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littlefreya · 4 years

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The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse, foul language and lots of angst.

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering. There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed.

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh; what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain.

He hates it.

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit.

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt.

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together.

There was no her in his plan, to begin with.

The Devil never had a queen.

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart.

He doesn’t have one anyway.

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note.

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone.

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand.

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase.

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.”

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie.

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA.

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away.

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer.

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.”

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would.

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse.

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints.

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...”

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met.

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair.

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face.

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe.

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica.

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right.

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away.

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief.

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue.

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her.

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest.

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul.

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress.

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme.

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.”

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker.

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers.

“Break her, until she talks.”

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door.

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature.

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet.

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her…

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange.

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot.

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,” August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away.

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity.

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain.

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot.

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face.

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve.

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly.

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away.

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk.

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw.

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory.

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material.

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him.

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts, We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down, United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will.

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #littlefreya’s fiction #mission impossible fallout fanfiction #august walker x ofc #mission impossible fallout

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fandoms-and-things · 3 years

Text

So someone told me I should actually post my psychology assignment for adolescent psych...

Pop Culture Assignment

The long-running TV show, Supernatural, follows the story of two brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester, who repeatedly save the world from demons, monsters, angels, vampires, and any other number of mythical creatures. The show begins by flashing back to their childhood with the death of their mother as she bursts into flames on the ceiling above the cradle of the younger brother, Sam. Sam, Dean, and their father, John Winchester survive the fire and we later learn that it was all caused by a demon. From that day forth John Winchester makes it his life mission to avenge the death of his wife and begins spending his life as a “hunter” for supernatural creatures in the hopes that one day he’d come across the one that killed his wife. However, travelling from motel room to motel room back and forth across the country, facing dangerous creatures day in and day out is no healthy way to raise two children and this comes across very clearly in the parenting styles John uses and especially in how they affect the development of the elder son, Dean.

Supernatural is a show that has a very large fan following and thus has people all over the world dedicating hours upon hours a week to it - creating fanart, writing novel-length stories, or even analyzing the character’s every action to figure out their intrinsic motivations. Thus, in my analysis of the character of Dean Winchester and the effect his father’s parenting had on him, I would like to take into account the more popular subplots that fans have collectively believed to be true even if it is not directly evident in the media.

Parenting styles play an important role in the development of children to adolescents and beyond through the rest of their lives. There are four main parenting styles: authoritarian, authoritative, permissive, and neglecting. Authoritative consists mainly of high acceptance and high control, they are controlling but flexible such as making reasonable demands and explaining why they have those rules. Authoritarian parents have high control and low acceptance and are often highly restrictive, rely on punitive, forceful tactics, and are not sensitive to their child’s or viewpoints. Permissive parents practice low control and high acceptance - being very lax with establishing and enforcing rules and making few demands at all. Finally, neglecting or uninvolved parents are low control/ low acceptance, being extremely lax and may have either rejected their children or been completely overwhelmed by their own issues to worry about caring for their children All four parenting styles have different effects on the person they’re being used to parent. Authoritative parenting often leaves children in the best case scenario all around: happy, socially responsible, self-reliant, achievement-oriented, etc. Authoritarian parents leave children commonly less independent, less assertive, less achievement oriented, aimless, and unhappy. Permissive parents create children who may be impulsive, aggressive, bossy, self-centered, and lack self-control. Neglectful parents have children who are commonly aggressive, have behavioral problems, poor academic performance, hostile, and a higher likelihood of delinquent acts. These are only the beginnings of the effects the style of parenting used can affect their kids.

On Archive of Our Own, a popular fanfiction website, the tag “John Winchester’s A+ Parenting” has nearly 3,400 works posted. This tag is used in obvious satire as John Winchester often flip-flops between Authoritarian and Neglecting parenting styles. As the boys were growing up, John often gave them some money for food and then left them alone in various motel rooms for days on end as he went on trips to hunt the various supernatural creatures. Dean was always left in charge of his younger brother in these moments. Dean made it his job to take care of Sam to the best of his ability, and would sometimes have to forgo food for himself for days in order to keep his brother well fed. On at least one occasion, he had to resort to stealing food after the money he’d been left not being enough to last them as long as their father was gone, and when his father came to get him after he’d been caught he told the police to “let him rot in jail”. Dean grew to end up being the closest thing to a real parent figure for his brother; one Christmas, Dean lied to his brother saying that his father had come over night, decorated their dingy motel room and left presents, instead, Dean had done all this himself and stolen the presents from a house down the street to give to his brother. In later adolescence, Dean can be seen gambling and hustling pool, and his actor in one interview even suggests that he may have taken to sex work at some points to make extra money. These instances help display the neglecting side of John Winchester’s parenting and how it led Dean to commit delinquent acts. Dean also never graduated from high school and has a history of anger issues, all possibly stemming from neglectful parenting.

