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1dmonthlyficroundup · 3 years

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1D Monthly Fic Roundup

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for April 2021! Below the cut you’ll find 17 One Direction fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup.

To Begin Again by @chloehl10 / lovelarry10

[Harry/Louis, 23k, Teen and Up, tumblr post]

“I, uh, I’m really sorry for yelling at you like I did.”

“Hey, I deserved it and more. I’m lucky you didn’t come and deck me on the nose,” Louis said, holding his hands up as if to surrender. “Seriously, you went lightly on me. If a crazy dog was leaping around me and my kids, I’d have lost my shit long before you did, and it would have been a lot more sweary than yours as well.”

Harry laughed at that, quite liking the man now he was getting to know him. This Louis seemed to have a good sense of humour, and his dog was fairly likeable too, laying there sound asleep, sunbathing.

“Well, I don’t usually lose my temper, so I just wanted to apologise.”

“It’s me who needs to say sorry. My stupid dog ate their bloody eggs, and on Easter Sunday at that. It’s a good job we don’t go to church, Cliff, or we’d both be going straight to hell. Nice ears, by the way. I meant to say earlier.”

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Harry’s ready to spend a fun Easter morning with his two children at the park, but it’s thrown into chaos when an over-excited dog and his owner come barrelling into their lives…

A Small Matter (A Matter of Trust) by @kingsofeverything

[Harry/Louis, 18k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry knows he and his Grindr hookup would be perfect together, if only he could convince him to give a relationship a chance.

Or Harry has a thing for jock straps. Louis likes to wear them.

Are you proud of me? by @sadaveniren

[Harry/Louis, 2k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Louis was completely naked, except for a silk scarf that Harry had never seen before. It was tied around his neck like a bow. His lithe body was cast in dramatic shadows as he descended the stairs and all Harry could think was holy shit, mine, mine, mine.

“Well this is a shame. I was hoping you’d keep the boa.”

Harry blinked in surprise at his voice. He was too caught up in his perfection. “What?”

“I guess the leather will do. I do love you dressed in leather.”

aka I show up 2 weeks late with Grammy Fic

Right Back Home to You by @behindmeday

[Harry/Nick Grimshaw, 4k, Teen & Up, tumblr post]

It wasn’t the first time Harry and Nick were cut off before they really got started talking. In fact, it seemed to be happening more often than not. Nick had an insane schedule that no rational person would choose, but Harry’s was even worse. Between the early mornings on The Breakfast Show and the never-ending time zone changes of tour, it seemed that Harry and Nick weren’t really meant to have any real conversations these days.

Or, Harry writes Nick a song.

take my hand (my whole life too) by @beckydoesthings / beckywritesthings

[Harry/Louis, 44k, Explicit, tumblr post]

“You’re famous?” he asks, deciding to dive straight into the heart of the issue.

Harry winces, dropping his gaze to the table. “Erm… famous is one word for it.”

Well, that’s reassuring. Louis raises an eyebrow until Harry heaves a sigh and continues.

“How much do you know about the British monarchy?”

His stomach drops to the floor in a heartbeat, jaw following suit. There’s no way that what Harry’s insinuating is possible. But as the time ticks by, there’s no change in the deadly serious expression on Harry’s face, fingers twitching steadily on the table as he waits for Louis’ answer.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Or a Crazy Rich Asians AU with a royal twist where Harry is a prince, Louis is most definitely not, and there’s a royal wedding to attend.

Forever Is In Your Eyes by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Harry/Louis, 126k, Teen & Up, tumblr post]

Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.

He wants-

He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-

His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.

A statue that Louis has just kissed.

Stuck in an eternal spring by @chrysopon / flamboyo

[Louis/Zayn, 4k, Teen & Up, tumblr post]

Louis is about to go crazy in the silent solitude of London’s lockdown. The only breach into the grey monotony of his days is the hope of catching a glimpse of the dark-haired guy who lives in the building across the street. One night they have their night cigarette together while both in their flats, twenty meters and an empty, quiet street between them. It becomes a habit, but maybe there’s hope for it to become something more.

It’s Been So Long by @elsi-bee / elsi_bee

[Harry/Louis, 31k, Teen & Up, tumblr post]

Harry Styles’ first crush was one of his sister’s best friends, a certain someone named Louis Tomlinson. And Louis? He just vaguely remembers Gemma’s younger brother from back in the day.

A lot can change in ten years.

Featuring Niall and Liam as Harry’s friends, flirting, fluff, and flashbacks to the awkward days of high school.

This Dream Lost by @zanniscaramouche / zanni_scaramouche

[Liam/Louis/Harry, 5k, Mature, tumblr post]

It’s a dangerous game to play his Alpha like this, and it gives Harry a thrill through his spine he’s not sure he likes. It’ll be worth it, but he doubts he’ll be pulling any surprises on Louis for a while after this. He can’t fucking stand it as is and it’s not even really for Louis, it’s for Liam.

Mercy by @zanniscaramouche / zanni_scaramouche

[Niall/Shawn Mendes, 5k, Explicit, tumblr post]

“I-” Shawn licks his lips, eyes bright and wide with the shock.

Balls in his court now. He could refuse, step away from the line they’re toeing and laugh it off. But he doesn’t, just like Niall knew he wouldn’t. Because Shawn wants this. They both do, and that’s what makes it so fucking insane.

Blind Faith by @2tiedships2

[Harry/Louis, 18k, Mature, tumblr post]

“Harry?” Liam prompted.

“I’m blind,” Harry eventually said, trying his best to keep himself from crying.

Liam was silent for a few moments, before responding, “That’s not exactly news, H. You were blind when I met you a year and a half ago. Have you been in denial this whole time or something?”

“No, Liam,” Harry cut in. “This is different. I’m not legally blind like I used to say. It’s not just my night vision. The tunnel from my tunnel vision has closed. I’m fucking blind! I moved halfway around the world in the hope of finding my soulmate and it’s obviously not happening now. Not even a soulmate is going to want to put up with a blind alpha.“

The Journal by @wait4ever / RecycledStardust & @evilovesyou / 4ureyesonly28

[Louis/Harry, 14k, General, tumblr post]

When Harry finds himself purchasing an antique journal in the ancient bookshop of a town he’s never heard of, he doesn’t exactly want to admit that he has no idea how he got there. A myriad of odd coincidences and a few kind smiles from the shopkeeper have the two of them working hard to solve the mystery of this strange journal that seems to have been waiting for Harry for almost a hundred and thirty years.

But I’m the Quarterback by @evilovesyou / 4ureyesonly28

[Harry/Louis, 52k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry Styles is the quarterback of Sunny High’s football team, dating the beautiful head cheerleader, and determined to enter his senior year with focus and discipline. That is, until a strange man shows up at his home, makes his girlfriend break up with him, and convinces his parents to send him off to a “reparative therapy camp” over the summer.

At True Directions, Harry meets four other boys and five girls, all there to be cured of their homosexuality. He has to find a way out of this place as soon as possible—Christ, he isn’t even gay!

Know a Trick or Two by @sadaveniren

[Harry/Louis, 45k, Explicit, tumblr post]

The night before Louis is scheduled for a Portkey to begin training with the Vratsa Vultures in Bulgaria he heads into Muggle London for one last night of fun. A few months later he finds out he’s having a child.

Eleven years ago Harry had a one night stand and now there’s a strange man on his doorstep telling him his daughter is something called a wizard and she’s got a place at the British wizarding school Hogwarts.

Aka the one where Muggle Harry and Wizard Louis have a one night stand and get more than they bargained out of it.

Until That Day by @kingsofeverything

[Harry/Louis, 44k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry Styles is days away from walking down the aisle when his previous failed weddings are turned into a public spectacle by jaded London journalist Louis Tomlinson. Hoping to witness Harry leave another groom at the altar, Louis heads to Holmes Chapel, where nothing goes as planned, and he finds himself falling for the serial heartbreaker.

A Runaway Bride movie AU

Caught In Your Gravity by @lululawrence

[Harry/Louis, 63k, Not Rated, tumblr post]

It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. “They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn’t actually have much in common with the show at all.

Passing By by @larryyouknow

[Harry/Louis, 48k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Sometimes, people are in each other’s lives just for the briefest of moments. They meet and then go their separate ways because being vulnerable is scary and it might be easier to not let anybody else in. But some people aren’t meant to be just passing by. Maybe when they open their eyes, they can learn things about themselves they haven’t known before. If they let their hearts speak they will find a way to be together.

Or the one where Harry doesn’t even know he’s into guys until he meets Louis on a boat trip. There’s something more to their friendship but it ain’t gonna be smooth sailing.

#28th appreciation #tracksintheam #1dsource #trackinghome #april 2021 #april masterpost #sorry if you got notified for the first post #tumblr destroyed it and it had to be redone

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too-scared-to-do-this · 3 years

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Insufferable

Chapter two - A king’s duty is a king’s duty

Sander’s sides fanfiction - ‘Off the Devil’s head’ spin-off (can be read as a stand-alone)

Wordcount: 1928

Ship: intrulogical

TW: cursing - a lot of cursing (still Remus, lovlies, get used to it), confusion, cute bickering (I think...?), forests at night, very obvious autistic tics (based on my own, so I know they are real and how they work, in case you’re not sure ^^ I wouldn’t write something that I haven’t checked at least twice with someone who has, or deals with or is deeply interested in this stuff). And I think that’s all. If anything pops up, do let me know :) <3

Summary of the whole story: This might have not been the brightest idea - steeling from a cart right in the fucking smack-dab-middle of the Square. But Remus never claimed his ideas were bright. Never said his words and actions were appropriate either. So how in all off goddamned hell did he find himself sprawled out on a giant comfortable throne instead of a cold and dark (and very drippy) prison cell - with guards actually guarding his safety instead of assuring his imprisonment - is completely beyond him.

Link to AO3 for those who prefer reading there ^^

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Chapter two - A king’s duty is a king’s duty

There’s not a lot of things Logan dislikes. There’s a total of fifteen so far. But disruption of order, change and tall grass is definitely in the top ten. And wouldn’t you look at that?

Green-haired hurricanes are tearing threw his peaceful kingdom, disrupting peace - thus creating an unnecessary change. Which caused his sleepless state, which lead him down a path where he has to hop from foot to foot like a dear, to eliminate any unnecessary contact with grass.

And the fact that all these things alone cause unnecessary stress, let alone combined, just makes it all worse. His movements are more jagged then usual, more frantic. Gestures all over the place in unorganized manors. And his eyebrows are stuck in a constant ‘thinking scowl’ as his advisors call it.

To any other person, his behavior would seem truly strange - Logan can’t say he doesn’t feel a little embarrassed by it, even now that he’s alone. But there are some things that just can’t be helped.

Besides, all of his kingdom know that their king is a ‘little weird’.

Since Logan first sat on the throne - at the mere age of thirteen - everybody’s been in love with their ruler. It sounds a little odd, that they let a thirteen-year-old kid on the throne, but Logan’s never really been a kid. Since when he can remember he read books far too difficult for the usual kid his age, listened in on conversations he probably had no business listening to, let alone understanding. Sat by his father’s side, while he made life-concerning decisions. Watched his mother as she took care of every problem with caution and care not everybody could offer. Although Logan never got around to fully understanding that care, he learned to act the same way. Same words, same gestures. Nobody was worried when the crown got passed down to him. All the people in the kingdom knew they were in good hands.

Logan’s very first mission was learning the name of every single person in town. It wasn’t an easy task, but it wasn’t as hard as someone would expect, since a surprisingly big amount of people shared the same name. And Logan had a really good memory when it came to association. A face to a name. A shape to a math formula. The smell, color, density and overall look to a chemical. And of course, the exact numeric measurement of a star’s whereabouts.

But there was no way of ‘associating’ his way out of this. He had no clue of the density, the weight, the pace, the name, nor the whereabouts of this mysterious disrupter of peace. All he knew was, that his hair was unnaturally green and he looked way too skinny for a wealthy towns-man - which just underlined the reason why he was steeling.

Oh, and let’s not forget he wanted to kiss Logan. Right there on the Square, apparently.

The young king scratched his arm, absentmindedly, trying not to think too much about it. Not that that’s helping. Questions keep popping up, tripping up his sane thought process.

It’s not like Logan liked the idea of the stranger kissing him. He didn’t like to be touched, let alone landing his lips to someone else. But the thoughts didn’t leave him alone.

Maybe that’s why he was here, stepping over unnecessarily high strands of grass in the middle of the night. He might not like the greenery touching him, and the jutting out branches and leaves of trees and bushes cause him immense panic (and make him scratch his exposed body parts like crazy), but he actually likes the forest. It is really calming (for the most part, anyways).

He hoped that this almost-calming surrounding would help him clear his head. But it just seemed to stress him out even more.

The thoughts kept on swiveling in his head - swirling and twirling, not letting the unknown thief out of their claw-clad grasp.

Logan needed to find out the thief’s name. He knows everybody’s name. And if this thief stays close to town, he’s considered a citizen. He needs to learn his name.

Not far from the obsessing king, Remus was lounging out in the hammock he hung outside Matilde’s old run-down cottage. One leg swung over the edge, he swayed from side to side, twisting the silver ring on his slender finger.

Bored out of his mind.

There wasn’t many days, when Remus’s screwed-up brain didn’t come up with things to entertain him; but some days even that head needed some rest, it seemed. Apparently today was one of those days.

Not a single fun thought. Even the inner monologue he never seemed to be able to end, somehow bored him to death. The only thing peeking even the slightest of interest in him, was the constant image of those scarily-blue eyes the king-dude possessed.

Seriously. In all his life, he has never once seen such ocean-blue eyes. Dark and deep, holding many a secret. It made Remus desperate to know each and every single one.

But that was not happening. No matter how much the eyes mesmerized him. How much he couldn’t get them out of his head. (Agh, Jesus fucking Christ those eyes…) There was just no way he could go back to that town.

The king has let him go once (he chalked it up to his good looks, charm and smooth words) and the second time is as likely as Matilde coming back from wherever she fled to.

So here he was. Bored as all hell.

He sighed heavily, wondering what kingdom was next on his agenda tomorrow. When suddenly he heard a scrunch. Then another. And another. This was no squirrel. Remus sat up immediately, eyes darting along the dark forest.

It was so late. What the hell would anybody be doing up at this hour of the night?

He darted out of the hammock - almost falling face first when his foot got caught in the fabric - hiding in the near-by bushes. Thank the lords that he didn’t forget to turn the fucking lights off again.

The scrunching got louder by the second, and Remus crouched lower.

Low muttering drafted into his ears. “…nice of you good sir, but I’ll have to decline. I am not sure that would be appropriate considering we just met…” A dark figure, drafted in shadow came into view. “And besides, you haven’t even introduced yourself. I know the name of every citizen in this kingdom. For the sake of consistency, I would also like to find out yours…” Jesus Christ, who were they talking to? And what were they doing?!

One leg up in the air, like soldiers marching, then quickly stamped down, hopping to the other. Weird movements all over the place, not even in a straight line, like a sane person. Was this person drunk? They looked like a fucking goat, jumping from one small jutting out pebble on the mountain-side to the other.

The site alone would make Remus want to piss himself, but together with the inconsistent murmuring? He couldn’t hold back the snort.

The figure immediately froze in place. All movement and words falling into still silence. “Who’s there?” They called out cautiously.

Remus bit his tugging lip hard. Fuck.

Well, there was no backtracking now. Besides, it’s not like he was scared. It was more likely he’d scare the crazy-pants over there. So slowly, he razed from his hiding spot with hands in the air and a huge grin on his face. “What are you doing dude? You look like a fucking crazy person.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” came the person’s answer. Voice laced with nerves.

“Just a random dude in a forest.” Rem shrugged.

“That’s not a very satisfying answer.”

Roman bit back a laugh. Seriously, what the hell? “Don’t worry I won’t hurt you.” he snickered. Then this thought blinked into his head, and as you know, thought’s bring words. Stupid, embarrassing and unnecessary words. “Unless you want me to.” he winked seductively. Then realized the person probably couldn’t even see his face, let alone the wink he just threw at them. Ah well, at least it saved him some embarrassment, when his tongue betrayed him.

Swear to god, the person ‘Eep’-ed at this. He made this strangled sound that sounded like a nervous whine mixed with surprise cut in half and that just made Remus want to laugh even more. “That’s really unnecessary, thank you.” And they’re still being polite! How even…?

Rem couldn’t help it at this point. It was too much. He burst out cackling like to crazy idiot he is. Probably scaring the poor person to death. (But then again, the ‘poor person’ did come wondering into a forest in the middle of the night, muttering to themselves and jumping around like an idiot.)

“Am… You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh that’s right…“ Rem’s forhead creased in thought. “…what was the question again?”

“Who are you.”

“I’m Remus.”

If Logan could allow himself to curse, he would. But he couldn’t so instead he just gave a long exasperate sigh. “And who might that be?”

The stranger stepped closer, allowing the fleeting moon-light to reach his features and gave a big bow. Hand gesture and all. “Me, obviously.” No matter how much he disliked to admit it, Remus was every bit as dramatic as his brother. If not more…

The king’s eyes lit up with recognition (not that Rem could see). Well, guess his duty’s done then - the thief’s name is Remus. Huh…Very interesting.

“Well, now that you know my name, it’d be nice to get yours, pretty.” Rem grinned, daring to get a few more steps in. Bringing him closer to the still standing-frozen person.

From here he could finally see more of them. Well, him. Because apparently the smooth deep voice he was conversing with was the royal-head himself.

And his royal head slanted to the left slightly, eyebrows drawing together. “Why should I give my name to unknown man in the forest?”

“Why should I give my name to some random bloke, then?”

“Because I asked you to?”

Remus wondered what this dude’s problem was. Logan wondered why even wanted to get out of the safety of his chamber in the first place.

“Alright then, weirdo, tell me one good reason why I should answer and you shouldn’t.” Rem crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, he was aware he was talking to the king. But that doesn’t mean he had to play nice.

Rem treats everybody the same way, because that’s how it should be. (Maybe that’s what landed his ass behind bars twice already…)

Logan jutted out his chin. He could use the ‘King-card’ - as his advisor calls it. Could easily force the thief to answer without any objections (that is if he abbeys rules; which he should.) But honestly, Logan felt like doing neither. It was late, and he was supposed to stop obsessing about this whole thing. Which he did. The thief’s name was Remus.

So, as gracefully as a king can, he shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

“Well, shit. Then you ain’t getting my name, darling.”

The royal couldn’t decide whether the thief was that simple-minded or just easily distracted. “You’ve already said your name.”

Our beloved idiot’s expression froze, grin falling. “Ah, fuck.” his shoulders did the same. (In a very overdramatic - and admittedly, impressively flexible - way)

Well, if he wasn’t screwed before, now he certainly was.

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Jesus Christ, I’ve never cursed more in my life and I hate it so much! I don’t curse in real life, not even while texting with friends (I use shit, hell and damn, but that’s about it) and this is killing me on a whole other level! But this is Remus, and I feel like a good Remus requires a hella lot of curses.

So here we are. Me actually cursing more then my brain can accept it. But at least I get to project on Logan, right? I love autistic Logan, too damn much. He’s too precious. And the greenery thing? Believe me, my mum constantly makes fun of it XD But I don’t mind, I know I look ridiculous.

Anyways! I hope you liked this chap! ^^ I still have no idea where the hell I’m going with this, but I guess we’ll see where we end up.

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boldycrazygirl · 3 years

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Most People Think You Go To Either Heaven Or Hell, What I Experienced Was Much, Much Worse

By Elias WitherowUpdated June 26, 2021

Forest Simon

I slowly opened my eyes. My head was swimming and a dull pain surrounded my throat. I was thirsty. That was the first thing I noticed. I licked my dry lips as my surroundings faded into focus. My body ached and I realized it was because I was tightly bound to a metal chair in the middle of an empty room. The barren concrete walls were stained and dirty, the floor beneath my bare feet was cold and slightly wet.

A single bulb lit the room, dangling from the ceiling by a string. It cast moving shadows and I blinked back darkness. An open door stood before me, but I couldn’t see anything but the wall of a hallway.

I tried to clear my head, tried to remember how I got here. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself not to panic. I slowed my breathing and focused my thoughts, desperately trying to summon some recollection of why I was here.

I couldn’t remember anything.

I opened my eyes and exhaled, my parched throat throbbing. I could hear sound echoing off the hallway walls outside the door. Screaming, clanging, howling, all very distant but that did nothing to help calm my nerves.

