#but I am getting tired of being called a serial killer wherever I work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mermaidxatxheart · 4 years

Text

A Beautiful Lie

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: This one is rough, guys. Trauma, torture, blackmail, Bucky being dangerously charming. If torture isn’t for you, please don’t read.

Prompt: The truth is, I was only using you. (will be in bold)

Summary: You’re forced to do something terrible, something you would give your soul not to have to do.

A/N: Y’all, it’s been a hot minute since I posted anything, almost all year. I’ve really been struggling to find the inspiration to write and I really appreciate everyone who has stuck with me and followed me through this dry spell. Hopefully, I’m reaching the end of it. This is for @coffee-with-bucky‘s 2k writing challenge. I am beyond late, and I am so very sorry. Congratulations on your milestone, and I hope you reach many more.

“You didn’t have to walk me home, Bucky. It’s in the complete opposite direction of where you need to be.” You tell him as he dutifully walks you up the steps to your apartment building.

“Are you kidding? My mother would be rolling in her grave if I let my date walk home by herself. She raised me better than that.” He defends, raising a big hand to his chest. “And I’m right where I need to be, making sure my girl gets home safe.” He nudges your arm playfully. “Besides, I get to spend more time with you this way.”

“Those are all very good points.”

He pulls open the heavy door for you and you step inside. You’ve only been dating Bucky a couple of months, but so far, he’s the most amazing person you’ve ever met. Old world charm without being a creepy serial killer; a gentleman without assuming you need to give him something in return.

It’s nice to be doted on just because.

He pushes the button for your floor and watches the numbers. You watch him. His long eyelashes, his perfectly sculpted profile, strong jaw, pouty lips. They twitch at the corners, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the numbers. The creaking of the elevator stretches out the silence as it descends.

“You’re staring.” He points out.

“Am I? Oops.” You shrug, still looking at him.

“Do I have something on my face?” He sighs.

“Why does there have to be anything wrong? Maybe I’m just watching so you don’t disappear.” You turn to face him.

Slowly, he twists his head to look at you, a frown tugging at his mouth now. “Disappear? And where exactly would I go?”

“Wherever it is that perfect men go when the dream ends.” You lean against him with a smile.

“Y/N, I’m far from perfect.” He shakes his head and you capture his face in your hands, having to rise up on your tiptoes.

“You have been everything I could have ever wished for. You’re perfect for me.”

He dips forward to kiss you softly and the doors ding open. He wraps his big arms around you and lifts you up, carrying you into the small box. You yelp in surprise and cling to his shoulders. He grins and sets you back against the wall, leaning down to kiss you again.

He’s soft. So very soft and gentle with you. The cool metal of his left hand brushes down your cheek and his eyes search yours, the smile on his face growing with each passing second.

“What?” You ask quietly. “Do I have something on my face?”

He laughs quietly. “You’re beautiful.” He shakes his head. “No, I was just thinking about something.” He says so casually.

“Care to share with the class, Barnes?” You tease.

“Well, I was just thinking that I love you.” He says, turning around to face the doors.

Your heart tumbles in your chest as you look at his shit eating grin. “You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re perfect for me.” He shrugs and you smack his arm. He laughs, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“I love you, too.”

He pulls you against him and picks you up, kissing you hungrily. You rake your fingers through his hair, moving with him in perfect harmony.

The doors open on your floor and he carries you out and down the hallway, stopping just outside your door. He kisses down your neck and you tip your head back, breathing heavily. He presses you against the wall, finding all your sensitive spots. You let out a breathy moan and he pulls away with a small chuckle.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask as he sets you back down on wobbly legs.

“I think one milestone is enough for tonight.” He smiles, brushing your hair back behind your ears.

“Nope, not enough.” You shake your head. He has you in a state of frenzy now.

He grins. “Another time.” He promises. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

He waits until you’re inside your apartment to leave. But that’s when you could have used him the most.

Hands grab you from behind, a strong arm curling around your waist and the other covering your mouth. You still scream, try to wriggle out of the strong hold they have on you. But it’s no good. A large figure clad in all black appears in front of you, arm raised and then everything goes black.

***

The aroma of delicious smelling food wafts through the entire building. It permeates into every room and causes several heads to poke out their doors. You smile sheepishly, knocking on Bucky’s door.

He pulls it open, sweat pants low on his hips as he towels his hair dry. “Y/N.” He says in surprise.

“I thought you might be hungry.” You hold up the bags of takeout. “But I didn’t know what you liked, so I got some of everything.”

“Did I hear there was extra food?” A voice says behind you and Bucky groans with a roll of his eyes.

“No one invited you, Wilson. Go away.”

“No, it’s okay, Bucky. Honestly, there’s so much-we can share.” You smile back at his friend.

Inside, your stomach is roiling with nerves.

It takes you a long time to wake up, your pulse pounds in your ears, giving you a headache. Or maybe it was the chemical they used to knock you out.

“Finally. We don’t have a lot of time, so we’ll get right to the point.” A man’s voice says roughly, grabbing your chin.

Your eyes flutter closed as you fight the effects of whatever they gave you.

“I hope you’re paying attention because I definitely don’t like to repeat myself.” He warns.

“But I don’t like to share.” Bucky protests.

“Great, it’s settled.” His friend grins, taking the bags from you and leading you away from Bucky. “I’m Sam. I’m sure he doesn’t mention me much. He wouldn’t want you to come to your senses and leave him for someone smarter, handsomer, superior in every way-really.” Sam smirks and you give a chuckle.

“You’ll have to let me know when someone like that arrives.” You return and he groans. Bucky laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“That’s my girl.”

More of the Avengers file into the kitchen and you back up out of the way. Unfortunately, you bump right into Tony Stark. He squints down at you suspiciously.

“And where do you think you’re going?” He asks, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you back into the crowd.

“Oh, I was just moving out of the way.” You say awkwardly.

“Relax, kid. I’m messing with you.” He says easily. He opens a cabinet and turns to you. “Hands up.” He says and you hold your hands out automatically. He gets down a bunch of plates and sets them in your grasp. “Table. Go.” He turns you around and points to the large dining table.

You set out the plates while everyone brings the food over and it feels so surreal, sitting at a table surrounded by the most powerful humans on the planet and they’re just talking and laughing like one big family.

Bucky squeezes your hand as everyone starts helping themselves to food. Bowls get passed around and you only take small amounts of food, your nerves ratcheting high with every passing second.

“Not hungry?” Sam asks, looking at you.

“No, we had a big catering thing at work and I overate. I really just brought food as an excuse to see Bucky.” You shrug with a glance at the man next to you. He gives you a cheeky smile in reply, his perfect eyes crinkling in the corner, a genuine smile full of affection that you wish you could return.

“Well, you can use that excuse any time. Natasha grins, biting into an egg roll.

You chuckle, taking a sip of your water. They start asking you questions, what you do, where you’re from, how’d you meet Bucky.

They’re easy enough to answer and for a moment, you’re distracted. But then you remember your situation and you sit back from your plate. Bucky takes your hand under the table, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back.

Everyone eats until the food is gone, even tiny little Natasha Romanoff packs away the lo mein.

“You can stay for a movie, right?” Sam narrows his eyes at you.

“Depends. What movie is it?” You ask.

“Bucky’s never seen James Bond, so we’re starting with the first one.” Wanda says, pushing herself up and carrying her plate to the sink.

“I’ll stay.” You nod, standing and grabbing yours and Bucky’s plates.

“Just pile them in the sink, Y/N. They can wait.” Tony calls and everyone files into the living room, settling on the comfortable couches.

You slide down next to Bucky and he shifts you against his side comfortably. “I missed you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“I missed you, too.” You mumble.

“Long day?” He asks, his hand rubbing your arm gently.

You nod, faking a yawn. “And I have to be up early tomorrow. Stupid budget meeting.” You roll your eyes as Tony starts the movie.

“You don’t have to stay long. I’m just glad you came.” He smiles.

Instead of replying, you rest your head on his shoulder. Wanda starts the movie and you don’t have to wait long. About ten minutes into the movie, Sam starts to snore, his head tilted back awkwardly against the headrest. They all fall like dominoes shortly after that.

Bucky’s fighting it, his eyes drop closed before flying open again. You look up at him, feeling each time he jerks himself awake.

“Bucky? You okay?” You whisper, heart breaking in your chest for him.

“Mhm.” He hums, rubbing his eyes.

“If you’re tired, it’s okay. You guys had a long mission.” You mumble, brushing his hair back gently.

“Feel like a jerk.” He manages and you kiss his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it.”

His eyes drift close and his head drops back onto the love seat cushion. You grab a pillow and carefully lift his head to support it better. His eyes flutter again and you pause, watching him carefully. But they stay closed and you sigh in relief.

Easing yourself up and away from him, you grab another pillow and prop it under Sam’s head so that he doesn’t get a neck ache in the morning. Natasha and Wanda have shared the couch, laying at opposite ends, both soundly asleep. You pull the blanket off the back and drape it over them, tucking them in.

Tony is in an armchair, not much you can do for him there, but you cover him with a soft blanket, your stomach twisting into knots.

You wash the dishes quickly, getting rid of any evidence, placing them back in the cabinet. You gather up all the trash back into the delivery bag and set it on the counter.

Turning to Bucky, you wipe away at the tears that are collecting in your eyes. You really love this man. It hasn’t been long, but he’s treated you better than anyone else in your life. And if something could be both the hardest, and the easiest-it would be this.

You make your way back over, carefully sliding your hand into his pocket for his wallet. You find Tony’s lab card and make your way to the hallway.

“Your boyfriend is going on a mission tomorrow with the rest of the freaks. When he gets back, you’re going to show up, the loving girlfriend, with enough food for all of them.” The man in black instructs. He grips your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. “This goes in the food. It’ll knock them all out so you won’t be disturbed. Even your super freak boyfriend can’t fight it.” He grins, holding up a vial of liquid.

“You’re crazy.” You snap, twisting your chin out of his tight grasp.

He sighs loudly. “I can see we’re gonna have to do this the hard way, then.” He shakes his head and opens a laptop screen. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to use this option.” He turns the screen around and your eyes widen.

“No.” You gasp.

The building is so quiet, eerily silent with everyone being passed out in the living room. You’ve memorized the layout, you know which way you’re supposed to go. But your feet drag. You don’t want to do this. Every cell in your body is fighting against it, against betraying him.

The glass doors slide open noiselessly and you step inside. You almost wish one of them would catch you. It would be a relief to not be able to finish, but you know they won’t.

You find the right terminal and plug in the external hard drive. Tapping away at the keyboard, it doesn’t take you long to find the right file. You make a copy of it, doing what you can to ease your conscience before leaving.

You’re tempted to stop in and see Bucky, just to look at him one last time, as though that would stop your heart from breaking. But you don’t.

You can’t.

You leave the building in a hurry, anxious to be done with this whole thing. A part of you believes that you won’t be seeing the sunrise. But they aren’t kind enough for that. As you pass one, you toss the trash in a dumpster, further obliterating the evidence.

The coffee shop is unfamiliar to you. It’s far from your apartment, so the anonymity is a bonus.

You slide into a booth, tipping your cup right side up. The waitress comes over, filling the cup. “Can I get you anything?” She asks in a bored tone.

“Not yet. I’m waiting for someone.” You answer automatically. You tongue is like cotton, your stomach churning with guilt and anxiety. There’s no way you could eat, even if you wanted to.

You don’t have to wait long, your hands have barely started to warm from the cup when a big man eases into the seat across from you.

“You’ve done well.” He praises.

You can feel your face twist in disgust. A compliment from him is about to make you sick. “I’ve got your stupid thing. I’m free to go now?” You ask hotly.

“Sure. Not like we don’t know where to find you if we need you again.” He grins wickedly at you. A wolf looking at a sheep.

You set the flash drive on the table and launch yourself out of your seat, rushing for the door. You need to escape, get out of the city.

A stop at the ATM empties your bank account, and then you’re a whirlwind, throwing clothes into your suitcases. There’s only one thought in your head: escape.

Escape those awful men. Escape your betrayal. Escape the hurt you’ve just caused to Bucky, his wrath when he finds out. But you deserve those things, his hatred and anger. You could take that because you deserve it.

But those men, they’re only out to cause more pain, to make you cause pain. And you can’t put up with that.

You hail a cab, planning on never returning to your apartment again. You’ll become a shadow if you have to. Somehow.

Your chest aches, but you have to do it. You have to say goodbye.

Bucky

He paces the length of his quarters, listening to the ringing phone on the other end. You must be at work or something. He hangs up with a sigh.

He can’t believe they all passed out on you last night. What you must think of them.

“Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Stark would like to see you in his lab.” FRIDAY comes on the overhead.

“Sure. I’ll be right down.” He leaves his room and heads for the third floor entrance.

Stark is pacing, sharp pivots and staccato heel to toe steps. His face is turning various shades of red. He’s pissed.

“Tony?” Bucky starts.

“What do you think you were doing?” He asks instantly.

“I’m lost. What are you talking about?” Bucky frowns.

“Last night, you came into my lab and accessed the Dresden File.” He snaps.

“Last night? We were all together last night. I don’t even know what that file is.”

“Oh right. And I’m just supposed to believe that you also didn’t make a copy of it and take it out of this building?” He crosses his arms defensively.

“Tony, I haven’t left the grounds since we got home yesterday afternoon. And why would I take one of your stupid files anywhere?” Bucky fires back.

“Well, explain how your access card was used to get in here, then. Hmm?” He demands.

“I dunno, genius. Have you tried pulling up the surveillance cameras?”

“I... I was just waiting for them to download.” He huffs, turning his back on the former soldier.

Bucky rolls his eyes. He might not be caught up on everything modern, but he sure as shit knows that you don’t have to download security footage.

They both peer at the screen as you enter the lab. Bucky’s blood freezes in his veins as he watches you steal from Stark.

“What’s in the file that she took?” Bucky asks through clenched teeth.

“A weapon. Or at the very least, it can be used as a weapon if modified correctly.” Tony looks up at him. “If she sells it,” he trails off unnecessarily.

Bucky knows exactly what will happen. You better hope he can’t find you.

Bucky marches out of the lab and straight for the front door. He heads straight for you apartment, which isn’t smart; if you had any brains at all you wouldn’t be there. How can you do this to him? There has to be some kind of mistake, or misunderstanding.

You love him, you wouldn’t do this to him. Or maybe after 80 years in captivity, he’s forgotten how to read people. You were just a lie, a beautiful lie.

He pounds on your front door, nearly kicking it down but you don’t answer. He easily picks the lock, his anger and desperation warring inside him. He needs there to be some logic reason that you’ve done this.

Maybe it wasn’t really you. Maybe it’s like what Wanda does, an illusion. Someone making them think that it’s you.

The door swings open as his phone rings. He steps inside, answering it. “What, Stark?”

Your apartment is a mess. Chairs tipped over, dishes broken on the floor. The cushions on the couch have been tossed.

“She emptied her bank account late last night. She’s gone.”

“See if you can follow her on security cameras when she leaves the building. Find out where she went.” He says with a sigh.

How can a guy be so wrong?

***

The knock on your motel room door nearly sends you into a heart attack. You rise silently from the chair and creep to the door. If it’s those guys again, you don’t know how you’re going to get away. You’ve already refused maid service, no one knows you’re here.

You look out the peep hole and your heart somersaults in your chest. You should have been expecting this, you should have known he wouldn’t let it go. Doesn’t make what you’re about to do any easier.

You square your shoulders, take a deep breath. Its for his own good. You swing open the door, your face cold and detached. “What do you want?” You mutter.

“Are you kidding me?” He pushes his way into your room, taking in the dingy walls and ugly carpet. “Where is it?” He rounds on you, his handsome face contorted in pain. Maybe rage?

“Where is what?” You sigh.

He surges forward, grabbing your arms and shaking you. “Don’t play stupid. The flash drive, Y/N. I want it back.” He snaps.

“I don’t have it anymore.” You reply dully.

“Bullshit.”

“You think I’m gonna hold onto that? Got rid of it the first chance I got.” You snap back.

“And now you’re just hiding in a shit motel in Jersey? Of all places-fucking Jersey.” He rolls his eyes.

“First stop on my farewell tour.” You mutter. “If that’s all, I’d like my arms back now.”

He shoves you away from him and you bump into the wall with more force than you were expecting. “Just... tell me why. I thought...” he trails off and your resolve nearly breaks.

“I know what you thought. That’s what made it so easy. But the truth is, I was only using you.” You say, the words managing not to break.

His face crumples and he steps away from you. “None of it was real?”

“Sorry.” You say flatly, but inside you’re shredded.

He leaves mutely, climbing onto his motorcycle and you worry about him driving home. But you can’t break now. You shut the door, cutting off your view of him and you sink to the floor.

Tony

“Boss. Sergeant Barnes has returned.” FRIDAY announces over the lab speaker. “He’s headed for his quarters.”

“Is he alone?” Tony asks, his eyes drifting to the computer screen.

“Yes.”

“When he gets there, put me through.” Tony says, spinning in his chair. Barnes had one direction. Bring back the girl, or at the very least, the stolen property.

Should’ve known he’d let his emotions get in the way. He’s just like Rogers.

The screen to his left lights up and he can see Barnes tense in the entry way. He doesn’t wanna talk.

“Where is she, Barnes?” Tony asks, digging through the computer.

“I let her go.” He mutters blankly.

“I’m sorry? You let my thief go? You better have the files, then.” He retorts.

“She didn’t have them.” He sounds sick.

“So, now both are gone in the wind. That’s perfect. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you pulled your head out of your ass long enough to get the name of the terrorist group she sold it to!”

“Nope. Maybe this will teach you to stop making weapons.” The video clicks off and Tony shakes his fists, strangling the air, pretending unsatisfactorily that it was Bucky Barnes in his grasp.

“Dick. Prince Douche.” Tony mutters under his breath. “King Asshat.” He turns his favorite playlist on high, hoping to crush out his frustrations. The soothing tones of Black Sabbath pulses through the sound system and he gets to work, searching for whatever else Bucky’s girlfriend did to his system.

While he works, his thoughts wander.

You’re good. For someone who has never even been in this building before, you knew exactly where the lab was and what terminal to go to. You knew what you were looking for, almost like...

His Twizzler falls out of his mouth as a thought occurs to him.

Shit. He almost hopes he’s wrong.

He scrubs the rest of the files, finding just one anomaly. He backtracks the keystrokes and recreates it.

Finished, he sits back with a slump.

Oh. You’re very, very good. He bolts out of the lab and practically sprints to Bucky’s quarters, pounding on the door. Doubled over, gasping for breath-he pounds again.

“What?” Bucky snaps, yanking open his door, looking all kinds of disheveled. “Stark, do you even know what time it is?” He rubs his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter. We have a problem.” Tony gasps, trying to catch his breath. He’s getting too old for this shit.

“Yeah, you need to cut back on the caffeine.” Barnes sighs.

“No. I think your super secret spy girlfriend was put up to this.”

“Tony, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Even if she’s in danger? Even if the people who did this to her come after her again?” Tony challenges.

“Stark, if she really was being put on, or blackmailed, or coerced-why wouldn’t she come to us? We’re a bunch of super freaks. We could have protected her. Think about it. She did this on her own.”

“Not necessarily. We don’t know what they blackmailed her with. Maybe she thought the threat was too much of a risk. Where is she?”

“Some piece of shit motel in Jersey. But she made it clear that she was only... that she did it on her own.” He clears his throat.

“Let me guess, while you were looking at her with those big puppy dog eyes? Yeah, no wonder she made you leave.” Tony changes direction. “Get dressed. We’re taking a trip.” He heads for Wilson’s quarters, knowing he’ll need the big bird brain as backup.