On the other hand, when John Winchester was around, he undoubtedly took on an authoritarian parenting style. He was a “my house, my rules” kind of guy, or in this case, “my car, my rules” since they spent so much time on the road. He had both boys call him “sir” and demanded them to “follow his direct orders” all of the time and would scold them if they stepped out of line, even resorting to physical discipline. John also taught Dean how to shoot before he was even ten years old. One day when their family-friend, Bobby, was babysitting them, he got scolded on the phone by John for playing catch with Dean instead of doing target practice with a shotgun. Growing up, Dean thought his father was a hero for hunting monsters and grew to idealize him and be the most loyal son he could be. Because of this, while father was still alive, Dean never really got the chance to develop emotional autonomy, his father would have found it disrespectful to ask for any kind of freedom and since Dean always wanted to please his father, he never even asked. Throughout the series, Dean is repeatedly referred to as his father’s “good soldier” or “Daddy’s blunt little instrument” insinuating further that Dean was extremely affected by his father’s authoritarian parenting style. Additionally, John Winchester also used some psychological control - influencing his child’s behavior by ignoring, discounting, belittling, withholding affection, and injecting shame and guilt. In one episode, Dean immediately knows his father is possessed because John said he was proud of Dean and Dean knew that would never happen under normal circumstances. Additionally, John is a man very preoccupied with being the “manliest man” he can be and made sure to instill this in his children at a young age and would use various language to belittle his sons showing any signs of weakness like by saying “stop being such a girl”, etc. Many fans have analyzed that Dean Winchester is bisexual and agree that this belittling would be the main cause of Dean’s internalized homophobia that he may not even come to terms with until in his 40s. All of this as well caused a lot of internalizing and externalizing issues for Dean, shattering his self-esteem and making him afraid to be open with his emotions. Overall, I would say that John Winchester’s two negative extremes in terms of parenting style greatly impacted the overall wellbeing of his sons and especially his eldest, Dean.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #john winchester’s a+ parenting #psychology #psychology of parenting #adolescent psych #destiel #deancas #jensen ackles #jackles

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

Riding the Lightning: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

The couple’s house hasn’t been treated well. It has so much graffiti and damage that the city had to put a chain-link fence around the place to keep trespassers away. However, if more came, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. The place is so badly damaged, you’re shocked it’s still standing. This place holds a lot of memories, and none of them are good.

This used to be a good house--you can see it. Years of ignored care left it in the state it’s in. The outside walls used to be bright white but now are a dirty color. The wood is falling apart at the base of the house. The windows are smashed and shattered, so to keep people out of the house, they board it up haphazardly.

“Jacob's workshop is out the back,” Derek says.

“I don’t know about this place, Derek. I have a really bad feeling,” you say with an uneasy feeling.

Derek leads you onto the property and towards the back. The closer you get to the place where his workshop used to be, the more the uneasy feeling comes back. All that’s left back there is just dirt, but you can clearly see the workshop as if it were standing right now. Everything is perfectly clear as to what used to be here.

“He claimed that Sarah Jean would lure the victims from mall parking lots. She'd invite them to smoke pot in her truck. They'd find Jacob but no pot. They’d bring them here.”

“This is where the workshop stood,” you state, looking around as if it were actually here.

“What do you see?”

“It’s a lot smaller than I thought it was going to be. It’s big enough to not warrant concerns from anyone else but small enough to hide away from the street’s view. It looks homey like a guest house, but not too scary to throw off any of the people who passed by the house on a daily basis. There are high cabinets with a ton of tools inside like a mechanic would have. There are some tools hanging on the far wall, a few desks around, and a big bench saw,” you whisper fearfully when you see what’s on it.

Right on the blade is red liquid, and you know it’s blood.

“The blade has a ton of blood on it. He used it to cut up his victims,” you say.

As you get out the last word, you see a mystified version of Jacob standing by the saw with one of his faceless victims on the table. She is squirming, but he cuts her up anyway. Sarah Jean is nowhere to be found, but you have a feeling that she didn’t know he did this to these poor girls. Killing, maybe, but killing them this way, absolutely not. Sarah Jean was a victim herself--and she still is.

“I can’t look at this anymore,” you whisper and look away from the crime scene that’s no longer there.

“We know that Jacob was abused as a child. What about Sarah Jean?” Derek asks.

“Her mother refused to give any testimony in her defense. She never talked to anybody,” you state.

When you look back at Derek, the workshop had disappeared. Your mind is focused on something else, so it doesn’t have the energy to conjure up what was, but instead, focuses on what is.

“Maybe she's willing to talk now. Let's go pay Sarah Jean's mother a visit.”

“Despite what happened, she doesn’t live far. It’s within walking distance.”