“Hello?!” I cried, the word tearing at my vocal cords. I felt my chest hitch in pain but I cleared my throat and yelled again.

“Is anyone there!? Hello!?”

The dark hallway remained silent except for the constant echoes. I shut my mouth and tried to wriggle free of my bindings, but the rope was knotted impossibly tight. I fought back against my imagination as it flooded my mind with horrific scenarios of what awaited me. If I could only remember!

Suddenly, footsteps erupted from outside the door, a rapid patter of small feet. My hopes rose and I trained my attention on the door, praying it was help.

A young boy ran into the room, dressed in a red onezie, complete with padded feet. Stretched over his face was a plastic Devil mask. The eye holes revealed massive blue eyes that greeted me curiously. Taken back, I opened my mouth to speak but that’s when I noticed something was off. His eyes were huge, impossibly round and bulging from their sockets. It sent a shiver of unease down my spine, but I shook it off. This child might be able to free me.

“Hey!” I hissed, urgently, “Hey kid, can you get me out of here?!”

The boy took a step closer, cocking his head, but remaining silent.

I rattled my bound arms against the chair, “Cut me free, please, I shouldn’t be here, this is some kind of mistake!”

The boy eyed me behind his strange mask and stopped directly in front of me. He leaned in close and whispered, his voice like wet silk, “You did a bad thing…”

Confused, I shook my head, “No! No this is a mistake! I didn’t do anything!”

The boy’s enormous blue eyes suddenly filled with sadness, “Oh, you did a really, really bad thing…”

I shook my head again, violently, “No! I’m sorry! I don’t remember, just please get me out of this chair!”

Suddenly, before either of us could speak again, a man came charging into the room. He was overweight and dressed in overalls, his grizzled face twisted in seething anger. He was holding a sawed off shotgun in his arms.

“I didn’t do anything!” I cried as he advanced on us, my voice cracking, “I’m not supposed to be here!”

The big man ignored me and instead grabbed the kid and shoved him hard against the wall. The boy grunted as his back struck the concrete and his eyes rose to meet the grizzled man’s.

Wordlessly, the man raised his shotgun, placed it against the boy’s forehead, and blew his head off. Chunks of gore splattered the wall as shock slugged me in the stomach like an iron fist. My ears rang and time seemed to slow as I watched in horror as the headless body crumpled to the ground.

My breath rushed back into my lungs and time seemed to readjust.

“Jesus fucking CHRIST!” I screamed, straining against the ropes, my eyes bulging in horrific shock, “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

The man ignored my screams as he bent down and picked up the boy. He slung the ruined corpse over his shoulder and walked out the doorway.

Suddenly, the hallway erupted with malicious laughter, a chorus of voices all howling in glee. I shut my eyes, the noise deafening, as absolute terror filled my every pore.

After a few moments, the laughter faded and I cautiously opened my eyes, unable to believe what I had just witnessed.

“Hello.”

I jumped as I realized there was another man standing before me. He was dressed in a simple, white button down shirt and jeans. His brown hair was cut short and he appeared to be in his early thirties. His green eyes were dull and lifeless, his full lips pulled down at the corners.

“What is going on!? Where am I!?” I cried, new fear pooling in my stomach like hot blood.

The man crossed his arms, “So you’re the new one huh?” He shook his head, “You people disgust me.”

Questions bubbled on my lips but he waved them off with a sharp chop of his hand, slicing the air and demanding my silence.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, sneering, “You look like you’ve already seen some of the horrors this place holds huh? Yes, I can tell by the look in your eyes. You’re terrified. You’ve seen something haven’t you? It doesn’t seem all that bad now does it, looking back? You’ve been here five minutes and already you’re shitting your pants.”

“Where am I?” I gasped, unable to hold back any longer, “What do you people want?”

The man crossed his arms behind his back, “I bet you want to get out of here don’t you? I bet you’d like to go back to your home, your family, everything.”

“Please,” I interrupted, “Whatever I did to you…I’m sorry, I really am, but I don’t remember!”

The man rolled his eyes, “You didn’t do anything to me. You did it to yourself. You really don’t remember anything?”

I shook my head and felt tears brimming in my eyes, liquid fear.

The man looked at me with contempt, “You waited until your wife left for work and then you went out to the woodshed and hung yourself. You’re dead.”

The recent memory rose in my mind like a monster from a bog. My eyes went wide. As much as I wanted to deny it…he was right. I had killed myself. The incident tore through my brain like a bullet train and left me reeling.

“I’m Danny, by the way,” the man said, ignoring the shocked look on my face, “And I’m number two here. I run the orientation process. I want to make this quick because I’m tired of repeating this fucking thing to you pathetic Suicidals. You get one question before I begin.”

He stared down at me and I scrambled to organize my thoughts into something cohesive. This was all horrifying. Why had I killed myself? I fought against the fog and panic and the mists of confusion slowly began to lift. I had just lost my job. Yes…that was the start. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced more of the memory to emerge. I had lost my job and I was about to lose the house. My wife…Tess…she found out and was going to leave me. I didn’t have any way out, didn’t have any options. Getting fired had come out of the blue and I didn’t have much in savings. I was broke, soon to be homeless, and my wife hated me for it. There was something else…yes…that’s right. She had been cheating on me. I had seen texts on her phone while she slept one night and confirmed my suspicions. My life had degraded to shit and I had run out of options. Humiliated and ashamed, I had decided death was my only option.

“Hey, fucker, do you have a question or not?” Danny said, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

I was sucked back into reality and I asked the only question that mattered.

“Is this Hell?”

Danny snorted, “That’s always what you people ask.” He began to pace back and forth in front of me, “No. This is not Hell. It’s not Heaven either. This is the Black Farm. And no, I didn’t name it that. This is where God sends the souls who have ended their own life. Suicidals. You see, he doesn’t really know what to do with you…and neither does the Devil. There are genuinely good people who kill themselves. Seems cruel to banish them to Hell for all eternity for a moment of weakness right? Personally, I think God and the Devil were just tired of arguing about it. And so, they send them here, to the Black Farm.”

“Did…did God create this place?” I asked, growing more and more confused.

Danny spit on the floor, chuckling, “Sure, at some point. But he lost control of it when he put The Pig in charge.”

“What’s The Pig?” I asked, unsure I wanted to know the answer.

Danny held up a hand, annoyed, “Can I fucking finish? God created this place, eons ago, put The Pig in charge, and then forgot about it for a while. Well, when his back was turned, The Pig decided to use his new powers to try and create his own little world. This mess you see around you is the fractured remains of that experiment. The Black Farm use to be a lot nicer, but The Pig wanted things to be different. He wanted to create his own vision. These people you see, these monsters? They are The Pig’s attempts at creating functioning life. Instead of mirroring God’s Earth, these mutated horrible creations are full of sin and hatred. They run rampant here, unabashed. This place is chaos. The Black Farm is a circus of freaks and monsters. And it’s your eternity.”

Fear boiled in my gut like thick oil. No. No this couldn’t be my end. I didn’t believe in stuff like this. This wasn’t real! I would wake up soon and realize I was just having a nightmare! That had to be it!

Danny stood before me and lightly slapped my face, “Hey, hey! Don’t go into hysterics on me. I haven’t finished yet.”

I raised my teary eyes to meet his.

Danny smiled, “You can always Feed the Pig.”

My breath pushed from my lungs like burning steam, “W-what does that mean?”

Danny spread his hands, still smiling, “It’s as simple as that. Feed the Pig. If you do so, there’s a chance he’ll send you back to your life.”

“A-and w-what happens if it doesn’t?” I bumbled.

“You get sent to Hell. So flip a coin if you have one. Stay here with us or Feed the Pig. If you choose to stay, I’ll let you go…I’ll let you go out there,” he said, pointing towards the door, “But let me assure you…what awaits you at the end of the hallway…well…let’s just say Hell isn’t that much worse.”

I swallowed hard, trying my best to digest everything. Why wouldn’t I try Feeding the Pig? Whatever that meant. If there was even a sliver of hope, I would take it. An eternity in this place, the Black Farm, be sent to Hell, or…or Feed the Pig? I would do anything for a chance to go back. This nightmare made my problems seem nothing in comparison.

Danny raised a hand before I could speak, “I’ll let you think on it a while. I’ll be back later.”

“I want to Feed the Pig!” I cried, not wanting to spend another second in this awful room. I could hear a woman screaming down the hallway, her cries rising as something meaty pounded into her. My breath came in sharp pulls and my throat burned. Danny noticed the noise and grinned.

“Sounds pretty bad huh?” He said softly as the woman’s voice creaked with agony. Something was still slamming into her, the sound of beaten flesh igniting my imagination with horrors.

“Please,” I gasped, breathless, “Just…just let me Feed the Pig. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

Danny turned away from me, “I’ll be back later. Enjoy your time alone. Really think about your situation. Weigh your options. And remember…you put yourself here.”

And with that he was gone, leaving me in the dim room.

Tears streamed down my face.

The woman didn’t stop screaming for hours.

At some point, I fell into a semi-sleep. The darkness in the room seemed to press in on me and my eyes fluttered shut. My body ached and my throat was a halo of fire. Thirst raked at my windpipe like sharp glass. My lips felt like crumpled paper. My head thundered like a drum. The room swam in and out of focus and my mind drifted towards the horrific sounds that never ended.

I was lost in a haze, unaware that something was sliding into the room until I felt a sharp prick on my big toe. I jolted out of my daze as my bare foot ignited with pain. I screamed and tried to move, but my bindings held me tight.

The room rushed back into focus and I blinked in agony as I felt blood trickle between my toes. I looked down for the source of pain and I felt a scream claw up my throat.

Staring up at me was an armless man. He slithered on the floor like a worm, his bald head scabbed and filthy. His legs were wrapped together in barbed wire, forcing him to wriggle his body to move. His eye were lidless and wide, two bloodshot white orbs that stared up at me with hungry intensity. His teeth had been removed and replaced with long screws which jutted from his bleeding gums like a broken rock formation.

Around his neck was a chain leash, which I followed across the floor to the open door. The end of the leash was held by a tall, naked man. His body was hairless and flabby, covered in similar scabs like his pet. A dirty bag was pulled over his head that hid his features except for a single red eye that peeked out at me from a crude cut in the cloth.

He stared at me and groped his engorged penis, his breath heavy and labored. As the armless man wriggled towards me again, his master started to masturbate. I screamed as the screw filled mouth bit at me again and my cries seemed to stimulate the naked man even more.

“Get off of me! Stop it!” I screamed, horrified. I tried to kick at the man, doing my best to avoid his sharp metal teeth. I brought my heel down on his head and he screamed as his face bounced off the floor.

A moan of pleasure escaped the bagged man’s mouth and I turned away as a mist of black sprayed out onto the floor. There was a rattle of chains and I turned back to see the two of them leaving, the armless man dragged by his neck out the door. I looked at where the bagged man had ejaculated and saw a puddle of dead ants. I vomited onto myself, thick chunky curtains of bile and slime.

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I screamed, strands of puke running down my chin, “I DON’T BELONG HERE!”

I listened to the two men retreat down the hallway, the clank of chains accompanied by the sound of flesh being dragged across the concrete. I screamed again, but I knew no one was going to help me. I spit a wad of phlegm and bile onto the floor, ridding my mouth of its sourness. I forced myself to calm down. It wasn’t easy.

After some time, I heard someone else approaching. I had been in a miserable lull, my mind a blank canvas of dark despair, but the noise roused me from my trance like state. The muscles in my arms burned from being restrained for so long and I shifted them desperately, trying my best to prepare myself for whatever horror was about to walk through the door.

Footsteps drew closer and then a woman walked into the room. She stopped at the doorway and looked at me. One of her eyes was missing, a dark cavernous hole in her skull. Her hair was ratty and wild, a brown tangle like a forgotten nest. Her skin was pale and filthy and she was dressed in rags. I couldn’t tell how old she was, but there was maturity in her one good eye.

“Still thinking?” She asked, her voice course and brittle.

“What?”

She took a step closer, “Are you still deciding whether you’re going to Feed the Pig or not?”

I looked at her cautiously, “Yeah…I am. Who are you? What do you want?”

“I was once where you are now,” She said, “trying to decide my fate. I couldn’t believe that this was what happened…what happened after we die. It wasn’t what I was taught…religion didn’t warn me about this place.”

I tested my bindings again before asking, “You killed yourself too? You’re a person like me? You’re not one of those…those creations?”

She snorted, “Breaks my heart you have to ask, though,” she touched the hole where her eye should have been, “Though I can understand your caution. Yeah, I’m a Suicidal. I’ve been here a long, long time. But that was my choice. I decided to chance it here.”

I motioned with my head towards the door, “What’s out there? What is all this?”

She exhaled heavily and leaned against the wall, “I can’t even begin to describe this place. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen. You walk down that hallway and go out…into it…and…” she swallowed, “You’d have to see it to understand.”

“How bad is it? Why are all these mutated people hurting and killing each other?” I asked.

She let her head loll back against the wall, “It would take years for you to fully understand this place. Years you don’t have. Right now you have to make a decision. Stay or Feed the Pig. They tell me Hell is worse than here, but it can’t be by much. Monsters and Suicidals roam the Black Farm…killing, raping, brutalizing…and then you wake up and wonder how long you can survive before something else kills you. It’s an endless cycle.”

“So why did you stay?” I pressed, “Why didn’t you Feed the Pig? I don’t even know what that means, but I would do anything for a chance to go back. I can’t stay here, I…I just can’t!”

She smiled sadly at me, “Why? Why did I choose this? It’s simple really. I’m a coward. I was a coward when I was alive and I’m a coward in death. When it came down to it, when the moment presented itself, I chose to stay here. I didn’t know what awaited me outside. It boiled down to a simple choice fueled by my own fear.”

“What is The Pig? What does it do to you?” I pressed.

She suddenly turned to go, “I’m afraid that’s for you to find out. But let me warn you. Think hard before you make a decision. Sometimes suffering through your fear is better than suffering for eternity. Be brave.”

“What do I do!?” I yelled, shaking in my chair as she walked out the door.

She paused and took one last look over her shoulder. Her eyes darted around and she dropped her voice to a whisper, “Feed the Pig.”

And with that she was gone.

I sat in silence once again. My mind was spinning, desperately turning over my options. I still couldn’t fully understand the situation I was in. It was too much, too overwhelming. The other side of death wasn’t supposed to be like this. I didn’t know what I had expected, but it wasn’t this nightmare. Questions crashed over my mind like cold waves onto a sinking ship. How was I supposed to make a choice when I didn’t even know what my actions entailed?

This place, the Black Farm…I couldn’t stay here. But what if I went to Hell? What if I didn’t get sent back? I would be out of the fire and into the frying pan. My existence would forever be damned to unending misery. Here though…here there were people like me. Suicidals. It wasn’t all monsters and mutilated murderers. Maybe I could hole up somewhere with them, try to scrape together a passable existence. Surely that would be better than getting sent to Hell!

No. No this wasn’t going to be how I spent my eternity. I refused to let it be. If there was even the slightest sliver of hope, I would take it. I didn’t want to wonder what could have been. I didn’t want to be tormented by doubt. I would Feed the Pig and accept whatever fate chose for me. When I boiled it down, that was the only option left.

I would Feed the Pig.

“Hey! Hello!? Danny!” I yelled, rattling in my chair. “I’ve made my decision! Danny!”

After a couple seconds, I heard footsteps echo down the hall towards me.

Danny walked through the doorway, an annoyed look on his face.

“I’ve made my choice,” I said, “I’m going to Feed the Pig.”

“Sounds like you’ve really thought a lot about it since I left you,” Danny said sarcastically.

I licked my lips, “You’d do the same thing if you were in my place.”

Danny walked behind me, “I was in your place once. And I chose differently.” My eyes widened and then Danny wrapped my entire head with a strip of thin cloth, blinding me. I sucked in as much air as I could, but each lungful felt empty.

I felt Danny cut me free from the chair and my body sighed as my stiff muscles were released. I rolled my shoulders as my hands were released and I moaned with relief. I dug my fingers into my back and I stretched, my bones creaking.

“Keep your blindfold on and follow me,” Danny said, pulling me up.

My legs shook as I put weight on them, my thighs trembling after their long cemented position. I groped blindly in front of me and found Danny’s shoulder. I rested my hand on it as he walked us out of the room.

As were entered the hallway, I could suddenly hear sound I hadn’t before. The clank of metal, a long fleshy tearing noise, something vomiting…these sounds sprang to life in my ears, painting the darkness before my eyes with imaginary scenes of horror. I gripped Danny’s shoulder tighter, stumbling behind him, my heart thundering.

I heard something trailing behind us, but Danny didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. Flesh slapped the concrete mere inches behind me and I suddenly felt hot breath on my neck and the click of a wet tongue against gums. My breathing became even more labored as fear choked me.

“Go’in ta feed da piggy are ya?” Something whispered in my ear. I felt something press against the back of my head and I tried not to think about what it might be. It was wet and slimy and I heard the thing chuckle.

“Ee’s a ‘ungry piggy, you make shor’ ee gets iz meal now,” the thing whispered again, its voice low and unlike anything I had ever heard before. It was like a series of grunts and moans jumbled together to form broken words.

To my relief, I heard the thing retreat back to wherever it had come from and I continued to follow Danny. He remained silent as we walked and I could feel shifts in the air. The thick heat gave way to a cooler, almost pleasant temperature, but then it kept decreasing and soon I was shivering violently against the cold. I couldn’t see anything but I felt a breeze on my face, like we were outside. I didn’t hear Danny open any doors, but nothing about this place was natural. It was like reality blurred and bled into itself, like reels of film melting together.

Teeth chattering, I was suddenly blasted with intense heat and I gasped. My feet tripped over themselves as the terrain changed and I was suddenly walking on what felt like warm iron. My ears were filled with the sound of blazing furnaces and the clash of working machinery. I couldn’t see it, but I felt like there was a vast open expanse overhead. I smelled ash and tasted dirt on my tongue, sweat already forming along my spine.

Suddenly, I crashed into Danny as he came to a halt. I backed up a few paces, quickly, and muttered my apologies. I could hear movement in front of us, a rustle of chains and an odd clicking sound on the metal floor. Something else too…something…snorting.

And then the room filled with a deafening sound of an immense pig squealing. I covered my ears, head splitting at the high pitched wail. I grit my teeth as the noise echoed off the metal and faded into a series of snorts and grunts.

It sounded absolutely enormous.

“I’ve brought another one,” Danny announced, a slight tinge of respect lining his voice. “He wants to Feed the Pig.”

I waited, expecting to hear some answer, the cloth around my eyes sealing my sight to darkness. I realized my knees were shaking and my back was coated in sweat. I was terrified.

“If that is what you wish,” Danny said and I felt him bow under my hand. Apparently some unseen conversation had just happened and Danny took my wrist and pushed me forward.

“Approach The Pig,” he instructed.

My whole body trembled and my knees locked into place. Robbed from sight, I raised my hands, trying to get my bearings, the heat and ash filling my head with nausea. I felt like I was going to throw up, my stomach rolling like a dead sea. I didn’t know where I was or what horror lay before me. I felt lost and tiny, a fresh splash of tears dripping from my eyes and soaking into the cloth around my face.

“P-please,” I begged, “Let me see what’s happening.”

Danny was suddenly behind me, pushing me forward. He guided my hands towards something as we stepped together in unison. Even with the cloth around my face, I could see a giant mass of towering darkness before me. It was a spot of black on an already darkened canvas.

As we walked forward, I was suddenly assaulted by a horrendous smell and I gagged, turning away. Danny’s grip tightened and forced me to continue. I could sense something just in front of me, a living shifting mass of flesh. The smell increased to a wretched level and I gagged again. Then hot air was being blown on my face, a blast of heat that came in repeated short bursts.

I vomited into my cloth, the source of the smell stemming from the hot air. I choked as the bile gushed over the fabric, soaking it and momentarily cutting off my oxygen. Danny slapped my hands away and I took a few seconds to steady my breathing again. I was opening crying now, fear and misery collapsing my willpower.

The wet cloth stunk as I sucked in soggy breaths. My own stomach acid coated my skin and I begged for all of this to be over.

And then something squealed directly in front of me.

I felt my bladder go. I was standing before The Pig.

It was the source of darkness in my obscured vision; a fat, titanic creature that filled my senses with every breath it blew into my face.