An hour later they pull up outside the motel just as you leave your room. It’s still dark outside, you should be sleeping, not leaving in the middle of the night. But here you are, bags in hand as you load them into a rental. You glance around nervously as you climb in.

“What’s she doing?” Sam leans forward, squinting.

“Looks like Barnes spooked her. If this pea brain can find her here, anyone can.” Tony reasons.

Bucky punches him in the arm, but doesn’t disagree. Tony tries not to let it show just how much it hurts.

“What do we do when we actually get her?” Sam asks.

“Get her to tell us who she gave it to. Then take them out.” Tony says simply.

“You never really said what makes you think she was blackmailed.” Bucky sighs, shifting in his seat.

“I found the file she copied. She made a copy of it on the computer first, then she removed key components. Things you have to have to make it work. Without them, these guys have scraps of paper-not enough to complete one for themselves. She transferred that second copy and that alone to the flash drive. She did everything she could to make sure they didn’t get what they wanted.” Tony half smiles. He should hire you.

“How do you know she didn’t write it down? Just to throw us off.” Barnes huffs as Tony follows you out of the parking lot.

“Cameras, Barnes. She didn’t. She deleted key sections. If she had just deleted a line or a random number, they could have figured it out with a mild genius. But she deleted pages. They have no way of knowing what was on those pages. She deleted half the design, code instructions, equations-huge chunks of vitally important information. It’s useless to them now. But I’d certainly feel better knowing who they are in case they try again.”

They follow you from a distance, confused as you leave New Jersey going south. You should have been going back to the city, not away from it.

***

It’s hard. Hard to remember that you need to drive the speed limit, hard to forget Bucky’s face as you lied to him. That look will haunt you until you die. Maybe one day you’ll have a chance to tell him the truth.

Maybe it won’t matter if you do.

Your eyes itch. It’s been a long three days. But you can’t close them yet. No rest for the wicked.

You pull into another gas station, heading inside. Cash only, and you could use about five more Red Bull’s. You grab a variety of energy drinks; Monsters, Red Bull’s, Jolts, Nos. The guy behind the counter stares at you as he rings you up.

“Too much of these ain’t good for ya, sweetheart. Make your heart give out.” He says conversationally.

“That’s the plan. Gimme thirty on pump four.” You add, sliding the cash over.

He hands you your bag and you pop the top on one of the heart attacks in a can as you start the pump. You chug half the drink while your tank fills. You climb back in the safety of your car, slapping your face roughly.

Flipping the visor down, you glare at your haggard reflection. “Wake up. You have a fucking job to do.” You point your finger.

You turn your music back on, blasting it loud enough to rattle the windows and you pull out of the lot, heading back for the highway.

Christ, your eyes itch. They feel like sand is in them every time you blink. You can’t stop, can’t slow down. You might already be too late-no. You can’t think like that. Bucky can’t lose anyone else.

It’s dark by the time you finally pull into the nursing home lot. You pull into a spot near the door, taking a moment to check your appearance.

Death warmed up. Perfect. You smooth out your hair before giving up. After two days of solid travel, there was no fixing this. You twist slowly in your seat, looking at every car in the lot, searching for people in them, something to hint at being watched.

Nothing, empty. You climb out and head inside the quiet lobby.

It’s almost empty, the desk clerk and one other person, sitting nervously off to the side.

“Chuck?” You ask, turning toward him.

He looks up and nods. “Y/N?”

You take a brief second to think about all the faces you’ve seen, but he wasn’t one. And looking closer, you can see Bucky’s eyes, the statuesque angle of his nose.

Yes, this is who you’re looking for.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I know this is strange.” You sigh, stepping forward.

“You said something about danger.”

“I would feel better if we could speak in your grandmother’s room. It’s a little more private.” You say pointedly.

“Right.”

He leads you to the elevator and presses the button. “Are you okay, Y/N? You look exhausted.” Chuck comments.

“I’ll be alright.” You wave him off as the doors open.

“I’m surprised you know who this is.” The man chuckles. “Barnes’ sister. She lives in a home in Savannah. Abandoned by her family, left unprotected. So easily eliminated. She sits in front of this window day and night, reading. One well placed bullet if you don’t do what we say, well, it’s goodnight, Vienna.” He grins wickedly. “You don’t want this old lady’s death on your conscience, do you?”

“You’re a monster.” You curse, spitting at his feet. The men around him laugh.

“Maybe you have no feelings about dear old Becky. That’s alright, there’s always plan B, or is it part 2? Who’s to say we won’t kill both of them?” He changes the picture and your eyes fill with tears.

No.

“I can see we have a deal.” He smirks, caressing your cheek.

Chuck pushes open the door and enters comfortably. You slide against the wall, keeping clear of the windows.

“Charles?” Rebecca looks up, a beautiful smile crossing her face for her grandson.

“Hey, nana. How are you feeling?” He asks, bending down to kiss her cheek.

“Ready to run a marathon.” She grins. “Visiting hours are over, sweetheart. What are you doing here so late?”

“Nana, this is Y/N. She’s a friend of Uncle James’. She thinks you might be in danger.” He says, gesturing to you.

“Danger? From who? Surely you don’t think my brother-“

“No, ma’am. Your brother doesn’t know I’m here.” You say. “He’s, well, he doesn’t really know about this. I couldn’t tell him before I left.” You wrinkle your forehead in hopeless frustration.

How to explain this?

“Charles, give me a minute with her.” Rebecca says, shooing him out the door.

“Alright, I’ll be outside.” He smiles fondly at her before leaving.

“Have a seat, dear.” She gestures to the bed, but you avoid crossing the window, instead sitting at the small table. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” She urges, taking your hand.

“I’ve done something terrible. Your brother trusted me and I had to betray it. There were these men, they wanted something from your brother’s job and they forced me to get it. If I didn’t, they would have killed you, and someone else. I couldn’t do that to Bucky, not when he just got you back.”

“And why are you here now?” She asks.

“To warn you. To make sure you’re protected. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. He loves you too much and he has so little good in his life. And after what I did... he’s going to need you.” You say, a thick lump of emotions choking your throat.

You know Bucky is lost to you. But she doesn’t have to be lost to him. “If I can give him this, it will make it a little easier to bear.”

She studies your face for a long minute in silence. “You love him.” She states finally.

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I had to ruin it, to make him hate me. For his own protection. Now they can’t use me again.”

She’s quiet again, thoughtful. “Alright. What do you need me to do?” She asks, leaning forward in her chair.

“Go with your family. Stay safe. Call Bucky and tell him you think people have been watching you, you’ve seen suspicious men around the building. He’ll come keep you safe.” Your voice cracks and a tear slips down your cheek.

“And if he doesn’t? I’m an old woman. I’ve lived my life.” She raises her chin a fraction of an inch.

“A life without your brother. Now you have a chance to share memories with him. To help him heal from all that time and trauma. You’re his family Rebecca. He talks about you all the time, shares stories about your family-his family. He’s so happy knowing he can just talk to you whenever. He thought that would never be possible. His whole face lights up when he mentions you. He’ll be there. He’ll protect you, I know it like I know my own name.” You promise. “Please? Stay safe for him?”

She squeezes your hand, surprisingly strong for a woman in her nineties. “I promise, darling. What about this other person you mentioned?”

“I’m going to him next. But I had to make sure you were safe first.”

“I hope you can fix things with my brother. He’s lucky to have someone so strong.”

“Hardly. I don’t think it’s possible to fix this. Thank you for listening. It’s an honor to meet you.” You stand up and press a soft kiss to her weathered cheek. “I’ll send Charles back in.” You head for the door, opening it gently.

“She agree?” He asks.

You nod with a sigh. “Thanks for listening and not thinking I’m crazy.”

“Good luck. There’s a motel down the road if you wanna catch some sleep.” He says and you shake your head.

“Thanks. But I gotta keep moving. I have another appointment to keep.”

He bends down and kisses your cheek, surprising you. “Be safe. Thanks for looking out for us.”

You squeeze his hand and turn away. At least they can be safe.

The window is rolled down as you pull back onto the highway. It feels good on your face and you crank the music to help you stay awake.

Savannah isn’t that far from FSU, your next destination. Just a couple more hours. You can do it.

You pop the top on your last Red Bull and chug half of it, hoping it’s enough.

The sunlight creeps over the horizon just as you reach the outer most limits of Tallahassee. You’ll reach campus just in time for classes.

You feel a sense of calm, despite your new energy drink addiction-the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight, so to speak.

You find the campus easily, pulling through to the main building. Christ, you hope you can catch him in time. As you reach to unbuckle your seatbelt, you spot him.

That beautiful, annoying boy that you’ll never complain about again.

“Your brother, he’s in his final year at Florida State University, isn’t he? Captain of the football team, maintaining a perfect 4.0 gpa. I believe his favorite teacher is Mrs. Yaira Morrison. She teaches his history class at one o’clock on Tuesday and Thursday.” The man says with a twisted smile.

Your chest heaves, watching your baby brother on the screen. They have you and they know it.

“What do you want me to do?” You mutter, wishing Death by a Thousand Cuts on him and his party of villains.

“See? I knew we could count on her!” He claps his hands enthusiastically.

You lurch out of your car, legs wobbly from lack of sleep, proper food, and being immobile for too long. You rush towards him, shouting his name. He’s too far away to hear you, but you know you can catch him, you have to warn him.

A body steps in front of you, blocking your way between the cars. You move to step around them, thinking for half a second that it’s just a student getting out of their vehicle. They block you again and you take a second look, recognizing his face in horror.

“Don’t make me chase you.” He warns, but you’re already taking off between the cars, trying to find a way back to yours.

But no, that wouldn’t be safe either. They had to have followed you here. Before you can think further on it, arms grab you from behind and your head is bashed against the hood of a truck, everything going black.

Bucky

There is absolutely nothing worse than listening to two grown men bicker like school boys.

“I can’t believe you lost her.” Sam snaps at Tony.

“Me? You were supposed to be watching her car! I was focusing on not dying in Florida traffic. How do people live this way?”

“I told you not to take 75.” Sam retorts. Bucky can almost recite this argument word for word now.

“Don’t take 75? She took 75! What was I supposed to do? Take a different highway and hope we end up in the same place?”

“Or don’t drive like a damn grandma! I see why Happy drives you everywhere.” Sam shoots back and Tony’s face gets beet red.

“Take it back.” He demands.

“No.” Sam crosses his arms.

“Take. It. Back.”

“Make me, grandma.”

“Take this exit, Stark.” Bucky mutters. That puts a brief pause to their squabbling. You’ve had them driving for days on end and they’re all exhausted. How you haven’t passed out yet is a miracle.

“Why?”

“Because I know where she’s going and if you drive the actual speed limit, we can make it there before tomorrow.” Bucky fires and Tony glares at him.

“Where’s she going?” Sam asks, leaning back in his seat, thrilled that someone else was taking shots at Tony, too.

“FSU. Her brother goes there. If she’s being blackmailed, chances are it’s with his life.” He sighs. He wishes, not for the first time, that you had just confided in him. He would have found a way to make your brother safe, to make you safe.

His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out to see his sister’s picture smiling up at him. His heart tugs fondly at the photo. “Becky?” He starts. Something’s wrong. He sensed it when he realized you drove directly past his sister’s assisted living building. That was no coincidence.

“Bucky, I met a friend of yours last night. Lovely girl.” She starts off casually, no sense of concern in her weathered voice.

“Y/N? You met her?” He asks with a frown. Why would you have gone to see his sister?

“I did. She came to warn me about this danger that I seem to be in.” He’s alert in his seat now, all sense of weariness gone.

“Danger? Rebecca! Why didn’t you call me immediately?” He demands.

“Well, because I’ve thought about it, and I’ll do what she says-go on a trip with my kids. But I won’t do the second bit.” She says stubbornly and he presses his metal fingers to his forehead.

“What second bit?” He sighs.

“She said that I should tell you I’m being followed, that I’m in danger so that you’ll come here. But,”

“I will!” He insists.

“But I think she’s in more danger than I am. She mentioned someone else was being threatened, someone she cares about.”

“Her brother. We’re already aware.”

“Oh, good. Then, you’re also aware that she loves you?” Rebecca says and he can just picture her squinting at him suspiciously, like she might hit him with her slipper if he gets the answer wrong. Just like his ma used to.

“Not according to her.”

“Ah, my brother, the idiot.” She sighs wistfully and he cracks a small smile.

“What else did she tell you?” He asks.

“That she wanted to keep me safe and protected for you. She didn’t want you to lose anyone else. That she had to make you hate her for your own protection. And she doesn’t think she’ll be able to fix things with you.” She’s quiet for a minute. “But if the circumstances were different, Bucky. If she did what she did out of fear, out of loyalty and wanting to protect a complete stranger just to make one man happy-doesn’t that change things, big brother? She’s not entirely lost to you.” She finishes and he can’t force the lump in his throat to move enough to choke out words. “Just, just think about it, alright? I promised her I would keep myself safe for you. Now I need you to promise to keep her safe.”

He clears his throat roughly. “Promise.”

“Call me when it’s done.” She says. “I love you.” She hangs up and Bucky drops the phone into his lap, rubbing his face.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks from the back seat.

“They threatened my sister, too. That’s why we were right there last night. Y/N went to go see Rebecca, to warn her. You were right, Stark.” He sighs dejectedly.

He thought he was better at reading people. But you lied so easily to him and he fell for it. How had he missed every micro expression telling him that something wasn’t right?

“So, we really need to find her, then.” Tony says, stepping on the gas.

“Finally.” Sam mutters under his breath.

The campus is huge. They circle and circle and circle, looking for your car. Twice, they think they spot it, but checking it out further reveals no luggage in the back.

“Maybe we missed her? Maybe she got to him and left already?” Sam suggests.

“Wait, is that it?” Tony points to one of the back rows of cars.

“Didn’t we pass that one already?” Sam asks, confused.

“Only one way to find out.” Bucky grumbles, already launching himself out of the car. His heart thuds to a stop when he sees your luggage in the back seat, empty energy drink cans littering the floor. He waves them over.

“This it?” Tony asks.

“Yeah, pull up that fancy camera hacking thing and follow her. See if she’s inside the school so we don’t have to spend hours walking around looking for her.” Bucky says.

Tony pulls out his tablet, sets it on the dark hood of the car and types a few command strokes. Bucky hovers over his shoulder, breathing down his neck, really irritating the older man.

“Back off, man.” Tony elbows his ribs uselessly as the cameras rewind. He might as well have hit a brick for all the pain it causes him. There are several different angles across the massive parking lots and the interior courtyards. Plus the interior hallways and classrooms. There’s almost too much to watch, but they have to.

Tony finds your car pulling in and he slows down to watch where you park. It’s a tense silence as they watch you get out, heading across the lot before someone cuts you off. He blocks out the rest of the screens, making this one camera the focus.

Bucky’s stomach seems to fill with lead as you take off running, despite how exhausted you must feel. The man chases you, but Bucky can see what you can’t. You’re not running away, you’re being herded. Another man, massive compared to you, grabs you from behind-a blitz attack-and he smashes your head into the hood of another car. It’s hard enough of a hit to leave a dent in the car.

It’s an extremely good thing that Bucky isn’t holding onto anything, or he would have broken it.

Before he can even speak, Tony is already working. A car pulls up and you’re loaded inside. Tony captures the license plate and dismisses the camera, opting for another program.

Bucky paces behind his friends, knowing anything he would say isn’t going to be helpful. His mind is racing, faster than he can even process what exactly he’s thinking.

You should have come to him. You should have trusted him. How can you love him and not trust him? Of all the things he wants to say to you, this thought burns hardest in his throat.

What were you thinking?

“What do you think they want with her?” Sam frowns, glancing at both of them.

“Revenge.” Bucky mutters, his skin turning cold at the thought of you being hurt by their hands.

“The file.” Tony offers as an alternative. “Maybe they think she has another copy of it, or access to it again. Might buy her some time.” He glanced at Bucky, but he hardly hears him.

“Where is she, Stark?” Bucky asks tersely.

“Cameras are following their car, and I’m running facial recognition.” Tony says, but it doesn’t really soothe Bucky.

“Here. Get in. We can follow the map they’re making and maybe meet them there.” Sam suggests, taking the keys.

Tony climbs in the front seat where Bucky had been, Sam drives and Bucky sits in the back, his nerves ratcheting higher with every passing second that he’s not smashing their faces in.

“Got them.” Tony comments, typing furiously on his keyboard. The constant clicking is begging to grate on Bucky’s last nerve.

Sam follows the route highlighted on the dash screen, and at least he’s driving like a human. You’ve been in their grasp too long and it’s making Bucky irrationally anxious to not be able to see you. It’s strange that just ten hours ago, he never wanted to see you again. Now he can’t wait to get you back in his hands.

“There’s an old camera system in the building that they took her to. It’s half an hour away and they have a bit of a head start. I’m back hacking it now.” Tony says.

“You know no one says that anymore, right? No one calls it hacking. And back hacking is hacking someone that already hacked you.” Sam squints at him suspiciously. “Do you even know what a computer is?” He asks, swerving around a car going much too slow in the zoom-zoom lane.

“Better than you do, Bird Brain.” Tony snaps. “Got it.” The display changes and Bucky stares in horror. Sam inches the needle towards 100.

***

The thud pulses in your ears as the buzzing sting spreads slowly across your cheek. Another thud, more stinging as the blood surges to the surface of your face. The restraints around your wrists pull roughly as you’re shifted in the metal chair.

You don’t make a sound, happy to take this punishment. You deserve this for hurting Bucky, and if they’re this mad-they couldn’t recover the missing parts of the file. Even better.

“Where’s the rest of it?” The leader sighs, pacing behind his man. His fingers are steepled against the bridge of his nose as he sighs loudly. “I was told that Stark had a fully functional, working blueprint. What you gave me is useless.”

His brute swings his open hand again, the force of his slap twisting your head to the side. Your eyes water and your cheek heats up to the point of burning. The man grabs a fistful of your hair and turns your head back to face forward with a low chuckle. Your face feels heavy, sluggish as the excess blood rushes there.

“Where’s the rest of it?” The leader demands. You remain silent, willing to take the pain. Nothing can be worse than the feeling of being forced to betray Bucky. He sighs loudly, nodding to someone off to your left. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go back to Stark’s lab. You’re gonna get the full file. You’re gonna promptly deliver it back to me.”

“No.” You say simply.

“No? That’s funny. It sounds like you think you have a choice.” He tilts his head and another man steps forward. This new man, half hidden in shadows, takes a drag off a cigarette, the burning end flaring bright burnt orange in the darkness. With an exhale of smoke, the shadow man presses the cigarette to the fleshy underside of your forearm.

You grit back a scream, but as he twists it in the raw wound, it’s too much and the sound rips from your throat.

“We’ll give you some time to reconsider your choice.” The leader sneers, nodded to the others. They exit, leaving you alone with the shadow man.

He lights the cigarette again, the smell of your flesh burning floats around you, making you sick. He doesn’t ask you any questions, doesn’t talk to you. He just puts out the cigarette on your skin, any exposed spot he can find.

He braces his hands on your burned forearms, squeezing tightly. You scream again, the tears falling freely. You can admit it hurts, but you still won’t give them what they want.

You can’t.

He chuckles, blowing the smoke in your face as the bright ember flares just inches from your face. Slowly, he removes the cigarette trapped between his lips and floats his hand around, trying to decide where to burn you next.