“I wonder why she didn’t move halfway around the world.”

“She’s a mother, Derek. A Mother doesn’t abandon her children,” you say with sadness.

“You say that like you know that. Do you have children?”

“No.”

You don’t say anything more on the matter, not like you would if you could. Your past promised to stay in the past, so there is no use in digging up things that have been locked away for almost a decade now. You two quickly head over to Sarah Jean’s mother’s house to see if she’ll talk to you now.

Her house is still standing, but it looks like there is a lot of work still left to be done. Its as if she wants to repaint and redo the house to give it a new start so she can somehow move on from all this. No matter how much work is done on the house, you can still sense the sadness within the foundations. Right by the door is ‘Rot in Hell Sarah Jean’ spray-painted loud for anyone who walks by. You ignore it and knock on the door, looking at Derek when she doesn’t answer.

“She’s sad, Derek--in more pain than anyone I’ve seen in a while,” you sigh.

“Hello? Anybody? Hello! Mrs. Mason?” Derek yells, knowing she is home.

The door opens and Sarah’s mother, Deborah Mason, stands there with a small teacup in her hands.

“Yeah?”

“Are you Sarah Jean Dawes’ mother?” you ask.

“Who the hell are you?”

“FBI. We are from the behavior analysis unit,” you state and flash her your badge.

“My daughter and her son of a bitch husband buried a thirteen-year-old girl under my floor. What more do you need to know?”

“Ma'am, Sarah Jean has agreed to meet with our colleges to talk about why they killed those girls. We'd like some background information if you don't mind,” Derek says gently.

She has nothing to lose by letting you two in and talking, so she just shrugs and lets the door open as she heads back inside. The inside looks the same as the outside, but with more work. Plastic covers virtually everything as she gets ready to repaint the house. There are some parts torn up from the floor, so you’re careful as you walk inside to where Deborah is in the kitchen. This is an open floor plan, and you can see into the dining room on the other end of the kitchen right through an arched entryway. Almost every doorway is an arch.

“Extensive remodeling. Jacob built the original extension?” you ask and point to the arch separating the kitchen and the dining room. “I see he liked arches.”

“Teenage girls, agent, that's what he liked.”

“How was Sarah Jean growing up?”

“Fine, until she met Jacob. She was shy, quiet, and also smart.”

She picks up a bottle of vodka and adds more to her small teacup, and you exchange silent glances with Derek.

“What about her relationship with her father?” you wonder. “Was Sarah ever abused?”

“He was strict. He was a military man. They didn't always see eye to eye. That's all history. He's dead. She's about to die,” she sighs and drinks from the cup.

“Mrs. Mason, if we better understand the dynamics of her relationships, we can get a better idea of why and what actually happened,” Derek says.

“Dynamics?” she scoffs and moves away from the kitchen to the living room where her purse is.

“Well, it might answer why Jacob never killed Sarah Jean. They shared something.”

“They shared pain.”

“How strict was your husband? How did he discipline Sarah Jean? Was he physical with her?” you pry.

“He was a mean bastard, but he only hurt me… never her.”

“Why didn’t you leave with her?”

“Because we had no place to go,” her voice falters as she takes another sip.

“An anonymous caller tipped the police off about Jacob, was it you?” you ask.

“No, but I know who it was,” she says and pulls out a letter from her purse. She hands it to you, and you take it gently from her hands. “This came this morning.”

You open the letter, and your mouth hangs open just a bit when you read exactly what it is.

“What does it say?” Derek asks.

“It’s a statement of innocence,” you reveal. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to call Gideon about this.”

You quickly head outside and dial Penelope so she can patch you through to the older agent.

“Garcia,” she says once she answers.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. I need Gideon please.”

“Yeah, I'll pass you through,” she puts you on a brief hold until she can get the older agent on the line for you.

“What?” Gideon mutters quietly.

“We're at the mother's house, and she gave me a letter. A statement of innocence. I want to read to you.”

“Read the letter, Y/N.”

“Mom, I know how difficult this must be. Things between us were never what they should be between a mother and a daughter. I want you to know that the best part of me, the most important part of me, is now in a better place than you and I will ever be. I'm responsible for the death of those girls. I neglected my duties as a woman and as a mother.”

There is more to it, but you can hear Sarah Jean get upset over the line. You don’t know what is happening, but you feel like you need to get over there right now. Screw prisons and your fear of them. You need to help this woman, and it sounds like you can, based on what you hear over the phone.

“I’m coming over there. I’ll be there soon,” you say to whoever is listening before hanging up. Derek exits the house, and you put your phone away and hand him the letter. “I’m going back to prison. You’ll be okay here? I can send Elle to help you.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I’ll see if I can’t get anything else out of Deborah.”

“Okay, stay safe.”