Danny raised my hands and suddenly I was touching The Pig’s snout. I recoiled immediately, but Danny forced my hands back. Its fur was stiff and brittle and as my shaking hands explored up its nose, the size of the animal became clear to me.

It was gigantic and had weight over a ton. Its flesh wiggled under my sweating hands and it opened its mouth slightly. My fingers curled around teeth the size of kitchen knives and I realized its mouth was absolutely cavernous.

The Pig squealed again and I heard its hooves clack against the ground. It sounded like thunder rolling across an open field in the middle of summer.

“Take this blindfold off, please,” I begged, my legs turning to jelly.

Danny had taken a few steps back and I heard reverence in his voice, “You don’t want to do that.”

I jumped as The Pig nudged me with its nose, the wet circle of flesh squishing against the length of my face. I shuddered away, raising my hands and omitting a cry of fear.

“Feed the Pig,” Danny instructed, his voice like cold steel now. “You made your choice. Now live with it. It’s the only chance you have of going back. Or maybe The Pig won’t like how you taste and send you to Hell. Only one way to find out.”

My eyes widened behind the vomit soaked cloth, “Won’t…like…how I taste?!”

“Climb into its mouth.”

My bladder let go again and I felt warm piss run down my leg, “N-no…no you can’t mean…”

Danny’s voice hardened, “Climb into its mouth and don’t stop crawling forward until its done with you.”

“P-please,” I begged, turning towards Danny’s voice, reaching out blindly, “Please there has to be some other way…don’t make me do this!” I was a mess of snot and tears, my words bumbling from my mouth like a toddler.

Danny stepped forward and spun me back to face The Pig, “DO IT! You made your choice! It will all be over soon! This is your only CHANCE!”

I could feel The Pig breathing onto my face, its snout mere inches from mine. The smell and heat it omitted made me want to vomit again but I held it back. This was insane, this wasn’t happening. My mind spun and twisted in chaos and fear. There had to be some other way. I couldn’t do this, I COULD NOT do this!

Suddenly I remembered the words of the woman: Sometimes suffering through your fear is better than suffering for eternity. Be brave.

This was my only chance to get back to the world of the living. I had made such a terrible mistake in killing myself. If I could go back and change my life, I wouldn’t have to spend eternity here. I could change my ways, ensure a spot somewhere else. Somewhere away from The Pig. But what if it decided to send me to Hell? How much more suffering could I endure?

I had to take the chance.

“Please, God,” I whispered, taking a step forward, “If you can hear me…please…have mercy on me.”

My shaking hands reached out for The Pig and I grasped its thick fur. I felt it slowly lower its head and open its mouth. It was waiting for me, its thick, hot breath stinking in my nostrils. This was it. No turning back now.

I slowly gripped its teeth and pulled myself forward into its jaws. Its head was at a downward angle and so I immediately fell onto my stomach at a forty-five degree angle. Its wet tongue squished under me and I was shaking so hard I could barely breath. Tears soaked my blindfold and my heart crunched against my ribs.

I slowly reached forward and found another tooth to grab onto. Gritting my teeth, I pulled my body inward past my knees. The Pig raised its head and I was suddenly completely horizontal on its tongue.

Saliva and mucus dripped around me and the heat was so intense I almost blacked out. My knees clacked against its front teeth as I pulled myself even deeper. Its inner cheeks pressed in around me, squeezing my body like a soaking fleshy coffin.

Crying, terrified, I reached ahead of me and found more teeth. I pulled myself deeper into its mouth and I felt my feet slide past its lips. My whole body was coated in slime and I openly wept, grasping in the darkness for another tooth.

And that’s when The Pig started to chew on me.

I screamed in crushing agony as my body was compressed between its massive teeth. I heard my legs snap instantly and felt wet bone pop from my skin. I shook violently as my body spasmed in shock, a mangled twist of blood and pain.

Its tongue shifted me in its mouth and I felt it bite down on my shoulder. My eyes bulged in their sockets as I howled, a hot pillar crunching down on my collar bone. I threw up violently, unable to control myself, the pain overwhelming.

Keep crawling.

Screaming, bloodshot eyes rolling wildly, I reached forward with my good arm, wetly searching for another tooth. I grit my teeth, blood squirting between them, as my fingers wrapped around something solid.

The Pig bit down again, its tongue twisting my body so its molars could snap down on my knees. The pain brought darkness, but my howling screams forced my eyes to remain open.

“JESUS MAKE IT STOP!” I bellowed, my trembling hand still gripping the tooth ahead of me, “PLEASE MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!”

I ground my teeth together so hard they cracked, screaming as I slowly pulled my body deeper into the mouth.

Something was changing, the tights walls of its throat squeezed my head and I realized I was almost through.

“COME ON YOU MOTHERFUCKER! COME ON!” I begged, vocal cords cracking. I reached ahead of me and grabbed onto a thick wad of flesh. My head felt like it was splitting and The Pig bit down on me again.

I gasped, blood exploding from my mouth in a great gush of red.

It had pierced through my stomach, obliterating my insides like bloated noodles. Darkness rushed in on me and I was in too much shock to even scream.

With the last of my strength, right as the blackness took me, I pulled myself forward one last time and felt myself slide down its throat.

Darkness. Falling…screaming. I was screaming. Heat. Heat so intense I thought I would melt.

Clanging. Something was hammering on a metal. Colors and images flew past me so quickly I could only make out their shape. Blood poured into my eyes.

I felt like I would keep falling forever.

Suddenly, my eyes snapped open and I was falling, my breath rushing back into my lungs in a great wave of purity. My face bounced off wood floor and I cried out as I felt my nose break. I tasted blood and saw stars.

I had stopped falling.

There was a ring of burning fire around my throat and I felt impossibly thirsty.

I was lying on the floor.

I slowly opened my eyes again and the darkness began to fade like morning mist under a hot sun. Colors blended together and shapes came into focus.

I was in my woodshed.

I reached up around my throat and grasped at the source of heat. It was the rope I had hung myself with, but now it was severed, releasing me from the grip of death.

Relief rolled over me in overwhelming waves of thanks. I curled up on the floor and sobbed, tears dripping from my eyes onto the dirty floor. My body shook, unbroken, as I wept, wet horse cries rising from my quivering lips.

I had been spared. I was alive again.

From my spot on the floor, I turned my eyes upward, my voice cracking, “Thank you God. Oh thank you.” I fell into another fit of uncontrollable sobbing, “I promise I won’t waste my life again. I promise I’ll make things right, I’ll fix everything.”

I don’t know how long it was before I got up. Time seemed to stretch for eternity. My mind refused to rebuild, the horrors of what I had just witnessed crushing me.

But I knew I would do everything I could to make the most out of my life. I was going to live every day to the fullest. I would devote myself to helping others in dark times. I would reach out to as many Suicidals as I could and try to save them from awaited on the other side.

I didn’t want anyone else to have to witness the horrors of suicide.

I didn’t want anyone else to have to Feed the Pig.

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AFTERLIFE FICTION HORROR HORROR FICTION NO SLEEP SCARY STORIES

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My Arm Was Amputated, And Something Really Weird Is Happening With My Phantom Limb

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: In Bad Waters - part four Word count: ±2800 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part four summary: After Dean takes a girl home, Sam goes to look for the huntress who is keeping the brothers’ belongings hostage. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Music: Shine On You Crazy Diamond - Pink Floyd Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

The nights are mild this November. The moon is almost full and stands high in the dark blue sky. This time it’s not the sun which shines a light on the hundreds of tombstones, neither does the cemetery have a peaceful feel like it did this morning. Trees create long shadows, so black that one would be afraid to walk through its darkness. At this hour the statues of angels and other Biblical figures don’t seem sacred, the figures looming over those who dare to disturb the dead.

Anyone who would walk around the stretched out lands of Linwood Cemetery, would be rather sure the place is deserted. Nevertheless, someone is present. Not a grieving widow or a relative who got left behind, but a person who is, quite literally, digging up some dirt. In a steady rhythm, scoops of soil fly through the air and land on a pile next to a hole in the ground. Down in the grave, Zoë is working like a miner. Even though it’s night, all she’s wearing is a thin Lakers basketball shirt, sweat shimmering on her body as her muscles move under her skin.

For a moment she pauses; she reckons she’s almost there. Out of breath, she listens to her surroundings and scans the area like a periscope of a submarine, popping her head just above ground level. Not a sound, nothing to see, yet she senses something. She can’t really put a finger on it, but glances at the loaded shotgun next to her in the grave nonetheless. She picks up the shovel instead, continuing to dig. Her senses grow stronger and the huntress freezes, picking up the smallest sound. Making a split second decision, Zoë goes for her shotgun, aims on pure gut instinct and fires. The slug demolishes half a gravestone and barely misses the person hiding behind it. “Jesus Christ!” a startled voice cries out. “Friends call me Zoë,” she responds, skillfully discharging the empty shell and reloading her rifle.

She stays low to the ground and focuses on the tombstone from the hole, prepared for a possible counter attack, but nothing comes. “Show yourself,” she commands. A tall figure rises from behind the tombstone, his hands up. “It’s me,” he says. The man steps into the moonlight and Zoë instantly recognizes him. “Sam...” She scoffs, actually not that surprised to see him. “Seriously man, there will come a day that I will kill one of you fucking Winchesters if you keep sneaking up on me like this.”

“How the hell did you even notice me?” Sam questions, disappointed with his own ambushing skills. “Are you kidding me? I can smell you from a mile away after your dive in that septic tank,” she nags. Sam stares at her for a moment and smells himself. “I showered!” he exclaims. Zoë smirks; she can’t believe he actually fell for that. Sam also realizes she is deliberately messing with him and shoots her a deadly glare. “What if I was the night guard?” he tests. “If the night guard enters, I’ll notice it the minute he sets foot in the cemetery.” Zoë puts away her shotgun and picks up the shovel again. Before she continues digging, she looks back up. “What the fuck are you doing here anyway?” Sam approaches the grave. “Looking for you.” “Well, you found me. Now get lost,” the huntress scoffs. “I’m not going anywhere without our stuff, Zo,” Sam states. She stops what she was doing, leaning on the handle of the shovel. “Sure. Just a sec. I’ll just pull your laptop case out of my back pocket and I think I stuffed the two duffel bags in my bra,” she responds, smartly. He glares at her. “Ha-ha.” Zoë continues shoveling dirt, while Sam halts on the edge of the hole in the ground. It’s not the first open grave he has seen, but that’s not what he’s looking at. Zoë has captured his attention, and Sam can’t stop watching. The fabric of her shirt is drenched in sweat, a darker tone between her shoulder blades and down her chest. The moonlight distinguishes hardened arms and shoulders. She might be a lean built woman of no more than 5’8, yet clearly she is well trained. Even though Zoë has been working the soil for some time now, there is no sign of fatigue and every scoop is powerful. Just like that moment in Rochester, yesterday morning, she captivates him in such a way that it seems impossible to keep his eyes off her. When she walked by naked to turn up the radio she meant to get his attention, but apparently this time she feels uncomfortable.

“What do you think this is? BustyAsianBeauties.com?” she remarks, glancing up at the hunter annoyed. “Excuse me?” Sam returns, puzzled. “Don’t get all innocent with me, perv. I happened to stumble on some browser internet history on your laptop, which is full of viruses because of that shit by the way,” she notifies. Sam stares at her staggered, then the light bulb switches on. Rolling his eyes skyward, he huffs. “Dean.” Zoë shrugs, continuing her job at hand. “I don’t really care which of you two can’t get laid enough. Your harddrive was a fucking mess.” “You’ve been on my computer?” It’s not so much a question. The tall Winchester eyes her from under his brown bangs, clearly not happy with her snooping around through his stuff. Zoë has the feeling that this would be a good time to lie, but just to rile him up a bit more, she doesn’t. “I did, actually,” she comments. “Got a problem with that, college boy?” Sam averts his gaze and grinds his teeth, which draws a reaction from Zoë. “Hey, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t fuck up your computer with a dozen porn sites, videos, pi--” “- I’m gonna kill him,” Sam growls. “Oh, don’t wanna miss that.” Zoë turns up the speed, now that she has some extra motivation to hurry up.

The youngest of the Winchester brothers glances down at her again. “So, this is your case?” “I’m not digging up dead people for fun,” she retorts, without pausing. “What’s the story?” Zoë peers at him for a moment, but doesn’t stop with what she’s doing. Not seeing any harm in it, she gives him a brief summary. “Young girl got beat up by her father. One strike killed her.” “Let me guess, what goes around comes around for the dad?” Sam assumes. “Yep. Died yesterday,” she confirms.

Whoa, she’s quick, Sam realizes. It’s not often that he has run a case that fast. “How did you figure it all out in that short period of time?” Sam asks, genuinely interested. “You guys have your methods to pick out cases. I have mine,” Zoë responds curtly. The younger Winchester brother knows better than to continue the interrogation. A silence follows and Sam glances over at the gravestone.

Laura Emily Shire Beloved daughter and sister 01.22.1995 – 09.21.2005 Rest in Peace

“Apparently not,” Sam comments on the last sentence, before he redirects his attention to the huntress. “Need help?” “Do I look like I need help?” she counters. He shakes his head and goes quiet, not daring to contradict her. He should have known Zoë wouldn’t accept a helping hand. So he watches, awkwardly, not sure what to do with his hands. Not for long, though, because three swings later, Zoë hits the coffin.

The sudden difference in sound when the steel shovel collides with the wood draws Sam’s attention. He glances over the edge as Zoë wipes the dirt away. A hardwood beech coffin is exposed once again. Zoë busts the hinges with her shovel and opens the coffin, after which she quickly backs out. It’s one thing to burn just bones, but this little girl is still in the process of decomposition. “Argh… man, that’s bad.” Zoë covers her mouth and nose with her hand and turns at Sam, who hands over her backpack.

Trying not to inhale as she takes out a bag of salt and a small jerry can filled with gasoline, she continues to cover the remains with both. She climbs out of the grave and takes a matchbox out of her pocket. With a smooth strike, Zoë lights a couple of matches and drops them down the hole. Almost immediately the fire spreads out and shines an orange light on their faces as the heat reaches for them. The body burns for a while and when the fire almost dies out, she shovels the dirt back in the hole. Sam wants to help, but she only brought one shovel, so there’s not much he can do.

“How did you find me by the way?” Zoë wonders, as they saunter back to the main gates of Linwood Cemetery twenty minutes later. “I drove by and saw your Harley in the parking lot of the Hampton, asked for you at the desk. They called up to your room, but you didn’t answer. Since your bike was still there, I just figured you were at the cemetery across the street,” he explains. “I could have been having a bite and a drink somewhere,” she suggests. “Could have, yeah,” Sam admits, a small smile on his lips. “Lucky guess, huh?” Zoë grins as they amble through the gate. “More like a coincidence,” he expresses. “Let me tell you one thing, Sam.” Zoë looks over her shoulder, an all knowing grin on her lips. “There’s no such thing as coincidence.”

They halt in front of the Hampton Inn as Zoë shakes off the cold and shrugs on her jacket. Grave digging can be quite intense, but now that she’s not busting her ass, she’s freezing. Before the huntress moves inside, she throws her backpack over her shoulder and turns around at Sam. “What are you doing tonight?” “Not much, actually. Dean has a girl over at the motel,” he sighs. “Ah, I was wondering where the fucker was. Another one, huh? Not a shifter this time?” The huntress winks, remembering the joke she pulled on him. Sam laughs too. “Not this time.” “You didn’t tell him that we don’t know what sex that thing was, right?” Zoë checks. “Nope.” Sam’s eyes sparkle for a moment, in the same way Dean’s eyes do so often. It’s probably a Winchester thing. “I bet he has nightmares about it,” Zoë grins, enjoying the idea, but then turns to Sam as her amused facial expression changes into something more serious. “You have any last night?”

Sam looks her in the eye and the sparkle disappears. He forgot about the fact that he opened up to the huntress about the strange dreams he’s been having and for a second he feels uncomfortable. He’s happy to shake his head. “No, I slept quite well, actually. First time in three weeks,” he returns. “Well, I didn’t.” She yawns and quickly covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m gonna catch some sleep. Night, Sam.”

Zoë intends to stroll inside and leave the hunter at the entrance, but he clears his throat. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sleepy and confused, Zoë halts and looks at the younger Winchester. “You’re not getting a kiss, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” Sam eyes her. “Our stuff.” “Oh right,” she remembers, entering the Hampton Inn, Sam in tow.

They take the elevator up to the second floor, where the huntress turns left, expecting Sam to follow. The younger Winchester seems impressed with the luxury of the hotel; he’s used to hunters settling for a much cheaper accommodation. As she slips her keycard through the lock, she yawns again.

“That bad, huh?” Sam chuckles. “I haven't had much sleep lately. Too many cases,” she replies and walks directly to the bathroom. “Let me freshen up, one sec.”

One sec turns out to be five minutes, because after that amount of time she walks out of the bathroom, fresh and showered. She’s wearing a Nirvana shirt and pajama shorts, not even bothered to put on a bra, even though she has company. She’s going to turn in for bed soon anyway, the aftermath of her high this morning seriously kicking in. She carelessly beckons at Sam, pointing at the other end of the room. “You can find your shit in the closet.”

Sam crosses the space and opens the double doors. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the duffel bags, but he can’t spot his laptop. “It’s on the table, still hooked up to the server,” she answers before he can ask. He walks over and notices the USB cable. “Why is it hooked up?” “Don’t get all emotional about it, but I’m copying my supernatural database to yours,” she tells him. “Since you guys are still going on what’s in that old book.” Sam’s eyebrows perk up, surprised. She actually did that, something nice without him asking? Maybe she’s not so bad as his brother would have him believe after all. “Thanks,” he expresses.

She looks aside, able to tell that his gratitude is sincere. Touching the mouse pad, she triggers the screen to light up; it’s still copying. To pass the time she opens ITunes, starts one of her favorite playlists and the first tunes of Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd come from the speakers. “Don’t mention it, but I'll tell you what.” She straightens her back and walks over to her bed. “It’s still transferring files, which might take another hour or so. If you don’t have a place to stay anyway, why don’t you hang out here? You can crash on the sofa if you want.”

Another unexpected act of kindness; she just invited him in. Not that she would want anything from him, though, or does she? For a second the Winchester wonders why she’s so interested in him all of a sudden. She’s being nice, and that’s just off. “Sure, if you don’t mind,” Sam accepts, masking his suspicion. “As long as you shut your piehole, I don’t mind. I really need to sleep,” she clears up as she crawls into bed and pulls the covers up till her nose. “Remote is on the TV if you want to watch anything, as long as it isn’t porn,” she mumbles, fitting her eye mask over her face. “Thanks, I’m good,” he assures, sitting down behind the table and glancing at the screen. He watches the bar move slowly, the percentage going up with each passing minute. “Hey Zo, is it alright if I--” But he doesn’t finish his sentence. Zoë is already far away, curled up in fetus-position, wrapped in her covers. She seems so peaceful and vulnerable, so unlike the Zoë Sullivan he got to know these past couple of days. He smiles at the endearing sight. She’s quite a peculiar woman.

It only takes a moment, though, before guilt settles on his chest and memories cloud his mind. Because every time when he thinks of Zoë, his thoughts wander off to Jessica as well. As if a voice in the back of his mind is mocking him for taking an interest in the new huntress. That it’s ‘not done’ since he’s in a relationship. But he isn’t. Jess is gone forever.

Sam swallows apprehensively and glances at his laptop again. He sees images transferring, of ghouls and werewolves, wendigos and demons. Honestly, he can’t wait to get his hands on that thing that killed his former girlfriend and his mom. Never has he felt the urge to kill something so strongly, never has he felt so much anger and hatred towards anything. Of course, he has ended the lives of creatures and burned the bones of the souls that stayed behind, but never out of hate. He did those things for opposite reasons; to save people and help spirits to move on.

The frustrating part about his attempt to find the creature that was responsible for the death of his loved ones? He has no idea where to start. Their dad has disappeared from the face of the earth and he and his brother have no leads whatsoever. They need to get back on the road, find their father and make progress fast, before that thing disappears off the radar again. Sam is going to make sure that he and Dean leave this town tomorrow first thing in the morning.

When the time comes, when they finally find their father, the next step is making the bastard pay that murdered Mom and Jess. That thought right there is what drives him, disturbing yet thrilling, but that’s what everyone is after. The death of that monster, the ultimate revenge.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part five here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #supernatural rewrite #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #SPN #Supernatural #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan STSS #In Bad Waters #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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riseofthecommonwoodpile · 4 years

Text

Warehouse of Prayers by Laura Kasischke

It’s dark in here. Please, let me out.

