a letter, to like, try and explain to her what she means to me, but I just, I’m not even sure the words have been invented yet for what I feel for her and I just, I’m clearly a fucking idiot”, Pierre was suddenly angry, now pacing up and down in front of Charles as he continued venting about his incapability to be a decent boyfriend, “why the fuck can I not just write a letter to the woman I plan on marrying telling her that I love her more than life itself?”

The look he was given Charles made him confused if it was a question he was actually meant to answer or if it was rhetorical.

“Okay, wait, why don’t you just tell her what you’ve literally been telling all of us since the moment you met her?” this was a no brainer to Charles, this is an issue that could be sorted out within 30 minutes, and they would be back down in the bar with their mates in no time.

“Because I look at her and my brain doesn’t work and I thought it was all going fine and she like, knew how I felt, you know?” Clearly Pierre was wrong about you knowing anything about how he felt about you.

“Well, how is she meant to know how you feel if you don’t tell her?” considering how Pierre looked like he was about to slaughter Charles, that was probably definitely the wrong thing to say, “Okay, so, letter, yes, writing a letter, how far have you gotten?”

Pierre wordlessly handed Charles the note pad and he began to read over what was already written.

“You think it’s awful” Pierre had been watching Charles read the poem, face grimacing every other line at the poorly worded letter.

“No, no, it’s good”.

It wasn’t.

“You hate it, which means she is going to hate it” Pierre was beginning to resign himself to a single man. He didn’t deserve someone like you if he couldn’t even be vulnerable and open with you about how he felt.

“I don’t hate it”

He hated it.

“You’re making a face!”

“What face?”

“That fucking face!” Pierre mimicked Charles face as he was reading the letter.

Charles was definitely making that face.

“I just think maybe we relook at parts of it?” Charles was already suggesting, coming up with significantly more eloquent ways of wording all of it.

“Yeah? What parts?” Pierre sounded hopeful for a moment, maybe he hadn’t completely ruined it all with you just yet.

“Like, maybe, like, all, all of it” Charles tried, he really tried but God, they were going to have to scrap this entire thing, start right from the beginning again, “I’m just going to call the boys, let them know what the plans are okay”

“I mean, don’t tell them all of it, just tell them we aren’t going to make it to drinks” Pierre was eternally thankful for the help his friend was offering him.

Charles was definitely telling them all of it.

_____

“This is what you were planning on giving her?” George was shocked, out of all of them, he definitely assumed Pierre was one who was able to be a little bit more poetic when it came to the woman he loves, but this was, this was not good at all.

“Listen, how honest do you want us to be?” Lando didn’t know how kind he was expected to be here, but my god, this was awful.

“Charles already made it clear that it wasn’t good, thanks mate” Pierre let out a groan, falling backwards on the bed as the other five drivers all stood scattered around the room.

“I mean, we can call it what it is, dogshit” Max only just dodged the punch to his arm that was sent by Charles in defence of his friend.

“And Y/n said she is going to leave you?” Carlos was trying to fully understand the entire situation, still unsure of what was going on.

“She didn’t say she was going to leave him” Charles tried to summarize what Pierre had explained to him over and over again as they waited for the others to join them upstairs.

“It was just heavily implied that she might not be at home when I got there” every single one of the boys’ eyes shifted to Pierre, the fear evident in his voice.

“You have to rewrite this” a seriousness overtook George, suddenly determined to make sure that Pierre did not mess this up.

“Yes, that’s pretty fucking evident George, but as we have established, I am pretty, what, horseshit-”

“Dogshit” Max immediately interrupted Pierre.

“Dogshit at it” Pierre nodded at Max, sarcastically thanking him for his correction.

“That’s why we are here to help” Charles was trying to boost morale over the entire situation.

“Who wouldn’t want a love letter written by a bunch of drunk men and someone who is emotionally constipated” Lando shot the group a thumbs up, although not a single ounce of sarcasm was laced in his voice, truly believing himself that this may potentially end up being the greatest love letter ever written.

Pierre sat staring at all his friends, a bewildered expression on his face, “She’s going to fucking leave me.”

“No, no, this is fine, we just,” George ripped out the page and tossed it in the bin as he made his way to the small desk that occupied the room, assigning himself the duty of scribe, convinced out of all of them his handwriting may be the only real legible one, “we start off slow”.

“Yes! Slow, simple!” Carlos was now standing, pacing the room as he thought, conjuring every ounce of his Spanish passion that he had been imbued with since birth, “My dearest- what do you call her?”

“Y/n?” Pierre wasn’t sure how to answer this question, but he quickly assumed he had answered incorrectly as a pillow was thrown in his direction and a chorus of ‘No’s” were flung at him simultaneously.

“You call the love of your life by her first name?” Charles now understood why Pierre was slowly losing hope of you staying with him.

“Oh, uhm, I call her tout” Pierre blushed at the admission, Charles having to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling over how fucking cute that was.

“Okay, fuck, yeah, that’s cute, start the letter as tout only” Charles began curating the letter, already feeling good about where it was going.

“What does tout mean?” Lando asked what the others were thinking, also wanting to be let in on the whatever cuteness Charles was talking about.

“Everything” Pierre whispered.

“What the fuck, where did that come from?” Carlos was sure he couldn’t even have come up with something like that.

“Well, that’s what she is to me, the beginning and the end and every second in between, she is everything” Pierre shrugged, not aware of the power of what he just so casually said.

“Why do you need help writing this letter mate?” Lando spoke on behalf of everyone in the room, because, shit, if someone had said something like that about him, he would fucking melt.

“Because evidently he cannot write a decent paragraph that puts a sentence like that in it without somehow botching it” Charles brain was now working overtime, trying to figure out a way to start putting the first paragraph down, “Now, what should we say?”

And so, the evening went, ideas being thrown in and out, vetoing sentences that Lando tried to sneak in there, genuinely hurt when nearly every single good line he had was excluded, to such an extent that Pierre ended up insisting they put at least one in, his friends smile a guarantee that he wouldn’t complain anymore after that.

------

“We cannot have another line about how she takes his breath away, at this point this is basically a confession that he’s being suffocated” Charles tried to argue.

“Suffocated by her love!” George defended.

“That does not sound like a good thing” Carlos had drifted off into space, picturing you choking Pierre, a small giggle leaving him as he did, the sight supremely funny in his drunken state.

“What if!” Lando began before silence overtook the entire room, waiting for him to continue, “Okay, yes, what if we like spoke about her looks for a second, girls love being told they are pretty don’t they?” He waited for a round of nods before continuing, “So we talk about how you get lost in those eyes of hers and how you have to contain yourself when you catch a glimpse of her hourglass figure and how you can feel the goosebumps on your skin when you hear her say your name” there was suddenly a far-away look in his eyes, all of the drivers glancing at each other, silently agreeing that he was speaking from what seemed a very personal perspective, “lando” all though that last part was a whisper, all of them had clearly heard him.

“Uhm, so, you’re not allowed to partake anymore” Charles had decided on behalf of all of them, and honestly, Lando should be thankful it was Charles instead of Pierre putting his foot down, because the way Pierre was suddenly looking at him, one more comment and he was a dead man.

“Okay, but maybe we should stop here, this is already 6 pages long and I think we may be waffling at this point” George tried to conclude this, despite being proud of all of it, at some point, words lose their power when there are too many of them.

“6 fucking pages?” Max was shocked, he might not know much about all of this, but he knew that was too many fucking words, haphazardly thrown on those pages, no matter how hard they had tried, “too long, there is no way she’s taking in any of that”.

They were defeated, each and every one of them, all running out of steam the later the evening got, and the more alcohol they got into their system.

“We need to make her see how important she is, but in significantly less words, you got to dig deep my friend, in your soul, share it all with her” Carlos was nearly pleading at this point, desperate to get to bed.

Silence took over as Pierre absorbed what Carlos had said.

‘In your soul’

“I have it” Pierre was snatching the note pad before any of them could even react, turning to a new page and scribbling down the few words he was sure would save everything, would save himself, all the other boys craning their necks to look what he wrote.

Finishing the short letter quickly, he turned to the rest of them, holding the letter up for them to all deny or approve, a chorus of “fucking finally” and “well done, it’s perfect” falling from all their lips.

“Think it will be enough?” Pierre was insecure, asking Charles his honest opinion once all the other boys had left his hotel room in search of their own beds, but he knew this was the truth, this was him opening up the barest part of him in the hopes you would understand how he truly felt about you.

“If that isn’t enough, I have no idea what would ever work”

------

Tout

I searched for the right words to adequately express how much you mean to me, how deeply I love you.

I ripped apart my very soul to find them and instead what I found in there, all that existed in there, from the beginning to the end and all the seconds between, was one thing.

You.

-Forever Yours

#Pierre Gasly x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #pierre gasly #max verstappen #pierre gasly x you #x reader #pierre gasly fic #Lando Norris #Carlos Sainz Jr

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bunni-writing-desk · 2 years

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Exhausted

Gareth Emerson

{male reader}

this is very much a vent fic for myself-

You couldn't move, you could move technically, but your body felt to tired and weak to do anything. Any shift you made to your position made you feel more tired achey. You hadn't done anything to make you this tired, infact if anything you had been over sleeping. It was halfway through the summer and your schedule was starting to fall apart. Go to bed at 5am, wake up at 12pm and eat something only to feel tired again and sleep till 4pm. At this point it had become a problem, feeling tired almost all hours of the day. You knew you should do something about it but you no idea where to start.

That's when you heard the front door of your house open, you recognized the heavy sound of it moving on it's hinges. You nestled a little further into the blanket draped over you, suspecting it was one of your parents coming home from arrends or something. What you hadn't expected was your boyfriend to open your bedroom door, creating the familiar creaking sound which startled you to a more awake state. Gareth stared with soft, worried eyes at the way you looked in front of him.

Your drooping eyes indicated tired as if you hadn't slept in a while, but he knew you had been sleeping all day. Your hair was more of a mess than usual, you hadn't fixed it yet since you hadn't had the energy to. Your soft blanket was lazily layed over you like you had kicked with your feet to get it that place. You turned back over when you realized it was just him, wanting to relax you muscles again.

Gareth offered a small smile. "Hey prince, you okay?" He softly spoke as he made his way over to your bed, sitting on the edge next to you. A grumble made it's way from your closed mouth then a mumbled "no..". Your current position had you laying with your back facing him, head poking out from under the blanket. He set a hand on your back, over the covers, in comforting manner.

You let out a small tired sigh and flipped over to face him with a bit of struggle. He gently brushed some of your hair out of your face so he could see you better. "Have you eaten anything today?" You had to really think if you had eaten anything. "I think... I ate a bag of chips.." You stared at the ruffled bed sheets, embarrassed that you hadn't even gotten up to pick at actual food.

Your boyfriend still held a comforting look, not disappointed or mad at you. "Alright, how about we go pick out something for you to eat?" "no.." Gareth looked confused at you refusal to eat something. You sighed, "I mean, we can, just.. I want to lay here with you for a little bit..", he nodded at that. "Okay but then we have to go eat something." After you two had made that small compromise he slipped off his shoes, took off his flannel vest, and got under the blanket with you. Relaxing against his warm frame felt nice after hours of feeling stiff and tired. You mumbled a quick "Thank you," laying your head against his chest.

"can I rant for a little bit?", you mumbled into his chest. "Of course, my prince" You pulled your face from Gareth's shirt, taking a small inhale before starting to speak. "I just feel so exhausted. Like as if I've ran an entire 5k and now I'm trudging through a swampy marsh. I feel slow, the mud is weighing me down, but if I fall asleep I know I won't wake up because I'll drown. I have this longing sense of homesickness, but there is no home. This is it. And the thing that supposed to help me from this shit only makes me feel worse in a different way. There's no normal land in sight and when there is land I don't realize how good a break is until I'm already moving on." Gareth nods and gently moves his hands to hold your face. "It's difficult, but for now let me be your island. We'll get through this one small land at a time, yeah?" You nod softly, small tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Now how about we go eat and watch some TV." He sits up on your bed, holding out his hand for you to take.

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

#fanfic #fanfic writing #fanfiction #male reader #gareth emerson x reader #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things #gwydion lashlee walton #gareth emerson x male reader #vent fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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tswiftownsmyheart · 3 years

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(A kanej fanfic)

The hall buzzed with voices. This amount of kruge must've put Kaz in a good mood for today, thought Inej. She walked through the gambling parlor, on her way to Kaz's room. She would've slid through his window as she always did, but she had some stirring news. Why not this, she had said to herself. She was looking forward to tonight. Even for her, it was one of the best nights she could think of. Outside the Slat, the crowd moved on as usual. She waited by the bar for Kaz to come out. He'd asked her to meet him out there once she had gotten hold of the much-awaited news. "Another shot Kalem," a voice said.

"Did not spend the night at a gambling parlor, Jesper? This day has surely been pulled out of the year," Inej smirked.

"What do you think this is my love?" Jesper retorted in his usual charming manner. She quickly gulped down the shot before he could even reach the table. "Hey! That's mine"

"Well go ahead, take it back," Inej grinned. "Another one for me, Kalem," he said. Looking back at her he asked, "So, what's the Wraith doing here? Anything you need my guns for?"

"I've been waiting for Kaz here, who should've been here a long time ago." Saying this she hopped off the table and walked to Kaz's door. She would've knocked but she'd learned better than that over the years. As she closed the door behind her, she felt something by her feet. A fedora. Kaz's fedora. She walked to his bedroom, but she wished she'd thought against it. What she saw would stay with her for all her days. Something she would've never dreamt of. There, by the window tumbled in a heap was a body. His cane was protruding from somewhere below his chest. The crow's head hung there, dripping with blood. His hair was over his face, disheveled. She couldn't look straight at his face. His gloves were still on but they looked like they'd been through a sleepless night. She heard a gentle plop as the fedora fell from her hands. She wanted to run to the body, hug it tight and mourn. The girl who'd survived the Barrel wanted to find the soul who'd dared to enter the place he would regret in his dreams and stab him with every knife she could hold. She wanted to end the life of the bastard who'd dared to take away Kaz from her. His life from him. A life he survived being the worst demjin you could dream of, she thought. The Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands, the boy who had been through too much, was no more. Rage shone brightly in her eyes. Her fury knew no bounds. She left the sad, mourning girl in the dark corner of her heart which hadn't been visited in long. She would deal with her later. Right now, the barrel would see the wrath of Inej Ghafa. That's when she saw what she should've long ago. A note. It laid on Kaz's table which was covered in papers and maps. She picked it up and dropped it just as quick. She drew her knives and jumped out the window. The golden lion on the paper shimmered as the light in his room flickered.

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

"The killing was the best part of it," said one voice.

"I'd never thought it would stay the same but it did. It was so fun seeing the color fade from his eyes. Boss would've never allowed us in if he weren't sure of it," said another.

"I'm sure this means a raise. Oh the plans I have to spend it," said a third as all of them started laughing. More like cackling. In an evil undertone.

She would've pounced from the shadows and killed them and then and there, but she knew better. Her real aim lay in the room across her. She just had to find a way to get there. Brick by brick, she told herself. But how? She could've handled the two, but three? Plus there'd be more in the hall. She couldn't risk being seen. She wanted to finish Pekka Rollins. Make his worst wish come true. And she would. She then saw it. The vent in the roof. It was approachable from where she stood. She just needed a distraction to get there. Before she could think about anything, the distraction walked right through the door as if to serve her. As the man walked down the hall, people all around cheered. Loud and crowded. Just what she needed. She used the small dents along the wall to quickly climb the wall, and she was in the vents in no time. She wiggled through the vents trying to find an opening. They were too small, even for her. She felt them closing in with every breath she took. She heard a noise and lurched ahead just to find a grill. An opening. She moved towards it and pulled open the cover from the hinges holding them with one hand. Not all vent covers were connected to the vent. She'd learned that the hard way. She gracefully slid down into a dark void that seemed endless. No light, no sounds, nothing. She tried to find a wall, possibly a lamp or a door. She thought she felt a window. "Not that quick, Inej, is it?" a voice behind her asked. She jerked behind with a knife in each hand but all she could see was the dark. "You walked right into my trap didn't you little lynx?" She lost grip on reality for a second when she heard that name. Little lynx. Tante Heleen. The Menagerie. It all came flowing back to her. "Who are you? Step forward," she demanded. But that one second was all they needed. All around her she could feel the presence. She was about to slash her knives ahead of her but a number of hands caught her. She struggled, fought, tried to wriggle out, but they were too many. The knives were still in her hands. She tried moving her wrists when something, someone grabbed them out of her hands as if the blades didn't hurt the flesh it touched at all. She felt betrayed. They called her the Wraith, and she felt a tug in her gut when the shadows had chosen someone else to shelter. "Come on out you hellhound. Show me your face if you were raised in the Barrel."

That's when the lights filled the room. Every corner of it. No shadows spared. She looked at him right in the face. He grinned at her. Creepily. It felt familiar. The face, the voice. "What business? Who are you?" she barked.

"Oh, not a bad man at all. You're very polite though I see. I'm just here to talk to you." "I am not here to talk. Leave me alone. I want a meeting with Pekka Rollins. I need to even some scores" "Oh, you think he did that?" The hands holding her started laughing. She recognized some of them. They were from the halls.

"What do you mean, think? And what do you know about my business?"

"If your business is about Mr. Brekker and his cane, I know all about it my dear. I had a hand in it too"

"But the dim-"

"Oh, the note? Ha! that was easy to counterfeit. It lead you straight to us didn't it?"

"You mean-"

"Yes yes, I killed him. Very well now that we have got that out of our paths let's-" "WHY DID YOU DO IT? YOU HURT KAZ-"

"Oh no, I never laid a finger on your Mr.Brekker. He is quite safe. Asleep though. It's you I intend to talk to."

"I don't understand," Inej muttered after a pause. Then almost as if the epiphany struck her, she glared at him and exclaimed, "You faked it! That wasn't Kaz! You tailored him. That's what they were talking about."

"Yes you're quite smart indeed little lynx," at which Inej growled, but he ignored it and went on, "Now, if you want him to awake from the sleep he is in, we have some matters at hand. You worked in the menagerie before you became Brekker's spider didn't you?"

"I was slaved there, I did not work there"

"Yeah, whatever. Well, I need some work done. I need you to go back there and collect some information for me. It seems Heleen van Houden has been taking away my customers."

"And why do you think I am going to listen to a coward like you who couldn't fight me himself"

"Because if you don't, I kill Brekker and throw him in the harbor where no one will ever find him." She flinched at that. "Didn't he flee the room you kept him in? I head your guys talking"

"Did he now?" he said pulling away and glancing at his boys. That was all she needed. She elbowed one guy in his gut and he gave away. She lurched forward and broke his nose with her forehead. He doubled over. She picked up her knife and slashed two of them. Two more came but she used the boss, jumped over him, and attacked the other two. The guy on her right had risen, but one swift movement, and she had hit him in the shoulder and numb his arms. She then gashed at another's calf and he fell down. Someone got on her back, but she doubled over, pulled him above, and threw him down, then with a smooth kick, knocked him unconscious. She saw the boss scrawling towards the door and hissed, "Not so soon little guy." She pulled him back, made a rapid motion, and saw drops of blood on his shirt. "That's just a warning," she said holding a blade dangerously near his neck. "Now the business. Who are you? And where is Kaz?"

"I-I own the new pleasure house on the West Stave. Heleen had started taking away my customers hers so I-I needed someone to find me secrets. Leave me, ple-please."

She stared at him for a while examining his features. Something she knew. Something at the back of her mind. She was rummaging through her memories. That's when her eyes narrowed. "What did you say your name was?"

"Ajendro," he stammered. She saw sweat glistening on his forehead.