“And stay sane,” he quips back as you head to the car.

When you get to the prison, Gideon and Spencer are done talking to Sarah Jean. She didn’t know you would be reading her private letter, so she needed to clear her head before you go and talk to her. If she is truly innocent, then why is she fighting so hard to stay here? Why not fight to get out and separate herself fro Jacob? She is scared of something… or she’s trying to protect someone. You sent Elle to go to Derek when you arrived, and the team gathers where Penelope is to watch the tapes of the interviews to see if they can’t spot anything that they might have missed.

“They died as a result of my neglect,” Sarah Jean whispers regretfully.

“This letter suggests to me that an innocent woman is about to be executed for a crime she did not commit.”

“I could tell you right now, it's not enough to get a stay,” Sam Shapiro sighs.

“Well, facts. Reid,” Gideon says.

“Human sexuality is a complex dynamic of three components: biological, physiological, and emotional. Jacob's needs were informed by the emotional, sexual abuse that he received at the hand of his mother. Long term appetitive abuse informed the template of his love map. Something we refer to as a signature. Jacob was an only child, so he was alone when the abuse occurred. So, in order for him to fulfill his fantasy he has got to be alone with his victims.”

You look from the tape of Sarah Jean to the one with Jacob, and you just narrow our eyes in anger for him. He’s not a good person at all, and you refuse to even be in within sight of him. There is no way you’ll survive talking to him about anything.

“If I told you that what would I have left for myself?” Jacob says over the tape.

“He said ‘myself’. If Sarah Jean was present, it would have destroyed his fantasy,” you note.

“She confessed to killing her son,” the warden, Charles Diehl, states.

“Yes, true, but we are also convinced that she is the anonymous caller that made the phone call that nailed Jacob. In fact, I know she is.”

“Guilt-ridden and filled with remorse, she called the police. It's not the profile of a woman who would then kill a child,” Gideon sighs.

“What else do you need?” you ask the attorney.

“Evidence.”

“So, if we prove Jacob killed Riley, would that get a stay?”

“Absolutely.”

“She protects the painting, she protects the boy,” Gideon mutters.

“What?” you ask.

“Paintings are her statement. We need to figure out what they say.”

“Get me into her room, and I’ll find that out. I have to be alone though. I can’t have her influence on this.”

“You’ll get it,” Gideon confirms with a single nod.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@averyhotchner @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @fan-girl-97 @paulaern @inkstainedwritergirl @estrela-rogers @abitchforjay @kwbaby24 @redsalv20 @joonie-centric @spencerreid-mgg @sixpencespencee @boygenius-reid @reidemandweep @prophecyflame @happynekochan1 @babydee17

#riding the lightning #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #cm fanfiction #season 1 episode 14 #s1e14

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brokenjardaantech · 4 years

Text

captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 1 + 7: vacation + acceptance

notes:

i combined day 1 & 7 as they happen to be the theme of the same story. it's also a prequel to a fic that i haven't written a word yet.

a little bit background since i think things can be confusing:

allen's full name is Louis White Allen. his dad's french and his mom american, though he's raised in alaska. his sister, anna allen, is a commissioned officer in the air force. the siblings speaks both english and french fluently.

sara ryder replaces elijah kamski as the inventor of androids.

this fic is set in september 2038, about a month after connor was first deployed at the phillips' hostage situation.

tags: griefing, family issues, brief mentions of childhood neglect and parentification

ao3 link if that’s what you prefer

-----

To this day, Lou's heart hammers when he sees a call from the military. Last time he received one was ten years ago, and he ended up with more questions than answers, answers that he knows he and his father very likely will not get in their lifetime. Staring at his phone vibrating on the coffee table, Lou debates whether to induce his cats' wrath - one sleeping on his lap and the other he hasn't stopped petting since they finished dinner - by standing up and interrupting their naps. It's not like he's at his full mobility anyways; his cybernetics still needs about half an hour to sync with his nervous system properly and to download the newest software. Whoever the fuck is in charge of calling the family of a soldier who went AWOL in Göttingen can wait.

It seems that the universe has other plans, as the air suddenly becomes charged with static and the phone launches itself towards Lou's chest. The tip of his fingers are numb, a common occurrence after his and his sister's unexplainable outbursts, but he manages to catch the phone before it hits his chest or, heaven forbids, his cat, who is startled awake and promptly returns to sleep after her favourite bed has no intention to move.

He accepts the call. 'Allen speaking. I don't think I have family members in the military anymore.'

'I don't know how many of yours are with us,' the voice from the other end lacks the robotic quality of an android's, so it seems the military is still using humans to contact family members, 'but this concerns your mother, Commander Deborah White. You're the only next of kin we can reach, Mister Allen.'