No, I hear him say. I want to show you. And to see it, you have to stay.

And, O, I saw it then. So many prayers. Who could answer them all? And yet

what god would have the heart to toss them out?

Yes, he says, I know. It terrifies. The silence, and the din. The tremendous weight of them. It defies

anything you might think or say

about sound about size.

But, yes, of course. Of course I’ve kept them all.

“We had gone for a walk in the dark.

Of all things, I was deeply in love with my husband! Then

something silent I couldn’t see crept out of the darkness, and bit his hand.”

The beauty of it. The great

beauty. The true beauty of it. The beauty beyond—

It’s

bitten me. I’m bleeding.

In the dark one night you felt around for your blue scarf. Its blue diffusion. Its shameless would-be sky. But it was gone.

Gone, with your watch, and your wallet, and those cheap beads. How

strange to understand, so suddenly

that none of it was yours. Not

a snippet, not a glimpse, not a bit, not

even the dust that had gathered

Amishly on it for years.

And the green lawn rolls, and the green lawn rolls to the foot of it all, to the foot of it all

telling the story of a world created by a god, who wanted to be loved but did not like to talk.

“We predicted this. Something

strapped to the chest of a child. Light pouring up from holes in the ground. A fountain

run dry, and a mild-mannered man on a rampage in July.

Still, we were confused. We

thought we’d looked for this trouble everywhere, and

never found a thing. We

believed there’d be more warning, despite the many warnings. We

deeply believed a mistake had been made.”

10.

Then, in the morning, a mannequin sitting in the rain on the neighbor’s porch. The rain on the mannequin, like so many kisses bestowed upon a corpse.

11.

No. (He takes my hand. He opens a door.)

12.

Wow, I say. So this is all—

and this is the vault in which they’ve hoarded it.

All:

What is, what was, what will be—

added to in increments. (A skyful, a pocketful, a teaspoonful, a pinch.)

13.

And still, mostly vault.

14.

The blood and the bed. The basement full of blankets. The

freezer full of meat. We

all will rise again, and all be dignified.

The vein straight through the center

of the leaf. The woody stem of a rose. The dark suburban fruit of mulberries on the lawn.

We will rise over it all, and all of it will still be here when we are gone.

15.

Hello. It’s me, Eurydice. I want to tell you about his eyes: Stupid

hopeful windows. You

idiot, I said. All this resurrection business just to have your dumb love-glance sideswipe me dead.

16.

Her boy, in the war, the gate, left open, the field full of flowers, the day, so cloudless, she couldn’t help but see the mysterious sense and emptiness of it: As a child, he was so quiet, you could have drawn a circle

around it with a piece of chalk.

You could have taken a bus to the edge of that silence, and stepped off

onto a sidewalk, made of time, and walked

for years and years, all through his childhood and still kept walking.

17.

This is the illegible scroll

on which Orpheus’ reply was written.

This

is the book, thrown from the window.

A cough.

A broken telephone.

A few notes of a song.

18.

And a woman sobbing in a hospital gown, Not fair. Just this one body, and not even the body I wanted, and still it clings to me weeping when I have to leave. Not fair.

19.

“Eurydice? Eurydice? Are you there?”

20.

RSVP: She

will not be arriving by ship of by plane. No car door slamming. No

driver to be paid. She will not be walking. Neither shall she run. Thank you for asking, but she can’t come.

21.

Please, please, please, sweetheart,

pick up the fucking phone if you’re there

22.

“The Czar was killed on the spot, as

were the Empress and the Grand Duchess Olga, neither of whom could finish making the sign of the cross.

But the daughters

wore corsets

lined with jewels. For long moments the bullets, fired at their chests,

ricocheted around the room.”

23.

Please?

24.

One day I saw the divorcée take a letter from her ex-husband. Briefly, his fingertips touched hers, and then she slipped the letter into her purse:

But, O, that purse, full of old pleasure, and that letter. Memory, like a dark hole full of feathers.

25.

“Lust, that goat in violets. Those violets like so much tenderness

scattered in the grass. Love,

that rusty chain dragging you home through your past.”

26.

A woman turns at church in her pew and tell me before the organ starts up, “I know a story about your house.”

27.

Oh? Yes?

28.

“In the forties, a farmer named Elmer Barow, in your kitchen, shot himself.”

29.

Oh, I thought, I know. I know. Time,

passing, all along— the hum of the cobwebs in the corners crocheting their intricate shrouds. The

dripping of the faucet. The blackened toast. Of

course, when we sat down at the table with our heads bowed, that

was him listening in on our prayers— Elmer

Barow with a rifle in his mouth.

30.

Always that

flash of desire, always

in the way (that

gray cat sleeping in the driveway, those

teenage girls bathing in a pond of bees)— that’s

what’s left of the freedom God had to make us, or remain free.

31.

Eurydice?

32.

In winter a woman I work with gets the idea that her hands are poisoned. She can’t touch anything anymore. She wears

gloves to bed, in case, in her sleep—

33.

No, E., of course, your hands aren’t poisoned. You cannot kill your children if you stroke their hair. You

know this, you know it.

34.

But, suddenly, gradually, myself—

everything I touch, there’s—

35.

There’s something wrong. (Not that. But something.) I

spend hours trying not to think about the something, but it’s

always there

in the shadowy tissue, in the silvery microscopic gloom, the lazy fluid slip of it, which,

released by love, billows loosely around the cerebral cortex—

a poisoned flume.

36.

Then—?

37.

“And then the day is over, and the—”

38.

And the day is over.

And in the dark I hear God say,

Laura, go ahead and pray.

39.

Okay.

40.

Okay. I— Okay. I—

Dear God, I—

offer up this prayer of dryer lint and hair.

41.

Orpheus here in a cellar made of glass. In it, with me, a blizzard of small black words. I

am sending this message to you from the world, but “This is a message from the world” is all it says.

42.

“Oh, to the teeth, sweetness is the medium, but the message is decay. Like

the soul, a hunch, wrapped in disintegration. Sweater

wool, skin cells, carpet fibers, ash, a gray

breeze: Virus,

and pollen, and ourselves

blown to breathing pieces.”

43.

And then at the petting zoo I knew

animal terror for the first time. Animal

despair: The trembling of the lamb under my trembling hand.

44.

Suddenly, God answers me!

I am made of the same thing you are, after all, and you

are made of me:

Some darkness, a supplication, a moral silence breezing

over the glassy stubble in a vacant field.

45.

“And let us not forget the petty prayers. The insatiable hunger of seagulls. The sunset

in the blood, and those

birds turning

in on themselves. Crying, reeling, happiest hungry. Let us be

you amphetamines! they scream. The market

full of fruit out of season. The locked

door of the embassy. The high

gate surrounding spring:

Please, God, I want all of it for me.”

46.

To: Orpheus Fr: Eurydice Re: Death

The babble. The cold, teeming, intangible hotel.

47.

God, do your hear that? That

bit of stitching in the wind? It unravels when you listen. Listen.

48.

The Debt Birds screeching, Insufficient! Someone shoveling snow onto a fire. A figure in a black suit swinging a lantern through the dark

in arcs, coming closer, and closer.

And my mother standing by the lilac

(the lilac, which is the suburb’s lyric poem

about death) talking

to a man she never met. I

overhear him say, Whatever

crazy sorrow saith.

49.

“No one was crying, no one was bleeding, but the mail had been dumped in the street, and

someone’s husband a few blocks over was shouting loudly about accountability.

Shadows stuffed into envelopes— as when the forest creeps to the edge of the freeway, perfectly tamed, finally revealed,

and the wild illegal animals people keep as pets,

escape, are seen.”

50.

Jesus Christ, this stuff is everywhere!

51.

Excuse me.

I couldn’t help but overhear your prayer...

52.

“What the bloody hell is this? Someone must have written down every word ever said, then

shredded every word ever written.”

53.

O, honey, O, lovely, O, please. It’s me,

Orpheaus, again, Eurydice.

54.

“Okay, now what we need here is a warehouse, or an abyss. Which one of you guys can get on this—

ASAP?”

55.

trying to hold fire. Like

trying to hold perfume. Like

wearing fog to work. Like

stoppering a bottleful of light—

trying to talk to God.

56.

“Hello. Yeah. It’s me. Is he in? We’ve got a major mess on our hands.”

57.

“Shit. Shit. Is he ever in?”

58.

Like stoppering a bottleful of light. Like wearing fog to work. Like trying to hold perfume. Like

trying to hold fire—

to make the simplest goddamned contact with—

59.

O, wait, look after all— that

warehouse, that

abyss, and

a beautiful naked stranger diligently trying

to ladle the oceans into it.

#laura kasischke #i typed this whole thing out on my old blog so #here it is #my favorite poem

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cartoonish0geek · 4 years

Text

It Lives in The Mountains

“Fight back.”

“You! You're that weird loner from Westchester!”

Noah looks around to make sure no one's listening before shrugging.

“Well, at least you didn't suffer a head injury. You're just naturally like this.”

Jocelyn remains too shocked to glare or throw a punch. “B-but I thought.. You're that freak that killed his friend. Why should I help you?”

“That’s not what happened” he grits.

“So what? You want me to join your creepy little cult to start killing people like..some..killer?”

Noah pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Will you just shut up and listen already?”

“You shut up!”

Connor chuckles.

“Real mature, ” Noah rolls his eyes.

Jocelyn only crosses her arm in reply.

“Good. Listen, like pretty boy said, we need to create a group with people who have been affected by this. We need to fight back and figure out what's going on so we can stop this from happening again and you'll never have to see whatever that was ever again. Deal?”

“Why me?”

“You’ve seen it first hand and we need some muscle if we're gonna stand a chance against this. If you actually give a shit about anyone here, about Cody, you'll help us end this.”

Jocelyn flinches at the mention of Cody and angrily shoots her drink down to stand.

“Don't you dare say his name. Not after what that freak witch did to him.”

Connor steps forward, raising his hands to calm her. “Joceyln, Ava wasn't the reason Cody-”

“I said don't say his name! Don’t!” She turns to angrily wipe at her eyes. “I know she did it! It’s all her fault.. I-“

Noah quickly takes the opportunity to step in. “No, no you don’t. You don’t want to admit it, but you’re using her as a way to give yourself comfort because blaming someone you hate is easier than not knowing.”

Jocelyn clenches her fists and furrows her brows as she turns.

“Sure. You know a lot about that don’t you.”

Noah looks down.

“You blame yourself for (Y/n)’s death but it wasn’t you was it? You don’t know what happened either.”

“No, I know what happened. Same as Cody. I just ignore it because it’s easier to blame myself than to actually do something about it. In the end I'm just scared but I don't want to be and that's why I'm here. That's why I'm asking you to do this. So you can either sit here blaming the witch or you can find out what really happened and kick it's ass.”

“Fine.”

Conner and Noah exchange an uncertain look.

“I’ll join your stupid little cult-”

“Not a cult-”

“Whatever, Blondie. I'll join your stupid club but only to punch whatever that thing is back into the hell-hole it came from. For Cody.”

Connor nods. “Works for us. So that's it then. Now if you don’t mind, I gotta get some sleep, I have an early shift tomorrow.”

Jocelyn pushes past his shoulder in silence while Noah shoves his hands in his pocket searching for the cigarette pack and a lighter as he follows suit towards the exit.

“Goodbye to guys too” Connor sarcastically signs off.

...

Noah stalks into the forest holding a cigarette between his lips as he tries to spark it huddling from the rain. “Stupid..peice of shi-”

“WhAt...NoAh..dOiNg” (Y/n) asks floating around him.

Noah flinches. “Jesus Fucking Christ! What does it look like I'm doing?”

“BaD..FoR..yOu, ReMemBeR?”

“I know, I know, it's just hard to let go with everything going on and- I promise after I fix everything I'm going to quit but for now I need this..”

“EveRytHiNg wiLL gEt BeTTer”

Noah smiles softly. “Thanks, buddy. You're too good for me.. And hey, I started the club I was talking to you about. You're gonna be free soon, how does that sound?”

“FrEeEeE??”

“Yeah!”

(Y/n) takes a minute to process this. After the moment passes, their eyes light up.

“FreEEeeEeEe!!!” (Y/n) dances around Noah like a shadowed flame, which leaves Noah chuckling in response, a rose tint on his cheeks.

“That’s right, you’re gonna be free.”

#choices #pb #pixel berry #it lives #it lives in the mountains #it lives 3 #ilb noah #ilitw noah #choices noah #noah

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theatresweetheart · 5 years

Text

Horror Movies and Soft Landings

Fandoms: Sanders Sides, G/t

Summary: Horror movies can be the bane of ones existence, good thing Virgil drops in to ease Roman’s worries.

Warnings: Swearing, fear, brief mentions of slightly disturbing movie imagery.

Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety

Word Count: 3431 words

Taglist: @isle-of-gold @lovelylogicality

~—~—~—~—~—~

Horror movies were not a good idea. He knew it had been a bad idea from the start.

Though even as he sat up in bed, eyes scanning the shadows for something that seemed to be moving, Roman knew he was just psyching himself out at this point. There was nothing there, he knew that for a fact.

But what if there was?

There could be something lurking in the darkness that he couldn’t see and it made his heart rate spike. He had already taken some precautions, such as tossing a pillow onto the empty chair in his room and locking his bedroom door.

You could never be too well-prepared.

Oh, pull yourself together. Leave the overthinking to Virgil, he’s good at it.

Even so, he reached over to grab his phone off the bedside table and sunk a bit farther down into the comforters on his bed, flickering the screen on. He winced for a moment, squinting just enough to see through the blinding light until he managed turned the brightness down and activating the night shift. It was still a bit bright for his taste, but it was better than how it had been.

2:47 am.

That was certainly a lot later than he usually preferred to stay up. Being in bed by 11 pm was usually a must and then getting to sleep about an hour after was how his schedule usually hung around.

However, tonight was different as his mind hadn’t given him the chance to relax from the adrenaline high and had instead been rather helpful with creating scenarios and monsters in his mind’s eye.

Logan had said this would happen and Roman knew it would happen anyways, but he hadn’t listened to his common sense or the voice of logic.

Patton had tried to find different ways to make him feel better as well, such as tea with honey or warm milk. Nothing had worked, but he had appreciated the attempts.

As the darkness began to become overwhelming again, he tugged the blankets further up and stayed half hidden beneath them. He didn’t really care that it was starting to get a bit toasty. Not when there was something else in the room with him.

He had tried to tune out the silence from the room and had managed to do so rather impressively, if he could admit, which he could.

He had finally managed to find a tentative peace and if he allowed himself to stay like this, there would be nothing to worry about. He’d be asleep in no time.

But what if that’s what the monster is waiting for?

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Roman was well aware that according to all reason, there would literally be nothing like that lurking in his bedroom; especially not if he was still awake to see it. But it would also have to defy all logic as well. Though, the more fantastical side of him supplied that it could be possible. While he usually adored imagination, right now it wasn’t doing anything than making him nervous.

So, he tried to settle his nerves while scrolling through his phone. There had to be something distracting enough, right?

“Why are you still awake?”

A sudden voice from just above him made Roman jolt and knock back against the headboard which caused the bed to shake and his phone to nearly fly entirely from his grasp, only to land a few inches in front of him.

A small, startled gasp was the next thing he registered—that and a rather loud curse that followed quickly afterwards—before the nearly unnoticeable weight that had plopped onto pillow just next to his shoulder followed suit.

With his heart now in his throat, Roman fumbled blindly for his phone in the pitch darkness, finding that it had fallen into the waves of comforter in front of him. He shakily managed to switch on the flashlight, bathing the room in a bright white light.

As soon as he could see, after blinking the spots from his eyes, he turned just enough to see a familiar black hoodie slumped into a small divot that his landing had caused.

“Virgil?” He muttered breathlessly, eyes wide and surprised. Now that had sent his adrenaline through the roof.

Was he okay? Jesus Christ.

Sure, the pillow was admittedly soft, if it wasn’t, Roman wouldn’t be using it. However, the softness of the pillow wasn’t what really mattered when you fell from a height that could be otherwise damaging if you landed wrong.

Roman almost feared to move, not wanting to upset the borrower’s position more. “Are you alright?”

It took a moment, but the smaller form moved a bit, pushing himself up and onto his elbows from the near face-plant he had taken. He took a moment to just breathe, because holy shit I don’t want to fall from that goddamn height again, fuck me and then he was rolling over onto his back and looking up at the very worried human looming over him.

That sort of thing was still unnerving to him, even though the more rational side of him knew that he was perfectly safe in this situation. Though, it was still hard to convince the terror flooding through his veins that that’s what this was.

In literally any other setting, if a human were looking down at you, you needed to get out as soon as possible. Even though his instincts would keep going off whenever someone was looking at him, he knew it wasn’t because he was in danger. It was just because he had those instincts driven into him so hard as a kid that he couldn’t shake them even as an adult.

In any case, these were the instincts that kept him alive, so he couldn’t complain too much.

Though, he needed to get him to stop looking at him like that. The helpless, kicked-puppy look.

Virgil opened his mouth to say something, before thinking better of it and flipping Roman the bird.

It seemed to express exactly what he needed it to because he watched as the worried expression crumpled almost instantly and was replaced with a mock-irritated one.

“What do you think you’re doing, sneaking in here and scaring the hell out of me at 2 in the morning?”

“'Cause I though it was funny?” The borrower shrugged his shoulders, an amused grin sneaking across his face. He got a flat look in response so he changed his story. “I was just curious as to why you were still awake at this hour. It’s not like you to be a night dweller.”

Roman made an undignified noise. “Well, maybe I should be asking you the same question.”

Virgil quirked a brow. “Because borrowers are naturally nocturnal? Because I just happen to be an insomniac? We’ve been over this before, so it shouldn’t be a surprise. I just saw your phone on and I guess I wanted to know why you’ve been holding off going to bed. Is it a sin to be curious?”

Roman rolled his eyes, before shifting a bit more to the side and sinking back against the headboard, leaving the borrower laying on the one pillow and using another to support his back. “No, not necessarily.”

Virgil adjusted himself, struggling for just a moment before pulling himself up and sitting cross-legged on the too-soft surface. “You know, I think I can guess why you’re avoiding sleep.”

“I’m not avoiding it—”

“Oh please, it’s because you watched that horror movie, isn’t it?”

The human pursed his lips. He broke the quiet after a moment. “You heard that, huh?”

“Hard not to when you live in the walls,” he said nonchalantly. “That and you were screeching, so...”

Roman winced. “Right.”

The silence held for a minute. It wasn’t awkward, but they both felt as if they needed to fill it but both for very different reasons. Roman didn’t enjoy sitting in the silence for too long, as it allowed his mind to wander again and Virgil just didn’t like sitting in silence because it could get awkward eventually.

“You know, you’re an idiot for watching it in the first place. You’d think you’d know you and horror movies don’t bode well by now, and didn’t Logan warn you too? Sure, he talks a lot, but the guy has some good advice,” Virgil spoke up again, drawing the weight of the brown eyes back to him. There was that unimpressed look again. He tugged at his hoodie a bit, almost nervously with the consistent attention. “Don’t look at me like that when you know I’m right.”

There was a sigh in response, which caused Virgil to turn his attention back to said male. The bed shook a bit violently as Roman moved to bring his knees up to his chest.

Goddamn, were they supposed to be having a heart-to-heart moment? God knows he wasn’t good at those.

But sitting in the silence wasn’t going to do either of them any good, so it seemed it was up to him to do something about this. That unhappy look on the other’s face just wasn’t sitting well with him either.

Pushing himself up into a stand, throwing his arms out at the lack of a steady surface and needing to keep balance, Virgil managed to wobble across the pillow before hopping off of it and onto the comforter instead. He made his trek across the blanket as smooth as it could be. Though, the closer he got to Roman, the more he realized just how much he didn’t think about how big he was anymore.

Letting his anxiety about that get in the way wasn’t exactly how he wanted to deal with this, so he pushed it down and continued with his plan.

He knew that Roman wasn’t watching him as the weight of his gaze was somewhere else, though as soon as he had grabbed onto the pant leg of the pajamas he was wearing, his attention shifted instantly. He suppressed a small grin at the fact that he could literally feel the tense muscles underneath the soft fabric.

Virgil could give it to him for trying not to shake him off with his natural movements.