"You used to come to the menagerie didn't you?" "Some-sometimes..." With one unhesitating motion of her blade, she let the dead soul fall onto the ground, and she joined her home, her shadows. She scaled the walls as easily as you slide on marble. In a quick scan, she found the room Kaz was in. It had the smallest hole in the wall that could be taken as a window but it was all she needed. She quietly slipped inside just to find another dark room. Why they hated lights, she had no idea. This time the moonlight shone through the room illuminating it enough for her to see him though. He lay there motionless. His gloves are still on, she noticed. He had some blood on his face, which meant he had tried fighting his way out. Seeing him like that sent a shiver down her spine. She briskly moved towards him and whispered, Kaz. When he did not seem to respond, she called him again. She called him out a third time and his eyes flickered. "Inej," he murmured. He glanced around the room as if to get a hold of the present. She helped him stand up. "How did they get the Bastard?"

He ignored her and limped to get his cane which was carefully kept in a corner of the room. "How did you get here?"

"It was quite easy. They drugged you right?" Still no response.

"We need to get out now though. There are a lot of people outside." He slightly nodded. She could see he was still hurting. As he walked across the room, she could see his limp had worsened. "Can we take them?"

"Among the two of us, no. I might have a plan though. How's your leg?"

"Good enough to get us out of here"

She opened the door with the slightest click and looked outside. The noise had quietened but the crowd remained. She quietly slipped out and returned in a moment. She looked at him and a mutual understanding passed. Follow me. They slipped out, walking into corridors. He stopped her with her cane when they'd gotten a little far away. "Footsteps," he muttered. They slipped into an empty room in the hall. A huge open window lay open as beams of moonlight entered the room. The sky was clear for once. His hair glistened with sweat and his eyes were like the color of the sky when a storm is brewing. With Kaz, there always is, she thought to herself. She walked towards the window and glanced down. "How good are you with leaps?" she asked him, with a slight smile. He walked to her, looked down, and said "Good enough."

She took out a blade just in case and held out her hand. Hold it, you'll need it. He looked into her moonlit face and reluctantly took it. With that, they both sprung from the second floor of the mansion and into the darkness below.

She wasn't ever going to have a perfect prince. But when she looked into his eyes when they got below, she knew that her fairytale didn't need one.

Credits:

Cover page fanart- @eerna

#six of crows #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #ketterdam #hope you like this!#kanej #soc fanfic #kanej fanfic #kanej angst

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maybe-your-left · 3 years

Note

DR REN > DR FAUCI. MAKE HIM THE HEAD OF THE CORONAVIRUS CAMPAIGN PLZ.

okay im sorry but this is so fucking funny to me... for those of you who arent American or care about America (bc same), we are still suffering from covid-19 like we are a 3rd world country. BC PEOPLE ARE DUMBASSES AND SO IS OUR PRESIDENT! @ DONALD TRUMP. anywayyyy the surgeon general for America is Dr. Fauci and he is great and says that we should be wearing masks to protect one another and all that Jazz.

so obviously we should look to another trusted health professional.....

DOCTOR KYLO REN BBY.

“WEAR A MASK PEOPLE!”

“I don’t know why that's so hard to understand, what the fuck is wrong with you. I understand it’s hard to breathe, but there are health care professionals who wear medical grade masks for 14 hours during a surgery and they aren’t complaining. But you are because you have to wear one to Walmart? What, are you frustrated you can’t sneeze on the produce anymore? Huh?”

“No, it’s mandatory. That doesn’t mean it’s optional, that means if you don’t wear one don’t go outside! Which you shouldn’t be anyway, but that's not up to me. As the person medically in charge and ELECTED to be in charge of the common health of America, wear a goddamn mask or else I will come to your house an sew one onto your fucking face.”

“No, I won’t be answering questions.”

“Stop being an idiot and wear a mask.”

“Holy shit.”

-----

“Heyyyyy honey,” you cooed when Kylo came in through the garage door. Setting down your phone as you got off the couch, making sure to turn the volume down on the TV to make sure he can’t hear the news reporters talking about his unprofessionalism.

Kylo grunted as he came in, slamming his bag on the kitchen island. He walked to the sink, grabbing a clean rag and shoving it in his mouth. Letting out a feral scream through the cloth, even muffled it still made your ears ring from the pitch. You gave him a weak smile, tip-toeing to his side. Pulling the cloth from his mouth as you rubbed his cheek, “Did you hit anyone on the drive home?”

Kylo snorted, “No, but I fucking should have...” he ran a hand through his hair, “I do not understand people, why won’t they just listen to what I’m saying.” He slammed his fist into the nearest kitchen cabinet, punching a hole through the wood. You stood to his side, letting his take his anger out of the wood, you guys were going to remodel anyway.

He yanked the door off its hinge, slamming it down on his knee as he screamed again, “The fucking science is there! I don’t understand, I gave them all the research papers. Complete longitudinal studies about the exposure methods AND even showed how other countries following these rules were making great strides towards normalcy. But NO!”

“Uh-huh,” you patted his back, “Let it out.”

“If I even breathe about another country doing better, that makes me a communist. Which doesn’t even make sense, but me saying that the states should mandate a mask order is somehow against capitalism and freedom of choice, which makes me un-american.”

“I know sweetie.”

Kylo walked into the living room, stopping in front of the TV. His hands balled into fists as he stared at the silent reporters talking with an image of Kylo’s press conference in the back ground. He spun around, “Where’s the remote.”

You started shaking your head, “Honey I don’t think you need to listen to them-”

He raised a hand, “Where is the remote (Y/N).”

“I lost it,” you whispered, slowly backtracking down the hallway. Kylo’s footsteps gaining speed as you turned into the study, snatching the remote to his TV in there. Doging his large form blocking the doorway and booking it to the masterbedroom.

“Get back here! I want to hear what they are saying!”

“No!” you screeched, “It’s just going to upset you, and your blood pressure is already high!” You grabbed the one from your room, shoving it in your bra along with the other two. You paused, thinking about where the other TV’s were in the house.

A door slammed upstairs.

“Shit,” you whispered, booking it up the staircase to the lounge. Kylo already had the doors shut and you could hear furniture being moved to block the doorway. You banged on the frame, “Dammit Kylo, let me in!”

“No!”

You heard the volume raise on CNN, the voices of reporters arguing filling the room and seeping into the hallway. You kept banging your fists, wailing at him to stop and just breathe. “Kylo! You’re going to pop a blood vessel again! Just ignore them!”

A scream tore through the house, you were sure the security alarms were going to be set off from the vibrations. Followed by the sounds of a fist colliding with a TV screen, along with a string of curse words. You heard a window shatter, followed by more furniture moving.

You let out a deep breath, turning away from the lounge and heading down the stairs. Setting off for the laundry room where you keep your first aide supplies, medical grade, since your husband apparently is a medically licensed toddler. You waited at the kitchen island, setting out gauze and butterfly stitches supplies.

Slow steps came down the staircase, Kylo’s face downcast as he approached you from behind. Slowly scooting out a barstool with one of his feet and slumping down in the chair. He set his right hand in front of you, grumbling something under his breath. You sighed, accessing the damaged skin, “Feel better now?”

“No.”

“I tried to stop you.”

Kylo hissed as you applied an alcohol swab to his wounds, “I know.” He took a deep breath, “ I just don’t understand why they won’t listen to me, I’m literally the top doctor in the nation and they think I’m lying about the severity!”

You stayed quiet, just letting him vent.

“And now they are saying I’m untrustworthy because of my anger issues! I don’t have anger issues!”

You applied pressure to his hand, causing him to wince and meet your stare. “Sweetie, you broke another kitchen cabinet and TV and whatever else you broke upstairs. You also called the new’s reporters at the press conference ‘whiny asshats’ and threatened an entire country with bodily harm.”

Kylo chewed his cheek in thought, eyes now watching your handiwork. He mumbled a thank you as you finished with the first hand.

“Seems like I have some new issues to talk about in therapy then.”

#adam driver #adamdriver #kylo ren #surgeon kylo ren #i love surgeon kylo #he is your surgeon general #listen to him #wear a mask #covid-19 #charlie barber #clyde logan #hippa violation

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highladyof-erilea · 3 years

Text

C.O.D.E.N.A.M.E.S. - chapter two

Sorry it’s taken me so long to get this chapter out! With school and soccer season starting back up again my schedule has been really busy. I will try to get these chapter out as consistently as I can, but this fic will most likely be updated sporadically whenever I have time. Without out further ado, here is chapter two of C.O.D.E.N.A.M.E.S.