Lou does sigh. Just as he thinks he can leave her behind after all these years... 'What about her?' Not that he feels strongly that she was gone, as she wasn't quite there for her family to begin with, but something about a Commander going missing on the flagship of a fleet always sits wrong with him; as poor of a mother Deborah White was, a woman with her service record didn't deserve to simply vanish. 'I thought she went MIA more than twenty years ago.'

'She was until a few hours ago. I wish I can break it to you more gently but... we found her. Her remains, at least.'

The beat of his heart suddenly becomes too overwhelming. The air swells with the familiar buzz of static, and it takes all of Lou's self-control to not break everything in the living room with a shattering hazard. There is also the urge to hang up, to pretend that this is just one of those weird dreams he never can remember the details of, because he doesn't need to be burdened with a closure; he wasn't close enough to her to want that, he tells himself. Knowing that she's gone is enough. However, 'How?' is what he says in the end. He closes his eyes, free hand buried in his cat's fur, trying to convince himself that he is doing this for his father.

'Your mother's bones were found in a sealed compartment in the USS Blue Ridge when we were scrapping her. She must've been sitting there for years. Her skull indicates that -'

'Thanks, but I don't think I need to know that,' Lou swallows, willing himself to not think of the implication of an intact skull. It would've been a horrible way to die, sitting in cold seawater for days, feeling her skin rot away before dying of starvation; he'd rather her snap her neck upon impact and go painlessly. 'Anything more?'

'Yes. How would you like to deal with the body?'

Something tickles Lou's chin. When he opens his eyes, he finds the third cat trying to squeeze himself onto his already-occupied lap and purring as if having sensed the human's distress and wanting to soothe him. He recalls how his mother joked that she would probably die at sea and his father's reluctant acceptance of the entire affair; Papa's resignation after he received the news, saying, 'At least she got what she wanted.'

'She spent most of her life at sea,' he replies. No need to rub salt on his father's wounds. 'Let her rest there as well.'

'Very well. If you wish to, a memorial will be held in two months' time. Families of other deceased will attend. You may find support there.'

Support my ass, Lou thinks. It's been twenty-something fucking years. Yet, for some reason, he still promises that he'll consider going before hanging up. His finger hovers over his father's contact afterwards, but remembering that it's midnight in France and that he has a month worth of leave accumulated, he opens his browser instead and starts searching for plane tickets.

----

A month later, Lou finds himself in the commune of Gâvres with a large backpack on his shoulder and missing his cats very dearly. They aren't even his cats, technically; his neighbours keep them as outdoor cats, and Lou, unable to stand the thought of them suffering out in the winter cold of Detroit, took them in, and now they spend more time at his than at their original owners'. Having dropped them off at Hank's - that man takes better care of his pet (now pets) than himself - Lou isn't worried - he doubts his neighbours will even notice that their cats are gone. Emotions are terrible things, however, and the purpose of this trip alone makes it different from all the time he has visited his father before. At least he hasn't just recovered from nearly dying from implant rejection this time.

'Louis?'

Lou turns when he hears his father's voice and the awkward weight reminds him that he hasn't taken off his backpack yet and has been standing in the living room of his father's house staring at nothing for the past few minutes. Not waiting for his son to take it off, Papa Allen crosses the room and embraces Lou, sweat and all. 'How are you?' he asks in French, and when Lou answers truthfully in the same language, 'I missed you,' somehow everything in the world goes right again. Fuck the deviant crisis, fuck the android-infested America that makes his nerves buzz every single waking moment, fuck absent mothers still managing to make a comeback years after she died. He's just Louis Allen, absolutely not a SWAT captain, not the only survivor of the Blast, not the pioneer/guinea pig of CyberLife's groundbreaking cybernetics technology.

He has to let go of his father. 'I hope it's okay. What I did with Mom.'

Papa sighs. 'How about you take off that thing first,' indicating the backpack, 'and settle down for now.'

So Lou walks up the stairs and deposits his backpack in the room designated as his, and, catching sight of the other bed in the room, his legs suddenly feel weak, and he lowers himself, trembling, onto his mattress. Smart, fearless Anna, whose brain always runs - ran - a lot faster than the rest of the world.

Who graduated top of her class and as the Valedictorian of the academy, and subsequently disappeared without a trace.

His left leg twitches. The feeling of something foreign using his body returns, and when he leans forward - with a difficulty that wasn't there before - to take off his sock, it reveals white and grey chassis. A stark reminder that he owes her his life two times over despite her being the younger sibling.

‘How come I’m still alive?’ was the first question he asked after he regained his voice. ‘Ryder threw a fucking building on me.’

‘I dug you out, Lulu,’ replied Anna. ‘Freaky glowy telekinesis finally has its use. I was hungry for hours afterwards.’

At that moment, Lou made the mistake of looking down and seeing his pure white leg. ‘What the hell happened to my leg?’