“Ah.” He smiles softly, brushing hair back from your neck carefully, almost tenderly. You try to contain the whimper, but fail miserably. He pulls down the neck of your shirt, exposing your collarbone before pushing the burning point to the flesh just below.

You scream, thrashing against your restraints. You sob, trying to breathe against it. Doesn’t matter what they do to you, you won’t do what they want.

The door opens behind him and another man steps through. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I don’t know how people can be cannibals. The smell is awful.” He laughs, clapping your torturer on the shoulder. “Brought you some more tools.” He places more cigarette cartons in the man’s hand. You whimper involuntarily and he grins, looking down at you.

“Ready to make a deal, sweetheart?” He asks lightly. You spit your answer at his feet. “Perfect. I love when they scream.” He shifts your shirt, his eyes turning thoughtful. “Well, she needs to be symmetrical. Every work of art is symmetrical, and you, my friend, are nothing if not an artist.” He smirks, stepping back.

The shadow man lights up again, taking a couple puffs before pressing it to your skin again, this time under your opposite collarbone.

Another scream tears through your lips as you fight against him with his rough hands and disgusting pleasure at your pain.

“Oh, one last one before we call the boss in, huh?” The newcomer suggests, pulling a cigar case out of his pocket. “It’s Cuban.” He teases, holding it out like an offering.

The shadow man takes it with a crooked grin and snips the end, smelling it appreciatively. He lights the end and takes a big drag off it. Your heart pounds erratically in your chest. This one is so much bigger than the others, a nickel compared to a pencil eraser.

He bites the end between his teeth and motions to his friend for a pair of scissors. His friend pulls out a pocket knife and the fear spikes through you for real this time. You thought they just wanted to torture you into compliance, but if they were planning something worse, you couldn’t fight against them killing you.

He bends over in front of you, ashes falling on your thighs. He taps the sharp blade against your right thigh, and then your left, as though unable to decide. He taps your right palm, his eyes widening in mock fear. Then he taps your left palm, nicking the heel of your hand. Then he drags the tip lightly up your arm, inside your elbow, up to your shoulder.

The blade is next to your thudding pulse and all it would take it just one quick flick and you’d be dead.

But instead, he drags the tip along your collarbone and down along your sternum. One thrust and it would puncture your heart. Lights out. No more Y/N. You would never be able to tell Bucky how sorry you are, or how much you love him.

But you saved his sister. You can rest in peace with that knowledge.

You close your eyes, fixing Bucky’s beautiful face in front of you so he’s the last thing you see.

The tip of the blade presses into your sternum, breaking through the fabric of your shirt. But instead of going further, he holds that delicate balance.

And then he slides the blade up, slicing through your shirt like a hot knife through butter. He yanks when it gets to the seam at the collar, clipping your chin with the end of it.

You yelp in surprise at not being dead and blood drips from your chin. He puffs a few more times on the cigar before spreading your ripped shirt and pressing between the valley of your breasts.

You scream through a sob as he burns you, holding the extinguished cigar in your wound. The door opens and the leader steps through, wiping his hands dry.

“How’s our guest? Ready to reconsider?” He asks pleasantly.

Rage makes you spiteful. You can’t wait to throw anything you can in his face.

“Doesn’t matter what I say. You blew your shot.” You laugh, slightly hysterical. “Barnes knows what I did. I’m never getting near that building again. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not for you, not for the next scumbag, or the next one. You might as well just kill me. I should have told you that from the beginning.” You slump back in your seat, shivering slightly at the clammy sweat that’s broken out across your skin from the torture.

Oh, how you wish you’d been strong enough to tell him to fuck off from the start. You might be a day late and a dollar short, but you’ll be damned if you don’t do the right thing this time.

Bucky will know about his sister by now, she’ll be safe and protected, him by her side where he should be.

Your brother... your eyes fill reluctantly with tears as you think about your younger brother, just starting his life. He’s smart, hopefully smart enough to stay away from this mess, no matter what happens to you now.

“There are plenty of other people to do your job.” He snarls, reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a large silver gun, a revolver as far as you can tell. “See this?” He asks, pointing the barrel right between your eyes. You can feel the cold from the metal, just centimeters from your skin.

“Hard not to.” You manage.

“It’s my favorite. Smith and Wesson’s 460XVR 45 Colt. Gonna leave a hole the size of a potato in the back of your head from this distance.” He hefts the gun experimentally and you try not to flinch, his finger too close to the trigger for comfort. He turns to look at his men. “Feels a little unsportsmanlike to shoot a girl like this, doesn’t it?”

“A bit, boss.”

He turns back to me. “So, let’s play a game. I’m sure you’re familiar.” He releases the cylinder and dumps out the bullets. Your stomach flip flops uncomfortably.

He’s gonna drag this out as long as possible. It’s still part of the torture. He holds up one bullet and slides it in, snapping the cylinder shut as he spins it.

“How about it? Feel like getting my file now?” He asks, leveling the gun back at your forehead.

You close your eyes, picturing Bucky’s face. The way he kissed you before everything went to shit, the smile he’d save just for you.

The hammer clicks, but nothing happens. Empty. Tears slip out, stinging the cuts on your cheek, and you have another moment to remember how much you love Bucky Barnes. His beautiful blue eyes, his perfect lopsided smile, his laugh.

“How about now?” The cruel voice demands.

You murmur Bucky’s name. A quiet prayer, something beautiful and bright among the darkness surrounding you. You can almost feel his soft hair under your fingertips as he kissed you against your front door that last night. The night he told you he loved you.

Click.

Another moment spared. The man chuckles, gripping your chin tightly and your entire face throbs in pain. “Your luck is running out, little girl. Make your choice.” He snarls.

“I have. You lose.” You sigh, eyes still closed. “Bucky, I love you.” You barely whisper, lips moving just a fraction. You don’t say it for anyone else, just yourself.

Bucky will never know. You’ll die here, with him thinking you were a cold hearted bitch. And that’s okay, because you were able to give him his family back. And you can live with that. So to speak. He might never even know you’re dead. Just that you left.

And that’s okay, too. Better really for him to move on.

The cold muzzle and front sight press roughly against your forehead, tearing at the skin there.

“I don’t lose.” He growls.

There’s a loud banging noise, making you jump. The gun disappears from your face and it takes you a long second to realize you’re not dead. And then to realize there’s a violent fight progressing in front of you.

Slowly you open your eyes to see three familiar men fighting your three torturers. Sam is fighting the shadow man, Tony-his companion. Bucky is fighting the leader, with the gun.

Bucky’s metal hand is holding onto the wrist with the gun while his right hand is trying to strike at the man with a long, silver knife. The man backs up quickly, trying to stay out of the reach of the wicked knife, but he trips, falling backward and taking Bucky with him, the gun between them.

There’s a muffled boom, like a cannon and both men freeze on the floor. You scream for Bucky, fighting against your restraints, unable to move, unable to check on him, sobbing with fear and frustration.

Slowly, unsure, he lifts himself up, glancing down at his chest, hole-free. Carefully, he walks over to you, kneeling in front of you as both Sam and Tony subdue their adversaries.

He’s okay. He’s alive.

He cups your face gently, like he’s cradling a delicate bubble. Carefully, softly, he brushes away your tears before cutting your wrists free. His eyes linger on the burns, a dozen on each arm and you pull them back from his inspection. The movement hurts, but no worse than seeing his face, knowing what he must think of you.

“Why are you here?” You ask quietly.

“I thought I made myself pretty clear.” He frowns. “I distinctly remember saying I love you.” He smiles gently.

“You’re supposed to be with your sister. She needs you.” You protest. “You’re not... you shouldn’t... not after what I did. I’m not...” you trail off, your throat tight as a tidal wave of emotions crash over you.

“Sh, sh, sh. It’s okay. We can talk about this later. We need to get you looked at.” He shakes his head. He holds out his hand for me to take, but you can’t bear it, so you use the arms of the chair to push yourself up. You sway on the spot, your body aching, dizzy with pain.

Bucky catches you before you can fall, lifting you gently, holding you against his broad chest. You close your eyes, trying to fight the tears as he carries you out of the building behind his two friends. Sam and Tony are leading our their prisoners, taking a certain amount of pleasure each time they trip.

“You needed me more.” He whispers after a minute.

“What?” You frown.

“You said Becky needed me. But you needed me more.” His eyes drop to your neck, the burns there and your split shirt. A growl rumbles low in his chest and he shifts you closer.

He sets you carefully in the back seat, climbing in next to you. He pulls you against his side and you resist slightly, feeling guilty. You were cruel to him. He shouldn’t just forgive you, not like that. You betrayed his trust, took his heart and threw it back in his face. You don’t deserve him, his love, his comfort, or his forgiveness.

“Y/N?” He starts quietly as Sam and Tony cram the two men into the trunk, lingering behind the car. Probably to give you some privacy.

“How can you stand to be near me? After what I said to you... you should’ve just let me...” you squeeze your eyes shut, so you miss him flinch.

“At first, I was just gonna pretend you did. But then Tony found out what you did to the file. He’s the one who figured it out, what was really going on. And then Becky called. She really likes you.” He says with a fond smile. “We were already on our way to Florida to get you. I’m sorry we were almost too late.” He whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek again.

“How did you find me?” You ask, anything to keep him talking.

“Tony found out where they had taken you and got into the camera system. We tuned in just in time to see the cigarettes...” his jaw locks shut for a moment and you can feel him struggling. “I nearly lost my mind when he pulled out the gun.”

Sam and Tony climb back in, effectively cutting off your conversation. Bucky tries one more time to hold you, but you can’t let him. The image of his face as he left your motel room haunts you.

You don’t deserve him, no matter your reasons for doing what you did. There’s a special place in hell for hurting someone as good as Bucky.

“Samuel, to the airport, please.” Tony says pompously. He flips down his visor and catches your eye, smiling. “Do you drive in Florida a lot?” He asks randomly.

“I grew up here.”

“How did you survive? The roads down here are insane.”

“Says the guy who lives in the city with some of the worst drivers in the world.” You return, your heart not really into the banter.

“Your brother’s safe.” Bucky mumbles, his hand twitching towards you. “We alerted the police.”

You glance back at him and nod before turning to look out the window. You just need a minute alone, to think, to process, to cry. You need to figure out what to say to Bucky so he can see that he needs to leave.

***

The jet isn’t spacious enough to give you space, and they never leave your side at the airport.

Bucky sits next to you on the plane, keeping you far from the two men. That’s easy, you want to be around them just as much as he wants you around them.

You can feel him staring at you, the words bubbling up to your memory easily, but you don’t want to say them.

The plane lands at JFK and he sighs softly, helping you stand. He leads you out to one of the two waiting cars. You glance back at Tony and Sam, but they’re already getting into the other car with their prisoners.

“Guess you’re stuck with me.” Bucky says off-handedly.

“Other way around.” You say, climbing in. You start to pull the door closed but he catches it easily.

“Y/N. I know why you did what you did. I know it wasn’t your fault, or your choice. I can’t imagine what you went through, being forced to do all that. Because I know how you really feel. And right now, yeah, you feel like shit. It’s understandable. And that’s okay. Because I’m gonna be here to help you through it. When the nightmares start, and the panic attacks, and when you feel like you can’t stand under the weight of it all. I’m gonna be here. Because I do love you. And you might not be ready to forgive yourself yet. But I am.” He cups your face, swiping away your tears.

“You can’t.” You manage, trying to catch your breath. “Don’t you understand? If it happened once, it can happen again. I’m a liability to you, to Tony, to what you do.”

“Bullshit. Because next time, you’re just gonna come to me and trust me to keep everyone safe. Do you even understand the amount of people at my disposal? I can call on fifty men right now to go sit on my sister’s place. And another hundred to protect your brother. And still have plenty to protect you.” His hands trail down your neck and his shoulders visibly tense. “I need to get you checked out. Then I can breathe.” He mutters, backing away and shutting your door. He walks around and climbs in next to you, taking your hand. The car starts moving and you stare at him, feeling a bit of wonder at this man.

“What?” He asks, a small smile on his face.

“You know it’s not because I didn’t trust you, right? There’s nobody I’d trust more.”

“So, why not come to me?” He frowns.

“I was afraid. I was afraid for my brother, for your sister, for you. Bucky, you’ve tried to hard to shed your past, to stop all the hurt and nightmares that Hydra caused. I didn’t want to start that cycle again. You’re so good, you deserve so much. And I hate myself for what I said to you, I truly do. But I couldn’t put you in that position to be used again.”

“Sweetheart, I would go through all of that just to have you by me again.”

“You’re certifiable.” You mutter, turning to lean back against him. He wraps his arm around you, under your arms so he doesn’t hurt you, but otherwise remains silent.

***

There’s a knock on the med room door, and you look up from your crossword puzzle to see Bucky poke his head in.

“Aren’t you sick of me yet?” You sigh, setting your book and pen on the side table.

“Nope. So, it looks like you’re free to go.” He says happily, rocking back on his heels.

“I am?” You ask, surprised.

“Yup, they said there’s no infections in your burns, and the hairline fracture in your cheekbone healed just fine.” He smiles, crossing the room.

You frown as reality settles over you. “Um,” you drop your gaze to your lap.

“What is it?” He takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

It’ll be fine. Tony has given you the best security around. Your apartment is safe. “Nothing. Just dawned on me that you won’t be right down the hall anymore.” You shrug.

He grins. “You love me.”

“You’re an idiot.” You roll your eyes.

“True.” He lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing it and inhaling deeply. “Whenever you’re ready, I can take you home.” He promises.

“Right.” You let his play with your fingers for a little longer, procrastinating to the fullest extent. “How’s your sister?” You ask and he smiles.

“She’s good. Demanding that I bring you to dinner.” His grin widens, as his nose skims along the soft flesh of your wrist. “Threatened to disown me if I didn’t. Apparently, you made quite the impression.”

“I’m happy to go, with or without you.” You tease and he laughs.

“I’m not surprised.” He kisses the back of your hand one more time before setting it on your leg. “Go get dressed, doll. I’ll be right here.” He says.

You sigh dramatically and swing your feet over the edge of the bed. You can do this. It’ll be okay.

***

The creaking of the elevator sets your nerves on fire. You clench your jaw as the numbers climb. Only Bucky’s hand in yours keeps you from hyperventilating all together.

You can do this. You’re an adult.

Bucky unlocks your door for you, holding it open for you to step inside. You hesitate for a moment and his smile tightens. He steps inside first, walking through and opening doors. He makes quick work of checking your whole apartment before coming back to you.

“Clear.” He promises.

Your vision gets blurry, but you fight the tears, forcing yourself to step across the threshold. How can you trust this place? How can this be home ever again?

“Let me show you the security system. I know Tony explained it, but it’s a lot to take in.” He says, wrapping you in his big arms.

“I’ll say.” Your forehead furrows together.

“He wanted you to be safe.” He turns you to the front door. “This camera allows you to see who’s outside. But, it has a camera facing inside, too. You can control that from your phone, so you can see if anyone has broken in.” He explains quietly, burying his nose in your hair. “There’s a panic button in each room. You hit that button and help is on the way.”

Bucky takes you through the apartment, showing you exactly how safe Tony has made it for you. And it helps... a bit.

But really, what you see is the kitchen chair you were tied to while people you care about were threatened.

However, Stark went to a lot of effort. And you know if you don’t at least give it a go, he’s going to whine and complain.

Bucky finished his tour back at the front door. This doesn’t feel right. You frown.

“Did you wanna stay? I can make dinner.” You offer hopefully.

“Sorry, doll. We have a mission.” He says, pulling you close. “I’ll come see you when I get back, okay?”

You nod, heart sinking. “Stay safe.” You mumble and he gently puts his finger under your chin, tilting your face up.

“Can I please, pretty please, have a smile? I need to see it.” He begs and despite how hard you want to resist, you can’t.

The corners of your mouth tug up and ride even further in response to his own teasing smile.

“There she is.” He sighs happily. “I love you so much. I’ll call you later.” He kisses you slowly, pulling you closer until he breaks away, his eyes slightly unfocused.

“Sure you can’t stay?” You sigh.

He chuckles. “Positive. I can’t miss this one.” He backs up to the door, holding your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You’re not leaving.” You remind him, secretly happy that it’s as hard for him as it is for you.

“I’m not? Feels like I have already.” He grins.

“I love you.” You mumble softly, trying to force the tears to stay in the back where they belong, at least until he leaves.

“Just what I needed to hear.” He smiles.

You roll your watery eyes and push him out into the hallway. “I don’t need Tony any angrier at me than he already is.” You stick your tongue out and shut the door in his face. Otherwise you’d never be able to let him go.

He knocks on the door and you press the speaker. “Go away.”

“I miss you already.” He says.

“Don’t make me call Sam.”

You can hear his answering laugh and then his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

You can do this. You have Bucky. Everything else will get better with time, and help, and support.

Everything Tag List:

@everythingisoverrated @psyched2b @shreddedparchment @bitsandbobsandstuff @after-avenging-hours @alexblrus @thinkingsofamadwoman @i-dont-want-to-be-called @thefridgeismybestie @fortheloveofallthatsholy @crazychaotic @pleasureoftheguiltiestvariety @redstarstan @justreadingfics @themistsofmyavalon @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @wkemeup @thiccbinch @glide-thru @elliee1497@ellaenchanted91 @part-time-patronus @janeyboo @scarlettwitcher@thirstybitchqueen @xxloki81xx @stuckonjbbarnes @barnesandco @geeksareunique @nicoleplacee @lexshead @gambitsqueen@sebbbystaaan @lokisironthrone @imanuglywombat @also-fangirlinsweden@ravenesque @murdermornings

#lyn2k #bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader oneshot #reader insert #marvel #writing challenge #mermaidxatxheart-writes #bucky x reader

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male-reader-requests · 3 years

Text

Unknown

Pairings: None

Word Count: 2,351

Warnings: This is a little short story so not a one-shot. This talks about Serial Killer stuff, specifically the Zodiac Killer. So uh, blood and gore. Be careful. I am also in the middle of getting together an actual update so don't worry!

I would not know them.

They would be chosen at random, by pure coincidence.

The game, the most dangerous game would be my game. The most dangerous game, the most dangerous prey, the most dangerous predator, they would become my prey.

I do not know my target, so they will not know me. I will go at night, not caring for the dangers of being caught, for I would not be linked to them. I would not care for my appearance, for I do not need to impress them.

I would find a couple, maybe they are together for a passionate night, or perhaps I've caught them just as they decide to split ends, but it will not matter, for no one will ever know. They would be alone, at a beach or on a lover's lane, but I would make sure it was clean, that there were no witnesses and no survivers. This will be my design.

I will shine a light, maybe my headlights or perhaps just a floodlight, at them so they are unable to see me. The light, if a floodlight, will be tapped to my gun. I will have a silencer, to make my act a bit more privet from prying ears.

Whoever is in the passenger seat, whether a man or woman, will be shot once in the neck, and the driver I will shoot twice in the head. If the passenger lives I will shoot them again, perhaps in the chest, maybe in the stomach, I do not care is they survive anymore.

I will shoot the driver again in the chest and again perhaps in the stomach, then I will shoot the passenger as many times and as recklessly as I want, for I do not care. In the end, I will unload an entire magazine into two people, and I will leave, leaving the two of them to rot unnoticed until morning. If either survives then that is their problem.

In the morning, at around 6 AM, I will call the police, reporting a double homicide. If one of them survives then that will just be a blip in the system, a single count of homicide and a single count of an attempt at homicide.

I will tell them I did it, but I will call them from a burner phone. I will proceed to crush said phone and throw it into a river, never to be seen again.

I will be familiar in all the wrong ways, and I will be an ever-recurring nightmare.