<<chapter one * masterlist * ao3 *

~~~

“Really Gavriel, everything's gonna be fine,” Rowan consoled Gavriel while he assembled his pistol. “They might be one of the best we’ve hunted yet, but you know they won’t see me coming. It’s going to go just the way we want it to.” The captain really had to have more trust in him. Sure, Rowan could go off book sometimes, but it was always for the best and he always managed to complete the mission no matter what, so Gavriel had nothing to worry about.

“You know I trust you to get it done, but the director is very adamant that this mission gets pulled off efficiently with no casualties on either side,” Gavriel emphasized either, as if he knew that Rowan would sacrifice their mission if it meant saving someone on their side. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. “If we don’t complete this mission soon, she’ll order us back to base and put someone else on the job. I think I’m speaking for everyone when I say none of us want to go anywhere near that place anytime soon.” There was a resounding agreement from everybody in the room, including Rowan. “You’ll take Lorcan with you. He’ll have them in his aim in case anything goes wrong.” Lorcan groaned from across the room, slumping on one of the couches as Rowan raised his brow.

“Honestly, Gavriel. I don’t understand why you don’t just send me in alone. I can get them from 100 yards away, knock them out, and bring ‘em in. It would be much simpler for me to go in alone and drag Rowan along with me simply as the muscle. He can’t even fit in tight places. He’s too big.” Lorcan smirked at Rowan as he started collecting his gear. “Trust me Gavriel. I’ll be more efficient by myself than Rowan could ever be.”

“Stop it, both of you. You have your orders and I expect you to follow them. Unless you want to be on dishes for the next week?” Both Rowan and Lorcan received a pointed look from Gavriel. They stayed silent. “That’s what I thought. Now stop moping and get your asses out of here. You don’t take a step in here unless you have them with you.” Gavriel dismissed them, promptly walking out of the room. Right before he shut the door, Rowan swore he could hear Gavriel mutter under his breath Sometimes I feel like I’m raising children. Rowan chuckled at that.

The abandoned hotel that Rowan found himself in looked like a jungle had washed through. There were vines crawling up the walls and spiderwebs in every corner and available space of the building. The side wall on the westside was decimated, the sunset shining through, almost mocking him as though it knew that something was going to go wrong. Rowan spotted a stairwell to his left that would take him up onto the roof, where presumably his target would be. Climbing up the stairs, hearing nothing but the wind even though the door to the roof was open, he realized that something was about to go wrong. His unit had already scouted this building hours before, in response to the tip they had received a couple days ago.

It had seemed to appear out of the blue, Fenrys finding it in the mailbox at their current station, which hadn’t been used since their first day at their house to deliver all the necessary information for their assignments. It had everybody looking over their shoulders, considering that nobody was supposed to know their location or who they really were. But once Fen had seen what the letter was actually about, they decided to throw caution out of the window.

Looking up from his reports, Rowan noticed Fenrys standing outside like he had seen a ghost. Following his line of sight, Rowan looked towards their mailbox with its red flag sticking up. Rowan dismissed it at first glance, but then took a double take when he realized why exactly Fenrys looked like he had seen a ghost. The flag was up. On their mailbox. That should never have been used. It didn’t even have a street number on it.

Trying to look inconspicuous, Rowan called out to Lorcan to pull up the security cameras, and sprinted outside to join Fenrys. Calling out to him, Fenrys threw an arm across Rowan’s chest, stopping him from advancing any further. “Don’t take another step. Until we know what exactly is in there, we shouldn’t even be in the vicinity of it.”

Staring wide-eyed at the mailbox, Rowan responded to Fenrys. “Lorcan’s pulling up the cameras. We should head back inside and wait for Gavriel’s decision before we do anything more.”

As it turned out, the package appeared to be harmless and once Lorcan was able to get a good visual of the package, deeming them to be safe at the moment, Fenrys received the package from the mailbox. It turned out to be a letter with only a single address written on it. The North Stag

Considering that The North Stag was an abandoned hotel and had old connections to the assassin they were hunting, Gavriel decided to follow through on the tip, sending the team to scout out the building so they would know what they were dealing with. Considering everything now, Rowan really wished they had known more information about their target. Because when he got the call over the comms from Lorcan that he had eyes on them, they were both woefully underprepared for what came after that.

Climbing the stairwell that led to the roof, Rowan approached the door as quietly as he could, as to not disturb anything and alert the target to his presence.When he opened the door there was a slight resistance but he was able to get it open without making any alerting noises. He credited it to the rusty hinges and it not being used in years.

Creeping through the doorway, Rowan scanned his surroundings. The entire ground was covered with gravel and overgrown weeds crawling over the edges of the roof and the box above the stairwell. He assumed that the target was on the other side of the box, seeing as he could not see them and the assassin’s intended victim would be inside of the building that Rowan was facing away from. There were several rusted over ventilation vents scattered around the roof. They could be helpful if there was a struggle, but as long as Rowan could get the jump on the guy, he could have them down in mere seconds. Of course, Lorcan was aimed and ready across the street, but Rowan wouldn’t need his help besides being muscle to drag their prisoner back to the base.

Rowan still didn’t understand why Gavriel insisted Lorcan be there. He should know perfectly well how Rowan worked best on his own and backup always messed everything in the end instead of actually helping out. Rowan rounded the corner as quietly as he could, keeping his eyes open and trigger finger poised so he could take the shot as a last resort. Rowan wanted to be the sneak attack and not the other way around. He didn’t want anything backfiring on him. When he had eyes on the target, Rowan zeroed in on their position and proceeded as he usually would.

Rowan answered Lorcan over the comms, ~Approaching the target. In view and ready to engage.~

Lorcan responded in his usual manner with a grunt. That was all the confirmation he needed.

Rowan glanced over his target before closing in, noting that they were dressed in very loose clothes, which didn’t seem the most ideal for a stealth mission. He pushed that into the back of his mind to use for later and snuck up on his target with his pistol poised and ready to shoot. He placed the black, cold barrel on his target's head and said “If I were you, I wouldn’t pull that trigger.”

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! Comments are encouraged and appreciated...I really want to work on my writing and they are one way to help me grow. Let me know if you would like to be added to the Tag List!

#codenames #throne of glass #agents of shield #modern au #sniper au #double agents #rowaelin #rowaelin au #tog fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #the cadre #throne of glass fanfiction

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mischiefandspirits · 3 years

Text

Last Laugh (2 of 3)

“Oh, I noticed,” Red X said lowly, tossing the staff aside. “What that idiot was thinking letting Flamebird send you all the way across the country right after Batkid got blown up, I’ll never know.”

Robin flinched back at the accusation before his fists clenched at his sides. “Then you’ll be happy to know no one sent me here. It’s just where I ended up when Batman decided he didn’t want to work with me anymore and tossed me out.”

The story of how Dick ended up with the Titans in Batkid and Robin.

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

Jason once told Dick that he spent months after he’d come to the manor worrying he’d be dumped back onto the streets at any minute. As a result, he’d kept go-bags hidden around, ready to go at a moment’s notice in hopes that he’d have time to grab one before he was sent away. They each had water bottles and food stolen from the kitchen, bandages from the infirmary, a backup set of clothes, a good blanket, a knife, and some cash he’d save whenever Bruce would give him any.

The others had known about them, of course, but hadn’t said anything. Jason had only known because Bruce would sneak some extra cash into them and Selina would slip in things that could be useful on the streets that he hadn’t considered while Alfred had checked them every so often to refresh the food and make sure he wasn’t filling them with junk food.

Once he’d gotten more comfortable, he’d started giving them up. By the time Bruce had disappeared, all the bags Jason had hidden had been unpacked. He never let go of his need to be prepared, though. So in place of the bags, he had four briefcases. Bulletproof, fireproof, blast-proof, and with encrypted locks, they were filled with paperwork for Jason to use in case he ever needed to go on the run. Each had everything necessary for a fake identity, including corresponding bank account information. All were created outside the family’s influence just in case the reason he needed to lie low was mind control.

Dick had never seen what was inside the first two, didn’t even know where Jason had stashed them, but he knew the third had a file for Casey Jacob Dickinson. Only because the fourth held the file for Casey’s half-brother Ryan Emil Dickinson.

The latter is the one Dick took when he snuck into Jason’s room and pried up the loose floorboard hidden under the dresser in the closet. It was their special secret, something only they shared. Something Jason had trusted Dick and only Dick with.

“Thanks, Jay,” he said, replacing the floorboard. He pushed the dresser back into place then moved to leave, but paused when he spotted the brown jacket hanging by the door.

Dick had gotten it for Jason to match his own red Batkid hoodie. He’d accidentally gotten it in a larger size than Jason usually liked to wear, but that hadn’t stopped his brother from wearing it every time the two of them hung out with just each other.

Running his thumb over the red robin patch on the shoulder, Dick stared at the jacket for a moment before pulling it off the hanger.

They wouldn’t miss it. No one had been in the room in over a month.

Case in hand and jacket slung over his shoulder, he snuck back to his room. He opened the case and pulled out the file. He slipped the ID and debit card into his wallet before putting the file into the lockbox. He carefully folded the jacket and set it into the case along with the small photo album Selina had helped him put together. It held pictures of everyone in the family, including the photo Tim had given him of himself, his parents, Damian, Jon, Duke, Tim, Steph, Jason, Babs, and Cass from that night.

It was the only picture he had of his parents, thanks to the people who ran Gotham Juvenile Detention losing almost everything he’d taken with him from the circus. He had another copy on his nightstand back at the house he, Damian, and Jon shared -- had shared -- in Somerset. The family he’d lost side by side with the family he’d gained. It made him sad every time he saw it, but it was still his favorite.

Except now they were both families he’d lost.

At least if Bruce gets his way.

Dick slammed the case closed and stuck it into the duffle bag next to the lockbox. He locked the box then piled in the clothes he’d already gathered. He tossed his wallet into the bag then zipped it up and shoved it back under the bed.

One last thing to do.

He was halfway to the closest cave entrance when he bumped into Bruce and Selina.

“Hey there, songbird,” Selina greeted.

“Hey.”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Bruce said and reached out to ruffle his hair.

Dick stepped away before he could, then walked past them. “Not hungry.”

“He heard the news, then?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“I will. I’m the one he’s mad at.”

Dick stomped into the library, ignoring his tail.

“Dick, let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I know you’re upset, but -”

“Then leave me alone.”

“Please just let m-”

“I get it,” Dick snapped, spinning to face the man. “You got what you wanted. You didn’t want Damian to -” To foster him, to bring him into Bruce’s home, to try and make a place for him in the family. He’d heard enough snippets of the arguments Damian and Bruce had had when Bruce came back. He’d always thought Bruce thought Damian was the problem, that he didn’t trust Damian with Dick and planned to take Dick in himself. He’d also thought Bruce had finally accepted that Damian was keeping Dick. Had he been wrong on both counts?

Or had Dick’s actions ruined everything?

“Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?”

“Dick,” Bruce sighed. He knelt in front of Dick and set his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“Anything to get what you want,” Dick snorted and pushed the hand off so he could turn away before Bruce could see his tears.

“Dick, wait.”

A hand caught his wrist and Dick…

He was losing his family again. Jason was dead. Bruce had taken Robin. Damian was sending him back. His only hope was that the others would fight for him, but would they?

If they didn’t, he’d be alone.

Again.

And it would be his fault this time.

But it would also be because…

Dick spun around and hit Bruce right in the jaw.

Then he ran.

Tim and Jason had both long outgrown the small vent hidden above a tall bookshelf in the far corner of the library and Dick had never needed to use it, but it still swung easily on the hinges the second Batkid had installed after discovering the hidden nook.

He climbed through and let the vent swing silently shut behind him. He crawled down the shaft until he reached a similar vent. He dropped down into a thin, dusty hallway. Down the hall, around a corner, then down another hall was a small door halfway up the wall. A makeshift ladder led up to it and a hidden lever opened it, revealing Bruce’s study.

Dick dropped out of the hidden passage, letting the door swing shut behind him to meld unnoticeably with the rest of the wall. He twisted the hands of the grandfather clock on the opposite wall and disappeared down into the cave, heading for the vehicle bay.

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

Dick left while the others were all patrolling and Alfred was taking a break. He used a bike that he’d removed the tracker from and kept all his devices off. He went to a hotel in the Bowery that he knew was shady enough to look the other way when a fourteen-year-old rented a room on his own, but not shady enough to take advantage of it.

He gave it a week, then two, before sneaking onto a roof in Coventry on a night he knew Oracle wouldn’t be working. He turned on the comm he’d brought and listened in. For the most part, everything was just the usual reporting in. However, things changed just before one.

“I’m moving in. Going dark,” Batman said.

“Got it, B-man,” Batgirl chirped. After a moment, in a more somber voice, she said, “So…”

Black Bat groaned and Orphan said, “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

“We haven’t heard anything, and we’re not getting involved,” Black Bat said shortly.

“Not our place,” Orphan agreed.

“I know that! I was just wondering if Flamebird’s changed his mind,” Batgirl huffed.

“It’s for the best,” Orphan said after a moment.

“I get that,” Batgirl sighed. “I’m just going to miss the kid. I already miss him, and I know Oracle and Pup do too.”

“We all feel that way, but… I feel bad that he’s losing Robin, but he needs to get away from all this. After everything that’s happened… Flamebird’s right,” Black Bat said softly.

“Robin will be better off there, no matter how much we miss him,” Orphan insisted.

“Yeah, yeah. Have you guys gotten any leads on where he could -”

Dick didn’t hear the rest of Batgirl’s question as he yanked out the comm and smashed it on the ground.

He’d thought… He’d hoped…

But they agreed with Bruce. They agreed with sending him away. They weren’t going to talk Damian around.

Dick pressed his face into his knees and screamed.

He couldn’t stay in Gotham. The Bats would eventually find him, and now he knew that’d be a one-way ticket back to juvie.

He left the hotel in the morning.

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

Robin had been hesitant to stay with the others. There was no way the Bats hadn’t noticed his involvement in the invasion that had brought their team together. It was better for him to move on as soon as possible

He really hadn't wanted to, though.

They had been an amazing team and had quickly become friends. He also knew they would understand his past if he told them since Wonder Girl was an outcast among most Amazons as a result of her Brazilian heritage, Impulse was dealing with the fact her father was currently lost in the Speed Force, Virus was still trying to reconnect with his people now that he’s free from the Mawlix, and Nightstar had run away from home to get away from her absentee mother’s shadow.

That was the only reason he stayed as long as he had while they began to put together their base using the remains of Virus’s ship.

He was working up to telling the team he had to leave when he stumbled upon Impulse and Wonder Girl talking in the common area.

“It’s a shame, really,” Impulse sighed, clutching a magazine.

“Boohoo,” Wonder Girl snorted, not looking up from her book.

“I’m serious.”

“He’s one boy, and not even a worthwhile one from what I’ve seen.”

“Speedy said White Arrow and Silver Canary have met him, though, and he’s super sweet.” The speedster shoved the magazine towards her face. “Plus, just look at him!”

Wonder Girl shoved it away, rolling her eyes.

“What’s going on?” Robin asked hesitantly.

“Impulse is crying because some famous pretty boy is going away to boarding school.”

The speedster shot her a look then turned sad eyes on Robin. “It’s Richard Grayson!”

Ice shot down Robin’s spine. “What?”

“Yeah, the Waynes are shipping him off to some school overseas,” she said, waving the magazine towards him and he took it. “The family wouldn’t say where since they wanted…”

Robin fell back on his training to keep his face blank and his hands steady as he scanned through the article.

They knew where he was, and they were covering it up. They had come up with a grand lie about him going to school in England to explain his absence.

They weren’t coming for him.

“Poor guy,” he said, closing the magazine and handing it back.

“See, Robin gets it!” he heard Impulse say as he turned and left.

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

Small Easter Eggs: The briefcase from Teen Titans episode "Revved Up" and Dick punching Bruce from The New Batman Adventures episode "Old Wounds".

#batfam #reverse robins #dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #batkid and robin

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whirlwindwonderland · 3 years

Text

Heavy vent post, because I have a lot of stuff I need to get down. Supportive words appreciated, but any of y'all who follow me for actual content, please feel free to keep scrolling.

The last few months have been just. A total downward spiral. And I'm struggling every day to find it in me to keep living. To keep getting up in the morning, keep caring about things, keep existing, when it seems like every day, one way or another, things only get worse.

To take things from the top, I've managed to piss off or push away almost every friend I had. The first, I got jealous of their skill, talent, and popularity, and acted like an idiot. I pushed them away one too many times and didn't tell them how much I valued our friendship, I hurt them and didn't listen to their opinions when they were only trying to help me. After that there was two people I *really* wanted to be friends with, who were also friends of one of my best friends at the time. But I was really intimidated by them and nervous and I didn't know how to read either of them. So whenever we interacted I didn't know how to react. I was tense and anxious and I ran my mouth and it came out all sharp and aggressive and harshly pointed and cruel. I made jokes I shouldn't have, I hurt them really badly, and because I couldn't get my stupid paranoid head out of my ass and just accept that these people were nice instead of constantly second guessing myself and them, I hurt them and lost the opportunity to be friends with them, *and* one of my best friends at the same time.

There's so much I wish I'd have done better, so much I wish I could change. I wish I could properly apologize to them all, at the very least, and maybe try again if they thought I deserved it. Even if they didn't, I just wish I could tell them all that... Gods I'm so fuckin sorry. I was an ass to all of them. I was an idiot and a terrible friend. I never meant to hurt any of them, and I feel awful for letting it happen, and letting myself do that.

I wasn't very good to my partner either. We were living together, I'd moved across the country to be with them, and... I wasn't as good as I could've been. I complained about a lot of stuff they couldn't help, I took advantage of their kindness and generosity, I let a space between us grow even though we were living in the same room. I took too long to do things I should've done much faster, and I wasn't as helpful as I could be. Honestly I'd have broken up with me too.

And well. Now I'm here. I'm living with my dad's ex, because I can't go back to living with him in California because his wife and I don't get along in the slightest. I was here for about a month, before trying to commit suicide a few weeks ago. It didn't work, obviously, but it caused the people around me a lot of stress.

I've been trying to get a job and been meeting struggle every step of the way, and despite going to therapy, things just keep piling up. A few days ago, I had a stress related breakdown, because everything I had planned has fallen apart. My dad's ex, who I am stuck living with since I have nowhere else to go, has been doing more and more things that make me anxious under the pretense of saving money, she said I'm no longer allowed to keep food downstairs, she refuses to let me eat things that *I* bought, she insists I spend only 5 minutes in the shower, and today she turned off the wifi, saying I caused her bill to quadruple. She's also used the meltdown I had as justification for other things that freak me out, like threatening to take my door off it's hinges, threatening to put a camera downstairs to watch me all hours of the day, and taking away my belongings while I was having my meltdown, refusing to let me call my dad.

I thought I would be safe here, but when I told her I thought she was going to hit me, the only reason she gave me for why she wouldn't, was that I wasn't worth the lawsuit. And as things stand, I can't get out of here, I don't have money saved up, I can't afford an apartment on the job I'm getting, if I even get it, and I can't go back home. I can't even drive, so I can't live out of a car.

It's so hard to find literally any reason to want to keep going anymore, any reason to believe things are going to get better. My only two home options are abusive, I don't know how to find a way out, and so much of it is my own damn fault.

I miss so many things and so many people. I miss feeling safe. I miss feeling happy and hopeful and confident. I miss my friends. I wish I could fix things. I wish I could go back. I wish I'd have done better.

I never wanted to hurt anyone. I so badly want to be a good person, a good friend, I'm sorry to everyone I've ever hurt, and I promise I didn't mean it.

I just want to be good. I just want to be happy. I just want to be safe. I just want my friends back. I just want to go back and start all over...

I'm Sorry

#vent post #thinking about time travel again #tw sui mention #I'm really hungry and tired rn

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nashibirne · 3 years

Text

Safe Haven - 8

Regarding the non-existant reactions to the previous parts, I'm quite sure nobody reads this story and I know I'm much too late for the fandom, but I'm gonna post the parts I've written anyway. *shrugs*

Previous parts can be found here: Masterlist

Safe Haven

A Maze Runner Fan Fiction

Pairing: Thomas / female OFC Setting: After the end of ‘TMR - Death Cure’ Summary: Thomas is dealing with the aftermath of the events since the glade and learns that falling in love can be painful. In this part he's runs right into Anne after Kasey's turned him down and he really needs to vent.... Warnings: smut/sex/porn, swearing, mentioning of death, traumatic experiences, violence, sexual frustration, promiscuity, homosexuality, daddy-kink, oral, nsfw, 18+ readers only Credits: TMR-Characters don’t belong to me / are based on the books by James Dashner and the movies. All pictures I used for the moodboards/headers are from pinterest. If I violate any copyright please let me know and I’m going to remove the pictures. Beta by the wonderful @hell1129-blog Thanks for your support! xo

Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated.

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

It took Anne less than five minutes from meeting Thomas at the sanitary shack on his way home to winning him over for a hot make-out session behind the wooden building. His vulnerable emotional state and his hurt pride made it easy for her. Her back pressed against the wall he kissed her hungrily, caressing her crisp little tits. His Ex may have ditched him because she considered him to be a bore but she still appreciated his skills as a lover. And so, from time to time, they had a little fun together - no strings attached.

A loud moan escaped Thomas' mouth when Anne massaged his rock-hard dick through his trousers.