‘CyberLife’s newest tech.’ As if to demonstrate how he should use his new leg, she gave his feet a poke, and Lou nearly screamed from the sensation. He did not expect to feel anything at all, but apart from the looks, the leg felt...real. ‘Fucking building crushed half your pelvis, your entire left leg and a rib. It’s already minced when I uncovered you, so they need to rebuild everything from scratch. I asked them to add something that can help you control the telekinesis better as well, so we’ll need to test it out later. No more randomly exploding shit. And before you ask, yes, your junk’s unharmed.’

Lou’s coma-addled brain struggled to process the influx of information, and all he got was, ‘I should’ve died.’

Anna hit the break to what seemed to be the beginning of a technical jargon-filled rant. ‘Well yes,’ she gestured just like the meme, ‘but you lived.’

‘No one survives after being crushed by a building, Anna,’ he said, voice rising. Then he asked in French since English felt too raw, ‘Exactly how much tech is in me right now? And how long was I out for? Why did CyberLife choose me?’

She looked away.

‘Anna?’

‘I don’t fucking know, okay?’ she replied in the same language. ‘You were on the brink of death when I dug you out, and there Ryder was, offering to save your life for no cost. You were in a medically-induced coma for one month and was out for reconstruction for another. It took your body two weeks to get used to the cybernetics and...here you are.’

‘Ryder offered,’ Lou said slowly, ‘to save me? As in Sara Ryder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anna, she was the one who threw the building on me!’

‘I know. One more reason to let her save you.’

‘But you did it anyway.’

‘I did.’

‘Even though you know it’ll probably come back to bite our asses.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You know the answer, Lulu.’

And Lou has stopped denying that he does a few years ago. Anna joined the Air Force to fly, to be closer to the sky, but he knows that it wasn’t enough; from the way she turned her eyes towards the aurora when they were young, the attention she paid towards all news related to space observation and exploration, to the talks about leaving the wasteland that is known as earth behind and finding a new home in the cosmos - Anna belongs to the abyss of space. The military was simply a stepping stone towards something greater, a greatness that she must be working towards somewhere on this god-forsaken piece of rock.

The place where Lou’s flesh meets his implants aches in anticipation of the storm that will no doubt force them to remain indoors for days. Grinding his teeth in the numbing pain, he uses his hands to put his non-functional left leg onto the bed and lies down sideways with his back towards his sister’s bed, his phone buzzing in his pocket to notify him of an unexpected software error that may take hours to fix. Switching on do-not-disturb, he shoves the offending piece of technology underneath his pillow and loses his fight against jet lag and pain.

----

Lou wakes up cold and hungry. He is covered by a blanket that wasn't there when he fell asleep, so his father must have checked on him when he realized that his son was doing more than putting down his luggage, and the dark sky outside the window almost brings him back again before it flashes.

Then the booming thunder reminds him that it isn't dusk at all.

He successfully rolls over on his other side, which means that his cybernetics are functional once more. Kicking the blanket away, he sits up and grimaces at the taste of his mouth.

He feels better after his regular morning rituals, though the lack of three furry friends harassing him and brushing against his feet is something that he'll need to get used to, and his father is cooking lunch when he reaches the kitchen.

'Morning, Louis,' Papa says as he hands the pan over to his son. 'What did they drag you through to have you sleep for so long?'

Lou is glad that he can use concentrating on not burning his food as an excuse to buy himself a minute. Should he tell his father the truth, or should he avoid talking about work just like many people do during their vacation? 'Things are getting bad in Detroit,' he decides in the end as going on a vacation at one's father's house isn't exactly normal either. 'Androids are breaking their programming and starts having their own thoughts. CyberLife's trying to cover it up, but I've dealt with enough violent deviants - that's what they're calling those androids - to know it's gonna be a problem real soon if they don't solve it now.' A pause to think of how to continue. 'I'm glad you're not in America anymore.'

'It must be exhausting,' is his father's reply, and that's all Lou needs to realize that his father has no idea what he's talking about. Then again, the man moved back to France before androids were a thing, and although they kept in frequent contact, Lou never talked much about his work; the police getting reformed means that SWAT is deployed only when peace is not the option - that means seeing people get hurt or die constantly. Androids aren't really a thing in Europe, so his father never experienced the 'androids taking over everything and making everyone lose their jobs' shit. He won't understand.

'That's why I'm here.'

They lapse into silence as Lou finishes cooking and empties the content of the pan onto two plates. Never one for formality, Papa brings them to the living room, sitting at the corner of a couch while Lou retrieves his plate and fork and curls onto the window sill. At this proximity, he can feel the raindrops hitting the glass as if he is standing in the rain.

Papa clears his throat. 'About your mother, Louis.'

Lou tears his eyes away from the raindrop he's betting on to win. He hastily shoved some eggs into his mouth to buy himself some time to mentally prepare for the conversation. 'What now?'