I will become the Zodiac Killer of the 21st century.

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

Marissa sighed, looking at the mass of paperwork before her. Being a detective in California was surprisingly boring, especially when all you ever see is a one on one gunfight between rivals. Currently, the last thing she'd done that seemed even slightly interesting was her divorce, and that had been four years ago.

Light hair fell onto the desk before her, her head following. It was slow for some reason, there was nothing for her to do. Well, that was a lie. She could answer the phone ringing on her desk, she could fill out the paperwork before her, and she could go actually eat something, but here she was, debating.

She was drifting in and out of sleep, dozing as her partner August would say, but it was a warm afternoon, who could blame her?

A sharp crack came across her back, the pale woman yelping as her partner snapped her suspenders. August chuckled at her, obnoxiously slurping at cheap coffee in hand. Marissa glared at him, but it was halfhearted, holding no true anger.

"What was that for?" she asked, but she was eyeing the coffee in his hands, not really listening. She didn't really care, the snapping of her suspenders had become a greeting of August's ever since they were paired up, so she's grown used to it.

August just hummed, putting the coffee mug down on the cluttered desk, having to push a few papers so make room. The two of them hardly cared for germs, so when Marissa cupped the mug to herself he hardly batted an eyelash.

"We've got an assignment," August mumbled, his voice shadowed by drowsiness and a slight speech impediment. Marissa didn't move, truthfully she wished that August hadn't said anything.

August, bless his heart, normally dealt with all the paperwork. This meant that they were almost completely ready to head out to wherever they were needed, and as much as Marissa just wanted to sleep she knew that this was probably important.

They would have to talk to the head of their department, an older man named Louis Ridgway before they could go, and Marissa truly wished they didn't have to. Ridgway wasn't a bad person, but he liked to make things seem far more interesting then they are.

Marissa struggled with her jacket as the two of them made their way to his office, dodging interns, other detectives, and officers. Their department was always busy, considering so many people died in California, but it seemed there were even more people here now than there ever were.

August, used to Marissa's struggles, helped his shorter partner into her jacket, then opened the door for her as they entered Ridgway's office. Ridgway, all bushy eyebrows and droopy mustache, waved them over.

He ignored the normal "sit down and listen as I tell you about the case" and made the two of them stand behind him as he pulled up a few things on his computer. Marissa, ever the nosey person, saw a few crime scene photos, the kind you'd expect to see with the yellow number cards and a bit of blood on the ground.

The thing that really got her attention though was the other set of photos, ones that looked like carbon copies except that they had been taken with an older camera, the photos themselves obviously being older if the dates on the bottoms of them were right.

Ridgway turned his monitor off, cutting Marissa's view. "There's been a murder," Ridgway said gruffly, ignoring how lame that sounded. There were tons of murders in California every day, even more, if you count car crashes and accidents.

"I want the two of you to check it out, see if it matches." Marissa blinked a few times, confused and tired, but August nodded, grabbing the pale woman by the shoulder and steering her through the crowded office area.

Actually back to herself, Marissa looked at August in confusion, but the taller man just got into the driver's seat of the car, motioning for her to also get in. Rolling her eyes she complied, not that she really wanted to, buckling herself in.

She didn't know where they were going, who was murder, how many had been murdered, but she blamed that on her pension for spacing out. August probably knew. .....probably.

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

It was a 2-hour drive. It was a 2-hour drive for only 38 miles, San Francisco to Benicia, and Marissa slept the entire time. She knew she wasn't looking her best, but that never really mattered to her.

Sleep rumbled hair and bags under her eyes the short woman got out of the car, accepting the lukewarm coffee August handed her with silent gratitude. The two of them got a few odd looks from local police, but that was more of their own fault, being in a completely different county tended to do that. Police were oddly territorial.

One young man though, obviously just out of training from how much younger he was than the other officers, offered to bring them to the scene. He was all polite and charming, and Marissa was thankful, she and August had to deal with enough rude officers back at the department.

The younger officer brought them through the yellow tape and through the mass of officers mostly loitering. The first thing Marissa got to see was a shit box car, obviously older than average and painted in a fading teal that patched out to show a bit of rust. She then noticed the blood.

There was blood smeared on the passenger door, backseat door on the passenger side, and in the window of the passenger door. There was a pool, or what was probably a pool at one point, of dried blood on the gravel at the backseat door, but Marissa couldn't look further for her view was blocked by a stocky man.

The man himself she didn't recognize, once she'd actually looked up, but she could tell by the way he held himself that he was the head honcho here, and that he wasn't very happy with the two of them being there.

He was tall, taller than Marissa but then again almost everyone was. He was older than the two of them, his face was saggy in a way you only get from heavy drinking and it was twisted in a sarcastic sneer.

"Well, what do we have here?" His voice, like his face, had a strangely saggy aspect to it, and Marissa hated it immediately. As rude as it was she wished she could zone out now, but August had put a hand on her shoulder, forcing her focus.

"Detectives Shultcher and Lynn, we're from San Francisco." August and Marissa pulled their badges out from their pockets, Marissa ending up holding hers upside down.

The saggy faced man seemed to sneer a bit less, but it never left completely. He smiled down at Marissa, then moved to look up at August. His smile was fake, holding no joy or happiness, only restrained rudeness.

He stepped back, letting the two of them through, but you could see the hesitation in his motions, the way he didn't want them there. Police were oddly territorial.

At the actual scene itself, there was a woman and a young man, both of them must have been part of the forensics force. The two of them were collecting samples from the blood, off the car and off the gravel. They had a chest next to them, full of little sample bags.

Marissa hated dealing with Forensics specialists. It may just be a bit of prejudice, but every single Forensics team she's dealt with in San Francisco were rude beyond beliefe and treated her and August like they were stupid, like they hadn't gone through any training.

The two of them hardly even noticed August and her, quietly talking to themselves as they worked. The guy apparently said something funny, making the woman laugh lightly. They left the two of them alone.

Splitting up August went to talk to the first responding police officers, leaving Marissa to survey the scene. This is how they always did it, this is why the two of them worked so well together. August always talked to suspects and officers, leaving the scene to Marissa.

Marissa walked a perimeter, looking around at different angles, knowing that anything could help. As she looked around something started to bother her, this scene, this crime itself, was oddly familiar, oddly something she felt she should know.

With furrowed eyebrows and confusion Marissa continued to look around, but as she got closer to the Forensics team she started to see all the things that looked familiar, making her even more confused.

On the other side of the car, Marrisa saw that the driver's windowsill was covered in blood, so was the seat and steering wheel. It was odd how familiar all of this seemed, but there wasn't much she could do until the Forensics told her about what they'd found.

Walking back over to August she zoned out, trying to place why all of this was so God damned familiar, but she was getting nowhere, only getting frustrated in herself. She drank the coffee that August had given her early, she zoned in and out of August questioning, and she debated on falling asleep as she stood there, but as per usual when she wanted to sleep she wasn't able too.

August, finally finishing up, guided the two of them over to the Forensics team, who were started to clean up. The guy noticed first that they were coming over, lightly pushing the girl in the shoulder.

The guy was all smiles, skinny with a pair of wireframe glasses. The woman was also skinny, but very tall, looking like a beanpole. The two of them told them about what they'd found, what they thought may have happened, and about the two victims.

Victim one was a young woman named Stacy Lamburdas. She lived not that far away, she was married, worked at a little restaurant, and had been the driver. She had been shot 4 times and did not survive.

Victim two was a young man named Darcy Monroe. He was one of the many people that Stacy had been having affairs with. He also lived not far away, working as a deliveryman for the post office. He had been shot 8 times. Miraculously he survived.

Marissa was furiously scribbling into a notepad she had, taking down all the details she thought was important.

"It's funny isn't it?" the guy said, pushing his glasses up. Marissa raised an eyebrow in question, but she didn't look up.

"It's the 51st anniversary, and it's a complete carbon copy." Marissa now looked up, more confused, the woman seemed to notice.

"It's the 51st anniversary of the first killings of the Zodiac Killer, and this scene is very similar," Marissa stalled, his vision tunneling. The two Forensics kept talking, August keeping the conversation going, but Marissa wasn't paying attention.

This is why it was so familiar, why this all looked like something she knew.

The 51st anniversary huh?

Lord help them if this was a copy cat.

#short story #original story

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cherrytart-ffxiv · 4 years

Text

aftermath.

[[ content warning for mentions of abuse, rape, and blood. ]]

Words scribbled in a pale pink journal, the handwriting jerky and fast.

Smoking is a dirty habit. Laelia and Celia tell me all the time. But it’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?

I wish that I could say that I am being strong and unwavering throughout this whole trial. I wish that I could write to my father that my voice hasn’t trembled or risen in a court room surrounded by faces familiar and unfamiliar both. I wish I could say that my nightmare was well and truly over, that this time of new beginnings and closed chapters were really that, but...

It feels like I’m in a dark room all over again.

They ask me how many times Alfie put hands on me, as if one or fifty or a hundred times should be any different. If I tell them I’ve lost count, they ask me to estimate. And if I estimate a thousand times, will it make a difference if I say that maybe it was a thousand and one? I lost count of how many times Alfie beat me. I lost count of how many times he took me against my will. The only thing I haven’t lost count of were the times he locked me in the Quiet Room.

Sixty three times, from the time I was fourteen to the time I was twenty.

Isn’t three murders enough to make someone a serial killer? If I’ve lost count of the beatings and the rape, does that not already make him a serial abuser and serial rapist? Why do they need to know every gritty and grimy detail? Why must I sit in a little box and stare out, glassy-eyed, and recount the story of how my life was made a living hell, over and over and over again? How many times can they write, with detached expressions on their faces, the details of my life?

Misaki tells me to be patient, that it’s a process. I know she’s right, but it still makes me want to scream. I want to take her by the neck and throttle her, scream at her to stop telling me to wait, to be patient. I want her to stop looking down on me. I want her to stop straightening my clothing out before I walk into the courtroom like she’s my mother.

There’s no reason for me to hate Misaki, other than her ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude. But I do, sometimes. Most of the time.

Caius sits on one side of me when Alfie takes the stand, Laelia on the other, and it gives me a thrill to see him in shackles. Even when he meets my eyes, I find that I can’t look away. I bare my teeth. Caius has had to force me to sit before when I didn’t even realize that I was rising from my seat, so incensed by the words his lawyers spoke on his behalf. Serpents, all of them, using anything they can to get him a lighter sentence.

They know he’ll be spending a long time in gaol. It should be a lifetime, for the crimes that he’s committed, maybe more. But he’s greasing the palms of powerful and influential people. I don’t know how fair this trial is, how fair it will be. That won’t stop me from spilling everything, no matter how much it makes my skin crawl, no matter the grimaces I see on the faces of the jurors.

I want them to grimace. I want their skin to crawl like mine. I want them to feel the sense of horror and dread and disgust from the tips of their fingers to the pits of their guts and look me in the eyes if they dare call him innocent on any counts. Girls younger than me take the stand. Their voices shake more. Their eyes glisten with tears that they can’t stop, or they are so broken that they move, look, and speak like emotionless dolls, like wind-ups.

This will go how it should go. I was the first to speak up against Alfie and what it is he’s doing. For the rest of his life, now, I will be his nightmare. I hope, in his dreams, he sees the corpses and dead eyes of the girls he’s killed when they no longer served his purpose. I hope he hears the voices of us still alive when he tries to sleep, baying for his blood, , and that he sees no peace for the rest of his life. Forgive me, mother, for wishing something unkind... But I think that you can understand me this once, in this situation.

Caius lets me go out as I need to. He kisses me and tells me to be careful. He asks questions when I come home with bloodied knuckles and busted lips and bruises, begs me not to put myself in so much danger. I talk to him. I tell him everything. I do what the therapist Misaki set me up with asks me to. I tell her about stuff, too. The doctor, I mean. She’s nice. But talking doesn’t solve it.

Getting in fights is stupid. I know that. I’m perfectly aware of that. I try to keep it to fight nights in scummy alleys and bars, try not to go and get myself in trouble with the law since I need it on my side right now. The rush of adrenaline, the ache of my joints and my bones with each impact, the seep of crimson red across my skin, it gives me a high. It makes me feel something.

----------

Later

People always tell me healing isn’t a linear process, but either way, I feel like a fucking disaster of a person. I feel like a mess. A mistake. People get so tired of hearing you say that, though, you know? They get tired of your sadness, or they just start to feel so helpless. They’ve done so much for me. I know. They must be asking themselves what more they can do, but sometimes there’s... there’s nothing anyone can really do. Sometimes, we just have to let time pass. We have to be angry and confused over why we feel lost in freedom when it was all we craved for our entire lives.

I’m not happy. I’m not sad, either. Right now, I just... am. I’m taking it all day by day. I try to be the best version of myself for the people I love, because I am not the only one suffering. The Benes and Caelius families are making a dangerous journey from Garlemald to the homeland I haven’t seen in my adult life. I need to be here for Caius and Celia and Cato and Laelia. I need to be present and whole and hale, not give them more reason to worry.

I’m trying. Focusing on them helps. Focusing on the curve of Caius’ smile or the furrow of his brow when he’s working on his art or trying to keep up with him and Mac as they run by the beach helps. Arashi is always around, I know, but I know he wants to see me deal with this all on my own. He wants to see me survive this on my own, wants to see me learn to trust the people I love. And I am. I know that I am. It hasn’t been easy. Maybe someday it will be.

But even though it hasn’t been easy, it’s been... rewarding. Leaning on other people, letting myself need someone... It no longer feels dirty. Caius is my sunlight, and like a sunflower, I tilt towards him, wherever he is. Cato can be his most solid form whenever Laelia is around, and he hugs me tight, tells me how proud he is of me. He’s the big brother I never had, everything that Connor never could be.

And I know Laelia is tired from worrying about me, and from worrying for her family, and for the Benes family too, but she always has time for me. If a day comes when I can’t make myself pour anymore out onto Caius, she is always there with a strong mug of coffee and soft arms and quiet understanding while Mac and Button play, somewhere between a mothering figure and a big sister.

Celia is out, more, protecting her family. I know the boys are scared of the bruises on her body and the way she cut her hair and the ice in her veins. It doesn’t scare me. I’m proud of her. She’s ferocious, and she’s good, and I’m here whenever she needs me - my soror, as she says.

I focus more on dancing and music than I’ve gotten to in ages. I laugh a lot now. I play in the ocean and fall asleep in Caius’ arms in the sand, still damp with saltwater, and he still looks at me like all the stars in the sky belong to me. He tells me every day how much he loves me, how strong I am, how proud he is of his clever girl. There’s nothing I hide from him now.

Things are changing, and new challenges will come. So, too, will new joys. We’ll go to Hingashi soon, to see more family than I think either of us know what to do with. I’m terrified. And excited beyond words. I’ve never had a great fear of the unknown... so let’s not call it fear this time.

There is aftermath, now. Soon, though, it will just be a new beginning.

(( tagging the wonderful @benes-diction for mentions of her characters! ))

#cw abuse #cw blood #writing #this is long but it's also been so long since i've updated this plot!!!#ffxiv rp #ff14 rp #ffxiv #ff14 #cw rape mention

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radishannibalblog · 4 years

Text

WIP-un-Beta’d, not Brit-picked.

TW: Depression, past assault, PTSD, mention of anti-depressants, redheads being called ginger, bad Britishisms and probably worse French.

Corsica, 1979

“Go away, Adam! Stop annoying me!”

"Va-t'en, Adam! Arrête de m'embêter!”

Adam pursed his lips and fought back the tears. “I hate you! I hope you die!”

"Je te déteste! J'espère que tu mourras!"

London, 2004

“He’s rich, he’s handsome— what more do you want in a man, Adam?”

“Excuse me? Were you in a coma a year ago when yours truly almost got killed by a rich, hot, blind date? Oh, no, you weren’t, you wrote an article about it.”

“Adam, I care about you, and the best way to get over your trauma is to do a therapeutic version of it. Make happy memories to retrain your brain—trust me, I write for the abnormal psych column.”

“You write for the News of the World, you delusional cow.”

“My research is always thorough, Adam. Just go with it—I’ll vouch for him!”

The ginger devil hands a card to Adam, cocks her head snappily with a plastic smile, and click clacks off in her Pradas.

Adam looks at the card wearily. He’s avoided hookups and dates for the last year; and he felt no obligation to his tabloid writer nemesis, occasional best mate and fuck buddy. But he was getting resentful of his fearful self—and he was getting sick and tired of the cyclic self hatred.

“Where did you go off to, Adam Towers?” He lamented.

“Oh, bugger.”

No matter how well Adam had wormed himself into the posh upper crusts, his meager freelancer pay was never enough to grace himself at a three star Michelin restaurant in London. When he was notified of the place, it was too late to turn back. He’s definitely way too underdressed. A tell tale handiwork of that bloody Freddie Lounds, he was sure.

Unfortunately, where the old Adam would’ve jumped into Topman and snagged a suit en route, the new Adam on antidepressants was uncaring to a fault. Besides, he definitely didn’t want to go home with this most-definitely-a-serial-killer-date, anyways.

He walked in, blinded by opulence, feeling the confused gaze of the host.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Um...reservation for Lounds and company?”

“Oh, yes. Please follow me sir.”

Adam follows, thankful for the disciplined host to not to scoff at his simple jumper and leather trou. Then, his heart stopped.

Cor...Freddie Lounds was right.

His Hitchcock date was handsomely dressed in all black, dark hair set immaculately and, oh dear, has he got heterochromia? Oh, a scar—how did he get injured? Christ, those cheekbones—fucking hell, he’s gorgeous!

“Mr. Towers?” The odd eyed man stood, searching, a polite smile playing on his pouty lips.

“Ah, yes—wait, you know my name? Freddie didn’t give me yours.”

“Jean Duran. I apologize. I am in need of much discretion due to my work.”

Scoop. Scoop. Scoop.

“You must know then, that I am a journalist?”

“Yes.”

Adam shook his hand and sat, putting on his jaunty reporter smile. “Well, now you must tell me. You’ve peaked my interest.”

Jean looked up amused, the menu in his hands. He orders for both, Adam deferring. “I am not averse, as long as I may hear something about you.”

“I’m sure you’ve had me surveilled, what can be left to learn?” Adam half joked.

“Something from your childhood, perhaps?”

Adam looked up, taking a sip of aperitif as he gauged how much danger he was in.

But, he wanted a scoop.

Wanted it SO BAD.

“Name the age.”

“Six.”

The Londoner chased his memory to filter out what he could part with.

“I lived in Corsica.”

“Corsica? Interesting. Visiting a relative?”

“My turn? For fairness' sake. What is it that you do?”

“I am a banker. My previous question?”

“No; Dad was on sabbatical. Is any part of what you do illegal?” Wiggles his brows cheekily.

“Yes. What was the worst memory you had while there?”

Woah, there—a bit too honest isn’t he? Interesting…

As for the question aimed at him, this was tricky.

“I had a fight with a friend I made there. Do you fund illegal activities?”

“Depends. Why did you two fight?” Jean remained nonchalant.

“I don’t remember well, really. I’m sure he was being an arse. As I was a delightful child.” He grins.

“Tell me about all parties involved in one of your illegal dealings.”

“No.”

The waiter arrives with the first course.

“Ok, then.” Adam concludes. Tucking in for his soup.

“Is this the end of conversation for us? Are we to eat quietly like a couple on the verge of divorce?” Jean smirks.

Adam takes a moment. “Of course not. How do you know Freddie?”

“I know her through Dr. DuMaurier.”

“That makes more sense. I couldn’t imagine you even remotely being acquainted with that ginger pest.”