"Shush, silly. We don't want someone to interrupt us, do we." Anne giggled, laying a finger on his lips.

"It's your fault. You make me moan." Thomas replied, his voice thick with arousal.

"I'm sorry." Anne kissed him, her hand still on his cock.

"Get him out." Thomas whispered in her ear. "Touch him."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Anne grinned before she unbuttoned his jeans, shoving them down his legs together with his boxers. She started stroking his cock skillfully.

"Anne..." Thomas groaned. "Be a good girl and suck me off, okay? Daddy really needs it tonight." "Sure, daddy. Whatever you wish." She looked at him with big round eyes, batting her long eyelashes innocently, falling to her knees right away. She was into daddy kink and he knew which buttons to push to make her do what he wanted. And what he wanted right now was to ease the tension and get rid of all the frustration inside of him. In short...he needed to get off. He hadn't had sex in a while. Since he'd fallen for Kasey he just didn't feel like shagging some random girl. So it had been less fucking and more jerking off in the shower since then, but tonight he needed something more. He needed to get Kasey out of his system. Turned out it wasn't that easy.

Thomas leaned back, his head resting on the moist wood of the wall, his eyes closed, his breath going fast.

When he felt her tongue on the tip of his dick, circling the head seductively, it wasn't Anne's tongue. He couldn't help but deceive himself by imagining it was Kasey's pretty little mouth that was wrapped around his member. Tight and wet and eagerly sucking his dick. When he opened his eyes, bending his head slowly he imagined seeing Kasey's full lips, sliding up and down his length. It was her honey blonde hair, he grabbed, burying his hands in the thick, soft silk, not Anne's short whiteblond strands.

"Fuck...you're doing great, baby girl. Go on, make daddy cum." he moaned, his voice hoarse and demanding.

She sucked him harder, pumping his dick faster, squeezing his balls. Damn, the girl knew how to give a blow job. He imagined Kasey would do it even better, maybe deep throating him.

With this picture on his mind he came hard, spilling a hot shot of cum into Anne's mouth.

"Kasey!" he grunted breathless, thrusting his hips, shoving his cock deep inside her mouth, savouring the last waves of his orgasm.

Anne rose to her feet abruptly, drops of cum on her lips, fuming.

"Kasey? Are you serious?" she shouted angrily, wiping her mouth. "You cry out the name of another woman, coming in my fucking mouth? Am I a joke to you, Thomas?"

"I'm sorry, Anne...I don't know what has gotten into me." He reached out for her but she shoved him away.

"Don't touch me, asshole. Ever. Again." she hissed, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

"You are so pathetic." she added with a disgusted grin. "Fucking all those girls but too chicken to make a move on her? Or probably you hit on her and she turned you down."

"Anne..." getting his dick back in his pants, he tried to interrupt her but she wouldn't let him.

"I mean...she's well out of your league, Tommy, you know that, huh? Kasey is classy. She wouldn't want a sissy like you."

"Please shut up, Anne." Thomas said pleadingly with a threatening undertone. But she just crossed her arms in front of her chest, not willing to stop her rant. "Everybody knows she's anxiously waiting for Parker anyway. He's the one she wants. And I understand her. He's awesome. Hot as fuck, smart. Tattoos all over his shredded body. A real man, not some whimpering boy..."

"Stop it, Anne."

"And he's her age. You are too young for her. Do you really think she wants a 20 year old bore when she can have a 25 year old man of action? A leader, not a grunt..."

"Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth. You don't have a clue who she wants and what's going on between us." Thomas shouted, raging with fury.

Anne jumped, looking scared for a split second, but regaining control fast, when it dawned on her. "You love her!" Anne laughed almost hysterically. "This is hilarious. You love Kasey." Thomas stared at her, unable to say anything. Unable to deny the obvious.

"Well, Tommy, Karma is a bitch, right? Of all the single women in this camp you choose the only one you can't have because she's too smart to fall in love with a moron like you."

"Fuck you, Anne."

"No...fuck you, Thomas." she said, showing him the finger. "Fuck you and never talk to me again." And then she went away, leaving him frustrated, angry and desperate.

***

When Thomas stormed into their hut ten minutes later, slamming the door behind him so hard it almost took off its hinges, Minho woke up with a jolt, his hammock rocking like crazy.

"Jesus, Tommy, what the fuck?" he mumbled sleepy, rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry, man. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Didn't work."

"Yeah." Thomas said with a deep sigh, plopping down on his bed, taking off his boots and his trousers before sliding under the sheets.

"What's up? You look like shit. Everything all right?" Minho asked with a frown.

"Let's just say I had a rough night, okay?"

"What's happened? You were fine when you left like what...two hours ago?"

"Nothing. I'd rather not talk about it, okay?" Thomas turned around to face the wall, closing his eyes, hoping his friend was going to leave him alone.

"No, it's not okay. You should see yourself, you look like a zombie. Just fucking tell me what happened, shank." Minho insisted.

"You wanna know what happened?" Thomas jumped out of his bed, starting to pace the little room like a lunatic with a grim look on his face. "I'm gonna tell you what happened, okay?" his voice was vibrating with emotion now. Minho wasn't sure whether his friend was about to burst into tears or to throw a tantrum.

"In the last one and a half hours I had a very emotional conversation with Kasey, then I kissed her and she kissed me back, making me a happy man but then she changed her mind and turned me down, 'cause she knows I'm nothing but a cheap fuckboy. And being the stupid asshole I am, I couldn't find the words to tell her I love her, before Quincy showed up out of nowhere, interrupting us."

"Wow, Tommy..."

"Oh no, man. Keep listening. I'm not done yet. Instead of asking Quincy to give us a minute and talking to Kasey, I just left like a bloody coward. Five minutes later I ran into Anne and what do you think...I had nothing better to do than try to get rid of all that sexual and emotional frustration by letting her give me a blow job behind the sanitary shack. And if that wasn't bad enough I accidentally called her Kasey, my dick balls deep in her mouth, which caused a huge fight between us. That's what happened."

Minho gaped at him, speechless for seconds, that felt like hours for Thomas.

"For heaven's sake, Minho. Say something."

"Yeah...well...shit, Tommy. That's the worst I've heard in a while."

"Oh great, thanks my friend." Thomas rolled his eyes, sinking down on a chair, tired and exhausted.

"Sorry, that I'm a little taken aback." Minho replied sarcastically. "I didn't even know there's something going on between you and Kasey. That you like her...well at least not like this."

"Yeah. I do..."

And then Thomas told his friend the story properly, right from the beginning. From the day he fell for Kasey Miller head over heels to tonight's events by the campfire.

"You know you have to talk to her first thing in the morning, right? Tell her how you feel and tell her what happened behind the sanitary shack. Before Anne does."

"You think she would?" Thomas' eyes widened in shock.

"Maybe. You know she can be a crazy little bitch sometimes."

"Right." Thomas sighed. "Do you think Kasey loves me too?" he added almost whispering.

"To be honest, mate. I don't have a clue. But she kissed you, right? And we know she wasn't just looking for a shag. So she must have kissed you because she likes you. I would say you have a real chance."

"Thanks, Minho." Thomas said stifling a yawn.

"Anytime, Thomas. That's what friends are for. And now let's try to get some sleep."

#tmr #tmr fanfic #tmr thomas #tmr thomas x ofc #slow burn #friends to lovers #the maze runner

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fitzs-trained-monkey · 3 years

Text

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Revelation

Rated PG-13 For mentions of abuse, trigger topics such as suicidal thoughts, torture, language, and kidnaping.

Masterlist

~I am not the only traveler

And then I can tell myself

I had all and then most of you

When the night was full of terrors

There aren't very many things worse than watching one's little brother die. I think the only thing worse than that is enduring it twice. I had already had to watch Jasper be slaughtered like a pig in front of me. Wasn't that torture enough for a lifetime? Was having to salt and burn my own brother the universe's twisted idea of a joke? This wasn't funny!

What kind of cruel world was I living in? Why did my last words to my precious little brother have to be empty promises? How was that okay? Jasper would spend the rest of eternity waiting for me to show up, tell him my stories, and tuck him into bed, but I never would. Because if I lived, I would be stuck down here on this awful planet, reliving the same day over and over and over again. And if the Winchester's decided to kill me when they found out what I was, then I wouldn't be going to heaven. I already knew where I would go. It wasn't anywhere good.

Well, if my life was a joke then I hoped at least somebody was getting a kick out of it.

I knew I wasn't.

From the top of the stairs, I heard Sam, Dean, and Cas open the sliding glass door and shuffle outside. Jack firmly insisted on staying here. He probably thought he should stay in case I ' needed him ' for comfort or something.

'Well, joke's on you, puppy, cause I don't need anyone.' I thought, bitterly. I traveled down the dark hallway to my room, the one with the plain white door all the way down on the end. The door opened with a soft click and squeaky hinges and I kicked it shut behind me.

My room was exactly how I had left it. Not a single thing was out of place. Of course, it was about as far away from immaculate as anything can get. There were pieces of paper strewn all over the desk, plenty of wadded-up sketches in the trash can and even more outside the trash, pencils were left in strange places, and mix-matched fairy-lights draped over way too many things. Miscellaneous articles of clothing were draped over a chair, clustered around the laundry basket, crumpled on the bed, and a few were even hanging from the doorframe of the closet. The bed wasn't made, the blankets and sheets hopelessly tangled together and there was an atrocious number of glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the roof. Oh, and let us not forget the rainbow-colored streamers hanging from the ceiling fan, so really everything was just an absolute mess.

But it was a comforting mess and that's how that girl who used to be me had lived. She had been a scatterbrained, messy-haired, and bright-eyed sort of girl, she'd had so much potential. That girl could have great. Her mess comforted me too. Maybe she wasn't as dead as I'd thought.

"Well, I'm just about done with this whole damn popsicle-stand of existence. You?" Isaac asked, sounding more dead than he looked.

"Done," I agreed. "So, so done."

I flopped down on my already messy bed, staring up at the tacky stars on the ceiling while I tried to come to terms with the fact that I'd never see my little brother again. I couldn't feel the prickling of tears forming in my eyes. I guess I'd run all out of tears to cry. Lucky me. I felt like throwing up.

"Should we go down fighting or give up and roll over? What say you?" Isaac collapsed at the foot of my bed.

"What's the point in fighting?" I asked, shaking my head.

"Dunno." He shrugged. "Frequent flyer miles?"

"So... Nothing?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Maybe I would just attack the Winchesters once I tore Felix to sheds. Maybe they wouldn't kill me fast. Maybe they'd make me suffer. Then maybe I could cry like I was supposed to.

I had hardly been debating those thoughts for a minute when I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. Oh, joy. Five minutes of peace was all I'd asked for and apparently I couldn't even get that. Screw my life.

The door flew open with an overly dramatic bang but I didn't flinch. Jack stood in the doorway, eyes alight like molten gold. I turned my head lazily to face him, aware of my void expression but ultimately indifferent to it. I couldn't even bring myself to act like the fake version of myself I had made to fool the Winchesters. I felt oddly numb like nothing mattered. Because honestly, what did? Not even getting my revenge on Felix would change anything. Things wouldn't get better, my life would still suck to an astronomical degree, and this whole stupid world would just keep turning like it always did. Getting revenge was just self-indulgence, really. So what if Jack saw the real me for a couple of hours?

With luck, I'd be dead by morning.

With luck, he'd be the one to kill me.

I deserved it.

"Welcome to the year Nineteen-Thirty, puppy. What do you want?" I addressed him. My tone was clipped, calloused, and cold, but I didn't care.

Jack's eyes were glowing and the air was charged with his power; it made my hair stand on end and my ears hurt like when a plane takes off. Yet, oddly enough, if there and been one in my hand, I would have been swirling chocolate milk in a wine glass for all I'd cared.

Jack didn't answer me. His mouth opened and closed and opened and closed. There was something in his eyes, something akin to desperation. He knew what he wanted to say but the words died in his throat.

"You deaf, honey-bug?" I lifted an eyebrow and took an actual glance at his expression. He didn't look angry. He looked...

Terrified.

And shocked.

And torn.

And betrayed.

I did this. It was me. I had hurt him.

His hands clutched an object tightly between them with enough force to turn his knuckles white. It was a picture frame. I caught a glimpse of the picture within; it had been taken two weeks to the day I'd died. I looked back up to his eyes.

Ah, yes. There it was. The recognition. What a clever, clever boy.

He'd finally put all the pieces together.

'Well, good for him.'

"Uh, oh spaghetti-oh's; looks like the Nephil knows," Isaac droned from the foot of my bed.

"What are you?" Jack asked, his voice trembling. He blinked back tears, biting down on his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

I blinked, feeling sick. I didn't want to lose him, I realized. As much as the bitterness inside me tempted me to bite into him and taste his sweet blood or tell him the truth and watch him squirm just for a distraction from the pain, I couldn't. Because then I'd lose him. I didn't want to lose him. I'd already lost Jazzy today for the second time, I couldn't lose Jack too.

Isaac turned to me, his expression as empty as mine. "Ya gonna tell him?"

"I am Miss. Nidsbit," I answered, flatly. It was supposed to sound friendly like I was teasing, but it only came off as evasive. Jack glared at me. It was already happening; I was already losing him. I guess I deserved that much.

"Don't joke," He said.

"I thought it was hilarious," Isaac chimed.

"In that case, I'm bottled-depression." I flashed my teeth in a way that held no joy whatsoever. "Pint-sized for your convenience," I added, trying for a familiar joke about my height. It sounded empty.

"That was better," My brother snickered, leaning back and closing his eyes. He was probably just going to keep making sarcastic jabs in an attempt to vent his anger, so I ignored him.

"I asked you a question," Jack growled in a way that somehow managed to be threatening despite the whole baby-face puppy-eyed thing he had going on. It was actually kinda hot... Wait, what? When had that happened?

"And I answered you." I sat up. Why did I sound so bitter? Why couldn't I change it? My eyes flicked down to Jack's throat without my permission. His skin looked so soft and I realized I was suddenly famished. My throat burned and desire reared its ugly head inside me. Isaac's voice snapped my attention back to reality.

"Oh dear, Marty. You made the Nephil sniffle."

Jack clenched his teeth and hissed, seemingly bothered by the fact that I wasn't afraid of him. He wouldn't hurt me, right? No, he would. He would hurt me if he knew. If he knew what I wanted to do to him. I wanted him to hold me as he had a few days ago but I wanted to sink my teeth into him at the same time. I deserved to die.

"What are you?" He repeated, taking a step forward. He would hurt me. Good.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, my voice inflectionless. Wandering towards my dresser I started fiddling with some meaningless piece of junk. Anything for a distraction from his soft throat and thrumming pulse. Jack's glowing eyes followed me.

"Y-you're lying," He said. He was trying to sound strong, but there was something broken in his tone.

"Ya think?" I deadpanned. Jack swallowed thickly; his hand shot out to grab my wrist, eyes fading back to their soft blue.

"This isn't funny, Marty. Stop." His eyes pleaded with me. I eyed his hand.

"Or what?" I challenged. What would he do to me? He looked me in the eyes, frowning and moving closer to me. He needed to step away. I caught my gaze drifting to his neck again but I couldn't stop.

"I really don't want to hurt you," He said.

'Then don't make me tell you.' I thought. His eyes searched my face for any glimpse of his friend, but that girl had never been real, not really anyway. I had made her up.

I wished I could go back in time. Back to the night we met. We could do it all over again and maybe, if I had another chance, he wouldn't figure it out. Maybe it would've been better if I'd never come with Jack in the first place. I wished we could go back to the night we met. Then I could have said no. If I hadn't come with him, I never would have hurt Jack like this. If he had never touched me then I would never have had to feel this pain. If I could just go back.

"And you won't," I said, taking a chance.

Jack huffed, his expression pained.

"This is freakin' five-star entertainment," Isaac mused, resting his chin on his fist, observing Jack and me.

"Please, Marty," Jack begged in a whisper. His sweet-smelling breath was warm as it washed over my face. His eyes flicked down to my lips but only for a split second. No, no. Anything but that. "Just tell me the truth."

'You already know it.'

"I have," I lied. Everything kept coming out wrong! I sounded emotionless like I didn't care but I did! Jack's soft expression melted into one of betrayal.

"So, you're just going to lie?" He asked. "Right to my face?"

I didn't have control over what slipped from my lips next.

"Says the Devil's kid."

"Ooh! One point to the Marty!" Isaac laughed.

Jack stared at me like he was heartbroken. Then his eyes narrowed into a glare, lighting with gold as he released my wrist and moved his hand to seize my throat. He whirled us around and slammed me into a wall with more force than I'm sure than he intended to use. Not that I couldn't take it. Without so much as a flinch, I tilted my head as much as I could with Jack cutting off my air supply.

"Tell me what you are!" He shouted. There was desperation there.

"That's quite the grip ya got there, puppy," I taunted, rasping. He loosened his grip but only slightly, holding the picture of my family up for me to see, the corner was dated January 8th, 2014.

"You said they died five years ago. This picture- it was taken five years ago! You said you were nine then! But y-you - you weren't!" Jack's eyes were wide, almost crazed as he glanced from the girl in the picture and back to me. He knew the truth; he just didn't want to believe it. His voice softened. "You haven't aged a day. Five years and you haven't aged a day."

My voice was soft and it wasn't just from the lack of air. "I aged about a month, actually."

Jack let go of my throat like I was burning him, shaking his head as he backed away like a frightened animal. As well he should. He was the prey here and I did want to kill him. But I wanted him to hold me again even more. "Y-you're one of them..." He whispered.

'Don't leave me. I'm sorry, just don't leave me!' I thought desperately, but that wasn't what came out. I felt trapped in my own skin, the monster inside me taking over, fed by my own bitterness.

"I'd say something along the lines of 'say it out loud' but I'm pretty sure that would have copywrite issues," I said, shrugging and moving back to sit on my bed. Jack watched me carefully.

"Felix - h-he turned you. He made you just like him - a vampire... You're a monster!" He spat the word like it was snake-venom.

And it hurt. It hurt so freaking bad. It was like I had lodged a knife in my own chest years ago and now Jack was twisting it.

'I know I am.' I wanted to say.

"Well that's a harsh way of putting it. But I've been called worse." I brushed it off like I didn't care like it wasn't that deep like I wasn't bleeding to tell him how sorry I was. I lowered my head in shame.

"I-I have to tell Sam and Dean," Jack said, shifting onto the balls of his feet, edging towards the door. He was going to make a run for it. Suddenly, I was in control of my body again.

I couldn't let him. I needed more time. I needed to beat Felix first and then they could all find out. I had to fix this. I could still fix this.

I had made Jack forget once.

I could do it again.

I would take us back in time. Before he knew. Make everything right. Take us back to the night we met.

He had to forget.

"I can't let you do that," I spoke softly, my gaze still focused on my feet.

"Are you going to try to kill me?" He asked accusingly.

"No." I shook my head. No, I could never kill him. I was too selfish for that. He deserved someone so much better than me. But I loved him.

"Then what are you going to do?" Jack shifted closer to the exit.

"Isaac," I glanced at my brother out of the corner of my eye. Jack stiffened, his eyes snapping to where mine went. "Get the door."

"On it!" Isaac said, overly eager. Jack bolted but he was too slow. My brother flicked his wrist and the door swung closed with a click. Jack swallowed thickly and glanced back to me, fear filling his features. I knew what he was going to try next.

'This is necessary. One day I'll be sorry.'

"His wings," I said to Isaac, my voice breaking. Isaac grinned widely and reached out, making a pinching motion. Jack froze in a panic, then he clenched his eyes shut groaning as Isaac twisted his hands just a bit.

"Can I rip 'em off?" He asked, basking in the Nephilim's pain.

"Isaac, no!"

"Oh, come on," He twisted his hands even more and Jack cried out, his innocent face twisting in agony. "Just a little?"

"Stop! Just-" I sighed. "Please, don't hurt him, Isaac. Just keep him still, please."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine!" He let go and Jack fell to the ground, panting and shaking. He did his best to get to his feet but Isaac flung him into a wall, pinning him there. "Go ahead and Obliviate the simp."

I stood and stepped towards Jack, slowly and carefully, trying not to scare him any more than I had. I could tell he was trying desperately to move but Isaac was too strong.

"What are you going to do?" Jack demanded, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "Are you going to drink my blood?!"

I froze.

Because I could. Then, I could make him forget.

I glanced at his throat. My fangs ached to come out - to bite. I could imagine what it might feel like to bury my teeth in that soft, delicious-smelling skin. I could imagine what he might taste like. He'd be sweet like candy. I could be gentle! Maybe if he could somehow understand how badly I needed him then he'd let me. And he heals fast so he'd be okay.

But he wouldn't understand. And I wanted him to hold me again.

I just wanted Jack to hold me again.

"No," I said. I plucked the picture frame from his hands, gazing at the smiles of my family for a moment. I looked up, trying to smile despite the ache of grief and guilt in my chest. "I'm going to need you to forget this."

"I wish I could," Jack said, glaring at the floor. He couldn't even look at me. He couldn't even look.

I nodded. "You will."

"W-what?"

I sighed and moved over to the window. The crisp breeze blew in from the sea as I threw it open, the curtains billowing like vicious barking dogs on a leash. It was a long way down to the black rocks where the land met the ocean. I dropped the picture and watched it tumble until it smashed into the rocks, shattering that perfect picture frame, shattering my picture-perfect family into a million pieces.

"I can make you forget," I told him, over my shoulder. "Take us back to the night we met." The power inside me trilled with excitement; it wanted Jack, it craved him. Or maybe that was just the monster I was, begging to be unleashed. I turned away from the window, closing it as I did.

"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously. He was scared. He was so scared.

"I'm going to talk to you, and then you're going to forget, and everything will be back to the way it was." I would fix this. His arms would be around me as soon as I fixed this and everything would be okay. I hung my head and let the power inside me launch forward and wrap itself like chains around my Nephilim. I could feel his light, his grace, fighting back but it had nothing substantial to fight. My power wasn't physical, I just imagined it being so.

"No! W-wait!" Jack watched me with dread, beginning to feel the effects of what I was doing to him. I was locking his memories away, locking him up in his own head. But I had to. Because he wouldn't understand and I needed him.

"I have to do this," I whispered, digging my mental claws in deeper.

"Stop," He gasped, beginning to tremble with effort, "Whatever you're doing, just stop!"

"I can't stop, Jack. I'm sorry, but I just need a little more time," I said, gently. "Four moves and I win."

"Four moves..." He mumbled to himself, his brows furrowing, "Four moves? I-I've heard that before. Where have I heard that before?" Then he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again.

"Please, just forget. I need you to forget."

'I need you to hold me again.'

"Get out of my head!" Jack's voice rose with panic. He flinched away from me as much as he could but Isaac kept him pinned and helpless.