“What on earth are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, but with his new found confidence he hauled himself upwards until he was sitting cross-legged on the top of Roman’s knee, panting slightly but meeting his eyes at the same.

There was a self-deprecating look hidden behind those brown eyes. The only reason Virgil could see it so clearly, was because he knew how that sort of pain felt. So, before the human could even say anything, he was breaking the silence again. “Insomnia sucks.”

Roman scoffed. “You’re telling me.”

Virgil snapped his fingers, causing a slight jolt from the human and his attention was back on him, if a bit surprised. “I wasn’t done,” he explained his intentions. “Are you going to shut up and listen to me now or do I have to climb higher?” The startled look Roman was giving him said enough, so, he rubbed his hands down his thighs before tucking his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie. “Insomnia sucks, but you can’t let it control you. Especially if this is all caused by a scary movie, because one sleepless night turns into two and then three until you realize you haven’t slept in a couple days.”

He could see the snarky response coming from a mile away before it was even said. It was that smug look that sold him out. ‘Has this happened to you, Tom Thumb, or are you humouring me?’

A hand was held up and it stopped him from saying it. “Is it the creativity in you that’s leading you to think there’s something here with you?”

“Other than you?” Virgil gave him a deadpan and Roman only grinned, but it was gone after a second. “…I guess.”

“Distracting yourself won’t really help,” he admitted finally, leaning forwards on his own knees, keeping his head at an angle where it was still comfortable enough to look up. “I’ve tried. How long have you been trying?”

“...three hours.”

“Exactly. If distracting yourself hasn’t helped yet, I don’t think it’s going to any time soon.” He then rubbed the back of his neck, focusing his attention elsewhere for a moment. “Would you feel better if I stayed for a bit?”

He got a reaction almost instantly. “You don’t have to do that. Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Virgil shrugged his shoulders before wrapping his arms around himself. “I know what it’s like to think about the worst possible situations alone at ungodly hours.” He felt the pity stare, but made it a point to look anywhere that wasn’t Roman. “I offered, anyway so, whatever I guess.”

It took a moment before it clicked and understanding flooded forwards.

“You don’t want to be alone tonight, either, do you?”

Roman watched as Virgil flinched before his shoulders tensed. The body language wasn’t hard to read, even if he was smaller than the average person. The lighting in the room also wasn’t great, but it wasn’t poor enough to hide the grimace on the smaller features either. Then his shoulders were released and the boy was shaking his head slightly, his chin resting in the palm of his hand.

After what seemed like forever, Virgil was actually turning to look at him. “Are you going to say something stupid if I say yes?”

Of course, his friend looked offended by that, before seeing the insecurity lurking behind those eyes. “’Course not,” he offered instead, “when have I ever done something like that?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Yeah, no, okay. I see your point.” Though, the quiet was held again, he had to ask honestly. “Nightmare?”

“Ah, no, not exactly,” he answered, tucking a bit further into his hoodie, almost as if he were trying to hide in it. To hide away from the world. “I’d call it more of a…resurfacing memory.”

Roman bit his lip. Must have been pretty bad if he came in here searching for comfort instead of seeking Patton out. Which, did confuse him. If he wanted comfort, why did he come here? Maybe it was the fact that he knew he would be awake at this point or maybe it was because Virgil knew Roman wouldn’t smother him the same way Patton would.

Bless Patton’s heart, really, but when those dad instincts kicked in, they kicked in hard.

It didn’t matter who he was focused on, whether it was him, Logan or Virgil. They have all felt it at some time or another. That overwhelming want to make sure they were okay.

They had all been smothered by the well-meaning ball of constant energy.

When Virgil had twisted his wrist a couple weeks back—rendering him incapable of climbing around anywhere—the boy could barely take a few minutes to himself without that doting compassion constantly focused on him.

Instead of saying something, knowing for a fact that he wasn’t incredibly good at being fuzzy and cutesy with words, he offered his cupped hands out in front of himself.

“You know me,” he shrugged his shoulders when he got a confused look in response to his invitation. “I’m not great at this whole fuzzy, warm stuff. That’s Padre’s specialty.” Virgil quirked a brow in question, prompting him to keep talking. “I’ll take you up on that offer earlier. It would be nice to have another presence that I know and trust in the room. So, what do you say, Short Stack, wanna have a sleepover?”

“First of all, never call it a sleepover again.” He adjusted his hoodie. Belaying his words, Virgil pushed himself off of the knee and into the hands of his friend. Almost instantly he was surrounded by warmth and a comfort, but it wasn’t smothering. “Secondly, this entire thing is for you. I don’t need the reassurance.”

“Yeah, sure,” Roman agreed, bringing his hands closer to himself, before shifting so that he back in his normal spot on the bed. “Whatever you say.”

He let his partner back off onto the pillow he had tumbled into earlier, this time though, the pillow itself was pushed a bit more to the side to give him a little bit more space on the bed.

It didn’t take long before the two were getting comfortable and Roman had grabbed his phone before settling back down and shutting the flashlight off. He reached over the borrower to plug his phone back into the charger and laid against the softness of his pillow, tucked comfortably underneath the comforter.

When Roman turned his head, he saw that Virgil was curled into his hoodie, looking all the world like he was content that way. So, he allowed himself to stare at the ceiling for a moment.

He was about to break the silence when the latter did instead.

“Did you know that 3 am is supposed to be the Devil’s hour? Said a lot of haunting stuff happens around this time.”

“Oh for fucks sake, Virgil.”

The human got nothing more than a snort from beside him, before the sound of it being stifled.

Obviously he was trying not to laugh too loudly but coming from such a small pair of lungs, his breath support would never really be enough to be truly loud.

The thought that it was now the Devil’s hour wasn’t really making sleep come any easier at this point.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil laughed, a hand covering his mouth, “I couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah whatever,” Roman mumbled right back at him, turning his head just enough to see the smaller form in his peripheral vision.

Another moment of silence passed as Virgil tried to calm himself down and after his laughter did eventually stop, Roman thought they would be done for the night.

Oh, how very wrong he was.

“Do you need a strong man like me to protect you?”

Roman sighed loudly. Making it a point to show just how exasperated he was with this.

Though, when he heard Virgil’s laughter resume again, almost as if this time it was louder, he couldn’t help but feel a grin cross his own features. It was rare when he heard the latter laugh like nothing else in the world mattered. He wasn’t honestly sure if he had ever heard such unabashed laughter from the borrower before now.

He chuckled a bit himself, before shaking his head. The two calmed down a little bit after that and the quite was held, but this time it was warmer. The tone was lighter, brighter.

In all honesty, he was feeling much better now, the pictures from the movie laying nearly completely forgotten in the back of his head. It was also nice to know that he had someone he knew and trusted directly to his right just in case those feelings did change.

Having another person in the room was also relieving as well.

“Thank you,” Roman spoke up, but this time his voice was quieter, it held more meaning.

He heard the movement from right beside him and he adjusted his attention just enough to see the smaller companion, laying on his stomach now to face him.

“For what?”

“For staying here with me,” he offered back, letting his hands rest over his stomach and letting his eyes trail back to the ceiling. “And for feeling comfortable enough to let me know that you were here seeking solidarity as well.”

Virgil rolled over onto his back, pulling his hood up over his head and shoving his hands into his pockets. He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever, Princey,” he mumbled, “shut up and go to sleep.”

If the words had been said in an argument, Roman knew that they would have held more of a punch but at this time of night, he knew it was a bit more well-meaning. So, he only grinned and finally shut his eyes to get some sleep.

Just as he was about to drift off, after what felt like five or six minutes later, he heard the small voice speak up again.

It was almost so quiet that he could have sworn that he had imagined it:

“You’re welcome.”

It did make him feel better that Virgil knew he was appreciated.

So, with that in mind, he was able to push all of the other thoughts from mind. He wasn’t alone and this time those words didn’t send uneasiness into him.

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rayveewrites · 3 years

Text

So as a simultaneous end of the year/ completion of Golden Echoes/ launch of Buried Gold celebration, I thought it would be neat to go through every chapter and post my favourite line/phrase/sentence/paragraph/etc from each. Why? Is this a genuine celebration? Do I think I’m funny and laugh at my own jokes? Am I actually just procrastinating? Yes. (Very obviously spoilers for the entire fic.)

Prologue: Lost Darkness, pierced by the faint glow of sunlight through the holes in the ceiling. The sound of dripping water, pooling in the centre of the room.

Prologue: Found It remembered a time of life and colour, when it danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off its happiness and energy and gave him their own. Would it ever experience that again?

Prologue: Name Old, brittle bones grinded. Rusted metal sounded against the tiled floor. Colourless eyes softly glowed silver.

Returned ...whoever thought it was a good idea to create a horror attraction out of the actual murders of actual children needed to have their heads readjusted. Forcefully. With a mask full of crossbeams and wires.

Exploration ...servos and circuits, they had been at this location for an hour and Freddy was already having a terrible day. Also it was 10 AM. The location operated at night. Why.

Darkness So young, and left without a voice. I ask you now to make your choice. Clean the tiles of blood and tears? Or let them suffer with their fears?

Void He called up a memory, of turquoise eyes and golden fur, of whispers in the night that meant nothing and everything, of a feeling of happiness, that nothing would ever change, because the world was already perfect.

Balloons Of course this place has wonky physics.

JJ “So let me get this straight. A potentially dangerous supernatural rabbit wants me to take a cryptic message to a potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit, and then somehow convince the other potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit and his potentially dangerous animatronic friends that the first potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit is not, in fact, the definitely dangerous child-murdering serial killer who’s...somewhere else. Have I got all that?”

Rabbit Part of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to make a facial expression, but couldn't.

Arcade The Void was not cooperating.

Parts Things had always seemed much brighter when they were two.

Guard Whatever came to one or the other's mind, in the breaks between people coming through and Sam playing creepy sounds over the speakers because 'a couple of teenagers are smooching on cam six, do they you realize I can see you, jesus christ, why are you even snogging in a horror attraction anyway, I really don't get the appeal, I swear to god-' or something along those lines, anyway.

Adventure Peace wasn't a feeling the ghost had had for a very long time.

Notes ...it had been a handful of wild yellow daisies a little girl had found, and he’d woven them into a ‘flower crown’ (actually more of a flower bracelet- the girl had picked as many as she could hold, but children had small hands) and put it on Fredbear’s hat when his partner wasn’t looking. Fredbear had promptly worn it all that night and the next day, daisies and all. Spring hadn’t been sure if he’d noticed or not, but either way, it had been very cute.

Cupcakes If the kid wanted a dinosaur, the kid should get a dinosaur, as far as he was concerned. Clothes were clothes. Why did people kick up such a stink about it sometimes?

Tapes “Uh, hello? Hello, hello! Uh, there’s been a slight change of company policy concerning use of the suits. Um, don’t.” “Oh gee,” JJ muttered, “imagine. It’s almost as if they were giant metal deathtraps.”

Talk ...she didn’t need to understand every aspect of Springtrap's life. That was Springtrap’s job, and he was apparently terrible at it.

Performance “It smells like something crawled in there and died.”

Gold Fredbear had been Springtrap’s heart and soul; as much as he loved the children and gave each performance his all, his real reason for living was in the bear who sang beside him. Springtrap remembered singing on stage, a guitar in his hands and love in his soul. He remembered stolen kisses in the night, waltzing on cool tiles with music nobody else could hear. He remembered stealing Fredbear’s hat dozens of times, running off wearing it and giggling like a small child himself. He remembered quiet nights, when the only sounds were his guitar and Fred’s soft humming, sometimes the same tune, sometimes not, but neither of them ever cared. He remembered curling up together, watching stars twinkle in the night sky beyond the walls of the little diner, and truly believing that the time they had together was infinite.

Stage He was holding something. He looked down, opened his hand and saw a gleaming purple microphone, accented with gold. It had been years, decades, since he had last seen it, but he recognized it. He knew what it meant. "Even after everything, I’m still with you."

[Note: this is also the chapter that contained Springtrap’s poem. I’m quite proud of that one, despite how much of a pain it was to write. So, honourable mention]

Notes [Note: wait, crud, there’s two chapters named Notes? I’m gonna have to change one of those later.]

Maybe she just needed to hit something.

Knife [Note: I forgot to actually title this one in AO3. Welp. Better fix that later]

It was slightly strange, a Freddy’s-related crime that was just… basic burglary. It was always the unusual crimes that happened- murder, manslaughter, OSHA violations (so many OSHA violations). But theft? That was new.

Shadows

They lapsed back into silence for a moment. “So, this place… is it real?” In a fashion. It was created from your memories of what is gone. “So… if Fredbear isn’t here…” He is unreachable. “Where?” I cannot tell you. “You don’t know, do you.” The Shadow-Bear was silent, telling Springtrap all he needed to know.

Puppet RWQ… Yes? Stop tormenting the rabbit. You’re no fun. Puppet? She hissed at the purple bear. Stop tormenting the rabbit. “And why would I listen to you?” Because, Shadow Freddy said as the Puppet was slowly levitated up into the air, all four limbs flailing, he’s needed. And also, you are being, as Springtrap so eloquently called RWQ earlier, an asshole.

Voice Specifically, it was more a mixture of blood, rotting flesh, and whatever other bodily fluids lingered in William Afton’s partially mummified decomposing head and was accessible via Springtrap’s mouth, without opening said mouth to the point where someone would notice said partially mummified decomposing head. [Or] Springtrap was displaying remarkable self-restraint. First, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for threatening his friend’s life. Then, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for implying he had a problem with the golden bear. Now, he wasn’t squeezing the life out of JJ in a hug.

Ghosts “No. The thing is, I’ve never had a name I felt truly fit before it. I can’t be Bonnie any more; the Classic model has taken that name, and he is welcome to have it. Spring Bonnie was the name the Man Behind the Slaughter used; I never truly referred to myself with it. Some employees called me Golden Bonnie, to fit with the whispers of a Golden Freddy, but that was never truly a name either, although I suppose I could have gotten used to it eventually. But Springtrap? It lets me keep my past, and it lets me have a future. Sure, it’s a little odd, but I don’t mind. I kind of like it. It’s unique.”

Humans Oh, Spring has a key. That explains where the spare went! When did he get that? Jake’s been looking for it for ages. Not that it’s my business. He says he technically works here, so it’s not stealing. Cheeky. He’s right though.

Henry “I’m not sure whether I should be pissed about the weird way he’s been constructed, or impressed he hasn’t collapsed yet. What the hell is holding him togeth- wait what the hell is that.” Springtrap winced. He knew he should’ve warned them beforehand, but he still tended to hide the rotting corpse. It was instinctive, a sort of habit- born from the fear he would be scrapped is the workers found out, and increased by the fact he was being blamed for murder.

Sound No matter how bad Springtrap’s eyesight could get, no matter how often his joints locked up, Springtrap had always had his rabbit hearing. It had saved his life several times, back when the Classics were hunting him. He had figured out a basic method of echolocation for when his eyes were useless. He relied on his ears, and now they were letting him down for the first time in his life. It scared him.

Doors “Freddy! We have a problem!”

Attack He did. He needed a hand. God, it hurt. Where was his arm? Was that his arm? No, it couldn’t be. He was gold. Not green. Or maybe it was. It was hard to think. Thinking. What a strange concept. The Greeks had invented thinking, hadn't they? Why would they do that?

Rest There were voices. Voices. His voicebox had lungs. His lungs were in his spine. His spine was being held together by lungs. His spine attached to his legs. He had no legs. He heard voices. He couldn’t hear. The grass was nice. Cool. Soft. Green. Like his eyes. Not like his eyes. Like his fur. He had no fur. Like his plush. His plush was green. Or gold. Or red. Or brown. He couldn’t remember which. Maybe it was all of them There was a breeze. It was nice. Warm. Hot. It was sunny. The sun was a star. He liked stars. Stars meant Fredbear. And dancing. Where were his legs? He wanted to dance with the stars. Or with Fredbear. Fredbear. His Fredbear. He missed Fredbear.

Epilogue: Box Smeared down the plaster, it started about six feet up, and grew thicker toward the ground. It looked like Springtrap, or the Purple Guy, had slid down the wall until they were sitting. The tile beneath was stained heavily, and Freddy marvelled at how much blood was in a human body.

Epilogue: Opening ... no killing. That was the new rule. It was a strange one, for Master, but he supposed Master knew what he was talking about. He had changed, too; he had scratched behind his ears a couple days ago and it had felt so good.

Epilogue: Spark He remembered a time of life and colour, when he danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off his happiness and energy and gave him their own. He would experience that again.

#Golden Echoes

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rxgerthatt · 5 years

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we’re both monsters, and that’s okay

Summary - Bucky is a broken man, and you’re a broken woman. What happens when worlds collide?

Warnings - SMUT/violence/adult themes

A/N – hi sooooo, I’m working on something big for Steve but I wanted to get something out because I’m having the dreaded writers block and it’s annoying. I really have no idea where this came from, and honestly I’m not sure it makes sense but fuck it, it’s late – if you like it lemme know darlings.

Bucky Barnes is smitten the moment he lays eyes on you.

The firecracker of a dame, with a whip for a tongue and the strength of ten super soldiers. Slight exaggeration, but the point is – you’re strong as fuck.

Seriously, he watched you pull off a man’s arm with your bare hands in Moscow – creamed his pants at the sight. Gore splattered across your face in garish red, coated your hands and you sucked your fucking index finger into your mouth – released it with a pop.

You’re really fucking morbid.

“hmm – don’t get blood like this in the states.” You smirk.

You’re also insane.

Bucky stutters, watches the way your hips sway as you slink away from him and he thinks about those sinful legs wrapped around his –

“Hurry up Barnes – Kimmel’s on at ten.”

Damn – you’ll be the death of him.

He travels to Venice with you – romantic right?

Two enhanced humans running from their problems, trying to find the pieces that were taken – trying to remember the pieces that weren’t. It’s like some tragic love story, spun together and bound by flames and cindered rope.

You remind him of fire – uncontrollable, breathtaking. Don’t get too close or you’ll burn because you’re untameable, one of those new world modern chicks who hate commitment and snort white powder from vials on the weekend.

You’re more dangerous though.

Venice is other worldly. You and Bucky sit on a bridge and watch the sun descend over brightly coloured buildings. It burns tangerine orange and this violent blood red, soft clouds blushing pink with the last of the suns attention. Cornflower blue sky pulled apart from the sea revealing a fleshy wound.

Gondola’s pass beneath your feet, charred and midnight black as they slosh through the water – couples kiss and laugh and Bucky wonders what it’s like to be so completely in love you’re blinded.

“Do you ever wish you died? Y’know, when you fell off the train?” you ask him, and it’s totally out of the blue because you’re sucking on salted caramel gelato over sea foam green water and that question is entirely inappropriate.

“No,” he answers with a smug grin. “Wouldn’t get to be sittin’ here with you if I did.”

Oh it’s smooth, and he feels kind of proud. That is, until you roll your eyes and chuckle. “You trying to get laid?”

Bucky chokes on a chocolate chip, it’s wedged in his throat like a stone and your bluntness turns him fifty shades of vermillion. God, he needs to stop hanging around Steve so much – he’s lost his touch.

“It’s okay if you are you know,” you look straight ahead. “I’ll suck your dick if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Jesus Christ doll, you’re something else.” Bucky laughs – a deep belly laugh, and for the first time in a while he feels normal.

You’re the only one that makes him feel normal.

And that’s the weirdest part of the whole damn thing.

***

Bucky sees it for the first time in Naples.

Word of an underground trafficking ring associated with Hydra shook loose and Steve wanted you both to check it out – drugs, weapons – the works.

It’s not end-of-the-world type shit, but the dude that runs it is bad news.

Giovanni De Luca, the man with Naples under his thumb - your ex-handler from your time in Hydra. And suddenly the mission becomes a lot more personal than simple recon and a fire burns deep in your loin.

There’s children. Six shivering corpses tethered together by metal chains - glossy marble eyes, painted with grime and so unnaturally thin.

They were being smuggled.

It hits you like a freight train, knocks the wind from your lungs and you remember the day you were taken – screaming, crying for your parents. But they were dead, painted the wall of your small home in gaudy scarlet and bone. And with them died any possibility of you having a normal life.

They would do the same to these children. They would make them into killing machines – turn them into monsters.

They would turn them into you.

“Y/N, we should call backup.” Bucky warns you. He can see it simmering under your skin, begging to be unleashed and he knows you can’t control it. It’s a reflex, it’s you – uncontrollable, impulsive.