“Such a terrible remark for a friend. Do you have many?”

“No. Not close ones. You?”

Jean wipes his mouth with the napkin and looks up.

“No. I find the term friend to be a very vague term for a person who is not useful, but leeches your time, money and energy.”

“God, you’re a cynic! You make me feel so much better about myself.”

Jean just raises his eyebrows and smiles.

“He...was a friend to me. The one from Corsica? I followed him wherever he went.” Adam looked down, a bit embarrassed about that part.

“Such pity then, that you’d lost him.”

Adam looked up from the second course, mind blank but to reply vaguely.

The courses came and went, their Q and A not heating up the way Adam anticipated. Adam declined dessert and ordered coffee.

“So, Mr. Duran, why on earth did you come on a blind date? A bit of a risk—as you stated in the beginning.”

“I was bored.”

“Bored?”

“Yes.”

“Wha—“

“Same question. How about you?”

“I...Freddie assured me that you are rich and handsome. And I trusted her, stupidly—I mean, the illegal dealings part. I do find you very handsome, and clearly, very rich.”

“So, this will end here then?”

“Normally, yes. I’ll just write up a storm about you. But, since I have experienced near death under similar circumstances, I am not inclined to do so. And because I am very, very attracted to you. Except... you also frighten me just as much.”

“The Tramell case?”

Adam looks away and nods. Dessert arrives. The old Adam would have put up an air of nonchalance, but now, he felt too tired to do that. He felt his interest suddenly leave him. It happened a lot with his medications. A sudden and consuming numbness.

Jean studied the change in Adam’s demeanor and held forth a spoonful of chocolate mousse.

“Mr. Towers, I insist that you must try this mousse. It is utterly decadent.”

Jean looks at Adam playfully. Adam’s numb heart jolts something hot.

He considers the offered spoon and hesitantly allows Jean to dip it delicately in his mouth.

The bowl of spoon stroked Adam’s tongue suggestively before slipping out. Adam fluttered his eyes closed for a moment, the intent of seduction palpable and highly irresistible. The younger man’s soft moan was only audible to them. Adam savored the bitter chocolate and swallowed—trying and failing to center himself. He licked his lips and locked eyes with Jean.

“I should go,” Adam uttered.

TBC

#wip #my wip

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oskea93 · 5 years

Text

Think of You (Part three)

A/N: Hey guys! I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has read, liked, and commented on the story. It really means a lot to me that you all like it! I’m a a nurse and the only type of writing I do on a daily is make nurses notes, which is far from writing anything like this. I really appreciate those that come back each time I post and read the update. I try my best to make it as believable as possible. I promise from now on, Nikki will be featured heavily in every update. I didn’t want the character to just rush into a relationship with him. I wanted to show how their relationship grows with time. This update isn’t the most exciting but I felt it needed to be written so the story can grow and get to the fun parts! Again, thanks for reading and please let me know if you would like to be tagged for future updates!

“You got this.”

I gave myself a once over in the mirror, making sure my outfit and hair looked perfect. I hadn’t been on a date in quite a while and I wanted to make sure I had everything in order. This was going to be my first date since moving to California and I was a bit nervous. I had been on dates with a couple guys back in Georgia but Georgia boys were complete opposite of California boys. I quickly closed the light in the bathroom and made my way to the living room. I looked down at my watch as saw that it was nearing the time that he said he would be here. It felt as if butterflies were in my stomach and my hands were shaking like leaves. It’s not like this was my first date but yet I hadn’t been on one since college. How pathetic am I?

Before I could delve deeper into my dateless past, a strong knock sounded on the door. I smoothed down my skirt as I removed myself from the couch and made my way over to the wooden structure. A large smile ran across my face as I saw James standing before me with a bouquet of roses in his hand. “Beautiful roses for a beautiful woman.” He greeted as he handed me the flowers. I’ve never received flowers from a date before. The only people who’ve ever given me flowers were my parents. I took them out of his hands and delicately sniffed them. “They’re gorgeous.” I beamed. “Thank you so much.” He just continued to smile. I motioned him to come inside while I placed the flowers in a vase. I noticed how he stood there awkwardly, looking around at the dullness that was my apartment. Once I had the flowers in the water filled vase, I brought them back out to the living room and placed them on the coffee table. “You sure that’s a good place for them?” James questioned. “I wouldn’t want them to get knocked over.” I looked at him and then back to the flowers. In my opinion, the coffee table was the perfect spot for the flowers. They would be the first thing to catch someone’s eye as they walk in. I would be the only person walking in but it would still be a nice site to see after work.

“I believe they’ll be just fine right there.” I gave him a reassuring smile. My smile however did not seem to calm his thoughts. I heard him mutter a string of words under his breath as he turned to leave the room. I watched in utter confusion as he made his way out of the apartment and to his car without me. Was he seriously upset about where I placed the flowers? This was my apartment- I can place flowers wherever I damn well please!

I had met James at work. He taught middle school English and helped with soccer team. He was sweet, charming, and highly educated. I could tell that he enjoyed his job and that was very important to me. Teaching was my biggest passion. I knew from an early age that I wanted to be a teacher. I would even play pretend teacher in my room as a child. Once I started speaking with James, I could tell he shared my passion as well. I think that’s what attracted me to him the most. Plus, he wasn’t bad to look at either. He had gentle brown eyes to go along with his light brown hair. He wore glasses, which made him even more adorable. His sense of style was your typical yuppie fashion. He wore slacks and iron pressed button-down shirts. He was very well mannered. He was nothing like that Nikki guy from a couple nights ago….

This had to be the worst date of my life.

I didn’t realize the placement of flowers could set someone off. From the moment I entered the car, he immediately started to rant about the cost of the roses. He went on and on about how something could happen and they would end up ruined on the floor. He explained that it would be a waste of money and that his gesture should have garnered more of a response from me. I tried to explain to him the reason I chose coffee table as the location but he wasn’t having it. I was very appreciative of the gift but he had no reason to freak out like this. I figured once we reached the restaurant he would give up but that wasn’t the case either. Adding more fuel to the fire, the restaurant was overpriced and the food was terrible. I took a couple bites of the meal I had ordered but there was no way I could finish it. The meat tasted as if it had expired months ago and they even managed to screw up a Baked Potato.

“Are you going to eat?” James questioned. I looked up from my food and shook my head. He let out an annoyed sigh, placing his fork down a little too harshly on the plate. “I’m sorry, James.” I apologized. “It’s just-“ “Waiter!” He cut me off as he called for the man. The waiter quickly made his way over, a concerned look was plastered on his tired face. “Yes sir?” He spoke. James proceeded to explain to him that he wanted the check and a box for his food. I was in complete and utter shock. Not only was he making a scene but this was not the guy I knew from school. This version of James was an absolute asshole! I decided that I had had enough. I didn’t even bother to say anything to him as I marched my way out of the restaurant. Even though James was my ride back home, I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I knew there was a gas station up the road and I would just use the pay-phone to call a cab. I don’t even know if he bothered to come after me, probably not since I was a waste of money for him. I should have known this was going to happen. I couldn’t even go on a date with a decent, or who I thought was a decent guy. Maybe I was meant to be alone forever. Growing up in a religious family, my cousins used to tell me that God picked certain people to be forever single. They would always tease me and tell me that I was that person. I was slowly starting to believe that was true….

“Thanks.”

I removed myself from the cab and paid the driver the fair. It was nearing 10:00 at night and all I wanted to do was take a bath and go to bed. Luckily it was a Friday and I had the whole weekend to recover. I knew Mac would want to know how the date went but I didn’t feel like talking to her either. I slowly made my way up the staircase to my apartment. I took each step slower than the other, finally making it to the top. I rounded the corner to my complex but immediately stopped in my tracks.

Standing right in front of my apartment door was the man I despised the most. I didn’t even know the guy but I instantly hated him from the moment we met. Nikki Sixx was the last person I wanted to see right now. “What are you doing here?” I questioned. He slowly turned around at the sound of my voice and smiled. “About time you get home.” I was taken back. How in the word did he know where I lived? Oh God, what if he’s a serial killer and I’m next on his list? What if he’s coming to retaliate after I pushed him out of the booth? The more important question was how did he know where I lived? So many thoughts were swirling around in my head that I didn’t even notice that he had moved closer to me. “Earth to Caroline!” He snapped his fingers in my face, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You zone out a lot.” He chuckled. I quickly put some space between us noticing how close he was. “How do you know where I live?” I blurted out. “Are you stalking me?” I was in pure panic mode at this point. I had heard horror stories on the news of young women getting kidnapped at their homes and then being found dead weeks later. What if he portrays himself as a musician so he can lure girls in and then kill them?

“Hey-” He reached out for me. “Just calm down, alright.” He seemed genuinely concerned. “I had Tommy get your address from your friend. I figured that I owed you an apology for acting the way I did the other night.” He stated. “Plus-“ I looked up at him. “I kind of wanted to see you again.” His eyes connected with mine, causing me to quickly look back to the ground. He wanted to see me again? Even after I screamed in his face and pushed him out of a restaurant booth, he wanted to see me again? I slowly lifted my eyes from the ground and scanned over his body. I started from the bottom and worked my way up. First thing I noticed was that he was wearing tennis shoes with leather pants. I found that to be a bit odd but I continued to scan the rest of his body. He had an army green, sleeveless shirt on with a black faded shirt underneath. Since neither of his shirts had sleeves, I could his toned arms and the tattoo adorned his right arm. His face had noticeable stubble and was clean of any makeup. His hair was flat against his head and looked to be even longer than the last time I had seen him. He didn’t look half bad to be honest.

“Like what you see?” His cocky question brought me back to reality. “I’m enjoying the view as well.” I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. I couldn’t believe Mac would give this guy my address. “I think you should leave.” I told him. “It’s getting late and I have some grading to do before I go to bed.” It was all a lie but I wasn’t in the mood for company, especially his company. He let out a laugh, “You don’t get it, do you?” I looked at him confused.

“Excuse me?” I questioned.

Nikki was standing right in front of me at this point. “I want to see you again.” He whispered. He was so close that I had to look up at him. I could feel my face turning red and my heart was racing out of my chest. Nikki wasn’t the type of guy I usually fall for. I usually fall for guys like James, guys that are basically boring and like to read a lot. Nikki was the complete and total opposite of James or any guy that I’ve ever dated. He reeked of lust and bad decisions. There was no way I could agree to see him again. “No.” I simply told him.

He took a step back, “What do you mean, no?”

I just burst his little confidence bubble. I bet I was the only person to ever tell him no. “I don’t want to see you, Mr. Sixx.” I stated. “You don’t know a thing about me and I feel like we should keep it that way.” He looked taken back. “Besides, we’re complete opposites of each other and it would never work.” I gave him one last glance before I made my way to the apartment door. I placed the key into the lock and quickly opened the door. “You know opposites attract, right?” Nikki yelled before I entered my home. I didn’t even bother to look back and answer. I simply closed the door behind me, leaving the raven-haired man standing alone. A part of me was glad to be away from him, yet I was intrigued. There was something about him, something that I’ve never experienced before with a guy. He was the guy parents warned their daughters about. He was dangerous. He was pretty damn cute. And, he was pining for my affection. He was the forbidden fruit and I was slowly turning into the naïve Eve…

@triplehaitches @sighsophiia @fandomshit6000 @divaanya

#Douglas Booth #Nikki Sixx #Holland Roden #Nikki Sixx x OC #Fanfiction #Motley Crue #MGK #Tommy Lee #iwan rheon #Mick Mars #daniel webber #Vince Neil #1980s

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jasonfersman · 4 years

Text

Everlasting Life: A Tale

Silence. A boon to have when working, but a bane when you’re all alone. Granted, most individuals have moments in their day filled with meaningful interactions between themselves and other people. There’s never a full day when you’re not completely alone with nothing but your thoughts to accompany you.

Except, of course, if you’re me.

Today was just another day at the lab. Testing some animals, looking at the molecular structure of different compounds, all that stuff. I guess if you count the animals in, I’m technically not alone, but frogs don’t really provide the best companionship. They just hop around and croak occasionally. Not exactly the lively conversational atmosphere-providers I needed.

Pouring some extract into a test tube filled with a transparent liquid, I watched as it turned a dark purple, becoming opaque – a negative result. A sigh escaped my parted lips as I removed my goggles and gloves and collapsed onto the chair behind me. It had been 14 days since I’d begun my stay here and nothing. Each test yielded nothing, one after another. As a consequence, an array of test tubes, coloured purple to blue, decorated the laboratory bench. None with the light-yellow result I was looking for.

It was a long shot, to look for evidence indirectly related to what I was seeking. But it was better than nothing.

By the time I rose from my chair, the sun had moved across half the sky, now nearing the horizon, which had turned the colour of fire. I cleared out of the lab, making sure to switch all the main lights off while leaving the ones in the enclosures to cycle through their normal day-night cycle programming. The night was approaching quickly and I would do well to hurry back to my place. Sealing the lab doors, I walked through the tunnels of the complex until I reached my living quarters. The comforting scent of home hit my nose once I passed through the set of double doors, relief flooding my veins after a long day. Tossing my jacket on the coat stand, I sat down on one of the few armchairs I had brought with me, breathing out a long sigh.

I was tired. So tired. And after two thousand years of being alive, I was beginning to get tired of living.

Various pictures were scattered across the walls of my small temporary apartment, each depicting something different. In one, a painting of a young man dressed in 18th century garments stared out through the canvas, a confident expression on his face. In another, a few decayed scraps of cloth were pasted in the centre of the frame, accompanied by a small tag which read “Remains of a tunic from ~8 A.D., preserved in ash.” The others held a variety of surprises, some of which not an insignificant amount of people would have considered intriguing.

I gazed at the one closest to me, which held an artwork done in my likeness from a street artist I had met in 1988. One of the few kind strangers I had met when travelling through the cities that lined the west shoreline, his skill captured a part of me that some others had failed to notice. I later learned that the area which I had passed through had been demolished to make way for a mall and the inhabitants of the previous street driven away. At the time, I had thought nothing of it, but looking back a painful twang within my chest reminded me of how much beauty each life could bring into the world.

Recollections of each of the most recent centuries swam through my mind as I lazed on the chair. A stint with pirates that I had in the 8th century, a time when I had a rebellious streak during the 17th and the wars along the Gulf which I had all witnessed. I had never been in two places at once, but I had had the means to travel and that had been more than enough.

Still, none of these memories or experiences would explain my earliest. Digging into the last place in my mind where neurons fired signals to encode a memory two millennia ago, I closed my eyes and let it overtake me from within.

Coldness. Darkness. Then a sudden heat. Light shining on me, filtering through my eyelids to blare into my retinas. A sudden comprehension of my surroundings and the fact that I was lying on rough ground. A look around that led me to establish I was in a cave, exposed to the elements yet somewhat sheltered from them. And the morning sun had just reached deep enough into it to wake me.

I stumbled out of it groggily, clad in nothing but a loincloth. The sunlight felt hot on my skin, different from the gentle warmth I had experienced the last time I had come down here. There was nobody about, the few paths visible empty. Following them only seemed to lead me to dead ends, though one eventually brought me to a village which had a few inhabitants. Quick conversation with them revealed something far more shocking: the place where I had last died was gone, as if it never existed. Everything had been wiped clean, like the universe had randomised a new slate into existence and placed it over the old one without a care.

Suddenly I was the mistake, the one that was out of place. Wherever I went, no one seemed to recognise me. Maybe it was the sudden lack of my abilities, or maybe it was the fact that I suddenly looked vastly different from before. There was a noticeable lack of…well, any knowledge of what had existed prior. Everything wiped clean and replaced with something or someone new.

That is, except me.

What went wrong?

The memory fizzled into thin air as I opened my eyes once more. There wasn’t much after that I did remember. As the years turned into decades and centuries, more and more of the first days was lost to the passage of time. Not only that, the precious few memories that I had had slipped away gradually, leaving me with less and less of my past. I couldn’t keep track of how many times I had escaped death, only to end up somewhere else again with even less to work with. Only two things stayed with me: the very first memory of the first days and a burning desire to find out what had happened.

The only problem was that as I got further and further away from that point in time, it became more difficult to pinpoint what exactly had happened.

There was a knock on the door.

I looked at the door, puzzled. I hadn’t been expecting anyone. More than that, who would know how to make their way to this island in the middle of nowhere? Thoughts rushed through my mind, flashing from a serial killer to someone several ranks above me. Was I going to get fired? I hoped not.

“Who is it?” I called out, before smacking myself in the head. No way they could hear me through a set of double doors.

But a man’s voice rang loud and clear as if there was nothing that separated us. “It’s Michael.”

“I don’t know any Michael.” I replied. A chill crawled up my spine as I watched the figure behind the set of doors shuffle.

“Trust me, you do.” There was a tone in which voice which rang within my skull in a peculiar way. “It’s been a while since we last met, but if you open the doors, I’m sure everything will come back to you.”

I sat frozen in my seat for a few moments. Then, slowly, I got up from my seat and made my way over to the panel next to the door. Hesitating for a few moments, I pushed the button. The doors began opening with a quiet hiss, revealing the person standing behind them. I steeled myself for whomever had arrived, preparing for it to be an old acquaintance that I had conveniently forgotten about.

Instead, a familiar face stood in front of me, a pair of kind eyes meeting my gaze. A smartly dressed man clad in a grey business suit, tie and all, with both hands in his pockets and an apologetic smile on his face,

There was a moment where I felt like the truth was staring me in the face. Where the weight of the world was about to crash down upon me, suspended by a spider-thin thread. And then the memories returned.

Michael grabbed my arm, steadying me as my legs turned to jelly and my knees faltered. “Here. Let’s get you over to the chair.”

“W-what…who are you? And how do you…how did you…” The words spilled from my mouth in incoherent babbles. “How…”

“I’m Michael. You remember me.” Michael gave me a warm smile. “Is the rest back?”

“Um…kind of.” I struggled not to slur my words. My head was still spinning slightly, centuries of memories back in a second.

“Here.” Michael laid a palm on my wrist. A gentle glow appeared, casting a warmth across my skin, then disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. My dizziness disappeared soon after, leaving me feeling as if I had just woken up from a good nap.

“Glad the healing powers still exist.” Michael got up, walking around the room slowly. “Do you remember everything now?”

“Not really.” My mind was still piecing everything together. “The First Days – oh wait, you probably don’t know that…”

“You haven’t remembered those for the last 150 cycles.” Michael interjected, to a surprised expression from me. “I know. I remember.”

I stared at him with an uncomprehending look. I was not even close to understanding.

“Surely I don’t look that different?” He chuckled. “I know I used to have wings, but in this day and age, it’s a bit of stretch.”

“Wings?” My eyes widened. “Wait. I…I remember.”

“Yes.” That same smile again, only now much more familiar. “It’s been a while, My Lord.”

“How long has it been?” I asked him.

Michael was flipping through different tabs on his phone while conversing with me seamlessly. “Not less than 380 years, I think. It’s hard to keep track. Sometimes they print the calendars wrongly. Sometimes a temporal anomaly crops up.”

“But I’m unaffected, right?”

“Yes. As I am. Sadly, the other angels were not immune.” Michael paused for a moment. Sadness filled the air around us for a brief moment. “As were the archangels.”

“You miss them.” I said.

“Yes.” His eyes seemed watery. “But those are matters past. What matters is now.”

“Indeed.” I cleared my throat, turning to face him. “So, I take it this is your…tricentennial check-up on me, then?”

“Not quite.” Michael locked his phone, shoving it in his pocket. “This time, there’s been a complication.”

“What sort of complication?”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. His expression darkened. “Your father is gone.”