"I'm gonna make everything okay again. I promise." I fought harder against him, willing my power to work faster. Jack moaned and I glanced up to see his face contorted with pain.

"Please!" He begged me, grimacing, "Please, stop! Marty, please. It hurts." I tried harder, and a choked sob escaped his throat. "Marty, please! It hurts! It hurts! You have to stop! Please!"

"I wish you hadn't found out, Jack, and one day I'll be sorry about this."

"Wait. Wait, no!"

I pushed my power harder than I ever had before.

A horrifying scream of pure agony ripped from Jack's throat. But the walls of this house were built to withstand hurricanes. I was the only one who could hear him. With one last burst of effort, I overpowered the walls of his grace and my power flooded his mind, wiping away any memories of what I was. His scream faltered into groans and those softened into whimpers and Jack's body went limp.

Isaac let go and the Nephilim collapsed but I caught him before his head hit the floor. Carding my fingers through his hair, I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Picking him up, I carried him to my bed and laid him there. He weighed more than I did, obviously, but he didn't feel very heavy to me. I laid down beside him, hugging him around the middle and pressing my face into his chest.

Then I finally cried.

"I hope you can forgive me before I'm sorry. Because I'm a liar and don't think I'll ever really regret this."

***

"You hear something?" Sam asked, perking up. Castiel sat dutifully on a large black bolder, watching the house. The angel flicked his eyes to Sam and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head before focusing back on the house.

"Hm? Uh, no." Dean hardly spared a glance. He was too busy drawing inappropriate words in the sand with his foot. Sam frowned.

"Weird." He shook his head, swallowing thickly as he paced back and forth across the moonlit sand.

"Martina threw a picture frame from her window and it shattered against the rocks approximately sixty-two feet south-east of where you are standing," Castiel informed him, "Perhaps that's what you heard."

Sam shook his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, no. It, uh, it wasn't that. I just- I-I coulda' sworn I heard someone..." He trailed off. 'Scream,' He wanted to say. The sound had been like a phantom pain; intense yet insubstantial.

'Just like the visions...' Sam thought. But no. That wasn't possible. He hadn't had a vision or any manifestation of psychic abilities for going on twelve years! He was probably just imagining things. Sam pushed the thought away as soon as it had come. It was impossible... Right?

Yet still, his eyes wandered to the window on the upstairs floor of the dark house; the only window with a slim shaft of light peaking through the curtains. Because what if...

No .

No. Everything was fine, Jack would have alerted them if there was any danger - or at least - the brothers and their angel would've been able to see if Jack thought there was any danger. Judging by the lack of explosions, Sam could assume that everything was fine.

There was no trap here after all. Although, if he thought about it, that may have been the trap in itself. That monster called Felix had lured Marty back here to relive the most painful day of her life. There had been no vamps waiting to do her any physical harm, but Felix didn't need them to. He just wanted that poor, sweet, little girl to hurt.

And, boy was she hurting.

Sam knew how it felt to lose a brother. He knew how it felt to watch his brother die twice. Hell! Sam had watched Dean die more than one hundred times on the one hundred worst Tuesdays of his life. It had made him feel empty inside - hollow. Like somebody had scraped out everything inside of him, the good and the bad, and had left an utter nothingness in its place. And in the face of all that nothing, fear had gripped Sam's heart like a vice. Fear of that emptiness - of all the unspeakable things it made him willing to do. Sam had been willing - eager even - to do whatever it took if it meant filling that awful hole inside of him.

That was what scared him. It was that ruthlessness. It was that titanium will he'd always shied away from. It was when he'd looked into a mirror and seen John Winchester staring back at him. Deep down, that was what both Sam and Dean had always feared the most. Becoming their father. Becoming the shell of a man that had raised them.

Sam could see the beginnings of a similar shell-forming in Martina. He had seen it when they'd rescued her from that shed the week before. Her shell wasn't made of hate like John's had been - not completely at least. Marty's shell had come from grief and fear. She was just trying to hide; both from Felix and from the shell of a person that she was becoming. Jack had told Sam about Marty's memory gaps - about how she couldn't remember what had happened in the shed after she had left. Sam knew that traumatized people tend to blot things out, it was common. But things like the shed and her return to her childhood home could only serve to send Marty further into her shell.

And the last thing the world needed was another John Winchester.

"These kids were livin' a dream, aye Sammy?"

Sam frowned as Dean's mumbled words knocked him from his train of thought. "H-how do you mean?"

"I mean, look! They had everything!" He said, gesturing from the white sand of the beach to the black rocks to the brine woods. His tone and expression grew sober. "Just like a little fairy-tale. And, I mean, three psychics? Those kids - they had a lotta' potential. So smart and talented and now..." Dean trailed off with a frown.

"Yeah..." Sam quietly agreed. Dean turned to his brother with a pensive expression.

"Got me thinkin', maybe-" He sighed. It was hard for him to say and he didn't want to say it. Even though Dean knew that Marty was capable of more than she seemed and that she could affect his emotions, he didn't really care.

Well, he did care . Dean hated people screwing with his head or his feelings, period. But somehow Marty was different. He didn't really care to admit it, but Dean had always wanted a daughter. A sweet soul he could love and care for but definitely, with a badass side, he could bestow his knowledge upon. Claire was a close as he had gotten but she had already grown up and she didn't want his help. To Claire, Dean was only a painful reminder of all she'd lost.

And, of course, there was Emma.

But Dean didn't like to think about her.

Thinking about Emma was too painful.

But Marty was still young, and she didn't see Dean the way Clair did. Marty looked at Dean with hope in her eyes and he desperately wanted to keep it that way.

Jack had used to look at him that way. Jack didn't look at him like that anymore.

Because Dean had messed up with Jack. He could admit that now. He'd messed up and he'd messed up bad. Things had gotten better between them; little by little over time. But Jack hadn't even been five days old when Dean had promised to take his life. After that, Jack had only watched Dean with fear. Not hope. Just sheer friggin' terror on his face whenever the elder Winchester walked into the room. And though things had gotten better, they'd always have that promise between them.

That promise from the night when if Dean had only been a better person he could have made things better and not worse like he always did. (Because he was always making things worse. Always too selfish. Always screwing things up. Always getting people hurt. It was always him, always his fault.) Dean could've snatched that knife from Jack's hands and told him it was going to be alright even if it didn't seem like it would be. And Dean could've given the kid the kind of hug he should've been given the day he was born; a father's hug, just like Castiel would have given him if he'd been alive to do it. Because that was Cas's son. That was Cas's kid! Oh, God... Cas... How could Dean have let his best friend down so horribly? Cas, who had given everything up for him and his brother. Cas had saved them time and time again at his own expense. Cas, who would bleed every drop of blood he had with a smile on his face, all in the name of the Winchesters. How could Dean have betrayed him like that? It wasn't enough for Dean to just let the angel die! (It was Dean's fault, of course. It always was. How couldn't it be? He could have prevented it. If he'd just been a little faster or a little smarter.) No, he had to go and tear that innocent kid to pieces just cause he was sad. (So, selfish. How could he be so selfish? Why was he always so selfish?) Cas had trusted Dean with his son and Dean had repaid him with the promise to take Jack's life. No wonder Jack still could hardly bear to look Dean in the eyes. How could he? Dean wasn't meant to be a father to anyone. He was too frickin' selfish for that.

But this time, things would be different. This time around, Dean would be different - he would be better. For once in his life, he would be selfless and he'd do the right thing even if it possibly meant giving up his only chance to raise a little girl. Because, despite being tainted by darkness and tears, there was still so much good inside Martina Linville. She had so much potential, with the right chances, she could grow up to be great. But she would need those right chances and she wouldn't get them if she stayed with the Winchester's broken little family. All they brought to people was tears and death.

Dean didn't want that for her. She deserved better. Just like Dean himself and his brother had deserved better. She deserved to live a life free from all this pain - a good life, a happy life. Dean wanted that for her. Dean just wanted to help. That was all he'd ever wanted. The last thing Marty needed was more darkness in her life. She didn't need them in her life.

She didn't need him in her life.

So, Dean would be selfless and he would let her go and he would give her the chance to shine like the stars she loved so much. It was probably the most fatherly thing he could do for her. 'Cause Dean just wasn't cut out to be a Dad.

But, oh, did he wish he could be one. Even though he knew that Marty's empathic abilities were probably what was making him feel so strongly about her, Dean couldn't help but go along with it. It wasn't like she was stuffing thoughts in his head; his feelings may have been bolstered but Dean's mind was his own. Dean had always wanted a daughter, Marty hadn't made that up that wish, she'd just reminded him of it. He felt awful about how he had treated Jack and craved a chance at redemption for his mistakes; Dean had made those choices, all Marty had done was exist to give him a chance. Sure, she was rioting his emotions. But what did that matter? Because Dean wanted this and damn it! This felt real!

But he couldn't have it.

Because Dean, and his brother, and their angel, and - yes - even Jack -- it was all some sick, screwed up, god damn beautiful tragedy -- But they were the last thing Martina Linville needed.

So, Dean would be selfless.

"Thinkin' about what?" Sam's question shook Dean from his reverie and back to what he'd been meaning to say.

"Maybe we should put her into the system after all this," He said, thoughtfully, though there was regret in his tone also. Sam blinked twice, shaking his head.

"W-what? The system? You mean the foster system?" He asked, incredulously.

"Yeah? Something wrong with that?" Dean responded. Sam gaped at him.

"Is something wrong with that? Dean, everything is wrong with that!" He exclaimed. Dean opened his mouth to argue but Sam didn't let him. "We made Marty a promise! Just this morning you said she was part of the family. Was all that just talk?"

"No, but-"

"Then what the Hell was it, Dean? Because you can't just go back on something like that! We said we'd take care of her," Sam huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at his older brother.

"And that's exactly what we'd be doing," Dean argued, "Giving her a place that's safe."

"Who would take her in? She's fourteen and she's got more trauma than some war veterans, I don't-"

"Exactly!" Dean cut him off. "The kid's got issues! She needs help, the professional kind."

"Since when do you promote therapy? Sam scoffed.

"When it doesn't involve me," Dean grumbled. Sam shook his head, getting back to the point.

"Throwing her on a bunch of strangers with no clue what she's been through, and who couldn't possibly understand her even if they knew, isn't going to help her! She'd get tossed around or thrown into some group therapy home till she's eighteen and then they'd dump her back on the streets where we found her! How is that taking care of her?"

"It's getting her out of this life, Sam," Dean said firmly. Sam glared.

"You mean getting her out of your life," The younger brother spat lowly.

"What did you just say?" Dean asked dangerously.

"You heard me."

"You have somethin' ya wanna say to my face, Sammy?" Dean growled.

"Dean," Castiel said his name like a warning, his hand gripping Dean's shoulder, holding him back.

"Yeah, I do." Sam's nostrils flared and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. "I'm not gonna stand by and watch you do this again."

"Do what again?" Dean questioned, Cas' hand on his shoulder reminding him to keep calm.

"This thing you do. Anytime a kid comes along, you do this. You act all annoyed, then right as you start liking having 'em around something happens and you realize the responsibility and it freaks you out so you back off and you push 'em away."

"I don't do that," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah? 'Cause you did it with Kevin, you did it with Claire, you did it with Jack, and now you're doing it again right now with Marty. The second things get real, you get scared and you run away." Sam kept eye contact with Dean, challenging him to look away. Dean clenched his teeth, his pride preventing him from losing the contest of wills.

"Quit fooling yourself, Sam. Look at me!" Dean's voice broke just a little. But he cleared his throat, quick to cover his mistake. "Er, at us, I mean. We can't raise a kid!" He protested.

"We raised Jack," Sam countered.

"Because there were literally no better alternatives!" Dean seethed. Sam opened his mouth but Dean wasn't done. Hyperaware of Castiel's presence just behind him, guilt ate at his heart. But Dean had never been very good at apologies. "And I even screwed that up! I'm not Dad material, Sam. I'm just not!"

His outburst of emotion made Sam blink, rendering him momentarily speechless. He could have spoken his next words gently but pride made them come out like acid.

"I don't think that's what Ben thought," He hissed. Sam knew it was a low-blow bringing up Ben. That wound was still sore.

"Yeah?" Dean laughed but there was no humor in it. "WELL LOOK HOW THAT TURNED OUT!" He yelled. Sam tensed but didn't back off.

"Something isn't real because it lasts, Dean," Sam said, speaking just a little bit gentler now. "For however short a time, Ben had a dad that loved and cared about him. For however short a time, you made him happy. You say you're not dad material, but that's not what I saw. If that's what you're so worried about, then don't be. 'Cause you made an pretty awesome dad, Dean, even if Ben doesn't remember."

Dean sighed in defeat. "We have nothing to give her, Sam."

"We have trust and understanding, a-and that's more than some random foster home could give her."

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't have to be random."

"What do mean?"

"Jody," He suggested, "I mean, she's already got Claire and Alex. What's one more?"

Sam sighed through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, she's got Claire and Alex-" He paused giving his older brother a pointed look. "- And Patience and Kaia. What's one more? That's only five emotionally unstable teenage girls to take care of, on top of a full time job as a sheriff, and hunting to worry about too."

"I agree with Sam," Castiel spoke up, "We cannot simply dump yet another troubled youth onto the already burdened shoulders of Sheriff Mills." Sam gestured to the angel as if accentuate his point.

"But at least she'd be safe," Dean argued, pursing his lips into a thin line.

"From monsters, sure," Sam agreed, nodding. Dean could sense a ' but ' coming. "But not from herself."

"Jody could help Marty just as much as we could - probably more!" He said. Dean could hear Sam grind his teeth in frustration, but Cas held up a hand to speak.

"I don't think that's true, Dean."

"Why not?" Dean asked the angel.

"'Why not?' Haven't you been listening?" Sam exclaimed. Cas shot the younger Winchester a look and he fell silent.

"I am sure Sheriff Mills is a competent and kind woman; however, Martina does not know or trust her. Sending her to live there would only be marginally better than shipping her off to a stranger," The angel stated, evenly.

"What's that gotta do with what Sam said?" Dean asked. Cas gave him a long-suffering look but continued in perfect patience.

"As weary as I am of Martina's true motives and intentions, I think it is plenty clear the choice she faces after the termination of her family's killer. That is, if she has not made her decision already."

Dean's face scrunched with confusion. "What choice is that?"

"The choice of continuing to live free from the threat of Felix Monroe, or..." The angel trailed off, frowning. His tone made Dean feel like there was a knot in his chest.

"Or what?" He pressed, cautiously. Cas sighed.

"Or to end her life and return to her family," Cas finished, soberly.

Dean was stunned. He hadn't thought- He had never realized.

"Wait, whoa. Are you telling me Marty wants to commit suicide?" His eyes were wide with fear and alarm. She was too young for that. Too young to want to kill herself. No. She couldn't. Dean wouldn't let that happen. "Where's this coming from?" He demanded. Sam glared at him.

"She told her little brother she'd be with him soon. Combine that with the scars on her wrists, and it's really not that hard to figure out," He said, coolly.

Scars? Dean understood now. That was why she was always wearing long sleeves, even in the sweltering heat of Florida. Sam took advantage of his older brother's silence.

"Think about it, Dean," He pushed, "Sending her away from first people she's allowed herself to get attached to in five years? You think that will help?"

The thought made Dean reconsider but Sam had more to say.

"A-and think of Jack! You've seen how much he cares about her. I've seen him smile more in these last two and a half weeks than he did in the five months since we got him back from Apocalypse World. What do you think would happen if he found Marty laying in a pool of her own blood? What do you think that would do to him?"

"It would kill him." Dean sighed, nodding in agreement and Sam cracked a smile.

"I mean, we both know he loves her, Dean. And I-I don't mean like a sister," The younger brother said, fondly. Dean chuckled and the tension in the air cleared.

"Yeah, there's definitely a thing there." He shook his head, grinning. "I mean, it's totally weird but it's a thing." Sam nodded and shrugged.

"Well, I dated a demon. I don't think I can judge."

"You can say that again!" Dean laughed.

The sudden chime of a phone ringing cut through the cool nighttime air like a knife and Dean reached to answer. The smile dropped from his face as soon as he caught a glance at the screen.

"Who is it?" Castiel asked.

"Blocked," Dean answered, apprehension filling his voice, "Three guesses as to who." He mumbled, sliding a finger across the screen to pick up the call and putting it on speaker.

"This is Dean Winchester," He announced as the line connected.

There was no voice on the other side of the call.

"Hello?" He tried again.

Again nothing.

Dean could hear someone breathing but they didn't speak. The breaths sounded ragged and uneven like the person was out of breath. There was background noise as well, a deep rumbling that seemed to increase in volume as time wore on. Without warning, the sound of a deep bellowing horn blared from the phone's speaker. It was the sort of horn that typically accompanies a low rumbling noise. It was the sort of horn that accompanies a really, really big train. The sound of the horn grew louder but soon began to fade as the train passed by whoever had been holding the phone. Something told him this wasn't a simple case of a butt-dial. The situation unnerved for some reason he couldn't name. It was like a scene from a movie.

"Tell me who you are or I'm hanging up," Dean said, his voice demanding.

"I-I would'nt d-do that if I were y-you!" A desperate, ragged voice called from the phone. Dean had gotten it wrong. The person on the phone wasn't Felix. The person on the phone was a little girl and she wasn't out of breath. She was terrified.

"Why not?" He asked, cautiously.

"B-because little Pamala o-only get's this one c-call." The voice on the other end sounded oddly robotic despite the words being broken into syllables by the girl's sobs.

"What do you mean?" He wondered.

"She-she's lu-ucky you picked u-up. If you hadn't I'd have t-old my friends to e-eat swe-eet Pammy here! Sh-she's seven, just so you know!" The little girl choked out.

"Felix," Dean growled, "You're using the little girl to talk for you?"

"Pamala is a c-cute little pup-pet. But she's a-annoy-ing. If she d-doesn't stop s-stutter-ing, I'll tell one of my f-friends to t-ake a bite!" The little girl whimpered and took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice for the sake of her life. " So, what shall I make Panama say next?"

Dean gritted his teeth together. To his right, Sam looked like he was going to be sick. But this wasn't just sick, this was downright vile . On his left, Cas looked about ready to rip that monster apart with his bare hands.

"Why don't you talk to me with your own voice, Nessie? Ya scared?" Dean taunted.

"No. That would ruin the fun of the game." The girl spoke slowly, trying her best to stay calm.

"What game?" Castiel demanded, sounding a step away from livid.

"You hunters and your angel have thirty minutes to come and rescue poor, little Pamala. When time is up, I'll tell my friends to- to r-rip her in- into itty-bitty pieces!" The girl let out a panicked sob after finishing the monster's words.

"How are we supposed to do that?" Dean demanded, fuming. "She could be anywhere!"

"No, not anywhere, Dean. She's sitting all wrapped up in the attic of the Florida East Coast Railway Station at Fort Pierce. I might be there with her too, gives you a chance to catch me just to make things interesting. But you better hurry, I hear t-traffic can be a biatch."

"You're gonna pay for this, you son of a bitch!" Dean growled.

"Watch the language, Dean Winchester. There are children present. You don't wanna spoil little Pamala's innocence, do you?"

Dean was so enraged, he couldn't even speak. Luckily, Sam was thinking the same as he was.

"We're gonna kill you," Sam promised.

"Perhaps. But not before I show y-you the truth."

The truth? What truth?

"This call will end in...

Five...

Four..."

"Stay strong, sweetheart!" Dean called to the little girl on the other side of the phone. "We're gonna come help you!"

"Three...

Two...

One...

...

Please save me...

...

I don't wanna die..."

Then the line clicked and the call was over.

Dean clenched his jaw and put the phone away.

"Let's go gank that sick bastard."

~I am not the only traveler

And then I can tell myself

I had all and then most of you

When the night was full of terrors

Lyrics from: The Night We Met by Lord Huron

I had all and then most of you

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thesolitarystripe · 3 years

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History of a Building Written Through the Perspective of a Door.

Writing from the perspective of a door was, harder than I thought. When my new sister-in-law first suggested this prompt I was super excited because of how unique it was and honestly, as someone who talks to inanimate things all the time, I thought it was such a sweet idea. Hubby and I are gearing up to move, as some of you know, and Sarah said "Imagine how the door to your new house feels" and that was all it took to start the gears in my head. This is a feel-good story, unlike much of the other stuff I have been writing. I hope you enjoy it and I hope that this new house we're fighting for is as excited as we are.

It had been six months since the old Willow home was lived in. In the middle of winter, just after Christmas, the old owners left—leaving their home vacant. It never seemed to bother any homeowner when they moved on, some were more hesitant than others; and of course, there were the few that shed tears upon leaving but, they still went. The promise of newness was too alluring to keep them within the same four walls. They never looked back nor did they ever stop to think that perhaps the house was watching them go, panels and wood layered in sadness.

The door of every home, unbeknownst to humankind, were the eyes of the structure while the heart was most assuredly the furnace. There was no brain per se but a general knowingness throughout the plumbing and electric, the flooring and walls, it simply was. It existed with the intentions it was built with. To protect and care for those that dwelled within. No one knew, how could they, a house had no other ways of communicating other than breaking appliances or creaking in the wind—it had no words. The Willow home was no exception. From the moment its door was slapped onto the hinges in the 1960s, it watched and grew to care deeply for those that lived inside. First, there was the original family that bought them after the initial construction. The Bakers. No, they did not have a special knack for baking at all, it was a handed-down surname. The house met the married couple first and was proud to be the first home the newlyweds bought. When they first moved in, the whole home stood taller, felt the excitement in every socket and vent—a new life. The Bakers were content for some time to leave the home as it was; until they had children.

Upon the concrete patio in the backyard, the Willow home raised two sets of tiny feet. Stampings of watery footprints littered the dry concrete as the Baker children shrieked and played in the lush grass and a sprinkler. The young years of those babies were the best the house had ever seen. Every shingle and every wall strengthened beneath the harsh weather, ensuring their little ones were safe as they slept inside. Nothing would harm the Bakers. Thirty years the Bakers stayed. After the first ten, the house grew to think that perhaps this was forever! Every morning the door would peer out into the neighborhood and watch other families adopting pets and noted how they would keep them from pup to senior, and yet no one did the same for their homes. The house to the left, looking out toward the street, of course, had new owners almost every year. The Willow home would watch as another moving van was parked out front and the house’s roof would sag a little bit more.