“There’s no time.”

“Darlin’ there’s fifteen of them and -”

“And we will crush every single one of them,” you growl, eyes set alight like a matchstick – tar black pupil licked by the flames of your iris and Bucky is almost scared of you.

You kill all fifteen with ease.

You pop Giovanni’s eyes from his sockets, they spill from his skull glossy red and roll across the floor in a river of gore. The last thing he sees is you. The last thing he feels is excruciating death as it swallows him whole, the dust from his skull powders your fingers.

Bucky can’t stop you. You maim and break and kill and you never even bat those pretty eyelashes – possessed.

It bursts through you – unhinged, deadly – this monstrous being that isn’t really you but it is. It’s the ‘you’ they created. The assassin with no remorse and the devil in her belly. It’s a tragedy, breaking apart in front of his eyes like petals being ripped from a blooming flower and scorched by death so suddenly.

You rip a man’s head clean off his shoulders; the loud tearing of flesh and the crack of bone is the symphony to match your turmoil – the melody that plays and you’re dancing in the centre, coated in blood and muscle with the smell of thick iron in the air – Bucky tastes it on his tongue.

Bucky can’t stop you. He won’t stop you. There’s some deep, shadowed part of him that understands the need to kill, the want to kill those who harm you and it’s all either of them know. He dances the same dance, sings the same symphony and it’s beautifully macabre but it’s them.

And that’s okay.

***

Bucky has nightmares. Lurid red rivers, mountains of bones and it’s all people he’s murdered – their faces printed into his mind in thick ink, forever.

He throws himself from hell one night, sweat slicked and screaming into the black void of night as if anyone’s listening - as though he were looking for the old him.

Bucky grips his hair in his fists, pulls and tugs and he wants to reach into his skull and rip his brain from the top of his spine – smash it until it’s nothing more than matter and blood, because that would be so much less painful than having to see their faces every night.

“James?”

His head whips to the doorway, your silhouette illuminated by the Italian moon and he almost thinks you’re an apparition, a silver skin, as you glide across the floor towards him.

Bucky throws his legs over the side of the bed, pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and watches the vivid colours dance across the darkness of his eyelids.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Bucky says, voice choked and broken by despair. “You should go back to sleep.”

You’re in front of him now, kneeling on the floor. Your hands pull his own away from his face because you’re one of the few people who have the strength to do so and he looks at you then.

“I see it all too,” you say softly, a whisper into the night.

Your hand is like a balm to his burning skin as it skims up his arm, fingers grazing the ugly scar at the base of his shoulder, and you’re the only woman that hasn’t been frightened by it – you’re the only woman that’s stayed.

“Do you know what makes it worse, is that I remember who I was before,” Bucky opens up. “I wasn’t always a monster, and I suppose that makes it harder.”

You run both your hands across the wide expanse of mousy skin on his bare chest, your grip more urgent as those small yet powerful hands grip his muscular thighs.

“We’re both monsters James,” you look up at him through those long wispy lashes. “And that’s okay.”

James – no one’s called him that since his mother – and somehow he likes the sound of it on your tongue. You stir something inside him that he thought would never wake up again – caress it with those unusually soft hands and it purrs at you.

And it’s dangerous and dark, and he should probably push you away, but he doesn’t stop you when you reach for his pants and pull them down.

He doesn’t stop you when you lick up his shaft, and tease his balls with a barely-there touch he didn’t think you were capable of. Bucky doesn’t stop you because he wants it – he wants you.

You push his chest down until he crashes against the mattress, primal groan ripping from his throat as you take him deeper into your mouth. It’s wet and hot and everything he ever imagined it would be to have your mouth wrapped around him – bliss.

You swirl your tongue around the tip and look up at him with big, doe eyes and he almost applauds you at how easy you make yourself seem so innocent. And maybe in another lifetime you were, maybe if it were a hundred years earlier, he’d be the dominant one.

“Fuck, baby,” he drawls out, vibranium hand shooting down to lock in your thick hair as you run your teeth up his shaft and no woman’s ever done that to him before. And you do this thing were you twist your head and Bucky swears he sees stars on the ceiling.

He sees heaven and Valhalla and a place he doesn’t deserve, but he knows you don’t deserve it too and he’s not alone.

You moan around him, take him deep into the back of your throat with ease, spit and come are coating your cheeks in transparent ribbons but he knows you don’t care and when he shoots into your mouth you take it all. It’s thick and sticky and leaves behind a burn as it pools in your own stomach with a heavy weight – fat and filling.

You release him with a pop, climb up his body like a monkey and the night air passes over his spit slicked dick and makes him shiver. There’s something about it that’s oddly normal – strangely romantic.

Bucky reaches his hand out towards your face, runs a calloused thumb across your sharp cheekbone and your lips part slightly at the gentle gesture.

“Gotta admit doll,” Bucky chuckles, humour bouncing around in those stormy eyes. “Was scared you were gonna bite it off.”

“There’s still time yet James.”

And doesn’t he know it.

***

“I’m obsessed with you,” you tell him in Tuscany – bathed in the golden rays of the sun, caressed by the tongues of grass you lay in and you look celestial – as though the gods made you themselves and sent you down as a gift to the earth.

“Obsessed?” Bucky quirks, that Brooklyn glint of mischievousness dots those beautiful blue eyes and he turns to you then.

“Yes,” you reply. “I don’t know what it feels like – to love I mean.”

Bucky pushes himself up on his elbow, drags a cool metal finger up your arm and your nerves dance beneath your skin.

“Well in that case – I’m obsessed with you too.”

And you smile.

***

He makes love to you in Positano.

It was beautiful. Patchwork buildings climbed the Cliffside in all colours – mustard, beige, coral. Scattered along the rock as though it were natural. It was the treasure of the Amalfi Coast – a diamond wedged between lands.

There’s a hotel room. It’s all Old Italian decor – fresh white walls, arched openings, oak curved doors and tile flooring in a burnt copper. An old renaissance style balcony overlooks a deep azure ocean that blends with the sky like paint on canvas, and it’s the purest Bucky has ever seen.

And he feels out of place in between the flimsy opaque drapes and the twisting bougainvillea, which wraps itself delicately around the wrought iron fence in all the colours of a bright summer’s eve.

He feels out of place everywhere.

“There’s this super dope pizza place down the street.” You break through his thoughts with that sultry voice – stop his heart when he sees you.

You’re wearing this pretty dress – buttoned up the front, cotton pink – and Bucky’s tongue catches in his throat like glue at the sight. Because you look at home among the magenta and fuchsia flowers that decorate the lattice with your silky hair and your smooth skin.

And you’re so fucking pretty it stings. Burns deep inside him and presses its weight against his head and he’s dizzy with you.

You smirk at him knowingly, drop the pizza box on the table.

“Like my dress?”

He throws you against the wall

Pushes your back into eggshell painted brick and claims your mouth in a hot searing kiss. It’s more passionate than usual and it takes them both by surprise, because they were both so used to the needy, nasty kisses – stolen in dark places to chase away the shadows.

Bucky’s hands run up your thighs, draw softly over the smooth skin until he reaches your waist – pink pooling over his arms and he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

When he drops you onto the bed he wastes no time crawling between your legs, tangling his hands into your hair and you moan into his mouth – smile at his lack of patience. You grip his shoulders; feel the muscles quiver beneath your strong hands – the way he opens up to you.

The way he begs you to love him because he can’t do it without you – he would drown.

He travels down, pulls open the front of your dress and you gasp as a button flies off – cracks against the wall.

“James! That was the only pretty thing I own.”

“You’re pretty.” He replies, sucking a nipple into his mouth and you arch your back into him as his fingers crawl down your bare stomach. “You’re really fucking pretty baby.”

It makes you blush. It’s so unfamiliar to you – the compliments, the longing, the way he holds you. It’s foreign and unorthodox but you yearn for it all the same, you need it. And so does Bucky.

He slips his fingers past your folds, his metal hand coming to grip your breast and you hiss at the icy touch – at the way his fingers delve into your wetness and you pull his face down to yours once more, sink your tongue into his mouth and bury it in the warmth of him.

You want to feel more of him, you need to. You want him to fill all your senses; you want to be breathless with him.

His tongue rubs against yours as he fingers your cunt, slides in and out and you’re almost embarrassed at the whines he’s pulling from you. His vibranium hand comes up to cup your cheek as you spill your pleasure onto his hand, something snaps inside your gut and your legs quake.

“I need you,” you breathe to him, warmth brushing across his cheeks. “I need you inside me.”

You push his trousers past his hips, sink your nails into the firm muscle of his ass and he bites your neck – hard. You bleed on his lips as he buries himself into you, your blood smeared across his cheek like war paint and it’s fucking erotic and you love it.

You’re like a dream beneath him and he leans back to watch his cock slide into your velvet pussy, his nerves buzz and he tastes metal on his tongue, he tastes you on his tongue – raw, bare.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he slams both hands beside your head, thrusts his cock into you as he chases after pleasure, after all he’s been longing for. And you clench around him, whine as you come all over his cock – blood streaking down over your breasts from the opening in your neck.

You drag your tongue up his ear when he comes and it’s so fucking hot that he thinks it makes him orgasm twice. And you kiss him when he collapses on top of you, suck his bottom lip into your mouth and gnaw on it until he bleeds – grips your hip with titan force.

You chuckle, hum in delight as you lick his blood from his lips. “You taste nice.”

“God, you’re so fuckin’ crazy.” Bucky laughs, breathless.

“Normal women won’t satiate you soldier.” You throw your legs over his waist, plant firm hands on his chest and he loves the way your eyes glisten in the light of dusk – it’s captivating, all encompassing.

“Plus, you bit me first. I was just returning the favour.”

Jesus Christ he loves you.

***

You drag him up a clock tower in Florence.

People gasp and pull faces as you both scale the building but you don’t care – you drag his ass all the way up to the top to watch the stars over the city because you’re impulsive as fuc and he’s infatuated with you.

Bucky’s fingerprints are peeled off by the time you reach the bell, replaced by a raw stinging. It’s old gold and rusted in parts but it’s beautiful. The sky is dark indigo, fiery lights smeared across the ebony blanket of an Italian night.

“You made me come all the way up here to watch the stars?” Bucky pants, drops down beside you and watches the stars spill across your face as you scowl.

“You’re no fun,” you pout, bottom lip pillowed. “I betcha Tony would’ve done it for me.”

Bucky scoffs, sees green and he knows it covers him like a filtered light because you give him a smug smile before pecking his cheek.

Space is stretched before them, a promise of life even in the dark, and Bucky steals a glance at you and sees home. He sees the only woman that could ever full understand him, the only woman that can look at the darkness in him and bathe it in light.

“I love you y’know,” Bucky takes your face into his hands, sees the flash of shock in your eyes – scattered among the stars that sparkle crystal in your irises.

But it settles, and you smile when he pecks you. “I haven’t ever loved someone as much as I love you, and I don’t think I ever will again.” He turns back to look at the sky.

“Does it scare you?” your hand clasps the back of his neck. “If I say I love you too.”

“hey – we’re both monsters right?” he smiles.

“But we’ll get there someday.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x enhanced!reader #bucky barnes fic #winter solider fanfiction #winter solider x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you

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dragons-bones · 4 years

Text

White Vault 3.08 Reaction (spoilers ahoy)

This was typed up in a document while listening to the episode at my desk, then emailed to myself to post. Anyway.

“Lucas becomes unstable”

“LUCAS BECOMES UNSTABLE”

*takes a very long, pointed sip of coffee*

Sure. Sure, Kaitlin, “Lucas becomes unstable.” Mmhmm. (Yes, I know the summary is phrased as such to minimize spoilers, but I also burst in hysterical, terrified laughter, so.)

I don’t think you heard Lucas, Eva. (Statue or shadow monster, either option is terrifying.)

and now Lucas is way too calm—LUCAS WHAT THE FUCK HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS.

Oh jesus Christ Eva IS TOTALLY GONNA BE WORSE THAN JANE PRENTISS

the bugs don’t like him. I. I don’t know if that’s comforting.

I KNEW IT. I KNEW SIDA BENI WAS IN ON IT! I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT

Oh my god Lucas was hoping to be “chosen?!” WHAT THE FUUUUUUUCK

“We protect was is to come.” o.o What. What does that mean?

….Do I want to know what that means?

(Yes. Yes, I do.)

But he knows all this because he’s…a part of the conspiracy? A member of the civilization that created these sites? A descendant, perhaps? Or just someone who was…inducted?

(I would like to take this time to give a huge shout out to Lucas’s VA, Danilo Battistini, on the excellent work making Lucas should so completely worshipful and deranged at the same time.)

No no no no no no no no no NOT SIMON NOT SIMON NOT SIMON

Bug carving *nervous laughter*

OH NO OH NO OH NO DO NOT FOLLOW DR URETA, SIMON, DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT THAT’S NOT HER THAT’S NOT HER THAT. IS. NOT. HER.

NO OH NO OH JESUS FUCK

Jesus fuck that noise, Travis, what the HELL

Oh my fucking God the thing left evidence behind D:

(The shadow monsters are such sadistic fucks)

A statue is gone, of course one’s gone, C H R I S T those things scare me more than the goddamn shadow monster

Wh-what the fuck, Simon?!

OH MY GOD IT TOOK HIM ALIVE?!

SIMON YOUR SPIRIT AND DETERMINATION ARE ADMIRABLE AND I LOVE YOU

PLEASE STAY ALIVE, PLEASE

“Just statues.” Honey.

(Aside: yeah, I’m about 99% certain Dr Liu is referring to the cartographers in Imperial when she says “the others,” as I don’t believe she was informed by the Toronto professor who sent her the Fristed glyphs about where they came from or the circumstances around them, if said professor knew the circumstances anyway.)

ANDEAN VULTURE FEATHER *nervous laughter*

Hoo boy, yeah, this is definitely like Fristed: active sacrificial site used for a very long period of time

(I want Dr Liu to survive, too, but if we get any survivors, it’s only going to be one…)

OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT NOISE TRAVIS WHAT THE FUCK

Okay someone who speaks Portuguese what the hell was Lucas saying

OH MY GOD OH MY GOOOOOOOOOD

(It’s using Dr Ureta’s voice oh hell)

That. That tonal echo/growl/whatever is gonna haunt me forever.

Oh no Simon D: please live please live please live-

Oh no

That’s a heartbeat

;_;

#the white vault #spoilers #white vault spoilers #white vault episode 3.08 #i am in a glass case of emotion #oh my gooooood #okay now i should...prep for my meetings whoops

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braincoins · 4 years

Text

Betrayal

Who’s ready for heavy meta?

META. not METAL.

Too bad.

Spoilers for Netflix’s “Castlevania” up through season 3!! Ye be warned!

So, Crazy Eyes McFucko (aka “Prior Sala”) actually brings up a theory I’ve heard of before: that Lucifer is in Hell as part of God’s plan. Crazy Eyes takes it in his own direction of course, but that part, at least, is not new.

The idea is that, if God is perfect and omniscient and ineffable and all that shit, then He not only knew that Lucifer would rise up, but that He, in fact, needed him to do so. That the revolt of the angels, the war, and the Fallen were necessary in order to create Hell. Similarly, Jesus didn’t just know Judas was going to betray Him because He’s THE CHRIST and foresaw it and all that; Judas’s betrayal was necessary in order for Jesus to fulfill His destiny and His Father’s plan. (Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac coming back around hardcore here when God sends His “only begotten son” to Earth so that He can ultimately be sacrificed.)

There’s this idea here that betrayal is, to some extent, necessary as part of the Greater Good. That without it, you don’t have the balance to secure a stable system - Hell balancing out Heaven, like the shadow cast by a light; Judas’s very human nature and his own sins leading to Jesus’s sacrifice on the cross to save us from those sins.

We see Good ol’ Drac in Hell... with Lisa. He’s reunited with her, and why? Because his son betrayed him. His son wouldn’t have done it if Dracula hadn’t gone mad and decided to kill the entire human race just because the Church killed Lisa. And this was while she was trying to convince her husband that humans aren’t all bad. In a sense, humankind betrayed Lisa and then Alucard betrayed Dracula. And now they can be together. (Albeit in Hell, which honestly seems to be the only place anyone in this show goes when they die.)

Remember when Lisa first walked up to Dracula’s castle. The miles of impaled skeletons she had to walk through just to reach his door? I don’t think those were just “enemies.” Maybe it’s just my true crime-lovin’ ass, but think about it: you gotta drag someone out there, impale them on the stake - which is difficult - then set it up and hammer it into the ground. Sure, this is probably all easier if you’re a vampire (or dhampir, but I’ll get back to Adrien in a sec), but this is still a hell of a lot of effort. And if you start closest to the castle and go out from there, eventually, you have to drag all that shit - the impaled corpse-on-a-stick and whatnot - all the way to the end of that miles-long line.That’s WORK. That’s EFFORT, when it would just be easier to drink them dry, tear them apart, and burn the bodies. Doing all of this impalement shit means it’s personal.

Those aren’t just any ol’ enemies of Drac’s - those are people who betrayed him. People whose betrayal hurt him, and he wanted them there not only as a warning to others of what happens when you do that shit, but as a reminder to himself. “Remember when I trusted this person? See how that turned out.” And Lisa walked past all those betrayals and straight into the castle and got Dracula to trust her and love her.

And now we have Alucard, and the trust he put in Taka and Sumi. How vulnerable he made himself to them, and... look how that turned out. And now he has to see them EVERY SINGLE TIME he goes in and out of the castle EVERY SINGLE DAY. The reminder to himself not to trust anymore. Not to let himself be betrayed.

Of everyone in the regular cast, Dracula and Trevor are the ones most inured to betrayal, but I’d say that, in a sense, Trevor was worse off than Drac was. Because that long ass line of impaled betrayers speaks to how often Dracula opened himself up to someone, to how many people hurt him. Trevor shut himself off once his family died, turned his back on humanity to the point that he was even ready to let Dracula’s hordes just devour them until he met Sypha and the Speakers.

And now that he’s opening himself up to someone - Sypha - he’s afraid and unsure of what the fuck is going to happen to him. Trevor had one big massive betrayal early on in his life, and he doesn’t know how to handle more. In a way, Adrien and his lawn ornaments is almost better, because at least it’s some way of dealing with it. I don’t know if Trevor could handle another betrayal; he might just crack and cut himself off forever. (If Sypha let him.)

The end of season 3 is one big lesson in betrayal - Sypha’s fun adventure times are over, Alucard is now nursing a wounded heart as well as loneliness, and Trevor’s the only one who feels like he’s back on solid ground. Shit-covered, piss-soaked ground, but solid nonetheless, to him.

I could mention Hector in here, but, honestly? He’s an idiot and he lets himself get played constantly. He actually did pretty well for himself, all things considered: he’s gonna get a nice place to live, be fed very well, etc. He’s still someone’s pet, but at least he’ll be a pampered pet this time.

And Isaac? We hear him say it himself, more than once: he keeps trying to trust humans again, getting betrayed, getting angry, swearing he won’t do it anymore... and then it happens all over again. Like Dracula, only Isaac focuses on punishing himself for the betrayals.

Season 3 is all about betrayal. The last episode is even called “Abandon hope,” but... that’s the thing. If you abandon hope, you end up like Trevor, slapping his own reflection and calling himself an idiot for falling in love. Betrayal hurts like nothing else because it is, by definition, so personal, but it is in continuing to love, continuing to try, continuing to hope that, next time, it won’t end like that, that we learn and grow, that we eventually find love, that we establish a balance for ourselves and bring good into the world.

You have to hope despite the betrayal.

You have to keep going past the memories of everyone who’s hurt you. And you have to let love and hope in (and take its cloak, offer it some tea, where are your manners?!).

So.

Here’s hoping we get a season 4, huh? ^_^

#meta #Castlevania s3 spoilers #look it's babbly and doesn't all connect perfectly #but I had to get it out

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crewhonk · 5 years

Text

Of The Line (6)

Summary: The team meet Vision, Giovanna and YN talk boys, Pietro introduces himself

Words: 3.8K

AN: PLEASE, PLEASE COMMENT AND LIKE AND REBLOG OUR WORK! We’re getting a little discouraged due to the recent lack of notes on this series!

Till The End Masterlist / Of The Line Masterlist

_____________________________________

The next morning, YN woke to the sound of Natasha in the shower and Giovanna rustling restlessly in the bed next to her. She was groaning at the prospect of getting up and just as YN threw back the sheets to rise, Giovanna grunted and threw her arm over YN’s waist, not letting her leave to get ready for the day.