What he actually says isn't what Lou expected. 'I'm glad about what you did with your mother's body.'

'Her skeleton, you mean,' he replies. 'What's left of it anyways. I don't think they found the whole set.'

'Still,' Papa isn't looking at him. 'That's what she would've wanted. And by I'm glad - I'm not opposed to it.'

'That's it?' Lou turns back towards the rain. 'That wasn't your reaction when they told you that she was MIA.'

'I was young - younger - back then,' a sigh. 'It wasn't fair to you. Or to Anna. Especially to Anna. I'm sorry.'

No it wasn't, Lou wants to say, but - 'I've made peace with it a long time ago. Mom, me and Anna, Alaska; that was all you knew. I... I don't blame you for it.'

He has to close his eyes and press his forehead against the glass. He considers switching to German to further detach his emotions, but then he realizes that nearly everything has fled his mind from disuse. Why does he think spending his vacation with his father right after they discovered that his mother might have died painfully a good idea?

'That's what I thought I'd react when you called me, you know?' Papa says. 'I thought I'd break down. Then I realized that I've moved on and... that's it. Hard not to after more than twenty years.' Even with his vision gone, Lou can still feel his father's gaze on him. 'You've done that for your mother. Have you, for Anna? It's been ten years.'

'Have you, Papa?' Lou asks instead of answering even though he knows his answer. 'Can you stand the thought of your daughter gone as well?'

'After your mother?' the father feeds himself a mouthful of food and swallows. 'Kind of have to.'

'Of course you did. I raised her, not you.'

That is the last thing he says to his father before the storm goes away.

----

Emotionally exhausted, Lou goes to sleep early despite waking up not ten hours ago.

He knows he’s dreaming as soon as he opens the door and discovers his childhood living room behind it. The room is dark, so the lights must have been switched off, and even though it feels like he has smacked his hand all over the wall it’s on, he still can’t find the switch. It does bring him closer to the window, outside where a storm is going on at full force and paints everything white, and although he knows that what he is seeing isn’t real, he dreads the upcoming and necessary shovelling.

The world is suddenly lit up from behind him, followed by the voice of Neil deGrasse Tyson and the clicks of a keyboard. When Lou turns, Anna is there sitting in front of the couch, her brother's homework scattered in a semi-circle around her, and an old, bulky laptop snug between her crossed legs. It should have been a normal day in their house in Anchorage had Anna been a child but not an adult, which is the form Dream Anna is appearing in - she is younger than him by nearly eight years.

‘Where’s the light switch?’ Lou asks, looking around for good measure. ‘As much as you enjoy Cosmos, a documentary about space isn’t sufficient lighting.’

‘Relax,’ says Anna. ‘Eye problems aren’t in our genes.’ Then, waving at the papers around her, ‘Everything’s done. Your teachers didn’t suspect a thing,’ she gets younger and younger following each syllable until her age makes sense, ‘but you asked me to do it on a separate piece of paper, so I did. Feel free to copy directly if you wish.’

That is when Lou realizes that she’s playing games on the notebook, something that looks like a simplified version of Temple Run but set in space. ‘No thanks,’ he says. ‘I’d like to keep the creases on my brain.’ Then he notices that his sister didn’t really answer his question, so he asks again, ‘How am I supposed to switch on the lights?’

‘With your phone,’ is the matter-of-fact reply. ‘Don’t tell me you uninstalled the fucking app for cat pictures.’

‘For one last time, Anna, I don’t download cat pictures.’ And it hits him. ‘Wait, phone? The house isn’t automated when you’re at this age.’

‘Is it?’

Anna stands up and stalks closer to her brother, and she grows and grows and grows until they’re off the same height and she looks... older, how she should look like if she’s alive she’s still here. She is now Major Anna White Allen of the United States Air Force, dressed smartly in her dress uniform except for her cap, which she holds in her right hand. Their surroundings have also changed to that of the Phillips' penthouse terrace, harsh wind whipping around them.

'You aren't real,' Lou breathes, feeling light-headed. ‘You - you’re gone. Just like Mom.’

‘Open your eyes, then. End this early if you want to. Forget that this ever happened. I don’t mind.’

It is followed by a terrifying moment of wakefulness, the images blurring and then regaining clarity as he stays asleep. ‘And Papa wants me to let you go,’ he says with a sad chuckle.

‘Why?’

‘We found what’s left Mom. How long do we need to wait to find what’s left of you?’

‘Why are you talking like I’m dead?’

‘Cause you probably are, like Mom?’

‘I know you think we’re alike,’ an eye roll, ‘but we’re different.’

‘Say you’re not dead. Where the hell are you?’

‘Does it matter?’