The next one is the one! It was a thought the Willow home tried to press through the air between the homes but, while they had sentience, they were not gifted words. In fact, the Willow home had learned their entire vocabulary from the Bakers. It was quite easy to exist, to be, but no one ever looked at the front door and said, ‘okay, now you’re called a door and you will swing open and closed to allow your family to enter and leave.’ There were no instructions from the construction workers that built them. The whole house agreed that they did not wake up into existence until the Bakers were brought into the home for a viewing. It was only then, that the door’s eyes were opened and within them, it saw their new life.

Their neighbor to the right was more fortunate than the other neighboring home, while it certainly saw a few families come and go, the space between the moves was larger. The Willow home was the only place to keep one family and it would not have had it any other way. Within the sturdy walls, the home raised the children and watched until they were no longer babies but blossoming young adults.

Then it happened. One morning, the door blinked against the sunlight and saw an unfamiliar sign. A for sale sign. The windows shuddered as if the wind blew fiercely against it, but the day was sunny and still. It was obviously a mistake. That is what the door told the rest of the home until it was apparent from the boxes that began to stack, that the door was very wrong. Every other piece of the home began to question and shake.

What about Anita’s first kiss? That happened right on the front steps, the door saw it happen! Are they leaving that behind?

And what of John’s workbench in the garage? He spent at least six months finishing that project, will he take it with him? We will miss the bench!

The door was silent, staring out at the street as the rest of the home creaked and moaned. The Bakers were leaving, they were not an exception to the fate all houses had. They were not a pet or seen as family.

We are just wood and stone.

After the Bakers left, the house sat dormant for three months. Random strangers were allowed inside to see the innards of the home, all beautifully updated by the Baker family before they left it behind. Why had they done so much if they intended to leave? The countertops in the kitchen asked that a lot. The door never replied. The home finally found new owners within another young couple. Married for several years, no children but a lot of pets. Cats. Dogs. The wooden floors wept for their fate. The door made sure to squeak loudly whenever it was opened, hoping that the new owners would hear the discontent within it. If the door could have swung open and knocked them down, it would have. It took a year for the Willow home to warm up to the new couple, and perhaps a few extra months to embrace the animals. The dog was well-mannered, but those cats liked to claw at the couch. It was not technically part of the home, but it was still difficult to watch. Each time the home heard the rip of fabric, visions of those claws digging into the walls or the floorboards made it shudder.

For six years the couple stayed. The door hardly remembered the names of them. Now six months later and the house was still vacant.

One morning, a man walked up to the door, and behind him followed a young man and woman. The door noted wedding bands on their fingers. A couple. They stepped into the home to look at its insides and something came alight within the structure. It was as if the pair brought a breath into the home that it had not been able to suck in for the last six years. The door alerted the rest of the home.

Look your best!

Why so they can leave us too?

Don’t you feel that?

The door saw it, felt the newness and the excitement of young love and a new chapter. It was the same feeling when the Bakers walked in past the threshold. Oh, if they could stand any taller the house would come apart wooden plank by wooden plank. The countertops glistened and the windows appeared wide and clear. Every appliance, young and old, did its best to show how well it functioned and looked even if some were a bit aged. The young couple let their hands trail over the railings and the walls, perhaps feeling the same measure of electricity that coursed through the house.

“This is it,” the woman said.

“Yeah, we love this place.”

While the door could no longer see them, it could hear just fine, and it almost shot the storm door off its hinges in excitement. This couple was meant to live there, there was no doubt. As the pair made to leave with the man who had shown them in, the young woman let her fingers linger on the door, feeling its weight as she softly closed it. Her eyes drifted over the front of the house, toward the large tree out front.

“You’re not cutting him down!” She yelled back at her husband. The door beamed beneath her hand that still rested on the middle of it. The Bakers never wanted to take down the trees either. The door wanted to press itself into the warmth of her palm but, it was just a door. A hunk of wood and metal. “I hope we’ll be back soon,” she turned suddenly back to the door and spoke to it. “Keep the house safe for us until we get back,” a few gentle pats were placed on its front. “You’re a handsome little door.” That was a new vocabulary word, but the door felt the meaning of it down to its core.

Please come back!

The door wanted to shout as the woman walked away to join her husband on the sidewalk. If there was any couple the Willow home could love as much as the Bakers, it was them. No matter how long they stayed the home wanted to be there for the memories, to keep them safe. The door would wait, watch, every day until the woman who called him handsome returned and was lovingly protected behind their walls.

#writing #creative writing #thesolitarystripe #me writing #writing prompt

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twiistedgalaxies · 3 years

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Genesis: Chapter 6: Pill Capsules and Scrambled Eggs

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves.

Or, alternatively:

The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

Tomura held the smooth, plastic pill organizer, running his finger along the compartment’s hinges. He opened the small, light purple lids with a satisfying click. The morning after he’d forgotten to take his medications on his first night at the orphanage, he had woken up to his brother launching the pill organizer at his head at top speed and with deadly precision. He’d decided not to ask where or how his brother was able to find one. Hisashi seemed to have decided not to tell him. It was a staple of their relationship, him not asking and his not telling. Something left over from their parents, Tomura guessed, all too used to Hisashi pulling cash from seemingly thin air whenever household funds ran thin. At the thought of his parents, Tomura felt the ever present, heavy weight of grief grow more unbearable. He swallowed, over a week later and he still couldn’t believe they were gone.

He laid out his pill bottles methodically, and set about the task of loading each compartment with his afternoon doses.

Sunday. He and his brother had spent last weekend sleeping in the damp holding cells of the police station until the department could figure out what to do with them. The thin sheet they’d each been given did little to fight off the biting cold, most of those nights were spent crying, or staring numbly at the ceiling’s spiderweb cracks. The officers were kind, but it was clear they wanted to be rid of him and his brother. Hisashi had been angry. It was a strange relief, seeing another so upset at his parents’ meeting their ends. The way the people around them reacted, it seemed like the ones who mattered most to them had never even existed. The world just carried on, uncaring.

Monday. They’d arrived at the orphanage. That day was a blur, he just remembered not liking the Matron and feeling apprehensive about the place that was clearly falling apart. He’s still sad he missed out on Monopoly.

Tuesday. His first day of class. He was given a nightmarishly thick classwork packet so he could catch up on classwork, nearly a week had passed and he was still whittling it down slowly between assigned chores. In class he had spitballs launched at him whenever the teacher had his back turned. At recess, no one seemed to want to play with him, giving him a sneer or a disgusted grimace whenever he approached. Instead of playing, he settled for sitting under a large oak tree, working on the drills and exercises in his homework packet. Tomura wasn’t surprised that his peers didn’t like him, no one wants a cripple to drag them down. It still stung though.

Wednesday. Hisashi and Leo must have noticed his dismal mood (despite his constant dodging of their questions) and pulled him aside after dinner to start their still ongoing game of Monopoly. The game was lasting for a ridiculously long time, and was getting stowed with all it’s pieces on a shelf in between sessions, strategically hidden under old textbooks to hide them from the other kids. Despite being glued to some clunky old phone the entire game, Hisashi was still winning by a landslide. This frustrated Tomura to no end, something that his brother’s friends found amusing.

Thursday. Tomura took up a small delivery job for the Matron in exchange for a little bit of spending money. Christmas was coming soon, and he was determined to buy his brother a gift, even if it was just something small.The task landed him in a shadier part of town, which was a particularly impressive feat in the eastern side of LA. He found himself in an old impound lot, filled to the brim with ancient rusting cars and dead shrubs. A squat shack sat in the center of the lot, looking abandoned and haunted, especially next to an imposing storage shed. When he knocked on the door, in the back of his mind he worried the peeling paint and chipping wood would imbed itself in his hand. Luckily, that didn’t happen. The door opened to reveal a scowling, gaunt looking man with sallow skin that looked crumpled like tissue paper.

The man spoke and Tomura couldn’t help but reel back at his terrible breath and rotting teeth, “You one ‘a Abra’s?” he asked.

Tomura nodded and quickly handed over the package he’d been given for this job. The man looked at it for a second, then at Tomura with a dissecting gaze. He shifted uncomfortably under his stare before he heard a grunt and had the door slammed in his face. Tomura blinked with surprise before promptly booking it out of there.

When he returned to the orphanage, the Matron gave him a few crumpled bills and a lecture for his trouble. Apparently she expected him to make nigh instantaneous deliveries. On foot. Going across town. He had to bite his tongue to keep from protesting and instead chose to vent to his older brother, who’s been looking increasingly exhausted, later that night.

Friday. Apparently he wasn’t the only person disliked by his peers, because as he was attacking the homework packet with vigour during recess he noticed three other kids, visibly metahumans, playing with marbles on the sidewalk. One kid looked like a lizard, another had hands that looked like they were coated in a metal alloy, and the last one’s skin seemed to shift colors with his mood. They were in the middle of their game when the kids who’d been launching spitballs and jeers at him throughout the week kicked over their marbles and a fight began to break out. Tomura was on his feet racing towards the group before he had time to think. Desperately, he tried to defend them, only to wind up in the matron’s office, given trash and gum duty for the next several weeks, as well as a particularly nasty black eye.

Later that night, he was woken up by the sounds of the matron arguing loudly on the phone in the common room. Something about payments, shipments, and inspections. It seemed like boring adult stuff, but he didn’t miss the fear in her eyes or the glistening sheen of sweat on her makeup covered face. He was barely able to duck back into his room and return to bed in time before she walked in to make sure the kids were all asleep.

Saturday. He and Hisashi started the day in the back of a filthy taxi, and then in the waiting room of a hospital as the staff got their mom’s room ready. Her withering, pale body hooked up to countless machines is an image that will be burned into his eyes forever, he thinks. The nurse told them that it was a miracle that she survived, but the damage sustained to her brain by the gunshot has rendered her effectively a vegetable. The visit was spent with Tomura desperately clutching her bony hand, talking between sobs, and his brother rubbing circles into his back. For being in a hospital the room was so, so loud. The sounds of the respirator and beeping of the heart monitor created an all-penetrating blanket of noise that had Tomura waking up from a dead-sleep later that night, breathless and in a cold sweat.

Tomura closed the pill organizer, once again enjoying that satisfying click. All of his pain medications were at their maximum dose. He’d been feeling sicker lately, and knew that he wouldn’t have long until his body grew used to the dosing and he’d be rendered incapacitated again. At this thought, he felt a burr of anxiety in his chest. He shoved it down, worrying wouldn’t help anything.

Double-checking his pill organizer one last time, Tomura made sure that all of his things were in order (and well hidden) before he made his way to the mess hall. For all he disliked about the orphanage, he could still appreciate the colorful slats of light the stained glass windows cast on their eating area. The mess hall was as rowdy and packed as usual today, and Tomura found himself wincing at the noise. He made his way to the seat his brother had carved out for himself among his peers.

The teen looked dead on his feet, dark bags under his eyes and surrounded by mysteriously obtained cups of coffee. It was an odd sight to see his normally well-manicured brother so dishevelled, Tomura was instantly worried.

“Hey ‘mura,” his brother greeted, though it came out as a half mumble.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Peachy,” Hisashi replied, brightening when he saw his friends enter the room.

Tomura frowned at the obvious lie, “You’re clearly not fine, what’s wrong?”

Hisashi shifted in his seat visibly uncomfortable, “We all process grief in different ways, I’d really prefer if you didn’t keep pushing, it’s been a long week.”

Tomura nodded in understanding, feeling guilt twist at his stomach, “Sorry,” he grasped his brother’s hand across the table and looked him in the eyes, determined to reinforce his next words, “If you ever want to talk, I’m here, it doesn’t just have to be you who supports me, ya know?”

His brother let out a low hum, and jerked his head towards a table across the room, “It looks like the mutant brats you foolishly put yourself in harm’s way for are over there, if you want to go hang out with them.”

Tomura felt his eyes light up, despite his mild wince at the memory of the verbal reaming his brother gave him after that incident, and a smile stretched across his face. “Alright! I’ll catch you later, okay?” he finished that statement with a look that carried silent promise. We’ll continue this discussion later.

Hisashi smiled sardonically, “Of course.”

-@~*^*~@-

It had, in fact, been a long week. Hisashi smiled and bullshitted with the acquaintances he’d collected since landing in this barnacle of scum attached to an ever-sinking ship. He had spent the week, while confined to the orphanage, feeling for their mannerisms, expectations, and wants. It never hurt to cultivate future connections after all, even if they were rather irritating, and if their nightly Monopoly game served as a device to further these connections and goals as well as make his baby brother happy? All the better.

He yawned, the caffeine he’d been given as a cashed-in favor could only do so much. There was an increasingly familiar buzz in his pocket. He carefully kept his facial expression from changing. As he spoke about baseball or something equally trivial, his thoughts turned to the thorn in his side.

After making contact with Matt his first night at the orphanage, he was reached out to by an anonymous messenger. They asked him to perform a steep task. One that he wasn’t particularly willing to fulfill.

Unknown Number

Tuesday, 3:25am

[I need a favor.]

[How did you get this number?]

[We have a..]

[Mutual associate.]

[I see.]

Tuesday, 1:03pm

[So about the favor]

[Yes?]

[There's a pest that we need you to eliminate.]

[I assume that’s not all you intend for me to go off of.]

[Of course not.]

[I’d like to meet with you face to face before doing anything drastic.]

[Security concerns you see, I’m not going to

such efforts for someone I’ve never met.]

Wednesday, 11:00am

[Fine.]

[We’ve decided to meet with you.]

[Come to the old warehouse off West Beverly]

[You better be as good as we’ve been told you are.]

[Of course, only the best quality of service for my clients.]

[Be there at 1am sharp, Sunday morning.]

[See you then.]

Saturday, 9:00am

[Just confirming that you aren’t pussying out

on us.]

[Of course not.]

[How am I to know this is not a trap?]

[Don’t be an idiot, why would we ambush you if we

want something from you?]

Based on the use of “we” in their correspondences, it seems like he was dealing with an organization of some sort. That, or some petulant brats whose daddy hit them too much. Either way, he’d always met with his clients face to face to sort out the specifics of his deals. Just because he’d grown rusty doesn’t mean he’d grown stupid. Despite their placations, he knew that he could very easily be walking into a trap. Especially, since the mafia was involved. It’s because of this that he (unfortunately) had to exchange texts with Matt.

Pest

Thursday, 2:00pm

[I’m meeting with a client on Saturday.]

[Oh? So you’re finally taking on deals again?]

[A gif of Mushu from Mulan, clutching a sword

and talking to a cricket saying, “My little baby,

off to destroy people.”]

[Very funny.]

[I don’t know how trustworthy they are, so if I don’t

send you a text confirming my safety by Sunday night,

assume the worst. If anything bad happens I need you to

take care of my brother.]

[And I’m doing this because…?]

[If they do prove to be trustworthy, I can give you an in.]

[I know you’re always looking for new sources of information.]

[Alright, alright. I’m a man of my word. I’ll lend

you a hand.]

[I’ll hold you to that.] Seen

Dealing with Matt more than necessary was an.. undesirable outcome. However, Hisashi wasn’t so foolish as to enter a meeting, completely blind, with no back-up plan. At least this way he could ensure Tomura would be safe, even if something happened to himself. He was just about to dig into his eggs when the matron stepped up to the front of the room. As he continued to engage in pointless chatter, he watched her from the corner of his eye. This couldn’t be good.

“Ahem-hem,” the insufferable woman began. Her pointless throat clearing was drowned out in the noise that flooded the mess hall. He watched her pull her angular features into an often adorned scowl. She looked at those under her care as if they’d just taken a leak in her cereal.

“Excuse me,” she tried, once again ignored. Looking frustrated, she grabbed a nearby glass and spoon from a table and clinked them together loudly, finally forcing the room into silence, “First of all, I will not tolerate such insolence from those I house, feed and clothe. If it takes me this long to get everyone’s attention again, the consequences will be severe, understood?”

“Yes Matron Abra,” the children droned, sounding as if they were trying out for a funeral march ensemble.

“Good. Secondly, it has come to my attention that some of you have been making late night excursions,” she continued. Hisashi worked to keep his face schooled into a calm facade. He’d been going out each night to perform small jobs for Matt. Each time he went out, he was always careful. There had to be someone else slipping out as well, but who? The mess hall erupted into murmurs as his peers asked similar (and several more) questions. Matron Abra waited a few beats for the chatter to die down, then said, “As a result, the staff and I will be patrolling the hallways and making increased checks to the sleeping quarters. Within the week, we will be hiring on a security detail to ensure that everyone is ah,” her face split into a viscous grin, “safe and sound in their beds.”

Hisashi felt his brows knit together, how the hell could they afford a security detail when this place was falling apart? Then, it dawned on him as to how much of a hindrance these new measures would be, sneaking out was already a pain on it’s own, but with guards and frequent visits to the sleeping quarters? He’d have to start pulling out tricks he hasn’t used since he was in middle school. Well, fuck.

A/N: This is a bit of a filler chapter, since I didn't want Tomura to drop off the face of the Earth narrative-wise while Hisashi wakes up each day and chooses violence. As per usual, feel free to leave a comment, feedback helps me improve my writing! I don't have much else to say in this week's A/N, school has made me really tired and I want to take a forty-year long nap.

Edit: I think the formatting gods are smacking me with a stick today. First I was having issues with AO3 then tumblr decided my last paragraph needed to be at the top of the post.

AO3

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clansayeed · 4 years

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Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 14: The Summons

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

When the Amulet of Nero is stolen from within Raines Corp. the time comes to call a special Summons of the Council. And that's just what Gaius wanted.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Nadya waits on the curbside for twenty minutes. Tells herself he probably just got caught in traffic or something. It had snowed for the better part of the day; that wet, sticky kind of snow that clung to roadsides and turned luxury cars (however practical Adrian insisted they be) into useless little wagons.

Even she’s a little disappointed in herself for waiting that long and not just making her way to the subway. She’s gotten spoiled.

[TEXT]: hope ur ok. grabbing the subway instead

By the time the metal cars squeal into her stop Nadya is suitably confused. It’s not like Adrian not to read his messages. Out of the underground she tries to call — the phone rings three times then straight to voice mail.

Confusion melts into worry when she tries Kamilah instead — same thing; ring. ring. ring and nothing.

There might have been a few more steps in between, but when Nadya turns the corner to the sight of flashing red and blue lights and three police cars in front of Raines Corp. she jumps all the way up to panic and breaks out in a run for the building entrance.

“Miss, this is a closed scene.”

“I’m an employee.” She fumbles for the badge she so rarely uses down in her purse, fingers shaking from fear and the cold and she’s never really done well with authority figures so the deep-set frown the officer fixates on her isn’t helping. When she finally fishes it out, though, the uniform looks away — couldn’t care less.

“You need to leave, miss.”

“Hello, can’t you read?” Nadya raises her voice and tries to press her badge a little harder into the woman’s line of sight. The responding glare she gets is not a kind one.

Bad move, bad move bad move —

Thank god she catches sight of Adrian and Kamilah through the revolving door. And she doesn’t feel the least bit sorry when Kamilah breezes her way through and all but throws the cop to the slushy curb to bring her inside.

“What’s going on?” Nadya looks around; latches herself to the woman’s side because relationship-be-darned there are people in black jackets carrying boxes and kits and officers in uniform and suits everywhere and she’s never seen anything like this outside of Most Wanted. “Kamilah — what happened?”

Halfway to Adrian and still without an answer Nadya stops, digs her heels into the tile slippery from melted snow and grabs onto Kamilah’s sleeve. It’s enough to stop her but she can tell right away the vampiress is distracted in a way Nadya isn’t sure she’s ever seen the like of.

“What happened?” she tries again, and finally (finally) Kamilah focuses on her.

“There was a break-in.”

What? “Here?” Dumb question. “What—when—is anyone—or—what —”

Hands heavy with the weight of ages fall on her shoulders and its almost scary how naturally she relaxes under them. Something Kamilah notices too, without a doubt, but neither of them comment on because there’s too much going on.

Nadya gathers herself under that touch. Only when she’s at least mostly certain her words will come out in the right order does she try again.

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Three security guards were killed.” She says it so easily. Nadya covers her mouth with the back of her hand.

Kamilah continues; “Adrian was able to get to me before the police, but there are protocols that must be followed for businesses such as ours. To our benefit, Lester has most of the detectives here under his thumb. We wait until they complete the official paperwork to discuss this, is that understood?”

Which is harsh, even by Kamilah’s standards. Especially seeing as Nadya’s on the verge of blubbering panicked right now, because even under the normal scents of metal and the night janitor’s floor polish she catches the familiar smell coming through the air vents.

Blood.

“Kamilah…” How is it that after everything she’s seen and done she still manages to sound so frightened?

Thankfully though the woman seems to catch herself. She slides her palms down to Nadya’s upper arms; feels the trembling beneath her coat and presses in with her thumbs. Something familiar, something grounding.