“My father?” The words sounded familiar, but I couldn’t recall anything associated with them.

“God. The Lord himself. His Great…have you forgotten?”

“I might have.” Try as I might, my internal searching returned no results.

“Okay. Start from the most recent one and work your way backwards. The last time we met…”

A train rushing by, papers scattering all over the floor, flustered passengers picking up their items. One man that stood out through the crowd, smiling at me before giving a friendly wave. “Britain.”

“That’s right. And the time before…”

This time, it came faster. A hodgepodge of bushes, houses made of logs clobbered together with rusty nails, a town that hosted less than 80 people, dust storms. “The American Midwest.”

“Correct. Your memory seems good so far. Now, try to reach back all the way, to the first time we met.”

Silence. For a moment, there was nothing. Then…

A man wrapped in robes approaches me as I give the horse its daily feed. “My Lord,” he says. “How have you been?”

“Michael?” My eyes widen as I demand of him, “What happened? Why does no one remember us?”

“I’m afraid I may not have the answer to that, My Lord. Only more questions await you in my stead.” He speaks with calmness, yet I sense urgency in his voice.

“Your father has disappeared. Heaven and Hell, gone as if they never existed. What remains of the heavenly realm is merely a remnant of its previous glory. When the tremor occurred, I was on Earth tending to an old lady’s prayer. As soon as I returned, there was nothing, only greyness, a small table and a note on it. Inside, it was written that your father had departed for a purpose as of yet unknown. There was nothing else there.”

“Did he give you any further details? My father would surely not leave one of his most trusted angels in the dark.”

“None. I have tried, but nothing remains of Heaven other than that space. I cannot connect with Raphael or Gabriel either. I fear for them, for they might have been caught up in the tremors.”

It is the first time I have heard emotion from Michael. His voice wavers when he speaks about his brothers and tears come to his eyes. His jaw trembles slightly as he speaks their names and his demeanour changes. He knows something has gone wrong, as do I. What we do not know is what and how.

“What are our options then, Michael?” I ask him.

“Simply to wait and see, My Lord.” The archangel bows. “I will venture out into the corners of the universe to see what can be gleamed from them, but I am afraid nothing may come of my journey. In the meantime, perhaps you should stay here and tend to your people.”

“I have no powers. I cannot do anything out of the ordinary.” I tell Michael, to his surprise. His expression is one of shock. “I am stuck here, as mortal as the rest of them.”

“Yet I still sense divinity within you.” He replies after a moment. “Perhaps it would be prudent to try and investigate anything that can be.”

“Very well.” I say. “Be on your way then. We shall meet again, I hope?”

“Indeed, although it may be out of necessity.” Michael stoops to place something at my feet, a small parcel wrapped in cloth. “Till next time, My Lord.”

“Safe travels, my friend.” I watch as he turns to walk away, his silhouette disappearing into the haze of the heat. Reaching down, I pick up the parcel, removing it from its cloth packaging.

I may be mistaken. But it looks a lot like a chunk of the sky.

I gasp as my bearings return. Michael’s concerned eyes peer into mine as I take deep breaths, regaining my composure. Outside, the stars of the night sky shine, though not outshone by the moon.

“I remember.” I said after catching my breath. “Is it true? Everyone’s gone?”

“Yes. Except your father, whose fate has remained undetermined all this while.” Michael removed a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of me. “Until now.”

I stared at the paper. Suddenly surprises didn’t feel so fun.

Gently, I reached out and took it, opening it with two fingers. Inside, the letters, ‘h’, ‘e’ and ‘l’ were scrawled across it in a scribble, like someone had written it down in a hurry. The fourth letter was partially obscured by what seemed like…blood?

“Is this…his blood?” I looked at Michael. Worry creased his brow.

“I cannot be certain, but we have to assume the worst.” His words, although spoken with a gentle tone, cut through the atmosphere like ice with their gravity. “I don’t want to think about it either, but I have no choice.”

“What are our options then?” An instant of déjà vu. For a moment, I was back in Jerusalem, tending to the horses as Michael stood in front of me, wrapped in cotton robes.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Michael looked directly into my eyes. As I watched, six wings phased through the back of his suit, expanding to about two metres in length. Michael glanced back, flexing them once. A uniform, cream-coloured glow came to them, along with a light shower of angelic feathers.

He looked back at me, this time with conviction. “It’s time to go, my Lord.”

#writer #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #fantasy #religious

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ain-t-bovvered · 5 years

Text

14x12 Commentary (europe edition)

Special episode where a bunch of tired and caffeinated Europeans ( plus a sleepy American) scream together, and then die and try to get on with their day ( lol AS IF)

Hello and welcome:

@purpleskiesandcherrypies (Nat)

@dean-winchesters-bacon (Kat)

@waywardbaby (Zeta)

@ain-t-bovvered (Giul)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Giu: Oh donatello

Zeta : What a flashback

Nat: ugh... so sick of nick already

Giul: Whatever it takes oh yes cas is gonna do something stupid ?

Nat: "Not even an Archangel"

Giul: Dean doesn’t joke too in terms of stupid decisions.

Nat: Stop it Dean

Zeta : My heart will go on, I’m sorry

Giul: Well that’s creepy

Nat: NO

Zeta: Ohhh fuck

Giul: I’m crying

Nat: Baby NOOO NOOOO Fuck

Zeta : Test drive

Kat : the hand porn though

Giul: That’s fucking terrifying

Zeta : True

Giu: Dean’s face will hunt me forever now. Jensen JFC .

Zeta : Fuck

Nat: Shit

Giu: Dont

Kat : I cried during this

Giu: I am crying

Giu: Hell’s flashbacks tho

I’m hating myself now.

[Dean pounding on the metal ] : No. No!. Sam SAM!

-Up I’m having serious parallels with when he woke up in the coffin after hell.But this time he can’t get out. NICE

- Look at his hands trembling. CAN YALL NOT

[Cell’s lights goes off] the box is dark now.

NO I HATE THIS ALREADY.

-Oh thank god.

Zeta : Sam is naked

Kat : They both are

Giu: OH FUCK

Nat: Shit

- D:” Just a bad dream, it’s fine. I’m ok”

Zeta : Never said I wasn’t scared

Giu: fucking hell

- D: "Never said I wasn't scared.But it doesn’t matter”

Nat: Fuck you

- S:” But what you are talking about is far worse than death. Michael is an archangel, he could literally keep you buried in a coffin, alive, forever.

Giu: Told ya

Kat : Hate this

Giu: That Henley. I love how it rest on Jensen’s hips. distracting.

Kat : Single layer porn!

Nat: I'm not ok .Do I have to keep watching? Ugh

Kat : YES

Giu: the fuck is happening

Zeta : What now?

Giu: They really want to play with this water and drowning bullshit

- Also this episode is already aesthetically pleasing . and that I appreciate .

Kat: They play with so many parallels this week

Kat : It’s like a Criminal Minds episode

Giul: I’m so loving this

Nat: who is he

Giul: Fucker of the week

Kat : UGH NICK GO AWAY

Zeta: Busy bee

Nat: None of that was my fault

Giul: He’s a serial killer so go off i guess

Giul: Yeah well the devil left the rest is all you bitch

Kat : I like the cop lol

- Nick is so empty right now. He’s the most dangerous human honestly.

Giul: Goddammit mark.

Nat: The TALK

- D:”You’re gonna see it through to the end”

Giul: Shut up

Zeta : Mom hates this

Giul: WE HATE THIS

Zeta: Yeah right

- S:” And Cas and Jack, you haven’t even told them”

- D:” Well that’s because I’m not good with the whole big goodbyes, all right? I don’t need to get shaky on this”

Giul: and HE DIDN T TOLD THEM . HOW DARE

Nat: Can I smack Dean over the head?

Nat: Am I allowed to?

Kat: ITS DEAN OF COURSE HE DIDN’T

-D:” Just put the end of this trip out of your head, okay?”

Giul: MY BABE

- C:” Where you able to talk him out of it?”

S:”No so I’m counting on you”

Giul: LOL SAM TOLD HIM

Nat: Awwww Cas knows tho

Giul: good sam

- He asked Rowena’s help too AAAAAH

Nat: of course he would

Giul: WE KNEW

Zeta: Remarkable command of profanity

Nat: LOL Cas about Rowena

Giul: “ Maybe if I spoke with Dean"BAAAABE

- S:”If we don’t find some way...Dean’s gone”

You have to step on my dead cold body first tho

Nat: Dean washed his hands tho

Nat: at least

Kat : He’s a clean freak

Giul: Well remember how he barely touches the public phone booths?

-tHIS EPISODE IS BEAUTIFUL

Kat: This dude is so whacked out

Giul: This is a criminal minds ep. WHEELS UP, where is Rossi when we need him?

Nat: I'm sick of this dude already

Giul: Finally some gore

Kat: BABY

- D:” Do ever think about when we were kids? I know I wasn’t the greatest brother to you”

Giul: DUDE DON’T

Zeta: Regrets

- S:” Dean , you were the one who was always there for me. The only one. You practically raised me”

Giul: U MY DA

Kat: DUDE IMMA CRY AGAIN

Nat: Sammy, stop

Giul: FUCK

Nat: SAMMEEHHHH STOP

Nat: SHIT STOP IT GUYS

Giul: oh this is for the 300 mood

Kat: I think so too

- D:” Things got dicey. You know with Dad, the way he was. I didn’t always look out for you the way I should’ve”

- lol Sam doesn’t want to hear this shit

- D:” I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep peace I probably looked like I took his side quite a bit. Sometimes when I was away, you know it wasn't because I just ran out, right? Dad would , he would send me away when I really pissed him off. I think you knew that”

Nat: I fucking cry

Kat: JOHN YOU FUCKER

- S: “ Man, I left that behind a long time ago, I had to-”

- Look you can pin point the exact moment the eyes starts to get watery...damn it Jared.

- S:” And if we are gonna get through this, I have to do , like you said and try and keep my mind off of where we’re going. So if we could not have conversations that sound like deadbeat apologies, I would really appreciate it”

Giul: YES. THANK YOU SAM.

Zeta: Yeah ok I’m hating this

Nat: Fuck, I'm not ok.

Nat: I like the cop

Giul: BITCH DONT

Kat : Told you Ain’t God he’s praying to

Nat: DIGNITY hahahhaha

Zeta: Yep

Nat: FUck

Giul: WELL THAT’s

Zeta: That was so predictable

Nat: Nick's a fucking lsdhfishgoiewahgpieshgäahgeisladhflidshglidsea

Kat : Can he die already? I shouldn't smash my work computers keyboard that hard, probably

Giul: Hey gotta hand it to the guy tho, he’s pretty resourceful

- Sam finding a case. I’m not even surprised.

Zeta: The Winchester boys

Nat: ONE LAST CASE FOR THE WINCHESTER BOYS fuck you

- S:” You had to go there”

Kat: Damn it

Zeta: Enochian

Zeta: FBI

Giul: YAS

Nat: I'd open up that door so fast tho

Nat: and get on my knees

Kat: Control yourself woman

Nat: You know who you're talking to, right?

( that sentence is knitted in the back of our watch biker gang jackets)

Kat : THE COATS

Giul: FBI FBI FBI FBI

Giul: dean sitting so cutely

Zeta: I’m sorry.Has anybody noticed how huge their feet are??

Giul: licking lips

Nat: Dean's such a smol bean next to Sam.

Kat: Dean looks so tiny.GET OUT OF MY HEAD

- This all conversation with the twin is a real guilty trip for Dean.

- Also this confirms that Dean and Sam knows some enochian. And that’s sexy.

Talk enochian to me * trumpet sounds*

Giul: CASTIEL MY BABE

Zeta: Angel on call

Nat: Awww Cas smiles

- C:” Dean” “ [BIG FUCKING SMILE] “Is so good to hear from you”

Giul: WOW he’s so- GODDAMMIT

- [stammering] : ok...well ..good. Ah [clear throat] listen , Cass....

- C:” You are working a case? That Is So GoOd tO hEaR. So I assume that means you’re not going to go through with it. Because I have to say, Dean , this plans of yours, it was born of, of desperation , not reason”

Kat: BUSTED

Giul: WE KNOW

- C:” I-I know that I’m not supposed to know , what I know, but”

- D:” "Look I'm fine with my plan"

Nat: LIAAAR

-C:” NEED TO HAVE A CONVERSATION”

Zeta: It’s good to hear your voice

Giul: MARRIED

Zeta: I love you

- D:” Really?” S: “ Dean, it’s your husband Cass I had to tell him”

Giul: lol can we remember that Cas fucked up Donatello for them?

Nat: How he leans against Baby tho I caught myself staring at his crotch. oops

Zeta: Well....

Giul: Aaaaand flannel again

Giul: Shocking

Nat: SURPRISE It's funnier in Enochian I guess

- ALSO hell yeah for Dean being the smarty pants ! I live for these moments. We all know Sam is the main brain , but seeing the writers giving us these brilliant Dean moments is life.

Giul: He cray. This is so creepy amazing. Finally some spn old style

Kat: I know, they finally have a proper almost scary ep again

Nat: Yes. I still remember how creepy sometimes Season 1 was. oh they're here to save the day

Zeta: The Winchester boys

Giul: MOOSE IS ANGRY . SQUIRREL TOO

Zeta: Bamf much?! The hiss

Nat: Dean, control your anger!

Giul: H. O. T

- Poor guy tho, it’s not his fault .

Kat: Love snarly boys!

Giul: WELL FUCK

Zeta: Baby’s ass! I’m sorry again

Giul: We end the ninja turtle

Giul: UUUUUUGH

Kat: Ugh this bitch again

-Vintage Nick

Nat: I wanna skip Nick. Can I skip Nick?

Giul: NO Mark acting is gold

Kat I hate this whole scene

Nat: He's too good and I hate him

Giul: Wait Why is No NO , fuck no. WHAT

- The fucking ice ....

- N: “Lucifer....?”

Sarah :

Kat: ITS DUMB AF

Kat: I HATE THIS SCENE

Nat: SPN makes me question so many things

Giu: FUCK MARK OK

Nat: TELL HIM. I LIKE HER

Zeta: She kinda hates him

Kat: BUT SHE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING.SHE SHOULD BE THROWING HIM AGAINST WALLS AND SHIT

Giul: Let her leave bro

Nat: NICK LISTEN TO YOUR DAMN DEAD WIFE

- N: “ I can’t”

Kat: Nope he’s gonna be a little bitch

Giul: Oh I’m sorry he’s like a Stockholm victim.

Nat: "I'm sorry." Is he really tho?

- N:”Wherever is darkest”

Kat: Melodramatic much Nick?

Nat: DR CAS

- DR NOVAK

Zeta: Oh hello

Giul: THE OTHER Mr Winchester.

Giul: OOH OOH HOT

Nat: Dean's smirking

Giu: DOCTOR

Zeta: Giuls, u ok??

Giul: I . AM. NOT. EARSKYHGZLYCBTSGKBP FUCK ME

- Doctor: follow me.

Sam scrambling the fuck away from the sexual tension

Dean eyes on Cass [starts the sexual tension]

me [bathing in sexual tension]

Nat: THE HAIR ON CAS THO

- C:” It was necessary, doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. Doesn’t mean I don’t wish there could've been another way”

- C:

- “Please don’t compare this with your suicidal plan. Just stop it”

[ tilting head in angry ]

Zeta: Tell him Cas

- D:” Why don’t we talk about that later”

Nat: "according to your plan, there won't be a later." I love Cas

Giul: YES

Kat: THE SASS

Giul: CAS BABE

- D:” You think this is easy on me?”

-Why does it always look like Cas is on the verge of tears and they never fucking show us the real deal

- C:” So then, this is goodbye?”

Zeta:He’s hurting

- ThE FuCK Is tHaT LoOk DeAN

Nat: "Guys.. stop bickering." Is what Sam should have said. lol

lol and Cas holding Dean’s gaze a bit before focusing on Sam. Good moment

- D:” I thought he was too far gone”

C: “Dean if there is a spark of hope. then I have to try “

- Damn these writers are not being subtle.

-C: “ YOU taught me that”

Giul: GUYS I CAN T

Zeta: *pats your back *

Nat&Kat:"Get out."

Giul: when castiel get so riled up I get all tingly.YES ORDER ME AROUND

Zeta: @Giul control yourself woman

Giu: PSH HAVE U SEEN THIS...[gestures vaguely] HOW

- Sam not being subtle too

Nat: Sam's throwing shades

Kat: THE DIMPLES OF DISCONTENT

-I will never get tired of Cas glowly hand

Giul: ANGEL EYES YAAAASP

Kat: Okay dude would be choking on that tube

Giul: CAN I WAKE UP LIKE THAT TOO

Nat: I wanna wake up being surrounded by three hot boys

Giul: [clicks tongue]

Kat: With three handsome men? Yes please

- yeah ok you can’t fucking say that and look up at Castiel, Dean..you motherfucker

- C:” Would do like more grape jello?” [voice deepest than Dean’s closet]

Giul: WHAT WAS THAT VOICE CAS i felt it in my [censored]

Kat: Donatello and his chicken

- Those two whispering like that .... fuck you

Nat: THE dimples

- Castiel’s little awkward smile

- This episode is so beautifully shot I can’t

Kat: I need a gif of them legs @Giulia please ma’am

Giul&Zeta: NO REST FOR THE SELF DESTRUCTIVE.

- D: “We are going out on a high”

i wanna slap him....hard

- D: “ Sorry”

S: “sOrRY “ *chuckles*

- Sam is not drinking beer, he’s drinking hot salty tea.

Nat: Sam's really at it, huh? Trying to guilt trip Dean out of it

Giul: i don’t blame him

Nat: Can't be mad at him, tho

- S:” I have to throw away everything we stand for” aaaaand the voice cracks....good....great...

Zeta: He’s soooooo angry

Kat: Sam’s hair is so fluffy

Nat: LISTEN TO SAMMY DEAN

-S.” You just don’t check out of it “ * snarls and pushed Dean*

Dean is offended of the push.

Bitch you don’t get to be offended

- S: “ if you quit us today, there won’t be a tomorrow. What are you doing now it’s wrong,it’s QUITTING”

Giul: SAM MAD DESPERATE VOICE IS GOOD

Nat: I believe in us, Dean

-Dean doesn’t respond.

- Sam:

- Sam is all of us

Zeta: Smack him

-[Enters desperate hug]

Nat: fuck, now i'm crying

Giul: sobs

Nat: fuck no shit

Giul: OH COME ON

Kat: THIS HUG

- [strained voice] S: “why don’t you believe in us too?”

Giul: It’s too early for this.

-Sam looks like a kid here , a scared sad kid and I CAN’T DEAL WITH IT

Kat: SAM HOLDS ON SO TIGHT

- D:”Okay Sam”

Sam sniffs

D: “Let’s go home”

Nat: I need a cigarette and lots of wine

Giul: MOOD

Zeta: This fucking hurts so bad

Nat: Why you gotta make me cry tho

Giul: GOOD LORD. Stop the voice breaking

- D:” And I’ll keep believing until I can’t”

Kat: MY BOYS 😭😭😭😭

Nat: NO

Giul: JARED WTF

- D:” you’ll have to take it for what it is....the end”

Nat: SAM WON'T DO IT

Giul: STOP IT

-D:” and you have to promise me “ [Dean’s voice get high] “ that you’ll do then what you can’t do now. and that’s let me go”

Giul: HE FUCKING WON T

Nat: FUCK YOU ALL

Kat: JARED STOP YOUR FACE

Nat: FUCK YOU

Giul: JARED FUCK U

Kat: ALL OF YOU STOP YOUR FACES

Giul: FUCK IT FUCK ALL OF U

Nat: I'M DONE FUCK THIS SHIT

-D:” Just don’t hit me again”

- STOP THIS FUCKING MUSIC RIGHT FUCKING NOW

Zeta: i HATE ALL OF THIS

Nat: I DON'T WANNA WATCH ANYMORE, NO MORE SPN FOR ME

Zeta: I HAAAAAAATE IT!!!!!