“Dude, we gotta get up.” YN laughed and Giovanna huffed, not saying anything. “We have to get ready to go back home— we have shit to do.”

“You are really not great to wake up to, you know that?” Giovanna grumbled and fell onto her back, throwing her arms dramatically over her face to block out the light.

“Oh yeah? And who would you want to wake up next to? Carter Baizen?” YN teased and sat up, hunching her back before straightening it and letting her spine crack.

“Someone who looks similar,” Giovanna mumbled. They hadn’t spoken about their Visions as fo yet, but there was something that told YN that it was about this similar looking guy. YN walked over to her duffel and pulled out a long sleeve, throwing it on and running her hands through her hair.

“Lance Tucker?”

“Very funny.”

“Dayton White?”

“Oh, I forgot about him.”

“How could you? You walked about fucking him in his racer for at least a month.” YN grinned, wiping the leftover mascara off of her face in the vanity mirror.

“True, but no.”

“Gio?” YN said, pulling a sound from Giovanna. “Was your vision about Bucky?”

The stretch of silence answered her question and YN could feel her heartbreak for her friend. This case had pulled Giovanna away from everything, and she could see the stress of finding Steve’s best friend in her behaviours.

“Yeah.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” YN asked.

“No.”

“Do you wanna hear about what I did last night?”

“What did you do last night?”

“Steve almost kissed me.”

“WHAT.” __________________

“This is a big mission. We need everyone exactly where they’re needed, and for you and Giovanna that is at the compound preparing for the package.” Steve reprimanded the impatient YN who had actually stomped her foot when he said she and Giovanna were to return to the tower with Bruce.

“Come on, Steve. You and I both know you need all hands on deck.” She whined, and he had half a mind to smile at her adoringly. Instead, he furrowed his brows even more and crossed his arms.

“We need all the best hands. You two haven’t gotten the proper training for something like this, and we would all be able to focus on the task at hand if I know— we all know that you’re home safe.” YN caught the slip-up, and she turned her head to avoid showing him the natural flush of her cheeks. They had yet to talk about the night before, but something between the two people had changed. There was no change in behaviours, but even Bruce had picked up on how they seemed to be dancing around each other almost playfully.

“Don’t use your captain voice on me.” She surpassed a grin, trying her damn best to keep her pout going for as long as possible— anything to make him keep looking at her the way he was now.

“Guess what?”

“What.”

“I’m using my captain voice on you. Go home. Stay safe. Get ready for us to get there.” YN broke the act, laughing lightly and looking up at him through her lashes.

“What’s in it for me?” She asked, rocking back on her heels and then her toes. He looked at her fondly, eyes dropping to her lips and blushing when he met hers again— the satisfaction of her affect on him completely apparent.

“Satisfaction of a job well done?”

“Do better.”

“I’ll stop waking you up for morning runs?”

“Stop waking me /and/ Giovanna up for morning runs and you got a deal.”

“Less grumpy kids for me to deal with the better. Fine. Go home.”

“See you there.”

He really liked the idea of going home to her.

_____________________

Nat had gone missing— taken by Ultron in his haste to have something to hold over the teams' heads— a sense of immunity, as Tony had called it.

Giovanna and YN had called it bullshit as they stomped anxiously and angrily around the lab, slamming tools into place and glaring at anything that had chosen to breathe the wrong way. They had stayed close to each other, and YN tried not to show just how horrified of the situation she was. This— this had been a part of the Witches Vision. Everyone whether willingly or unwillingly was going to leave her and it was wholly out of her power.

Just as her heart rate and breaths began to pick up, Giovanna placed a hand on her back. The weight of it calming YN.

“She’s going to be okay. We would know if something happened.” Giovanna whispered, reaching around to grab a wrench from he desk YN was leaning on. “We’re going to be okay.”

YN turned, then and saw her dad and uncle talking low in the doorway. Clint on top of the package they had just received (containing a red and silver humanoid robot in it) trying his very best to jam his fingers in any crevice to open it. Saw her best friend there, too, smiling at her despite her eyes filled to the bring with anxiety. Even JARVIS had made a surprise return— protocols, personality, even the command Giovanna and YN created which made JARVIS play “Cheerleader” by OMNI whenever they had done something right and cheered for their project success.

Things were going to be okay.

____________________

Things were most certainly not going to be okay.

“Our dads are crazy. They’re actually psychotic.” YN whispered from the other side of the glass wall in the lab. She was pouring over her notes she had made when she was nineteen, trying to find a flaw in their plan— anything that would stop Tony and Bruce from making the same mistake.

“Where do you think we get it from?” Giovanna sighed, pulling on a new suit arm prototype— a stealth weapon, apparently, despite the many wires currently exposed. Giovanna pointed a finger at a dartboard they had set up and shot a small, single blast at it, hitting the bullseye. At Giovanna’s ‘whoop’, “Cheerleader” began to play.

YN and Giovanna laughed and thanked JARVIS.

“Anytime, ladies.” He replied.

Their celebrations as caught short, however, when three shadows entered the lab in the low lighting. The middle man was Steve, YN knew that easily, but the two people following him made a cry erupt from YN’s mouth.

“YN what— are you okay? Oh, holy Christ on a cracker.”

The twins flanked Steve, both looking nervous, both looking cautious, both looking exponentially scared at the sight of Tony standing over the coffin-shaped package. YN and Giovanna rushed out of their half of the lab, shoving the doors open and meeting Steve’s hard glare head-on.

“Did you two have any hand in this?” He growled, pointing a finger at both of them. The Dads made sounds of protests and moved to stand in front of their daughters before they could respond.

“Hell no! You know we’ve never fucked with AI, Steve.” Giovanna protested. “We stepped away the second they even started mentioning it.”

Steve looked to YN and she nodded, confirming Giovanna’s story and leather notebook in hand. The boy twin had yet to take his eyes off of her, and she shifted her weight at the intensity of his stare. She had showered and simply put on leggings and a hoodie, hair swept into a tight bun at the base of her neck, and she didn’t like anyone but Giovanna, her father and Natasha see her like this, let alone the man of her dreams and a stranger particularly keen on gaining her attention.

“I would never, but—“ She stared, tearing her eyes away from the silver-haired man. She looked at her dad and held up her notebook. “I was trying to find an issue with this plan of yours, and the only one I could find was that his personality would be pre-developed. There’s no way of manipulating or controlling his behaviour after you do this— he won’t be taught like a puppy or a kid— he’ll already have his own beliefs and his own opinions separate from that of us or JARVIS. There are too many unknowns in his psychology that it’s too much of a risk.” She explained.

“So, physically he’ll be perfect, but mentally he’ll be a wild card.” Tony hummed, crossing his arms and looking down at the humanoid. “He’ll fit right in.”

“Dad, no. This is out of your control. How can you but a shield around the world when you keep introducing new elements we don’t know how to control.” Giovanna stepped forward and placed a fist on her hip.

“This is the shield.” He replied, mimicking her posture and standing closer. YN averted her gaze, having been in the middle of far too many Stark Battles to know to get involved.

“Shut it down.” Steve snarled once more and YN pressed her thighs together in an attempt to stop any form of her body betraying her. Damn, she loved it when he was angry.

“You don't know what you're doing.”

“And you do? She's not in your head?” Bruce said, pushing YN behind him protectively. No way was he going to let this witch hurt his girl again. YN made to make a sound of protest when he took another step.

“I know you're angry.” The girls' voice was high-pitched and heavily accented, and YN’s heart broke. Jesus, they were just kids— this wasn’t their fault.

“Oh, we're way past that. I could choke the life out of you and never change a shade.” YN had never seen her dad this angry and not even show a remote sign of the green tinge in his skin. He was perfectly sober and perfectly angry and YN was perfectly afraid. Her grip was strong on his arm and his head twitched in her direction, acknowledging that he knew she was there.

“Dad, she’s young. She’s a product of circumstance.” Bruce grunted and YN squeezed her eyes before pulling the card she never showed. “I’m a product of circumstance. I’m only this good because I had a great teacher. She didn’t.”

“Banner, after everything that's happened—“ Steve tried to reason and YN could have facepalmed right then and there— he had to do his hero resining right now. Just as she had managed to get her dad to loosen up just the slightest.

“That's nothing compared to what's coming!” Tony shouted.

"You don't know what's in there!” The girl screamed back, fear making her hands shake. God, this was shattering YN, and by the looks of it, Giovanna felt similarly to her.

“This isn’t a game!”

“The creature—“

And then, in a sudden flash of speed and silver, the whole of the lab was destroyed. The silver-haired twin looked anxious but satisfied as he glared at the Bruce and Tony.

“No, no. Go on. You were saying?” He asked, accent thicker than his sisters. His eyes shot to YN and he winked, making YN drop her eyes nervously and Steve bristle. Damn it, it was hard to be on this kids side.

Then, much to Steve’s satisfaction and the redhead's horror, the glass shattered under his feet, sending him plummeting eight feet to the floor below. Clint stood there, staring down at him as the girl ran tot he edge of the hole Clint had just shot through.

“Pietro!” She cried, and YN looked towards the boy who was groaning on his back. Yeah, he seemed like a Pietro. Tony whipped to the control panel, moving to reroute the upload just as Steve threw his shield at the wall beside him. Tony as quick, however, and he pressed the button on his wrist, making his watch transform into a blaster and shooting Steve nine feet away from him.

“Steve!” YN cried, running from her fathers' protection and kneeling beside Steve who had a burn over his right shoulder. YN moved to touch it but hesitated and instead grasped Steve’s arm with one hand and guiding his face to look at her with the other.

“Hi, by the way.” He muttered teeth clenched at the pain he was feeling through the burn.

“You’re an idiot,” YN said, shaking her head and helping him up. He stumbled a little into her at the force of her pull and she looked up to him, his eyes already on her face. She was flashed back then, to the night previous— his hands on her waist, his lips brushing hers, promises of never leaving.

YN took a step away, then, needing to stay focused on the situation unfolding in front of them.

It wasn’t a huge deal, anyway, as Thor had appeared suddenly, jumped up on the casket and pulled his hammer to slam on the window just above the Humanoid’s forehead. Lighting surged through the room, and Steve turned, shielding YN from the blast with his own, and she pressed her forehead into his neck, bracing herself and most definitely not noticing how Steve smelled like subtle cologne and summer warmth.

The lights stopped flickering, and it took a second for the backup generators to kick in, plunging the team into silence and tension as they waited for something to happen. And happen it did.

The casket burst open and the man flew out of it, ending on the floor in front of them.

He was taller than YN had expected as she peeked from her place in Steve’s neck. Broad and lined with something resembling muscle. He had fingers, but no toes, and a bright yellow stone glimmering in the centre of his forehead. He looked around at them all, eyes frightened like a scared deer in headlights. He jumped at Thor, but Thor was quick to act, throwing him further across the room where he slid to a stop in front of the window, looking at himself.

YN could almost hear Giovanna say ‘me too, honestly.’

The rest of the team ran after him, and but he time they got there, the humanoid had morphed an outfit of grey and a cape very similar to Thor’s own. YN ran up the stairs and stopped to watch carefully as the creature moved towards them, less frightened but still cautious.

Few things had been explained in rapid succession following this birth.

The Vision, as Thor had named him, had a gem in his head apparently called an Infinity Stone. The yellow stone was of six— mind (the one in Visions head), time, soul, power, reality (which apparently wasn’t really much of stone at all) and space. Each of these stones could level a galaxy alone, but combined, they could destroy the universe.

“So why does this guy have a stone? Why don’t we destroy it?” YN asked, gesturing to The Vision vaguely. Thor shook his head.

“They cannot be destroyed— it was them who allowed for the Universe to be created and if one of them were destroyed, it would subsequently end.” He explained, and YN could hear Giovanna mutter quietly to herself (‘cool, cool, cool, cool, no doubt’) nervously.

“Okay, why is the stone in this guys forehead and not in a vault somewhere?” She asked.

“Having me here with you all is 98% safer than even the safest, highest guarded structure in the galaxy.” YN shot him a look— he was just born, what the hell did he know.

“Also, why does your "vision" sound like JARVIS?” Steve asked and it hadn’t been until then that she realized he was very much right. Steve walked up beside her, arms crossed (again) and staring both Vision and Thor down.

“We reconfigured JARVIS' matrix to create something new.” Tony piped up, and Steve huffed a sigh.

“I think I’ve almost had my fair share of new.” He muttered to YN who smiled up at him.

“Almost?” She asked quietly as the rest of the team continued to talk. Giovanna caught YN’s eye from over Steve’s shoulder and made a circle with two-fingered and slid one in and out of the hole. YN glared her quickly and missed the way Steve looked her up and down.

“Almost.”

“I looked in your head and saw annihilation,” Wanda growled and Vision looked to her, seemingly shocked for some reason at the sight of her standing up to him.

"Look again.” He murmured gently.

“Yeah. Her seal of approval means jack to me.” Clint glared.

“Their powers, the horrors in our heads, Ultron himself, they all came from the Mind Stone, and they're nothing compared to what it can unleash. But with it on our side—“ Thor cut himself off with a shrug and YN hated how smart and logical he could be in the scariest of situations. Admired it— but damn, it annoyed her. Any under pressure, both her and Giovanna threw plans out of the window and wung it (much tot he distress of almost everyone in the tower).

“Is it? Are you? On our side?”

“I am on the side of life. Ultron isn't, he will end it all.” Vision replied.

“What's he waiting for?”

Vision looked at Tony and there was a pause. “You.”

“Where?” Her father sounded weak, and tired and aged. YN would have moved to hug him, but she stood beside Steve, rooted in place— not only because she liked the way his arm brushed hers, or their fingers almost touched three times already, but because if she tried to walk, her knees would actually give out.

“Sokovia. He's got Nat there too.” Clint announced, and the team whipped their heads to him.

“Natasha’s alive?” Giovanna whimpered, and YN’s breath seemed to leave her whole body in one ‘whoosh’. Steve’s hand hovered over the small of her back, ready to catch her if she fell.

“If we're wrong about you if you're the monster that Ultron made you be—“ Bruce’s voice wavered.

“What will you do— oh,” Vision seemed to realize that the teams ere still fearful— still raring to defend each other against this new intruder. Even the twins seemed to be a little more guarded by Steve. “I don't want to kill Ultron. He's unique, and he's in pain. But that pain will roll over the earth, so he must be destroyed. Every form he's built, every trace of his presence on the net, we have to act now. And not one of us can do it without the others. Maybe I am a monster. I don't think I'd know if I were one. I'm not what you are, and not what you intended. So there may be no way to make you trust me. But we need to go.”

And in one sweeping motion, Vision swept to pick up Thor's hammer and walked out.

____________________

“I never did catch your name.” A voice piped up from behind YN, and she looked up from her guns and batons and harnesses to see the familiar sight of silver hair and cocksure smile. He walked over with a pair of new sneakers hanging from one hand, the other shoved into his pocket.

“YN. YN Banner.” She replied, smiling despite herself. “Sorry for punching you earlier this week.” She said, squinting at him.

He only shrugged. “I liked it.” And then he smiled and winked and YN felt her fingertips warm. He truly was a gorgeous man.

“You did?” She giggled and he leaned against the table, watching her pack her things in their places and strapping her uniform together.

“Not really, but someone as pretty as you paying any attention to a street cat like me? I’ll take it.” He murmured and she looked up, rosy cheeks and hot ears.

“Ain’t you just a smooth mother fucker.” She hummed, and zipped her jacket up to her neck and swept her hair into a tight ponytail. She shouldered her duffel back and he followed her out of the armoury, strutting beside her lightly.

“Only when I have a girl to impress.” He joked and she rolled her eyes, smiling.

“Oh, who would that be?” She played along as she entered the hangar walking to the quinjet that was fired up for them. He sped up, turning around and walking backwards so he could smile at her. She surveyed the room, seeing Giovanna and Tony talking about their suits and the new AI he had activated, Clint with Wanda seemingly talking sternly. She saw Thor and her dad talking and watching the agents load up the jet for them. Then, Steve, who saw the way that Pietro was looking at her and the way YN flirted back easily with a bright smile. Steve, who frowned and stormed into the jet. Steve, who much to the thrill of Giovanna, was amazingly, epically jealous.

“Here’s your comm,” Giovanna walked up to the pair of them, tight under-suit showing off her beautiful, tiny, strong body. She handed them the small tech pieces.

“I should go and see my sister,” Pietro said when he realized Giovanna was staring hard at YN. He had a sister, he knew that look. He turned, and YN tilted her head watching him go.

“You have a Steve, you know.” She said and YN rolled her eyes. “He’s super jealous.”

“He is not!” YN shot back, stuffing the comm in her ear and turning it on to make sure it was functioning.

“Is too. He’s pouting in the jet if you want to see it for yourself.” She replied, walking beside her and up the ramp. YN tried her best not to look up at the driver's seat— she didn’t want to give Giovanna the satisfaction.

“He won’t do anything about it though,” YN whispered, and Giovanna groaned in annoyance.

“Are you kidding me? He literally tried to kiss you last night.” She pulled on her Iron Suit censors over her ankles, waist, and wrists looking up at YN as she tied the laces on her boots.

“Yeah,” YN said, mimicking her and tightening up her own combat boots. “But he won’t try anything like that again. We were tired and emotional and it showed. It’s nice to have someone openly calling you pretty and making me feel more than a pining teenager.” YN whispered back, eyes darting over to Steve to make sure he wasn’t listening. He gave no indication of hearing anything if he was.

“I know, Bun.” Giovanna hummed and kissed her temple.

“I just want to get dicked.”

“I know, Bun.”

__________________________

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lawrenceop · 4 years

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Holy Land Retrospective - Day 3

Reminder: clicking on the link for each photo (links are all in red text) will take you to the Flickr page where you can see the photo in larger sizes. Start with DAY 1, or go back to DAY 2, or read on!

PHOTO 9: This symbol is called the labarum, and it is one of the oldest of Christian symbols, which takes us back to the time of the Emperor Constantine, under whose auspices the Holy Land sites were first explored (by his mother St Helena) and who built the first major churches on these sites. At the centre of the labarum is the monogram of Christ, formed by the first two Greek letters of that title, Χριστός (Christos), and it is surrounded by a laurel wreath, a symbol of victory and imperial power. According to Eusebius, Constantine saw a vision in which he saw this symbol, and he was told by Jesus that in this sign, he would be victorious. He subsequently won the battle at the Milvian Bridge near Rome in 312, which led to his becoming sole Emperor of the Roman Empire. In 313, he ended the State persecution of the Christians, and eventually was baptised. His mother Helena converted shortly after her son became Emperor, and she was proclaimed Augusta Imperatrix.

In 326-28, St Helena came to the Holy Land and, using funds from the imperial treasury, she found the holy sites which we visit throughout the Holy Land today, and she built great basilicas on these sites. Sadly, none of these basilicas have survived the millennia in which Islamic conquest and the fall of the Byzantine empire led to their destruction. This mosaic of the labarum, though, dates to the 4th-century, almost certainly from the Constantinian basilica that Helena had built here, and it is in now preserved within the current (very modern-looking) basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth; the current basilica was dedicated in 1969.

Many people cluster around the cave, which is where Our Lady lived, and around which her house was built (although the house was somehow transferred to Loreto for safekeeping when the Christian sites of the Holy Land were being ravaged by Islamic invaders). It was in that cave that the archangel St Gabriel appeared to Mary, and it is here that he made the announcement that changed the course of human history.

“In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. And he came to her and said, "Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with you!"” - Luke 1:26-28

But in our excitement to see this marvellous place, and to contemplate the incarnation, it is easy to miss all that surrounds this rather unique location. For around the site of Mary’s cave are several layers of architectural history. Christianity, you might say, began with Mary’s “Fiat” to the angelic revelation, but in another sense, this mosaic of the labarum reminds us of another beginning that was caused by a divine revelation. For Christ himself intervened in 312 to safeguard his Church from Roman persecution, and thanks to Constantine the Great (whom some Christians venerate as a saint) and his mother St Helena, the Church spread and the Faith flourished, and pilgrimages to the Holy Land began. One of the earliest pilgrims, Egeria, came here in 384, and she mentions being shown this “big and splendid cave” in Nazareth where Our Lady had lived.