Nadya swallows around the lump in her throat. “This is too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

After all who just wakes up one afternoon and decides to rob a biotech corporation?

Kamilah confirms her fears with a nod. “It was an impulsive act, but the wounds are unmistakable.”

Vampires.

Trying to play dumb would only be willful ignorance at this point. There’s no other reason vampires would break into the building.

The moment Nadya understands Kamilah is there to hold her steady; like she was waiting for it.

“Yes, Nadya. They took the Amulet.”

It shouldn’t be any consolation that she can feel the worry ebbing into Kamilah’s voice normally so sure and steady. Or that when she can feel her legs solid enough to keep walking Adrian looks at the pair of them over a detective’s shoulder with a face so worn from exhaustion.

It shouldn’t be, but it is a little bit.

Because the city has to bring in a coroner it takes more than a few hours for everything to clear up. Nadya takes it upon herself to stand outside and give calm and understanding explanations to the employees who had the misfortune of showing up for work anyway — and maybe she does it with a little extra side-eye to the officer who had given her so much trouble in the beginning, maybe she doesn’t.

Could she be blamed?

Only when sunrise starts to peek over the man-made horizon does Nadya realize who exactly Kamilah had been referring to when she mentioned some of the detectives were on their side — or at least on their payroll. They’re the ones who don’t question it when Adrian starts up a fuss about how long the force has been taking in his lobby, about how exhausted he is; whatever it takes to get them to clear out as fast as possible.

She makes sure to throw a sympathetic smile his way. Nadya knows how much he hates having to put on the airs of a corporate douche (Jax’s words, not hers in the slightest). And she can tell he tries to return it as much as he can… but it’s a lot for him.

When the atrium finally empties and Nadya has shooed away most of the crowd they venture down to the labs.

Nadya finds it strange to think only a few days ago she was down here with the rest of them. The pristine white space not bothered by crime scene tape or the smudges of fingerprinting powder on every surface. Part of her wants to look away from the blood splatters hovering ominous without bodies to place them. The rest of her feels like she has a responsibility to bear witness.

In an impressive display of strength the large steel door is nearly ripped from the hinges. The bolt sealing it shut is still partially inside the wall. Whoever broke in was in a rush — yanking open drawers and cabinets until they found what they were looking for and careless to whatever was in their way. Now all the files and even a few chemical tubes are strewn across the floor in disarray.

She carefully avoids stepping in the pool of dried blood just in front of the vault entrance.

“It’s as though they didn’t know where to look,” comments Adrian as he crosses the taped-off doorway, “only what they were looking for.”

Nadya recalls briefly the sight of Kamilah in these very basements on the other side of the building. Where she lifted the stone lid from Lily’s empty coffin without so much as a furrowed brow.

“So we don’t have to guess who did this, right?” She looks between the vampires and hates that they all share the same thought. “They tore through solid steel like it was paper.”

It was their fault for pretending like the Trinity wouldn’t come for the Amulet. A darker, more cynical part of Nadya is surprised they didn’t try something like this sooner.

Still — it would be nice if either one of them had something helpful to say. But neither of them do, and the silence tries achingly to make them accept the truth.

“We must assume the worst;” Kamilah admits with a heavy sigh, “that the Amulet is now in Gaius’ possession, or nearly so. It’s time we summoned the Council, Adrian. We can’t keep them in the dark any longer — not if we have any hope of getting them on our side.”

Nadya frowns. “Why wouldn’t they be? This is Gaius we’re talking about. You all stood up to him once before.”

“Yes — and if you recall it was the hardest thing we have ever had to do.”

“Which means it should be easier the second time around.”

Adrian’s voice takes her by surprise as he exits the vault.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

She can’t believe what she’s hearing. “And why is that?”

“Just because. You’ve felt it too I’m guessing —” the vampires exchange looks that Nadya doesn’t quite recognize, that has her whirling around back and forth until she’s so dizzy she might fall just to try and understand what isn’t being said out loud, “— ever since I saw the empty sarcophagus it’s like he’s been looming over me; a shadow I can’t quite see.”

Hesitantly Kamilah nods. “I’ve found myself entertaining thoughts I never would have in the last century. It was only a matter of time before his influence began to reach out to us, unfettered. And if we have felt it there is little doubt Cecil and Lester have as well. Even if they aren’t conscious of the truth.”

Nadya bites her lip; chews it so hard she nearly breaks skin.

“Is that why you’ve been acting weird, Adrian?”

He nods once; curt and like just that little act causes him an immense pain.

When I said I wanted answers… but she doesn’t finish the thought. There are more important things to do.

“Then let’s get it over with.”

Nadya wipes her forehead with the back of her hand again — this exhale just as shaky as the last. She had not thought this through.

“Are you sure you’re okay for this?” Lily asks and, just like the three times previous, Nadya nods with lips pursed tight to keep them from wobbling with strain.

Because she couldn’t not be here now. She has to see this through. Only the last time she was in this particular room it hadn’t gone so well, had it? The memories of that awful throne and now she has the displeasure of knowing the voice of the wretched man who once sat upon it and both of those things echo inside her skull in a surround sound she can only describe as sickening.

It’s saying a lot that she prefers hearing the red-faced rage of the Baron over whispers of ghostly memories. Neither are preferable, but not much Nadya can do to change it now.

“What do you mean, ‘the Sarcophagus is empty?!’”

Lester tries to appear like he’s sitting the picture of the calm his fellow Council member isn’t. But his bouncing leg betrays him. “Not to say anything against your credit, Kamilah, but are you certain you weren’t perhaps imagining things?” His smarmy smile isn’t returned by any of the five faces all turning to glare at him as one.

“What? I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had similar ones over the years.”

Jax’s brow ticks in frustration. “And what are you saying about Raines and I, then?”

“Bite your damn tongue, boy!” The Baron’s face bulges with every word, like the pounding of his temples might swell his head before he pops inside of his tight and outdated collar. Of the three of them Nadya wouldn’t have expected him to have the worst reaction of the three.

And while she tries not to compare the ramblings of a guy like Lester with her own, she instead focuses on Priya — the uncharacteristically silent one.

She doesn’t know much about the former youngest of the Council, only what Adrian had told her in his brief run-down of what to expect now that she was his assistant in all things business and vampiric. Priya was the only one of the seated members (barring Jax, now) who wasn’t Turned by Gaius. The Council had their enterprises sure but she was Priya Lacroix. She ran a fashion empire. Even the likes of Lily and Nadya — meaning those who had never spent more than department store prices on a pair of jeans — knew her label and the outrageous trends she was known for creating.

At Adrian’s trial, Nadya had learned the hard way that Priya was on no one’s team but her own. Back then that had meant siding with Vega.

What did it mean now, she wonders, and holds her churning stomach at all the ways that little thought alone could go wrong for them.

To Kamilah’s credit she waits until the Baron has stopped huffing and puffing to continue.

“It was no illusion. The Onyx Sarcophagus was unbound and opened. For some time, from the looks of it. Surely you’ve felt his reach even if you had no name for it until now.

“If you still have trouble taking me at my word Cecil, then I ask you this; when was the last time you remember seeing your key?”

Lester thinks he’s subtle when he reaches to pat his trouser pockets. But the relief on his face is clear, even when he catches Adrian staring at him from across their semi-circle of seats. “Don’t look at me! I have mine!”

A grinding noise makes the vampires and their sensitive ears flinch. All but Priya, who continues to let her stone chair chip away at her manicure as a look of bewildered anger darkens her normally sultry expression.

“I can’t remember. Why the fuck can’t I remember?!”

The Baron tears open his collar to reveal more of his flushed chest; which does nothing for Nadya’s upset stomach. Lily dramatically buries her face into Maricruz’s shoulder as though to shield herself from blindness. On her left, Cadence swallows down a gagging noise.

“I— Where is my damned key?!”

He goes to point an accusatory finger at Kamilah, but is cut off by Adrian before he can say something he’ll very likely regret.

“It’s our belief that once the keys were taken from us, a very thin layer of psychic suggestion was put in place to keep us from looking. Enough time had passed that we weren’t checking up on him frequently.”

“Well no shit,” Priya grumbles, “the last time I did it the smell of his rot stunk up my favorite Amur shawl.” She pulls a stunned nail file from her messy high-bun and starts about fixing the damage done.

Even Adrian looks like he can’t believe the day has come where he and Priya agree on something. “Sure, that… too.”

“But who would be so foolish?” asks Lester. “We all knew the dangers of his ideas — and what he would do to us if he was ever freed.”

Kamilah clenches her jaw. The Baron doesn’t miss it and throws her a sneer.

“Having regrets, Your Highness?” Though every trace of his accusation withers under her red-eyed stare.

“You would do well to watch your tongue, Cecil.” And Nadya sees the way she shifts tense in her seat; the look she throws the throne beside her under the guise of closing her eyes and gathering herself. It makes her want to run across the Chamber to Kamilah and hold her tight. To make promises that everything was going to be okay even if she didn’t know whether or not it was the truth.

“If you recall, it was my betrayal that sealed his fate.”

Priya scoffs. “We have just as much to lose as you if he’s coming for us.”

“Oh he’s coming for us all right… make no mistake there.” And though his voice wavers in fear Priya doesn’t deem Lester’s warning worth a reply.

“Unfortunately, Lester is right.”

Kamilah, Adrian, and Jax trade silent nods. They’ve come this far — and without the Amulet going back is impossible. The men defer to Kamilah and the authority of her years.

A burden she doesn’t take lightly. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, this is something Jax, Adrian, and myself have known about for some time. It was our hope to deal with the situation swiftly and silently; to prevent this very Summons from occurring. But to keep you in the dark is no longer an option, not without putting you and your Clans in significant danger.”

“The world is in danger as long as that mad king roams free, Kamilah.” Lester says with a sigh. Kamilah doesn’t disagree, but continues.

“In our investigation we’ve come to learn several things. Firstly, Gaius has had an agent acting under his orders for a decade at the least, though it’s more likely that he has kept Jameson under his thumb the entire length of his imprisonment.”

The other Council members react with mixed shock and anger.

“Jameson? But he always seemed so… demure.”

“Eugh, I always knew he was a freak. Anyone that obsessed with frock coats would be.”

The Baron growls at Kamilah yet again. “Am I the only one remembering just whose Clan he was part of?”

“Of course not Cecil,” Kamilah snaps back, “but it was not I who made him. And we all know the power of a Maker’s thrall. Taking into account that Jameson and Isseya both are naturally gifted in the psychic arts…”

With a snap Priya’s file breaks in two; half splintering in her closed fist while the other slips and falls to her heel. “That bitch is involved?”

“Both of the Trinity are,” Adrian answers; gives Kamilah what looks like a much-needed respite with a short nod and by while leaning with his elbows on his knees, “and its more than likely they have been since the Awakening Ball, at the very least. Which brings me to our next point… and the reason we called this Summons tonight.

“Under Gaius’ orders, they have been hunting down the Amulet of Nero. The Trinity’s third was tasked with keeping it hidden until Gaius had need of it, but when the man died the Amulet’s location was lost with him. I was able to track the Amulet down to a supernatural auction in New Orleans and securely bring it back.”

It would be a valiant summary to a heroic story… if he didn’t leave it with an awkward silence. And by now the rest of the Council — well they’ve already gotten so much bad news already in such a short amount of time. Nadya doesn’t blame them for waiting for the other pin to drop.

“But?” presses Lester. Even Priya — though maybe more so now because she doesn’t have anything to distract herself with — seems rapt with attention.

“But despite his best efforts, my little soldier always seems to fall just short of the mark.”

Back at Persephone, Nadya just knew the Trinity was alone; that Gaius wasn’t with them. Didn’t know how she knew or what it would have even felt like if he was there.

It would have felt like this. An oppressive, suffocating heaviness in the air seeping its way both into her throat and wrapping around her from the outside. Squeezing, tightening with every breath; filling her with terror and anger and (nauseatingly) a kind of joy that should never be associated with the smell of death that wafts into the Chamber and into her every pore.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

If his very presence wasn’t so terrifying she might have the stomach left to laugh. Gaius doesn’t bother with a glamour this time — no he’s much too pleased for that. The joy whistling between his rotting teeth as he descends the steps into the Chamber and looks out on them all with a literally lip-splitting grin.

The night wind howling above the city filters down and screams like a thousand roused graves. They dance around him, make the wisps of his hair shift around his hollowed face, and disperse like an omen around them.

Witness him. Behold him. Tremble before the King of Vampires.

All around Nadya the vampires rise together; a front united in only one thing — fear. Just like at dinner she stays seated but there’s no willful defiance here. She just can’t move.

Like that stops Gaius from honing in on her anyway. “I told you Nadya — that throne is mine still, even after all these years. Such a tragedy that the pretenders to my kingdom haven’t taken care of it as they should have, though.”

Lily and Maricruz step in front of her — she appreciates the gesture but wants to scream at them to run and save themselves. I’ve seen what he can do. I don’t want that for you. But she doesn’t, not even when she feels the towering form of Cadence at her back.

And Kamilah is so far away…

Strange that the thing that gets her to stand is the sight of Jameson coming up behind his Master’s back. Like a caricature, huddled behind Gaius like an immortal shield. Seeing him brings her to a boiling point, makes her remember living through Lily’s death—living through her murder—and all the pain it caused, continues to cause…

“What are you doing here?”

The only ones surprised when Valdas and Isseya appear at the rear of Gaius’ awful entourage are the Trinity themselves. Mortified, Valdas stares at Cadence and grabs for his lover’s hand. She takes it wordlessly; her expression unreadable.

“Now now Valdemaras, this isn’t the time.”

Just like before; his pretty words so cold and cruel. How they make him recoil, how they make Kamilah’s eyes flash with the briefest hint of pity.

The Council are equals but they bend to Kamilah on this — let the eldest be the first to step forward on the chopping block.

“Gaius.”

He fixates on her in a flash of milk-white eyes. His sunken features barely able to hold his twisted frown.

“Kamilah, my Queen.”

The word stings her like a slap to the face, but Kamilah keeps her composure.

“The years haven’t been kind.”

“No, I suppose they haven’t.” He reaches up and presses at his skin with fingers that aren’t in much better shape. Priya tries not to gag and might even turn her face away if she weren’t fixated on him in terror.

“And who do I have to thank for that, I wonder?”

Kamilah inclines her head but says nothing. Adrian steps up behind her, ever at her back. And if he’d hoped to draw Gaius’ attention away it worked — and a little too well at that.

“And Adrian, my lovely little soldier. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the part you played all those years ago.”

“I would hope you ha—”

“Sssh…”

All Gaius has to do is hold up a finger and the entire Chamber falls silent. The vampires, the wind; Nadya even finds her thoughts waiting on hesitant breath to hear what he has to say. How it feels so terribly vitally important.

It makes him croon in satisfaction. “Much better. I hate to see how quickly you’ve forgotten your manners; all of you. But I suppose it’s to be expected when you don’t have a guiding hand to show you the way.”

Slow and purposeful he strides deeper into the Chamber. His cape catches on the packed dirt underfoot but it’s just another way for the literal world to yield to him. “I should thank you, first, for convening yourselves and saving me the trouble. I would have hated to have to hunt you down one by one — this way retribution will be swift and just.

“But the real reason I’m here is to offer my congratulations.” But Jameson, ever gleeful, is the only one who claps. “You’ve had a very profitable… how many years was it? Ninety-nine, I think? Part of me almost wished to wait and make it an even century. But I could not find enough benevolence in me to give you the satisfaction… as they say — nobody’s perfect.

“But I wonder if you have given ample time to consider the ramifications of your success. How far back you’ve bent to this sniveling population of chattel in pursuit of your backwards notions of them. The belief that they are somehow equal to us given sheer numbers alone.

“The infestation of them would not have spread so far had you not committed such a heinous crime.”

“Our only crime was defying you!” Adrian spits out, red-faced and the exertion it takes to resist whatever spell he holds them all under shows in the sweat beading on his brow.

“And that was crime enough!”

All around Nadya the vampires flinch as if struck by the back of an invisible hand. Even Jameson, who recoils away but refuses to let himself be lumped in among the masses of those Gaius deems as traitors.

For a walking corpse though, it’s impressive how quickly he regains his composure. Just as quick as he had lost it. He smooths back the wisps of his hair and eases blind rage into the same yellowing smile.

“Ninety-nine years is a long time. Though I’m sure I don’t need to tell any of you that.” He gestures wide to the Council at large, open arms spread in the same arrogant pride has he had at the banquet table.

“Long enough for you to become titans of industry and advancement, and to grow complacent in your greatest lies. You have deluded yourselves, my children, into thinking that you live in times of peace. You believed the evil vanquished and the world spared of a so-called price which you deemed too high… despite not being the ones who would have to make it.

“Some might call this loyalty. I would call it treachery. Your loyalty should never have been to humans, to the plague of them that stretches across the world. It should have been to me.

“But I suppose the only one truly at fault is myself.” Gaius hangs his head forlornly. “Somewhere along the line… I must have been too lax, too forgiving. I followed the tools She gave me to the letter and yet even in the first of my line I could never inspire quite the same devotion as She could. Not without the missing link.”

His grey palm twists upwards and the fire pits lining the Chamber walkway catch on glittering gold and red. The Amulet of Nero rests, neatly cradled in offering; as though it belonged there. Then it isn’t Gaius holding anyone captive, not any longer — the Amulet does that job for him perfectly, possibly even better.

A fact that isn’t lost on him. Reverence choking at his voice as he gives his audience the chance to admire it.

“It is to my understanding that you’ve been hard at work trying to open the Amulet. Points for understanding it is not the Amulet itself that holds the power but what lies within it. Though I suspect, my dearest Bloodqueen, you have a little something to do with that.”

Kamilah glares down at him. And would very well take his words and impale him on them if she could. He’s giving her the chance to speak but she can’t—or won’t—take it.

She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Gaius knows this, and seems heartbroken by it. “I see, and this is truly the path you wish to take?” But again the only reply is the hollow quiet. He thumbs the gemstone almost absentmindedly.

“Very well.”

Gaius throws his head back, familiarity gently shaking away a head of thick hair no longer there. Watching his fangs descend is more like seeing maggots crawl from an open wound — something Nadya has never seen in person and now will never need to. They’re as stained and rotting inside-out like the rest of the teeth left in his skull and surely they once have must been long and proud; something of a status symbol. Not anymore.

But they are no less sharp. And in the silent hall the wet sound of those fangs sinking into the sagging flesh of his exposed wrist is terrible; just like the stench of foul death that follows. Nadya tells herself it’s a trick of the (lack of) light that when he pulls back the blood dripping from his mouth is almost black.

“Nothing you could have attempted would have proven fruitful,” says Gaius, mouth full of his own blood that spills down his chin through his smile, “because only the purest of blood could relinquish the spell here. Nothing so diluted as what filthy muck most of you had crawled from; not even that of my own line. Only those Turned with the blessing of the Goddess would be able to ensure Her return… I made sure of that.”

His self-inflicted wound takes its sweet time to heal. Plenty of time for him to bring the Amulet close, cradled like a fragile trinket (which was definitely not the case, and they had a list of ways that had been proven) and let his blood drip—drip—drip over the jewel with purpose.

Whatever enchantment was holding it closed was also holding the true nature of the thing back — that much is obvious. The latch of it comes undone so soft she doesn’t hear a thing, then he pries the pieces apart with a rotted thumb. The Amulet’s influence comes in waves so strong Nadya, too, can finally feel them. Feels the magnetic pull of it and she wonders with all of her awe if she were to jump from the ground wound it bring her ever closer, would it finally then have hold over her?

She has the sense not to, thank god, but Lily’s knees buckle under the pressure. Nadya and Maricruz hold her up quickly, Nadya’s sleeve wiping away the sweat at her temples.

“It’s…” She struggles to find the words. Lily Always-With-Something-To-Say Spencer is speechless. And she’s not alone.

Even the man himself gazes in reverence. Plucks something from the heart of the locket and lets it fall away, unenchanted and plain, back to the dirt where it belongs. Its contents are its value. Gaius holds it up to the light; a little red vial, no bigger than her thumb, with designs on the glass that catch in the dancing flames.

Nadya realizes a bit too (foolishly) late that it isn’t the vial that glitters, but what’s inside of it. Blood, undeniably blood, but the brightest and most beautiful blood she’s ever seen. What she had thought was the reflection of light is actually flecks of gold dancing within it.

Dancing to a song that, if she closes her eyes and listens with all her might, Nadya thinks she can hear.

The blood of the First Vampire.

And they understand all at once and in a horrifying way exactly what he plans on doing with it.

He breaks the vial’s waxy seal and raises it in his sole cheers. “To my good health.”

“NO!”

Flecks of blood dot across Kamilah’s cheek. But she and the rest of the Council are still held immobile by the power of the vial, no longer captivated but forced to behold it. All but Adrian, his own blood dripping red and violent from his nose; his ears. Breaking out from the vial’s spell—from Gaius’ spell—has him pale and shaking, and whatever willpower he found to do it is stronger than his ability to heal.

Nadya watches with tears burning in her eyes and teeth clenched in a struggle between wanting to keep him safe and needing him to save them.

Her cries — silent but desperate. Please Adrian, please!

She’d like to think he almost makes it. Optimistic failure — that’s what her life has been reduced to. But it’s better than nothing, even if it’s still failure.

Adrian falls to his knees with Gaius just out of reach. He struggles, maybe he even knows its in vain, but reaching out as he does, still trying to claw his way to the vial, fighting through agony — it just hurts.

“Aagh!” When he yields its clutching his head, its threatening to tear out clumps of his hair and more blood falling down his face and sticking awful to his lips. “My… hh-head…”

His Maker looks down not with disdain but with pity.

“Time and time again my soldiers keep disappointing me,” he laments; like he’s the wounded party when Adrian hadn’t managed to lay a finger on him, “First Valdemaras, then Banner… I had hoped to break the cycle with you, Adrian. My strong Adrian… a little too willful at the end but I would expect nothing less.”

“You bas… bas…” But whatever is hurting him is too much. Gaius sighs.

“That is enough, Jameson. He’s earned his last words.”