Giul: AND WE HAVE ALL SEASON 15 too

Nat: FUCK THIS

Giul: YAAAASP GUYS

Kat : NO YOU HAVE TO WATCH NEXT WEEK

Giul: PROMO NOW

Zeta: Yeet

Kat: PREVIEW

Giul: GO WATCH THE PROMO BITCH

Kat : GO I CAN’T FREAKING WAIT

Giul: i LOVE IT

Well well WHAT A FUCKING RIDE.

WE HATED IT.

If you want to get tagged in the future ones send an ask HERE or to @waywardbaby or a smoke signal, idk whatever I’m tired af.

TAGS: @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @destiel-honeypie @mariekoukie6661 @dragontamerm @closetspngirl @rainflowermoon @mattiecat @bunnybaby121115 @aliaitee2 @jacks-word-of-the-day @4evamc @dammitsammy @legendary-destiel @winchesterprincessbride @destielhoneybee @castiellover20

#prophet and loss #supernatural #spn #Episode commentary #spn commentary #spn episode commentary #spn season 14 #supernatural season 14 #season 14 #spn 14x12 #supernatural 14x12

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the-dirt-king · 5 years

Text

Looking for Creepy Pasta RP

Ha ha, I’m a bit embarrassed to admit it but I’ve fallen into the deep end of the creepypasta fandom and am looking to RP with some OCs. I’m good with my partner using OCs or official characters and wouldn’t mind NSFW at all, though it’s not required. I personally will be role playing with OCs, a girl and a boy, and can do gay or straight ships/nsfw.

It’s also my personal head cannon that creepy pastas are somewhere between alive and dead, and so cannot be killed all the way, but can be taken out of commission for a while through typically mortal wounds, at least in most situations. I’m willing to be flexible with this though!

As far as NSFW goes, we can discuss that in private.

My characters are here! Please shoot me a message if you’re interested!

Basics

Name (& pronunciation): Tripp (trip) is all you need to know

Date of Birth (& age): July 9th (18)

Place of Birth: some small American town

Gender: Female

Species/Racial Origin: Human, white

Social Class/Community Status: Poor

Language: English

Family/Friends/Pets/Etc: Just the proxies she was raised with, none of which she’s fond of.

Physical Description

Height: 5’7

Weight: Underweight

Hair: Light brown, with a real hack job ending just at her chin, but several strands that are longer or shorter.

Eyes: Dull hazel and tired

Limb Dexterity: Clumsy

Detailed Physical Description: Trip is tall and lanky, with lean muscle but evident malnutrition. Her hair is messy, looking like somebody cut it with a pocket knife, and she’s pretty riddled with scars. Her most noticeable feature is a limp and a foot that’s not quite turned right from a mediocre attempt to fix a broken ankle, hence the nickname. Her eyes are wide and paranoid with noticeable bags beneath them.

Typical Clothing/Equipment: Old second hand clothes, but mostly hunting plaids and such, thicker material. She also wears a mask, though, it’s made of paper mache and sealant, and looks pretty torn up, but it still has a relative shape of a bird head to it.

Personality/Attributes

Personality/Attitude: Depressed, tired

Skills/Talents: Tripp’s talented at murdering folks with whatever’s around, and pretty good at digging. Her favorite tool is a shovel, because she can hit people with it without letting them in stabbing range.

Favourites/Likes: Warm food, warm drinks, warm house, being away from work and the other proxies, soccer, critters, normal people

Most Hated/Dislikes: the other pastas, Especially the proxies above her, getting caught, people poking at her foot.

Goals/Ambitions: Escaping the Slenderman and living a normal life

Strengths: Creative, intelligent, desperate, fearless

Weaknesses: Slow as f u c k, easily over powered by folks in the business, clumsy on her feet, desperate

Fears: Tripp is terrified of Slenderman after the last time she tried to escape.

Hobbies/Interests: Wood carving, star gazing, rocks, neat bugs

Regular Routine: Wake up, eat, complete the day’s mission, go home, fail to sleep, pass out

Philosophy of Life: You give your life meaning, or somebody does it for you

Attitude Toward Death: she can’t wait, it’s got to happen sometime... right?

Religion/Beliefs: If there was a god, she wouldn’t be in this situation

Fetishes/Strange Behaviors: Always looking over her shoulder, starts coughing up black bile and leeches when she goes against the Slenderman

History: Tripp was kidnapped in the third grade or so as an offering to Slenderman, but was chosen as one of the many children to be raised as a proxy due to her physical skills as a soccer player. This was all as fine and dandy as it could be until she broke her ankle chasing who was supposed to be the next victim of the Slenderman in the seventh grade, and, considering she was mostly being raised by other children, it never healed right (turns out, broken bones need a splint and not just bandages. Who knew?) This led her to lose pretty much all of her agility, and led to the affectionate nickname of “Tripp”. Knowing that she was no longer valuable enough to keep, she tried to escape as a teenager only to be tracked down by the proxies she considered friends, who brought her back. She doesn’t really remember what happened next, but she hasn’t felt quite right since.

Sexual Preference/Experience/Values: She doesn’t know yet, having had no sexual experience, and only really hearing the basics

Education/Special Training: She was raised to kill, but not to go to school, so she isn’t great at maths and reading, much less grammar

Place/Type of Residence: The slender manor

Occupation: Proxy

Place of Work: Wherever the Slenderman wants her to go

Basics

Name (& pronunciation): James Jackson

Date of Birth (& age): October 4th, 18

Place of Birth: Somewhere in New York State

Gender: Male

Species/Racial Origin: Human, native/white mixed

Social Class/Community Status: Upper Middle class

Language: English

Family/Friends/Pets/Etc: Deceased

Physical Description

Height: Average

Weight: Average

Hair: Black

Eyes: Green

Limb Dexterity: Good

Detailed Physical Description: James is a fairy good looking guy, tan skin, white smile, pretty green eyes, the whole deal. He’s pretty averagely sized, but has some lean muscle to him.

Typical Clothing/Equipment: Nicer clothes, and a large hammer that he uses to smash heads. He wears a fancy bunny mask and calls himself the Easter Killer. The news papers call him the Red Rabbit instead. James is unhappy about this:

Personality/Attributes

Personality/Attitude: Smug, cocky, and full of himself

Skills/Talents: James is fairly decent at murder, but by no means the best. He’s also good at school and is pretty smart

Favourites/Likes: Being an asshole, smashing shit, buying things, sports

Most Hated/Dislikes: The cops, freaky monsters, folks being better at things than him

Goals/Ambitions: Being remembered as a famous serial killer

Strengths: Pretty athletic and fast

Weaknesses: He’s too cocky and picks battles he can’t win

Fears: Getting forgotten, being caught, the freaky monsters that stalk him in the night

Hobbies/Interests: Murder, dark things, knifes, serial killers, revenge

Regular Routine: Pretty average, he fucks around during the day and then kills at night

Philosophy of Life: The purpose of living is to be remembered

Attitude Toward Death: Won’t happen to him

Religion/Beliefs: Christian, just doesn’t respect god

Fetishes/Strange Behaviors: It’s pretty weird to wear a rabbit mask while smashing people, but aight

Brief history: He didn’t take the car crash that killed his parents all too well, and started killing folks he believed deserved to die more than his parents. Once the news got involved, he started to get high off the attention. It’s too bad that once his killing spree got really rolling, he was chosen as a target for the Slenderman, and he shot himself in efforts to kill himself before the monster did. Clearly, it didn’t work, as he’s not quite dead now. He doesn’t like removing his mask though

Sexual Preference/Experience/Values: Bisexual, but doesn’t know it yet

Education/Special Training: Finished most high school, but no real murder training

Place/Type of Residence: On the run

Occupation: None

Place of Work: None

Work-related Skills: None

Past Occupations: Worked at his aunt’s restaurant for a tick.

#roleplay #open rp #oc rp #new rp #creepypasta #creepy pasta #my ocs #ocs

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ariespageofbreath · 6 years

Text

Monster Summer Mash: A Midsummer Night’s Dream

hahahaha i am so late wow-

also two entries in one day what is this madness-

On another note, I really love Gaster and I should write more of him, because he’s wonderful. Headcanons galore for this one.

@sinen0mine huehuehuehue

(It’s still technically the Road Trip Trio, right? *Shrugs*)

Your parents may not approve of you going on your little cross-country trip, but in your opinion, this was the best choice you could have made. The sense of freedom you gain from driving along the wide open stretches of country road, elbow resting on the rolled-down window sill of your old RV and wind in your face and radio turned up loud, is more more than you could have ever asked for. Things were so stifling back home, but here, you could do and go wherever you wanted, experience new things, and no one could tell you not to.

Your trip had started three weeks back. You were tired of being stuck inside for such a gorgeous summer, so you had called in your unused vacation days, packed up your bags, and broke out your parents’ untouched RV. You were gone within a night, and so far, you hadn’t regretted a moment of it.

About the only thing you missed were the people, especially when you were on a road like this without much to distract you. You’d kept in contact with any friends via social media, but beyond messaging a few of your closer friends, you tried to stay away from such apps. The last thing you wanted were your parents breathing down your neck, disappointed in you for dropping everything to “live like a hooligan.”

You were plenty civilized still, thank you very much. It could be worse. You could have decided not to take the RV and just walk out with only the clothes on your back and live in alleys for the duration of your trip.

You’re pulled from your thoughts by the honk of a car in front of you. It’s a cute little white van with several children in it, from what you can tell. They’re honking at the cars in front of them, who have slowed down for some reason. You stick your head out the window, curious about what’s causing such a ruckus.

Oh. It’s a person, standing on the edge of the road, thumb out in the universal sign of hitchhiking. From what you can tell, they’re wearing a giant straw sun hat and a dark coat, which you don’t understand, given the fact that it’s so hot out.

For a moment, it looks like the car might let them on, but then they simply start driving again. Their thumb falters minutely, but remains stubbornly in the air. The next several cars drive past as well, leaving you feeling sorry for the poor fellow loitering on the side of the road. However, as you pull forward, you think you understand why the others rolled past them.

It's a monster. A skeleton monster by the looks of it, with a baggy turtleneck that's some shade of light purple. There's a pair of cracks in their face, one running from the back of their head down to their sagging right eye socket, the other trailing down from their left eye to the corner of their bashful smile. Floating amidst the darkness of their eyes are two small dots of white light, soft and fuzzy and warm. It puts you instantly at ease.

(Where is the other one? You find yourself thinking, but then you wonder why you thought it. You've never met this stranger before, and you've certainly never met a skeleton monster.)

They're giving you a look of mixed wariness and hope, like they want you to pick them up but they don't think you will. It breaks your heart and makes you mad all at once. From what you can see, all the poor guy’s got is a tiny bag slouching by his feet and the clothes on his back, but no one else could be bothered to help him out. No one was willing to give him the time of day, and for what? The fact that he's a monster. Sickening.

Nevermind the fact that he could be a serial killer; just because monsters in general were pretty nice didn't mean this one was too- not the time!

With a soft smile, you rolled down the window and leaned out. They were much taller up close, their chin coming up to the window sill. Hmm. Would you be able to fit them in the RV…? Nevermind, worry about that later. “Howdy, stranger. Looks like you could use a lift.” You jerk your thumb at your vehicle, throwing in an enticing wink. “I’ve got a real nice rig here. Full plumbing and everything.”

They-you feel like it might be a “he”-looks very surprised you’re willing to give him a ride. His eyes seem to flicker, and you get a picture of fur and green, and then it’s gone as he speaks. “Are you sure, my friend? Even though I am…” He falters, soft, low voice trailing away as he gives his holed hands an ashamed look.

You don’t know why those holes don’t surprise you. You don’t know what possesses you to lean out the window and grab the hands of a complete stranger, holding them tightly as you stare him dead in the eyes. “You have no need to be ashamed. There is nothing wrong with you. So what if you’re a monster? You could be a puddle of slime and I’d still let you on my RV if you wanted.” You crack a smile, admiring his startled look and the hint of purple you see climbing along his cheeks. “If it bothered me, I wouldn’t have offered, sweetheart.”

Where is all of this coming from? You have no clue. But it seems to work. He gives you that shy smile again and murmurs, “Well, if you insist, then… I suppose I shall take you up on your gracious offer. Thank you, my friend.” His hands squeeze yours, and somehow you don’t mind the touch.

As a matter of fact, when he pulls away to grab his bags, you miss the feeling of cradling his long fingers in yours, or the indent of the holes pressing against your palms. You try to ignore it, hurrying around to the door so you can open it for him. You try to take his bag for him, but he seems to anticipate this, as he holds it above your head-far, far above your head, because holy crap, you were right, he’s very tall. He’s maybe a head shorter than the ceiling, but it’s possible he’s taller.

Either way, he gives you a fond, amused smile, eye sockets crinkling at the edge, and you’re struck both by the familiarity of the expression and how comfortable he already seems around you. “I appreciate your desire to be a good host, my friend, but I assure you that these bones are not so brittle that such a small bag would be a burden.”

Your flush despite yourself, and can’t resist giving him a playful pout. With an exaggerated huff, you step sideways, waving him in. He chuckles (something in you resonates) and sets his things down, glancing around. His shoulders slump just barely, as though the sight of your RV has relaxed him. He catches you staring at him and smiles, holding his hand out and introducing himself. You don’t quite catch it, but you take his hand and return the favor anyways. You think you see a brief flash of something else in his expression, but it’s gone quickly.

You show him around the RV, though he seems to have the interior mapped out pretty quickly already. You don’t question it. He seems surprised and a little flustered when you offer him the bed below yours in your room, and you quickly apologize with your own mortification. You’re entirely too comfortable with this stranger, and while it should disturb you, it’s strangely… comforting? You feel like you’ve already known him for a long time, and it just feels natural to be close to him.

While you don’t say as much, you think he notices it when you assure him it would be no big deal; you’re pretty lonely in here by yourself and having someone close by would be nice. He echoes the sentiment, shyly admitting that he has a bit of a fear of being on his own. Of course, this makes you want to know why he was out there alone on the street- how long he’d been there by himself, and you feel an inexplicable surge of protectiveness.

You make a likely-impossible promise that if you can help it, he’ll never be alone again.

Picking him up was the best choice you could have made.

Your companion (you still felt like there was someone missing here, an empty space where someone should be) was a doctor apparently, though he wouldn’t tell you much about what he used to do. He sat in the passenger’s seat to chat with you and occasionally act as your navigator, as he was very good with directions. The two of you would often playfully bicker over the radio, fighting over which station to listen to. You liked much of the same music, but there were some songs you would never understand the appeal of.

He talked to you about everything and anything. You spent hours simply chatting back and forth, sometimes telling stories or sometimes philosophizing; sometimes you'd set up debates or road trip games to pass the time, and sometimes he'd get to talking about something science-y, and you'd stumble through the conversation with him. He was always kind enough to explain what he talked about in terms you understood should you find yourself lost, and you walked away from the conversations much wiser.

In return, you told him about the surface. He'd been a little late coming up, he'd explained hesitantly, and so many things about the surface still confused him. He was particularly interested in the scientific leaps mankind had made and loved to compare it with tech from the Underground, but he also found humans in general to be fascinating.

You spoiled him a little with science. You went to expos and conventions and fairs and museums, anywhere dedicated to learning. He always got so excited, grabbing your hand and smiling wide at you, sockets twinkling. You'd let him drag you around, standing back as he spoke to fellow scientists and smiling affectionately at his enthusiasm.

He seemed to particularly like the space museums and observatories, and would spend hours studying star maps and peering out the telescopes. (You may or may not have decided after that to purchase several of said star maps and a telescope, both of which you were thanked for profusely.)

Your RV was a mess most days, but it was a kind of mess you didn't want to clean. His scientific papers went on almost every available surface save for the couch, which was were the two of you generally ended up sleeping-you had developed a habit of talking well into the night with him. You'd bought him several outfits, as he didn't have much more than what he had been wearing when you met him, and so several turtlenecks and coats ended up draped over furniture randomly. Your shelves were filled with peculiar concoctions of tea-he made his own, which had… interesting outcomes, to say the least-and little sweets you both enjoyed, along with a mix of your favorite books and his binders for research.

All in all, your RV had become far more comfortable and homely than it had been. You smiled every time you stepped over one of his papers or he complained about you drinking all the tea, and overall, you were simply much more content than you had been in a long time. It felt like the happy days would never end.

And of course, that's just when they did.

You'd pulled into a nice little diner along the beach for breakfast, neither of you wanting to cook. You were in the middle of working your way through a delicious breakfast when he spoke up. “My dear, are you alright? You've been very quiet all morning.”

With a half-hearted smile, you reluctantly met his worried gaze. “It's probably nothing, I know, but I just… I have this awful feeling… like something bad is going to happen soon. Like… like I'm going to…” You swallowed thickly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I feel like I'm going to lose you.”

His hand gently gripped yours. You didn't like the sad way he smiled at you. “My dear, you don't have to worry about that. I'm not going anywhere. As long as you want me here, I'll be with you.”

This was wrong. He wasn't supposed to be saying that to you. Who was? There was someone else. Someone with golden eyes and a confident smirk and determination in their voice.

“You're part of my family now,” he continues, but that's wrong too, his face is wrong, where is the green in his eyelights and the pale turtleneck and the slight accent? “I won't be so easily shaken.”

Your head is spinning. You're missing someone. Two someone's, two people who are important to you, so important, important just like he is. Who is it? Who's missing? “What's going on?” You whisper, giving him a shaky look. His fingers tighten around yours reassuringly, and the touch helps calm you slightly. “I'm confused. There's- we're not- we're missing-”

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, getting up from his chair and circling around to kneel in front of you. He's still giving you that sad smile. You hate it. “They're not missing. They've been here the whole time. Everything will be alright, my dear, I swear to you.”

“You're leaving, aren't you?” You realize, gripping his hand tighter. “You're going away.”

“No, sweetheart, you're leaving. My time with you is up.” He reaches out, gently rubbing your cheek, and you realize you're crying. He smiles, more sincere, and leans forward, resting his forehead on yours. His hands frame your face gently, and he whispers, “I had a wonderful time getting to know you, darling. Goodbye.”

His name comes to mind, forming on your tongue as easily as breathing, but you don't have a chance to respond. In the next moment, you're starting up into Aster and G’s concerned faces.

G speaks up first, looking relieved. “Hey, sweetheart, about time you woke up. Looked like you were having a nightmare.” He brushes your cheek, and the gesture is so familiar you almost start crying harder. He frowns, rubbing your head. “What happened?”

“I don't… I don't know,” you mumble, reaching up to grasp Aster's hand when he reaches for you. You bring it to your other cheek, turning your head into it. “I think… I was in the RV, and I met a man… a monster? Who was like you two but not, and he traveled with me, and…” You don't remember much else. Why are you crying? Why does it hurt? You can't even remember his name. You think his eyes might have been purple. “I don't know. I think something happened to him, and that's why I'm crying.”

“I'm sorry you had to deal with that, my dear,” Aster soothes, frowning sadly. You think for a moment that's what the monster from your dream looked like. Sadness seems to suit him, even if it shouldn’t. “Would you like some tea to help calm your nerves?”