But this mosaic labarum, this sign of victory, being all that remains of a great past age reminds us of the essential truth that it signifies: The victory of Christ is not principally about military might, nor the maintenance of empire, nor about worldly power. Rather, in Nazareth, in this humble backwater town where the people lived in caves, in holes in the ground, we see that the victory of Christ is the victory of love, of divine grace winning over the hearts of men and women. And it all began here, where Mary of Nazareth said: "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word." (Lk 1:38)

PHOTO 10:

“And Mary said to the angel, "How shall this be, since I have no husband?" And the angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God.”

This window at the centre of the facade of the Annunciation basilica shows the moment of the divine overshadowing. In the Greek of St Luke, the word used is ἐπισκιάζω (episkiazó). God is all light, pure brilliance, dwelling in inaccessible light, in whom there is no darkness at all. (cf 1 Jn 1:5 and 1 Tim 6:16). Everything that is not God, therefore, i.e., every created thing is by comparison in darkness so that when the divine Light shines upon them, they are overshadowed, literally, they stand in the shade of the light. It’s a beautiful profound image, when we think about it, and this stained glass window vividly expresses its meaning. For Mary is not shown in any shadow at all, but rather, as the word ἐπισκιάζω implies, Mary is enveloped and bathed in light. Thus she is “full of grace”, she is full of God’s divine light. Indeed, he who is Light dwells in her womb. Indeed, it is the light of her Son, his grace, which sanctifies Mary so thoroughly, so completely, that she is conceived, even, in light and hence she is uniquely preserved from the moment of her conception from the darkness of sin.

PHOTO 11: The inscription reads: “And he came to Nazareth. And he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."” (cf Lk 4:21) On the third morning we had travelled several hours by coach from Jerusalem to Nazareth, praying the Rosary as we went. The town is now dominated by the conical dome of the Annunciation basilica, but a short walk from the basilica is the church built on St Joseph’s house, the place where the Holy Family of Nazareth lived. Like the cave of the Annunciation, this, too, is like a rock-hewn cave underground. Nearby, is the site of the synagogue, shown here, where Jesus had preached. And just a stone’s throw away are more excavations of underground caves where people lived in Nazareth; I was amazed to realise that Jesus and his family were ‘cave-dwellers’. Moreover, everything is ‘nearby’ because Nazareth was a very small village. And yet, two thousand years ago, among these humble cave-dwellers in this humble location, God accomplished his greatest work: the salvation of the human race, overturning the sin of Adam, and the ending the reign of Satan over this world. For in Nazareth Christ had announced to his townspeople “this has been fulfilled in your hearing.” It is mistaken to think that epic events need to be performed on a grand and monumental stage. God’s greatness is precisely to be found in his humility and his attention to the little. All he needs is a human heart that is opened in faith to his Word.

PHOTO 12: It was a short journey from Nazareth to Mount Tabor. The landscape here was relatively flat; we had come across some hills and mountains as we had driven north from Jerusalem, and now in Galilee, the landscape reaching down to the sea was low-lying. Except for one great mountain that could be seen from miles around. The Bible does not tell us which mountain Christ ascended for his Transfiguration, but in 348 St Cyril of Jerusalem chose Mount Tabor as the most likely location, and this was backed by St Jerome, the great Biblical scholar who lived and died in Bethlehem. This inscription records that “according to an old tradition, Tabor is the mountain of the apparition of Christ”, but interestingly, not simply the mountain of the Transfiguration where Saints Peter, James, and John receive a foretaste of Easter glory, but also where the Risen Lord appeared to his disciples. As Luke 28:16-17 says: “Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. And when they saw him they worshipped him; but some doubted.”

A church was built on this site shortly after St Cyril of Jerusalem identified this place, and in 1099 even a Benedictine monastery was founded here. This photo shows the marble inscription on the ruins of that monastery, which had been destroyed by Islamic invaders in 1113; the monks were martyred.

Perhaps this is what Resurrection faith entails, and this mountain that witnessed the Resurrection of Jesus fittingly is the place to remember the faith of countless Christian martyrs:

"Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” – Mt 10:28

PHOTO 13: If Tabor is the mountain of the Risen Lord, then it is right to expect symbols of the Resurrection to abound. This stained glass window in the Art Deco style stands behind the Altar where we celebrated Mass. The peacock is, like the labarum, another early Christian symbol although this was installed in the 1920s when the current Transfiguration Basilica was built. Because the ancients believed that the flesh of peacocks was incorruptible, the peacock became a symbol of immortality. The beauty of the peacock was also a symbol of the Resurrection and the new life of grace that transforms and beautifies us. Here, the peacocks flank a Eucharistic chalice, with the Triangle indicative of the Holy Trinity. Therefore, this window is a reminder that we Christians receive a share in divine life through the Eucharist, and that the power of Christ’s Body and Blood gives us eternal life, and also makes us as beautiful as Christ is. Every time we come to the Mass, we stand on Tabor, as it were, and we glimpse the Resurrection; we receive a foretaste of the divine life of heaven; and, indeed, we receive the command and comforting reminder of the Risen Lord which he first pronounced on Mount Tabor:

"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, to the close of the age." – Mt 28:19-20

PHOTO 14: The view from the high vantage point of Mount Tabor (which had been an important military post) explains why the Lord chose this mountain to send his apostles out to “all nations” (cf My 28:19). From here, one can glimpse on one side the Sea of Galilee, which for the apostles was home. It was familiar, and safe, and was their ‘comfort zone’. But on the other side, one catches in the distance the glint of the Mediterranean sea, which was perilous, unknown, and forbidding. But, Christ promised to be with them always, and so, secure in that faith, they set out into the big wide world. Thank God for that!

PHOTO 15: Back in Jerusalem, at dinner on the third night, our special guest, Jim Caviezel arrived to join our pilgrimage; he would have a week with us. But I had an appointment somewhere even more special: the Holy Sepulchre! So, I dashed out of dinner and rushed back to spend some quiet moments before the church closed for the night.

This photo, I think, captures the quiet of the night time in the church of the Holy Sepulchre, and it also shows you one of its many hidden passages and nooks - it is well worth exploring at leisure in the evening. The deeply marked stones on the wall, and the flagstones, worn smooth and shiny by countless feet, speaks of the antiquity of this church, and yet, this section is only a thousand years old. Before it was vaulted in stone, this section stood open to the elements, a kind of open courtyard between the two structures that sheltered Calvary and the Empty Tomb. At the end of this passageway, in the well-lit space is the prison where Christ and the two thieves were held before they were crucified.

You may have noticed in yesterday’s photo from the Holy Sepulchre (Photo 8), that a very tall ladder is prominently placed at the entrance of the church. So, too, in this side passage, ladders are in evidence. All these ladders are used for changing the hundreds of votive oil lamps that constantly burn within the church. But the ladders also remind me of two things. Firstly, that a ladder was probably needed to take Jesus down from the Cross for his burial, and so it is fitting that ladders should be seen in this church because the ladder connects Calvary and the Empty Tomb; he goes from the Cross to the Tomb. But, secondly, the ladder is a symbol of what Christ’s Death and Resurrection have accomplished for us. Because of Jesus’s sacrifice on the Cross, and by his rising from the dead, Mankind can now climb up the ladder of grace to heaven; we go from our tombs to eternal life!

PHOTO 16: The doors of the Holy Sepulchre church are sealed for the night, and a fortunate few are locked within alongside the monks and clergy where they will remain in prayer all night. But the rest of us have been herded outdoors by the Muslim keeper of the keys, and sometimes with the encouragement of the Israeli police. Since at least 1192, the keys of the Holy Sepulchre have been entrusted to a prominent Muslim family because no single Christian denomination could be seen to have control of the church. Although we might see this as a sad sign of Christian disunity, there is a fittingness to it. The Tomb of Christ, after all, had also been sealed by unbelievers.

The doors are locked, again with a ladder because the lock is so high up, and then a hatch is opened, and the ladder passed back into the church through the hatch. This simple nightly routine is being photographed by the many pilgrims and tourists gathered outside at 9pm, and I liked the look of the blue glow of their screens against the warmer light of their surroundings.

Hundreds stand outside for this spectacle, but far far fewer will be here before dawn when the church re-opens its doors (before 4am). I suppose this, too, is fitting for only three very devout women came to the tomb early that Sunday morning and saw its stone rolled away.

“But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb, taking the spices which they had prepared. And they found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in they did not find the body.” – Luke 24:1-3

Tomorrow: Sea of Galilee and Capernaum

#Holy Land #pilgrimage #retrospective #reflection #206 Tours #Annunciation

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spookyblackwidow · 5 years

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Fanfic request: Natasha's having nightmares and is getting super sleep deprived and it's kind of making her sick, and Clint notices and confronts her about it?

Author’s note: Nightmares are literally one of my favorite things to write about?? BLESS YOU. This is way longer than anticipated, but I hope you enjoy!

Weakness

2552 words

Natasha jolted awake, sweat beading on her forehead, a gun clutched in her hand, trained on an imaginary threat. The fear faded, slowly, as she became aware of her familiar surroundings, the antique furniture of the bedroom in her primary safe house just outside New York City. She shook off the dream and forced her ragged breathing to slow, an attempt to counteract her racing heart. It was just past 2 a.m., and, although she hadn’t been asleep long, she had enough experience to know she’d be awake for quite a while.

The glow of streetlights seeped through the blinds, softly illuminating strips of laminate beneath her feet. She made her way to the kitchen, resisting the innate urge to flip on lights and ensure her safety, certain enough of her movements and the reality that the danger she’d just emerged from would remain firmly in her mind, unable to creep out into existence. Realism and denial were programmed into her, a staunch refusal to take things at face value ingrained over years of reprogramming, the aliases and brainwashing that never seemed to end, no light at the end of a labyrinth. Tunnels were too linear, too neat, too easy to navigate. Her life had been a messy nightmare she couldn’t quite shake, no matter how much time had passed since she’d defected, since she’d last been unmade.

The kettle whistled, an agonizingly sharp whine burrowing its way into her exhausted brain. She swore under her breath and turned off the burner, annoyed she’d gotten so wrapped up inside her thoughts she’d lost awareness of her surroundings. Something wound through her legs, further startling her, the black shadow begging for attention, acknowledgement, anything.

“Fucking hell, Liho,” Natasha grumbled into her steaming mug of tea, her perpetually icy fingers clutching the ceramic, greedily absorbing its warmth. Carefully stepping around the way-too-fucking-alert cat, she settled into an oversized chair and clicked on a lamp, the pale light fighting against the encroaching darkness an all too familiar sight.

She picked up a book, its spine cracked, the edges worn and faded, a relic from a previous life, from back when she could dissociate enough to get lost in a story. It was one of the few things she’d carried with her into the Red Room, always safely stashed away under a mattress, stuffed in a threadbare pillowcase, buried within a carefully carved hole in the wall. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to hold onto it through all the identities she’d been given, and whatever original meaning it had held was gone, but she liked the idea of having a tangible reminder of the innocent girl she’d once been. She’d tried night after night for years, but she couldn’t bring herself to read it, opting instead to study the dog-eared corners, the inked drawings scattered throughout, mostly doodles scribbled by unknown hands, each an everlasting mark of the book’s history.

Natasha paged through it, seeing but not comprehending the Cyrillic characters of her native tongue. This had become her nightly ritual, a way to detach from whatever horrible vision had awoken her, actions that would hopefully calm her enough to be able to sleep again, although it was never for long. How many years had she been sleeping so fitfully? Her whole life? Or maybe just the last several identities? She’d lost too much time, too much trust in reality to ever be sure. She closed her eyes, but she knew there’d be no more rest before sunrise.

Morning crept in, sunlight inching its way in through the windows, a warm hue that she might’ve derived pleasure from if this hadn’t been the eighteenth morning in a row she’d sat in the same chair, agonizingly awake, witnessing the same dreadful reminder that she’d soon be expected to do things. As it was nearing six, she figured she had just enough time to shower, get dressed, and wash her mug before the first message from Nick would arrive; after so many years working together, he was aware that she was typically an early riser, a fact he took full advantage of. Sure enough, she was placing the mug back in the cupboard when she got the call to come in.

She considered making breakfast, but her stomach turned, the mere idea of eating seemed revolting. The dull ache behind her eyes reminded her that skipping another meal was definitely not what she should be doing, but the food aversion won out, a side effect she’d mentally catalogued and shoved aside long ago.

Her debriefing was short—a routine tracking job, a potential hit, more busy work than anything. Nick handed her a new identity to become familiar with in the event she was cornered, along with one for Clint; it was officially a Strike Team: Delta mission, not that she needed the help, although she would be grateful for the company. As always, they’d improvise, no overly complex maneuvers, no extraction plan. All she needed now was her dumbass best friend to show up on time.

Nick left her to wait in his office, which, under normal circumstances wouldn’t bother her, but the leather chair and wide windows felt too much like home in the most literal sense, and she was getting restless. She stood—too quickly, she soon realized—and paced, her empty stomach complaining, small bursts of light dancing in her peripherals. She blinked away the spots, certain they’d been gold, although they’d simply been white earlier, as they should be. No, they shouldn’t be there at all.

Clint entered as she returned to her seat, physically drained, her head fuzzy and aching. His smile was exuberant, but his eyes flickered with concern, a quick once-over confirming that something was very much not okay with Nat. He shot her a knowing look before pasting the smile back on for Nick’s benefit; Clint acted like an idiot most of the time, but he knew better than to let anyone else worry about his best friend.

Natasha let her eyes track the birds flitting past the windows, slightly iridescent rock pigeons swooping about, bouncing across various ledges and sills, their feathers ruffling in the breeze. She was only faintly aware of Nick droning on in the background, her mind miles away, drifting somewhere among the birds. Clouds of smoke billowed up outside, the thick grey choking out parts of the city, flooding her vision until she could see nothing else. Her muscles tensed, heart rate steadily increasing, the flood of cortisol effectively convincing her this was how it all ended. She closed her eyes, anticipating a flash of heat, pain, and then nothing.

“Nat?” Clint placed a hand on hers, the rough pad of his thumb gently rubbing circles across her white knuckles, a familiar and instinctive action they rarely let others witness. She could hear the strain in his voice, thinly disguised as annoyance, nearly every part of their lives some sort of act, a far cry from who they were together, who they wanted to be. Having felt no other change, her body still intact, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the previous fogginess, restoring her sight to normal.

“Sorry, I got a little lost in thought there.” She smiled weakly, just enough to shake off concern, but not too much to raise suspicion. “Where were we?”

“Reviewing your identities. I shouldn’t have to remind you that being well-versed in your backstory could make the difference between life and death,” Nick said.

She struggled to focus through the rest of the meeting, her mind straying to the horrors that had been keeping her up at night, the visions that she knew would never truly leave her, rather mutating into increasingly unsettling versions of themselves, morphing with other memories and fears. The red in her ledge had merged with her vivid imagination, creating monstrosities she didn’t care to reveal to anyone, as letting them out of her mind, giving voice to the atrocities, would only spread the nightmare, infecting her most trusted friends with the concepts, irreparably contaminating their thoughts and dreams. She knew he would ask, as he always had in times like these, but she wouldn’t share, couldn’t willingly harm him. The secrecy would hurt him enough, he didn’t need to allow her worst fears to become his own.

He waited for the elevator doors to close before confronting her, one hand wrapped firmly around her bicep, the other pivoting her shoulder so she’d face him. Normally she’d fight back, at the very least pry his fingers off her arm, but fighting this seemed pointless. Instead, she fought the resurfacing image from the night before, the pain of Clint following through on Loki’s promise. They stood in silence a few moments as he studied her.

“You’re not sleeping, are you.” It was not a question but a final conclusion, spot-on, as always.

“Not for lack of trying.” She shrugged as much as she was able to in his grasp, which had let up only slightly.

“Nightmares again?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. My bad dreams aren’t really your concern.”

“Of course they are! Do you think I like seeing you like this? My best friend, sick, practically a zombie!” He finally released her arm to run his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not a zombie, I’m just tired,” she scowled.

“Jesus Christ, Nat.” He watched her thin fingers tap restlessly against her thigh, a telling tic she was too weak to suppress. “Have you even eaten today?”

“Not hungry.”

“Bullshit. We’re getting food in you.” Clint pushed the button for the main floor, and they descended in tense silence. She closed her eyes again, ignoring the spots in her vision, focusing solely on keeping her breathing steady as another nightmare returned to rear its head. Memories of who she used to be, the torment she suffered at the hands of her superiors, the unspeakable crimes she’d committed. Mangled screams, her hands red and bloodied, endless lists of her victims, the names half-remembered at best.

He shoved her through the lobby, down the street, and in the closest door advertising food. It was a cheap pizza joint, one he frequented after missions, usually while intoxicated, but it was the quickest option at the moment. She opened her mouth to protest, to argue that her standard of living was above eating at dollar by-the-slice pizza places that were a far cry from anything resembling a restaurant, but was immediately met with a stern glare.

“Eat.” Clint shoved a paper plate into her hands, a greasy slice of pizza covering most of it. She grimaced and took a small bite, fully aware he wouldn’t let her leave until he’d decided she’d eaten enough. It had been a few months since they’d last gone through this routine, but his food choices had not improved.

“You couldn’t have taken me some place a little nicer? I though you knew how to show a girl a good time.”

“I’ll buy you a proper meal when you learn how to feed yourself. You know, most people gorge on junk food when they’re sleep deprived.”

“I’m much more familiar with fasting.” She set her crust down on the plate, unable to force herself to finish it. “Besides, caffeine is a wonderful appetite suppressant.”

“It’s also a stimulant that can prevent you from sleeping.”

“That’s not about the caffeine, and you know it,” she snapped.

“Then tell me about it! And don’t give me some bullshit about protecting me, I’m not falling for it. You need to work through what’s keeping you awake before it kills you.”

“What part of my hellish life isn’t coming back to haunt me?” she scoffed. “My past, present, potential future. It’s all fucked, Clint, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You wanna bet?” He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Clinton Francis Barton, what the hell are you planning now?”

…

Later that night, Natasha sat staring at her book, gently stroking a very happy Liho who was curled up in her lap, anxiously waiting for Clint to arrive. He’d refused to tell her anything—claimed it was better if she didn’t know—and now he was late, despite the fact that he had set the time. The clock in her kitchen seemed louder than usual, the incessant ticking of the second hand stabbing at her aching head. She was moments away from breaking it when the doorbell rang. Clint was smiling, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Clint.”

“My stuff. I’m spending the night.”

“Like hell you are!” She started to close the door, but he braced himself against the doorframe and caught the edge.

“Hear me out, Nat. Please. You owe it to yourself to try.”

“Why on earth would you think this is a good idea?” Natasha crossed her arms, but she stepped back, allowing him into her safe house.

“You trust me—don’t even try to argue with me on that. Your unconscious mind is playing off your deepest fears, and you have no method of self-assurance that you’re not who you used to be. But if we trust each other enough to be openly vulnerable, how could you still be that girl? There’s also the added bonus of having an actual Avenger to protect you.”

“I hate you,” she laughed softly and smacked his arm, “but you have a point. One night, that’s it. And you’re sleeping on the floor.”

…

“Nat, please, I know you’re in there somewhere.” Clint was lying at her feet, bloodied, bruised, a blade pressed to the soft flesh beneath his jaw, the knife clutched in her hand. She scanned the room, taking in the lifeless forms of Steve, Sam, Nick. This was her body, but it was full of someone else’s idea of who she should be, the brainwashed identity pulled from the depths of her mind.

“Fallaces sunt rerum species,” she hissed. With an expert flick of her wrist, she severed his jugular and watched him bleed out.

“Nat? Nat!”

She woke in a cold sweat to find Clint, alive and well, shaking her shoulders. It was dark, but the panic was clear in the shadowed lines of his face, and, after a moment, she realized she’d been crying.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s over.” He laid down next to her and gently wiped her tears, his voice low and soothing.

“I—I killed you,” she whispered.

“Then I guess I’m the zombie now.” He grinned and instinctively flinched, expecting her to hit him.

“You’re an idiot.” Despite her best efforts, she smiled back and hoped he wouldn’t see. She cared far too much for this particular idiot, but letting that show was dangerous, a weakness she’d been trained not to let slip. But moments like these, when they were alone, allowed to be themselves, were treasured memories, the things she longed to dream about instead.

Natasha would never admit it, but Clint’s presence was comforting, so she let him stay in her bed. Curled up in his arms, her head resting on his chest, she let the steady rhythm of his heart lull her into the best sleep she’d had in weeks.

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