Behind him the psychic vampire withdraws; pulls his hand back and instantly Adrian slumps to the ground. Too weak even to stop the way Gaius brushes the back of a grey finger over his cheek.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” snarls Kamilah.

Gaius looks up to her sharply.

“Now — a few last efforts I may tolerate. But such blatant disrespect is beneath you, Kamilah. You would dare order me?”

“Do not. dare. touch him. Gaius.”

And with that — he’s done. He steps back in a flourish, his warped face twisted in rage. “Enough of this insolence! You’ve forgotten manners, respect — you have forgotten to fear me. But that will change.”

He looks down at Adrian, struggling on his shaking limbs — fighting to stand, and shoves his progeny down beneath his heel. Gone is the man who found amusement in their torment, in playing sick games and offering speeches with false praise.

With Adrian trapped under his heel Gaius raises the vial to his lips and downs the contents whole.

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maverick-werewolf · 4 years

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Werewolf Fact #56 - Arthur and Gorlagon, pt 2

Wow, that last post was a hit, huh?

Here’s the riveting conclusion to Part 1, which you can find here.

And, as before, this is the translation from which I will be drawing quotes. Let’s get to it and see how this story ends!

I want to warn you THIS IS A REALLY BIG POST. So read the rest of this story under the cut - because otherwise this post will eat up my blog the moment I post it!

By the way? This is a GREAT werewolf story if you want to see a classic folkloric example of just how badass werewolves are really meant to be (and also get to see them using their paws as hands - or does he have clawed, hairy hands, as is implied by one particular passage where he takes a baby into his arms? who knows? - and breaking chains and generally being frelling awesome).

Here we go...

Well, we left off with our werewolf king ravaging the countryside, and then came a young king to hunt the beast and slay it. Our werewolf is not a fool, though, and this is yet another reminder that werewolves retain their human intelligence...

So one night when the wolf had gone to a neighbouring village, greedy for bloodshed, and was standing under the eaves of a certain house listening intently to a conversation that was going on within, it happened that he heard the man nearest him tell how the King had proposed to seek and track him down on the following day

The werewolf returned to the woods and wondered what to do. He didn’t really want to be killed by this hotshot king and his entourage of hunters. So when the king and his hounds and hunters arrived at the forest, the werewolf hid and waited for everyone to go by (hounds got nothin’ on him, good luck finding a werewolf)...

He waited until the king approached. And then he, in the spirit of Bisclavret... and I’m going to quote this entire section because I love it, so here we go--

he saw the King approaching (for he judged from his countenance that it was the King) he dropped his head and ran close after him, and encircling the King's right foot with his paws he would have licked him affectionately like a suppliant asking for pardon, with such groanings as he was capable of.

Then two noblemen who were guarding the King's person, seeing this enormous wolf (for they had never seen any of so vast a size), cried out, "Master, see here is the wolf we seek! see, here is the wolf we seek! strike him, slay him, do not let the hateful beast attack us!"

The wolf, utterly fearless of their cries, followed close after the King, and kept licking him gently. The King was wonderfully moved, and after looking at the wolf for some time and perceiving that there was no fierceness in him, but that he was rather like one who craved for pardon, was much astonished, and commanded that none of his men should dare to inflict any harm on him, declaring- that he had detected some signs of human understanding in him; so putting down his right hand to caress the wolf he gently stroked his head and scratched his ears.

Groanings, not barking. These people knew what a wolf actually sounds like. If It was a modern story, I bet they’d have said he barked... Anyway.

Then the werewolf went home with the king! He even rode on a horse. So with his new werewolf friend, the king ordered everyone home. But he didn’t get very far before a great stag appeared. Wanting to test “his wolf” and see if it would obey him, the king ordered the werewolf to go after the stag. The werewolf caught and killed it instantly.

So the king said,

"Of a truth you must be kept alive and not killed, seeing that you know how to show such service to us."

And here, yet again, we get another small interruption of Gorlagon beseeching King Arthur to eat. And again, Arthur stays true to his word and refuses. Gorlagon then resumes the story...

So the wolf remained with the King, and was held in very great affection by him. Whatever the King commanded him he performed, and he never showed any fierceness towards or inflicted any hurt upon any one. He daily stood at table before the King at dinner time with his forepaws erect, eating of his bread and drinking from the same cup. Wherever the King went he accompanied him, so that even at night he would not go to rest anywhere save beside his master's couch.

However, we come to the twist in the story...

The king had to go away for a long time, so he left “his wolf”/the werewolf with the queen. But this queen hated the wolf and told the king that she was afraid of the wolf, saying he might attack her in the night. To which the king said,

"Have no fear of that, for I have detected no such symptom in him all the long time he has been with me. However, if you have any doubt of it, I will have a chain made and will have him fastened up to my bed-ladder." So the King gave orders that a chain of gold should be made, and when the wolf had been fastened up by it to the steps, he hastened away to the business he had on hand.

And here again we are interrupted for Gorlagon to ask Arthur to dismount and eat - which he still refuses to do. So back to the story...

The king left, the werewolf remained chained up, and the queen didn’t care for him as she should have. The king ordered that he be chained up at night only, but she kept him chained constantly. And then she did something, uh, not great - she cheated on the king.

In fact, she cheated on the king with a guy in that exact bedchamber that the werewolf was in. Can you imagine - this poor werewolf. Well, he didn’t like that much...

And when the wolf saw them rushing into each other's impious embraces he blazed forth with fury, his eyes reddening, and the hair on his neck standing up, and he began to make as though he would attack them, but was held back by the chain by which he was fastened. And when he saw they had no intention of desisting from the iniquity on which they had embarked, he gnashed his teeth, and dug up the ground with his paws, and venting his rage over all his body, with awful howls he stretched the chain with such violence that it snapped in two.

When loose he rushed with fury upon the sewer [the lover] and threw him from the bed, and tore him so savagely that he left him half-dead. But to the Queen he did no harm at all, but only gazed upon her with venom in his eye. Hearing the mournful groans of the sewer, the servants tore the door from its hinges and rushed in. When asked the cause of all the tumult, that cunning Queen concocted a lying story, and told the servants that the wolf had devoured her son, and had torn the sewer as they saw while he was attempting to rescue the little one from death, and that he would have treated her in the same way had they not arrived in time to succour her. So the sewer was brought half dead to the guest-chamber. But the Queen fearing that the King might somehow discover the truth of the matter, and considering how she might take her revenge on the wolf, shut up the child, whom she had represented as having been devoured by the wolf, along with his nurse in an underground room far removed from any access; every one being under the impression that he had in fact been devoured.

Werewolf stories are so cool, you guys. I love werewolves. Have I ever mentioned that? I bet I haven’t.

And now again Gorlagon tries to get Arthur to eat something - and Arthur refuses. Thus the story is resumed.

The moment the king returned, the queen dressed herself up in blood and torn-up clothes and cut her hair short to pretend she’d been mauled by the werewolf, and she rushed to the king beseeching him to do something about it - and telling him that the werewolf had devoured their infant son. However, the werewolf heard all this and ran out of the bedchamber and into the king’s embraces--

jumping about joyfully, and gambolling with greater delight than he [the wolf] had ever done before. At this the King, distracted by contending emotions, was in doubt what he should do, on the one hand reflecting that his wife would not tell him an untruth, on the other that if the wolf had been guilty of so great a crime against him he would undoubtedly not have dared to meet him with such joyful bounds.

Happy werewolf!

Anyway, the werewolf invites the king to follow him...

the wolf sitting close by him touched his foot gently with his paw, and took the border of his cloak into his mouth, and by a movement of the head invited him to follow him. The King, who understood the wolf's customary signals, got up and followed him through the different bedchambers to the underground room where the boy was hidden away. And finding the door bolted the wolf knocked three or four times with his paw, as much as to ask that it might be opened to him.

The werewolf knows where the queen hid the son. Well, when he can’t get inside, he just busts the door down - “the wolf, unable to endure the delay, drew back a little, and spreading out the claws of his four paws he rushed headlong at the door, and driving it in, threw it down upon the middle of the floor broken and shattered.” - because you can’t expect a silly door to hold back a werewolf.

And then he picks the child up - “Then running forward he took the infant from its cradle in his shaggy arms, and gently held it up to the King's face for a kiss.”

This is such a great werewolf story, lemme tell you - noble werewolf bowing and asking for mercy, werewolf breaking golden chains, busting down doors, using his paws as hands, cradling infants in their shaggy arms-- my goodness, I’m swooning over this werewolf, here. This werewolf is the best werewolf.

So the king goes to the sewer (the lover) and talks to him about it, the werewolf wanting to tear the guy’s face off (again) the entire time. Eventually, the sewer confesses to his crimes.

And... thus follows very graphic descriptions of how the queen and the sewer both were put to death because this young king was a real fiery dude. So anyway, now they’re dead.

And now again Gorlagon asks Arthur to eat... and again Arthur refuses. He’s holding fast here. Haha. Get it? Holding fast, because he’s fasting. Anyway...

After that, this king really began to wonder about this incredible werewolf with all his intelligence and nobility. He asked his wise men what they all thought about the situation, and he tells them that he couldn’t possibly be a beast. When he says this, the werewolf gets very excited and licks the king’s hands and does everything he can to gesture that the king is telling the truth.

The king catches on, and he declares that he well and truly wants to restore this wolf to his human form, “’even at the cost of my worldly substance; nay, even at the very risk of my life.’” What a bro, this king, after all the werewolf has done for him.

So he lets the werewolf go and will follow him wherever he leads, hoping the werewolf can lead him to the source of this curse and the king can help him find a cure. He immediately went to the ocean and indicated he wanted to cross - so this king launched an entire fleet and took the werewolf across the ocean, back toward his own land.

And yet again, Gorlagon tries to get Arthur to eat. Arthur refuses.

At last, they land in the werewolf’s kingdom. There, the werewolf signals them “by his customary nod and gesture” that this was his country. The king sets off with an army - and the moment they arrive in a town, the king realizes that this particular land is under very cruel and tyrannical rule by an evil king. And somebody nearby, too, was helpfully “lamenting their master, who by the craft and subtilty [sic] of his wife had been changed into a wolf, remembering what a kind and gentle master he was.”

So now we draw to the close pretty quickly here - the king finds out the truth and attacks this kingdom very suddenly, conquers the place, and captures both this king and the queen and makes them his subjects.

Woo! Victory for him! He’s getting a lot of good stuff out of this, this king.

AGAIN Gorlagon tells Arthur to eat, and Arthur gets pretty annoyed: “You are like a harper who almost before he has finished playing the music of a song, keeps on repeatedly interposing the concluding passages without anyone singing to his accompaniment.“

So Gorlagon finishes the bloody story at long last. He tells of how the king ordered this evil queen to undo the wrong she’d done to her werewolf husband. After, you know, torturing her with all kinds of horrible things and getting a confession out of her.

Until, finally, she gives the king the sapling that started all this mess. The king then undoes the werewolf curse-

The wolf became a man as he had been before, though far more beautiful and comely, being now possessed of such grace that one could at once detect that he was a man of great nobility.

The king and the werewolf have all the best bro-hugs and the king gives the werewolf back his kingdom. Then the king yote back to his own place and they all lived happily ever after!

There’s some more, too, like how Gorlagon was actually the werewolf all along. And how he hated his ex so very, very badly that he literally kept her around and made her kiss the severed and embalmed head of her lover every time Gorlagon kisses his new wife.

Yeah. Wow. Harsh, huh? I’ve heard things about people and their exes, but... yeesh.

When I became a wolf it is evident that the kingdom to which I first went was that of my middle brother, King Gorleil. And the King who took such great pains to care for me you can have no doubt was my youngest brother, King Gargol, to whom you came in the first instance.

So now we know why there were three kings in the story, even if I skipped over the first two to get to the fun werewolf stuff!

And then Arthur FINALLY dismounts and has something to eat, at Gorlagon’s beseeching, with Gorlagon and his new wife.

The end! Wild, huh?

But we can’t deny that the werewolf in this story, Gorlagon himself, is freaking awesome.

(If you like my werewolf blog, be sure to check out my other stuff! And consider supporting me on Patreon. Every little bit helps and helps me run this blog, and you get goodies and a chance to vote on the topic of the next werewolf fact!

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bastillewolf · 4 years

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The Grand Tranquility Hotel (V)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: Another chapter because it was Valentine’s Day and I love you all.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter V - 505

Her morning routine had been stiff, to say the least. It had taken her a while to get out of bed and dressed, because she wasn’t sure she even had the courage to present herself in front of the people who she’d had been nothing but trouble to. But when she arrived at the breakfast table, greeted by the soft yet tired smiles of Nick, Jamie, Matt and Miles she thought she’d seen the worst of it.

How wrong she turned out to be.

She took a deep breath after thanking Jamie for her serving of food. “I just wanted to apologize to you all,” she started. They all looked up from their plates and newspapers to give her a look of befuddlement. “I’ve been nothing but trouble to you and the hotel. I see now that it was wrong of me to make the presumption I could write something about it without your full permission and thus I’ve been nothing but selfish. I hope one day you’ll tell me what really happened, and it wouldn’t have to be for a novel. Until then, though, I think it’s best if I finish breakfast and take the next train home.”

“What?!” Nick blurted out; his mouth full of eggs. “You can’t just leave!”

“It’s quite alright. I don’t want to intrude on your privacy anymore than I already have.”

“Miss, you’ve been nothing but a wonderful friend to us,” Jamie intervened, “A curious and at times a bit of a meddling friend, true, but one who I hold nothing but respect for. Because I know you do it out of the good of your heart.”

“Jamie, you’ve known me for less than three days.”

Miles spoke up, “You are a bit of an open book, miss. I’d have to agree with Jamie here, I don’t sense any ill intent from you. Such a pretty visitor.” He winked and she playfully hit his arm in turn.

“You’re all too sweet. But you know I can’t stay. I’m not just doing this for myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to leave because of someone else’s personal issues,” Matt stated plainly.

The conversation quieted down when another figure stumbled into the breakfast hall, clearly looking hungover out of his mind. He’d still managed to wear a suit, but she presumed he’d added the sunglasses to cancel out the bright light and hide the bags under his eyes. He sank into his chair and waved his hand when Jamie tried to plate him some eggs.

It was silent for a while.

Finally, he lifted his shades and his eyes swept over her, almost indifferently. “What are you still doing here?” he asked with a blank undertone that no longer seemed to surprise her.

“She’s our guest, Alex. I don’t see why you have to be such a prick about it.”

“I don’t wish to argue with you about this matter now, Matthew-“

“There is no argument, Alex. She stays,” Matt repeated curtly.

Alex gave him a cold look. It made Miles clear his throat to try and lighten the mood with a switch of conversation. “So, Alex, I was wondering if you’ve continued your plans on the expansion? I’m very curious to see what you’ve come up with this time.”

It was the first she’d heard of any plans regarding the hotel, and her instant wonder was how they would manage it all with their financial problems.

“We’re not expanding,” Nick intervened quietly before Alex had a moment to respond. Miles raised his brows, “You’re not? But what about the layout of the casino-“ “Mister Turner has decided against it, thinking it’s best if we let things settle a bit after all the ruckus in the papers.”

Miles looked to Alex as if silently asking for the confirmation of this info. When Alex refused to meet his gaze, the mayor almost looked irritated. “Let things settle a bit?!” he asked, “You’ve ‘let things settle’ for quite long enough, I think! What happened to our plans of opening that casino we’d always dreamed about? What about the day spa?”

“It’s not that simple, Miles,” Alex tried to reason. He ran a hand through his slick hair, feeling his headache getting worse by the minute. But Miles was having none of it. “This hotel wasn’t just your dream, Alex. It was mine, too. And you’re selfish for not wanting to make a better future for all of us.”

The hotel owner stood up with such a force his chair scraped across the floor and fell backwards. And with the flair of his long blazer he had stormed out of the room.

She found herself in the garden once more. And she wasn’t alone. Miles stood on the front porch, leaning his arms on the stone railing, seemingly just taking in the beautiful scenery in front of him.

“How did you sleep?” Miles asked her kindly. It was as if he’d let the annoyance from before wash off of him like the chilly autumn wind blowing the leaves from the trees before them. She admired him for it, genuinely aware she was always one to retain resentment when she’d been cross. “Surprisingly well, actually. Probably the best few nights I’ve had in a long time.”

Miles looked at her in a silent inquiry for her to elaborate. “I’ve had migraines since I was very little. They usually peak at the end of a long day or during stressful situations. Yet for some reason, I haven’t had one since I arrived here,” she explained.

“Even though you’ve had some long days and stressful situations,” Miles probed gently. She huffed, “You could say that.”

Miles seemed to mull it over for a moment. “No matter what happens at this hotel, it’s always been a very peaceful environment,” he said, “It’s the main reason we chose this particular location to open it and deem it as The Grand ‘Tranquility’ Hotel.” She hummed with interest.

“Of course, we would’ve named it something ridiculous otherwise,” he joked, “Like ‘Les Cactus’ or something. And we’d only ever pronounce it with a horrible French accent. That would be the rule.” She laughed, “Would you really have named your hotel that?” “Oh, for sure. Alex and I had it all figured out, no matter what the outcome would be.”

“Which is why you were so upset when you found out about him cancelling the casino,” she mused. He nodded, “We used to talk about everything, all the time. Now it’s like he’s always too busy to have a bit of fun. I feel like I don’t know him as well as I used to, and it worries me.”

She’d spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around the scenery with Miles, and he told her all about his ideas of a grand casino and a renewed Tranquility Base, instead of just a hotel. The sparkle in his eyes showed his excitement and she was happy to be a vent for him and his crazy dreams. She hoped it would all work out for him one day.

She hoped she wouldn’t be the one who would have to tell him about the hotel’s impending bankruptcy, because it was evident that Miles didn’t know a thing about it.

They’d all had a pretty late brunch, so dinner couldn’t come soon enough for them. But when the hotel owner himself failed to turn up, Miles seemed to sink in his seat more and more ever so slightly as the minutes passed by while they waited.

“This is bullshit,” Matt growled, getting up, “I’m sick of him running away from his shit.” “Wait,” she called out, catching up to him as he was about to talk through the doorway. “Let me speak to him first.”

She gave Matt a questioning look when they’d arrived in front of her room and he’d halted to a sudden stop. He nodded his head in the direction of the door she’d only ever glanced at through the corner of her eye, never thinking anything else of it. “Room 505,” was all he’d said, before he left her in the corridor and went back in the direction they’d come from.

The door was opened ever so slightly, and she would’ve knocked if the eerie creak of its hinges hadn’t made her presence known already. She stepped into the room, and it was a lot for her senses to take in.

There was no lavish wooden floor, no king-sized bed with drapes hanging from the ceiling and surely enough it wasn’t the grand apartment complex she’d thought him to have within the hotel. It was just a simple room, arguably a minor downgrade from hers.

There were a few things that were possibly his own additions, such as the strange pattern on the carpeted floor and the white sofas. Other than that, however, the room was plain. A bed with a wooden headboard adorned with white sheets, illuminated by the standard glass in lead lights that could be spotted all over the hotel as its trademark.

He was sat on the bed with his back turned to her, his elbows resting on his knees with his head hung low. His shoulders were tense, and his usual slicked hair was now a greasy mess, evidently caused by the stressed fingers that had run through it. His jacket was strewn across a seat, leaving him in his white shirt, which happened to be the exact same shade as his bedsheets.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, rubbing his chin in his hand. “I wanted to see if you hadn’t collapsed from a stroke just yet,” she replied cynically. He let out a bland hum, not really seeming to care. It was a cue to her that he might be more willing to fix the boundaries they had so blatantly steered away from when they’d made their bad start with each other. “I did come to see if you were okay, though,” she began. He turned his head for a bit, and she could see his raised eyebrows. “Why?” he asked.

“You were put on the spot. They’re asking a lot of you right now, and while I can see that they only wish to help you, there’s still a lot of things you need to work out before you can even think about remodelling or expanding. The casino, the day spa, all of it. You need more time, and they’re getting too impatient.”

He eyed her curiously. “After all I’ve said to you, after all the things I’ve spat in your face, you’re still being sympathetic? I’m sensing ulterior motives for this one, writer.” She rolled her eyes indignantly. “I’m pretty sure you see ulterior motives behind everything and everyone, mister Turner.” He gave her an amused smirk, and it made her almost instantly relax. How just one quirk of a lip could give her so much relief was beyond her. She’d taken a big step in the right direction, and that was enough for tonight.

Stepping out into the hallway, she nearly ran into Miles. “Oh, sorry, love. I was just about to knock-“ “Could I speak with you for a moment?” she interrupted him. His expression showed his evident confusion at her directness but nodded anyway.

When Miles told Alex the next day that he’d be off to deal with ‘unforeseen business’ and would no longer be staying at the hotel, Alex seemed relieved. He thanked him for the statement in the paper and apologized for his outburst however, which made Miles more content. While Matt was loading his suitcase in the car and Alex was having a smoke off to the side, he gave the writer an unexpected but welcomed hug. “You’re good for him,” he muttered in her ear, “and he needs someone like you now more than ever. You have my thanks.” It had left her speechless and all she could do was wave him off as the car disappeared behind the treeline.

#Alex Turner x Reader #Arctic Monkeys #The Last Shadow Puppets #TLSP #AM #TBHC #Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino #Miles Kane #Alex Turner #Matt Helders #Jamie Cook #Nick O'Malley #505 #Reader Insert #Fanfiction #Romance #Wpsiatwin #Humbug

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