The thought if tea makes you feel sick, so you shake your head. Instead, you ask shyly, “ Could we just sit on the couch and, I dunno, watch movies and cuddle or something?”

They both chuckle, looking a little more relaxed. G smirks, leaning over to bump your forehead affectionately. “Sure thing, Cricket. Movies and cuddles it is.”

He goes to get it set up while Aster pulls you off your bed carefully. Instead of setting you down, however, he simply carries you over to the couch and settles you on his lap. You curl up against him eagerly, throwing your legs into G's lap as he sits next to you and starts the movie.

Between cuddling and talking with them and watching movies, your bad feelings gradually slip away. However, as you curl up for bed that night, you can't help but try and recall your dream-trying to remember his name and why he was so important.

You fall asleep thinking about stars and feeling lonely.

#road trip trio #monstersummermash #raffle entry #gaster #aster #g #undertale #cricket #help #my feels #too mush feels

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literarygoon · 6 years

Photo

So,

I’ve decided to publish another story from my manuscript.

This one’s called “Post-funeral”, and the main character is named Joel Bishop. He’s a friend of my main characters Paisley Troutman and Neil Solomon, and in this story his older brother has just committed suicide after running for political office in Garibaldi. It’s the 10th story in Whatever you’re on, I want some.

It’s raw.

The Literary Goon

Post-funeral

by Will Johnson

FIRST WE swallowed bitter shards of MDMA, spent hours slip-sliding over each other’s bodies giddy and feverish. I’d been staying at my brother’s mansion with my ex-girlfriend Kylie, up in Garibaldi, for nearly two weeks. We wandered the streets shirtless, dove into foggy backyard pools that didn’t belong to us. We did blow off the toilet tank. We sipped mushroom tea, pinkies erect, then watched Jurassic Park while we waited, dopily dragging on cigarettes and ashing on the freshly installed carpet. We smoked salvia and hash, hot-knifed thumb smudges of tar-black ooze. We were doing okay, food-wise: salmon steaks, cheese-drowned Tostitos, frozen blueberries. We drank Black Label and Bailey’s-infused coffee. Some days we binged on Chinese food and pizza; more often we wandered the linoleum barefoot and mind-fucked, sniffling and twitching, having forgotten what hunger feels like.

And whenever we got bored we circled the neighbourhood spearing my brother’s campaign signs onto unsuspecting people’s lawns, just to fuck with them. Vote for Joshua Bishop, indeed.

One night Kylie fled. I careened along shadowed boulevards in my brother’s minivan just after 3 a.m., wearing sweatpants and a pair of Santa Claus slippers, chain-smoking cigarettes to keep my headspace level. The night dew-misted my forearm hair from the open window. When my headlights slashed across a lawn three blocks over I glimpsed Kylie under an expansive, shadowed oak with thick, threatening arms. She was curled fetal, wearing red bikini bottoms, dollar store flip flops and my Garibaldi Elementary GRAD OF 2004 hoodie. As I lugged her limply off the grass a dog-walker in a peacoat paused on the sidewalk.

“She had a little too much to drink,” I explained. “We’re all good here.”

“And who are you to her, exactly?” he asked, cell phone palmed. “It looks like she needs some assistance.”

“We’re fine, honestly. I’m just taking her home.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

Kylie moaned in my arms as I lift-shoved her into the passenger seat. Her legs slackly dangled towards the concrete as I gathered up her feet and slammed the door shut behind her. Peacoat man flapped his arms, distressed and honking.

“If you fuck with me,” I said. “I’ll kill your little dog and drink its blood.”

I don’t remember what he said after that, but I do remember the electric surge of hatred that blood-dumped through my veins. This man’s banal existence, his uncomplicated morality, the look of fearful revulsion on his face—all of these offended some feral version of myself I’d unleashed during those weeks. I battered my chest, squeezing out wild tears, and roared in his face until he retreated with his little dog yipping.

Kylie wore a thick-padded bra with metal crescents scooping under each fleshy handful. She whined as I undressed her, paranoid of the oil-like substance pooling on the walls and overflowing into the living room ceiling. I worked my fingers under each goose-pimpled boob, inhaled her chest glister. Kylie wasn’t mine exclusively, but our experiences were our own. I took her earlobe in my mouth, her weight supported in my arms, and worked it with my tongue like a soother. We’d tired of our porn-inspired routines and were finding creative ways to exploit each other’s bodies lazily, gluttonously. A tweaked nipple on mushrooms is like a chest-explosion, while a firmly gripped dick on acid can change your life. Cheek to arm pit, sole to shin, elbow to pelvic bone, we chest-banged and hugged, childlike, in the trenches of our sweat-soiled blankets.

Then we slept.

Sometimes I get brain whispers from my former self, little buried guilt yelps from the Christian kid I used to be. He’s horrified. Kylie struggles to believe I used to be religious, that I used to keep a prayer journal, that I was once scandalized by swear words. She can’t visualize it, can’t reconcile it with the version of me that she knows: a hipster rich kid with no moral code to speak of. She can’t understand that it’s all the same impulse, that God is nothing more than the Drug of all Drugs, that the hardest thing I ever had to kick was Christianity. Driving by St. Catherine’s I’ve got multi-year histories flashing across my vision. Our youth pastor Trent Stonehouse sings at the front of the sanctuary, takes kids on missions trips to Tijuana and Brazil and the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver, and then there’s all the kids I knew—Amber, Turner, Paisley, Neil and Ty—they’re all memory-cached, worshipping with the Agape Soldiers onstage while I sway awkward in the pews and try to figure out how come I’m the only one who does’t seem to feel it. Sure, I’ve felt the Holy Spirit before—or at least I believed I felt it at the time—and I’ve been one of those ultra-pious kids seizing on the ground, overcome as the Church Moms lay blankets over our God-blissed teenage bodies. Slain in the spirit.

But spiritual awakenings wear off. Slowly, one day after the next, I felt the emotional intensity drain. Outside the context of the St. Catherine’s sanctuary all the meaning dribbled out until I had to go back, soul-hungry, for more. Being a disciple of Christ meant living this special type of life, meant elevating yourself from the mundanity. At Camp Evergreen, around the campfire, we sang “Jesus, I am yours” and two hours later Rachel Peachland gave me a hand job behind the girl’s cabin line, a frantic and gasp-filled spectacle in the shadows. I was a little perv, shame-soaked but undeterred, obsessed with girls but convinced that every lustful thought was a freshly disgusting sin, something to beg forgiveness for. Do you know how exhausting it is to be ashamed all the time? To spend your life hearing how sinful and hopeless you are without Jesus?

Turner used to say the whole point of grace is you don’t need to feel guilt, that God’s already forgiven you before you even dream up our next transgression.

But who said we need to be forgiven at all?

“If you could go back and be Christian again, would you do it?” Kylie asked, morning squinting in my brother’s bed, her voice grumbly from sixteen hours of sleep. I gripped sleepily at my dick while urine hammered into the shower drain.

“I think about that every day.”

“And?”

“Are we talking like a lobotomy-type solution here? Like would I have to give up part of my brain?”

“No, just say you believed again.”

“The thing is, to make that happen I’d have to give it up.”

“What?”

“My doubt. My fucking reason. I’d have to give up my whole personality.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Yes necessarily. Unless God fucking prances in here and goes ‘hey, Joel, I’m fucking real’, this shit isn’t going to happen.”

I slump into her lap. Kylie was born in a Burmese orphanage, got adopted by white Canadians. Didn’t find that out until three months into our thing, when I met her crazy Mom. She kept all that to herself, and I understood why. People project shit, put labels on you. Who wants to be the starving kid from one of those World Vision commercials? She didn’t want pity; she just wanted to be Kylie.

I liked her way more than I realized.

“But what if the thing with Trent never happened?”

“It wasn’t about him. I stopped going to St. Catherine’s way before all that shit in Mexico, before any of those other guys.”

“Do you think he raped anyone you know? Like anyone in the youth group?”

“Fuck, what’s gotten into you?”

“I’m just so curious. I’ve never met someone who knew a real child molester.”

“You talk like it’s a movie star or something.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“So what do you think? Do you think he was doing like pervy, Catholic-style shit?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“But what do you think?”

“I mean they say he molested this Mexican kid, right? Or two of them? That’s why he got arrested originally, in Tijuana. But they never came up with any Canadian victims.”

“Who’s they?”

“Investigators or whatever. He was down there for eleven years years, and it’s kind of like why press charges and do all that work if he’s not even in Garibaldi?”

“Shit.”

“But eventually they figure he’ll be back, right? I mean, the Mexicans can’t keep him forever.”

“When is that going to be?”

“The system’s so corrupt down there. Guilty til proven innocent, all that.”

“Turner told me he got letters.”

“From Trent?”

“Yeah, a while back he was telling me stories about Trent. He told me the letter said ‘you can’t turn your back on God’ and ‘don’t let this be an excuse to lose your faith’, all this shit.”

“Are you serious?”

“From prison he was giving him a sermon!”

“Fuck.”

“I mean, we were smoking a joint but I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth. Wasn’t he like Trent’s little favourite? Do you think it was him Trent messed with?”

I’ve considered that plenty of times, but it’s different to say out loud.

“Trent had a weird thing with Paisley Troutman, one of the girls in the worship band. People were gossiping about that for years.”

“But doesn’t he fuck little boys?”

“Yeah, but maybe he’s just like a non-discriminating deviant, right? Just raping whoever, wherever. Dudes’ fucking evil.”

“I heard there’s some people that think he’s still innocent.”

I light a cigarette, roll across the bed and go looking for blow.

“I’m not one of them,” I say.

Kylie sat cross-legged and hungover in the minivan’s passenger seat, reorganizing her purse while we descended the Sea to Sky. Cliffs draped with steel netting loomed to our left. To the right was nothing but open, cloudless sky. The road slalomed along the mountain slope, twist-rising and falling just as quickly. Ocean air swirled around us. A grey thumb of stone emerged in the distance, thrusted up hitchhiker-style, with a few stubborn bushes defiantly alive atop it’s wind-blasted summit forty feet above the road.

The mansions along the highway—stilted and gleaming in the trees—reflected the Pacific’s blue glow from giant mirrored windows. These were the people in my brother’s voting district, who had proudly displayed his campaign signs so they would be visible for commuters passing through the construction progress below. Vote for Joshua Bishop.

No more.

“The last shit we got from Turner was dirty,” Kylie mumbled. “Fucking weak.”

“That wasn’t his regular guy.”

“Says him.”

A bored, sunburned teenager wearing a Solomon Development Ltd. uniform waved us off the highway, past some pylons and orange fencing, and towards the razed shoulder currently being paved. Steamrollers grumbled a few kilometres further on, while in front of us six men guided a crane-suspended concrete median into place. I parked beside a line of trucks facing oceanward, overlooking Howe Sound, and texted Turner. Within a few minutes he appeared, knuckle-rapping the window, and Kylie unlocked the sliding door behind her.

“You two’ve been voracious lately,” Turner said. “You’re outpacing my coworkers, even.”

Kylie ignored him, sullen.

“I’ve got five hundred here, that’s two for last time and three for now,” I said.

“And you’ve got time for a couple lines now?”

An ice-blue sky populated with drifting gulls appeared as I took my first hit. Their beak-tips were dolloped with bright red. I thumbed a nostril for leverage, snorted with all my might, and sucked back. It filled me like sunlight. Wave-crests built frothing and burst into chaos amidst the rocks below.

“That feels better, huh?” said Turner. “I’m gonna fire through my afternoon.”

“I don’t know how you do this dip-shit job, man.”

“Whatever.”

“I would feel like one of those historical Chinese guys they used to dynamite the tunnels, you know? Like some expendable pawn they use for the hard labour. A slave they can just blow up whenever they feel like.”

“Yeah, so what’s your fucking job, Bishop?”

Kylie dabbed residue on her gums, sucking her finger. The world continued outside our windshield, introduced a dangling silhouette to our view-scape. It took me a moment to take this character in: parachuting past with some magical floating canopy, he was trailing an unfurled sign that read NO OLYMPICS ON STOLEN NATIVE LAND while filming with a camera strapped to his wrist. He was wearing those stupid shoes with individual toes, the ones rich men wear, and spandex head to toe—like some gravity-defying ninja spirit. I almost laughed.

How long had he prepared for this moment? What did he imagine he would see, hanging suspended and superior over us? The afternoon wind carried him sideways, tilting.

“Look at that piece of shit,” said Turner. “Look at him flying high.”

On the way back to town, Kylie asked if we could swing by her friend Lauren’s place. She lived in one of the new townhouses by the highway, Garibaldi Estates, on the fifth floor.

“This bitch owes me like a hundred bucks,” Kylie said as we rode the elevator up. “She’s always doing shit like this, and I can’t let her get away with it. You know what I mean?”

I shrugged.

The hallway hung silent following Kylie’s door-battering, but after a minute or two the door rattled and opened. A girl wearing a short pink bathrobe leaned into view, her bed-shagged hair streaked a similar hue. Her eyes were half-closed.

“Uh huh,” she said.

“You gonna let us inside?” Kylie asked.

“I’ll come out’n talk,” she said, pained.

I pretended to ignore them while they argued in the hallway, and watched as a dishevelled crow shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the roof, its talons clicking, just outside the window. Kylie paced shouting while Lauren listened bored with her beautiful brown legs.

Eventually Kylie turned back to me, exasperated. “Let’s go, Joel.”

Once we got back on to the Juan de Fuca Hill she held out her palm, two chalky pills cradled in the creases.

“This is supposed to be boss stuff. It’s K. She didn’t have any cash.”

How can I capture that moment? Kylie halfway-swivelled against the seatbelt, her forehead salmon pink from the sun and her white palm-skin outstretched. The grassy bluffs leading up towards the towering dominance of Mount Garibaldi were stretched out behind her, floating and blurred, while within the carpeted boundaries of our little vehicle we were safety-bathed by the air conditioning. I swallowed the pill. We hurtled towards our future.

“Will you put some more signs up with me later?” I asked. “After?”

“Of course.”

“There’s still so many, babe.”

“We can put up as many as you want, babe.”

Sixteen years old I thumb-dabbed my goggles, donkey-kicking, my headphones tucked under my swim cap. The finals heat for the 100 butterfly at provincial championships, and I was the one standing in front of Lane 4. Ty was there, Sketch and Neil too. I spat air, flailed, my feet splashing on the tiles. I expected to win my whole life, always anticipated easy victory—what does that say about me? I had this daily suspicion that I was a little more interesting than everyone else, a little more talented. My brother Josh was the same way, and all during the campaign I wonder if he had any idea how wrong things could go, how easily his future would evaporate. Vote for Joshua Bishop. I can see his temp’s bemused face, the self-satisfied sneer, as he ruined my family’s life with every fucking word he spoke. As soon as my brother’s news went public, our family scattered into our own grief trajectories, none of us sure how to handle the sudden scrutiny. And before we could decide whether we forgave him, before we could prove to him that being a part of the Bishop family means more than some sex scandal, some political campaign, before my father could even talk to him, he was gone. The ocean will take us all, I figure, but we were left with his body, shower-dangling, at his mansion in Garibaldi. That house! White carpets like cat fur underfoot. This is where I belonged, not slave-waging away in Vancouver.

Underwater is where I feel best, dolphin-kicking streamlined. Life made sense at 16, when my evening revolved around 58 seconds of frenzied exertion. Fuck real life and the future and the present moment too because I’m suspended mid-dive, dripping, while around me the bleachers erupt with cheering. Ice-wind slashes my cheekbones and stings my eyes shut.

Rotting clumps of mown grass collected on my boots as I worked my way up the St. Catherine’s lawn, past the youth trailer in the parking lot, up towards the stained glass window at the apex of the sanctuary. As kids we played this game called Gestapo where the youth leaders would chase us through the streets of Garibaldi with flashlights while we raced from Diefenbaker Park to the safety of the church. I scanned the treeline for spectators, but I was alone. I was thinking about this thing Turner once told me, about how we’re all just energy morphing from one form to the next. In reality, he was the first one to ditch on Jesus. He was braver than I was, less scared of the social consequences, or maybe he was just more honest.

“When I die and go to Heaven, I’m going to walk into the throne room of God and I’ll have three simple words for him: what the fuck?” Turner told me, perched in the Sky Train window, when I asked him about why he wasn’t coming to church anymore.

“If you had kids, what could they do to stop you from loving them?” he asked me.

“Nothing, I guess.”

“So why are we worshipping a deity who routinely condemns whole swaths of society to Hell? It’s so fucking arbitrary, Bishop! You’re born in India, you’re fucked. You’re born in China, you’re fucked. But if you’re a white Christian dude, everything will be fine and you’ll be a happy little saved boy.”

I didn’t know what to say then, and I still don’t now.

“A God like that doesn’t deserve my love.”

The way Turner talked, he didn’t miss religion. He didn’t miss understanding everything, having that communal reassurance. He liked to be an outlier, a rebel, a heathen.

“You can’t spend your whole life pretending,” Turner said. “Sooner or later you have to admit we wasted our teenage years on a medieval crock of bullshit.”

All that meaning, all those years of prayer, all that struggling and learning—for what? I speared the first campaign sign firmly beside St. Catherine’s front entrance, another one beneath its stained glass, and the final one at the top of their hilly lawn. My brother’s plastic face smiling from each one. Then I sat, butt-damp in the grass, and lit a cigarette. My brother was 33 years old when he died, the same age they nailed Jesus to a fucking cross, but he wasn’t dying for any reason. He didn’t get to close his eyes knowing he’d made some huge sacrifice, knowing that he left the world a better place than when he arrived. My brother died tormented and hopeless, kicking against the porcelain, and who deserves that? How come he got hand-picked for that fate? I felt personally robbed of decades of experience, of the chance to see his face wrinkle, his voice change, his hair go white like Dad’s.

“I really wanted to believe in You,” I told the looming, dark church. “If I had a choice, I’d still be here. You know that.”

I couldn’t believe I was praying. I was still high.

“If there’s something more to this, something I’m missing…I guess what I’m saying is if you’re going to keep me around, You’re going to have to do something.”

I sat there quiet, wondering what God could do, short of flashing across the sky in all His radiance, to convince me of His presence. I heard this quote once, attributed to a 16th century hymn writer: “a God comprehended is not God”. If that’s true, then why even attempt to grasp the mystery? Why call out to Him, why pray, why devote yourself to a deity who can’t (or won’t) respond? When I was a kid I used to make little faith bargains, sending mental requests for God to manipulate the circumstances around me. (“If you really exist, make that kid put something in the garbage can as he walks by.”) Sometimes it even worked. It was like having an Almighty, imaginary friend. But now I’m an adult, a real person, I’ve read fucking Nietzsche. I won’t be so easy to convince. A warm feeling in my chest won’t be enough, a whispered voice deep in my psyche was completely inadequate. I needed something tangible, a Burning Bush-style sign, and I would accept nothing short of a miracle. Maybe my brother could bound out of one of his election signs, let me know this was all an elaborate dream sequence, or maybe Trent would materialize in front of me and explain what happened down in Mexico all those years ago. He’ll tell me our youth group’s implosion was part of some larger, mystical scheme, that St. Catherine’s has some continued role to play in my life.

Or what? An angel! A demon! Anything. These sorts of visions end up in sermons and heartfelt testimonies, in parables. These experiences alter people’s entire lives, give them purpose and direction. Why not me? Why couldn’t I, just once, be allowed a glimpse of something beyond all this? Why couldn’t I be the one with the faith, the one who understands the light while everyone else stands in the dark?

“Will You speak to me?” I said, my voice trembling. “Are You there?”

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