A blink. They’re floating in space, Anna dressed in some form of armor, and Lou in normal clothes. He attempts to draw a breath and wakes up choking and crying, the dream completely forgotten save for the faint image of Anna falling towards earth and getting burnt to crisps.

----

A few days later, Lou finds himself walking on the beach with his father. The sky is cloudy and the wind is strong, so it is cool even though it’s September and Lou grew up in Alaska. They started throwing questions back and forth ten minutes into their walk, some of them silly and simple and give them a good laugh, but the others -

‘Answer me honestly, Louis. Do you think Anna’s dead?’

It is easy. ‘No.’

‘Where do you think she is, then?’

Lou’s face suddenly becomes too hot to bear. ‘Does it matter?’

‘If it affects you, yes.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. She wouldn’t want us to speculate.’

‘But she’s not here, is she? Maybe you’ll feel better after you say it out loud.’

Lou sighs, oh how the turntables… ‘In space, probably.’

‘You’d think we’ll hear about that.’

‘Secret space programs exist, Papa.’

‘Not in America.’

‘I never said it’s an American program,’ Lou says as he kicks a rock away. ‘Do you know what they said when I received the first call from the Air Force? They asked me if Anna has ties with other space agencies even though she’s never been in NASA; she just talked about other countries’ space programs so much that they suspected her having ties with them.’

‘Hmm.’

‘What does that even mean?’

‘You know you won’t see her again, right?’

Lou halts his steps. Anna? Gone forever? ‘Does it matter?’

Papa sighs. ‘You’re in denial, Louis. You didn’t do this with your mother.’

How dare he - ‘Of course I didn’t, she was barely there!’ he has to put a few steps between them. ‘I raised Anna! How do you think that’s even comparable?’

‘I simply don’t want you to live in uncertainty for the rest of your life.’

‘You just don’t know your daughter,’ he counters. ‘She told me she’ll come back.’

‘You know -’

‘You don’t know shit!’

He runs. His lungs and legs are strained when he gets home, his father’s home, but he doesn't stop at that. He packs his stuff (not that there’s much to put back into his backpack), jumps into his rental car, and is back in Brest before he knows what he’s doing. His return flight is next week, so he has a lot of time to kill.

In the end, he takes a trip around the country alone, going to places he both never had time for and, if he’s been there before, misses dearly. He may have forgotten what they’ve talked about, but he remembers Anna visiting him often. The images flee his mind whenever he tries to recall them, but he doesn’t think they’re talking on earth, and he always wishes that he at least remembers some of it.

A few months later, he’ll learn that his speculations are closer to the truth than he thinks. A few months later, Louis Allen will prove his father wrong.

But he doesn’t know that yet. Therefore, after collecting the cats from Hank and unpacking his luggage, he takes all of Anna’s things and puts them into a box, telling himself that it is the first step towards admitting that maybe, it’s a big fucking maybe, he will never see his sister again.

#allen art week #allen appreciation #dbh allen #detroit: become human #dbh captain allen #allenartweek #allenappreciation #groom lake aftermath

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raspberryparker · 5 years

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someday | one

college!au spidey x fem!reader

← previous | series masterlist | next → word count: 4,818 summary: peter is suffering and failing english. that’s it, that’s the plot. warnings: see masterlist (graphic-ish description of injuries) read it on ao3 add yourself to my taglist!

━━━━━━━━

There was nothing Peter could do about the fact that his brain was literally decaying.

Okay, not literally. He may have had a headache, but he was pretty sure that his brain wasn’t actually rotting. God, he could almost hear Professor Williams correcting him on the use of the word. How insufferable.

But that was just more proof, further evidence to back up his (very poor) argument. He couldn’t even use words correctly; how could anyone expect him to pass English? There were so many more important things he could have been focusing on.

Like the fact that that he had finally kind of gotten used to the head rush that came with sitting cross-legged on his ceiling for five hours. He’d been steadily increasing the time he spent up there aimlessly scrolling through his Twitter feed, trying to see how long he could last. It was his own personal experiment of sorts—Peter was a scientist, after all. He had hypothesized that he could only last about three hours at most. But to his surprise he’d managed to go a solid four and a half before he gave out and threw up all over the floor of his dorm, though not before falling into it. His room reeked of bleach and Windex for a week. And after days of hard work and the sheer power of his unrelenting stubbornness, he’d finally managed to go the full five and walk away from it with little more than a headache and seeing a few spots. He wasn’t sure what he could do with this information but he was more than ready to find out.

Those were the kinds of things that occupied the space in Peter’s mind. That and an innumerable amount of calculus formulas and chemical compounds and on and on and on. If he just started writing all the information he stored in that little Parker brain of his, he’d fill an entire collection of encyclopedias without even trying. Now, with that in mind (feel free to groan at that awful joke), did it seem reasonable that he should pay any attention to try and compare two completely different plays from an era that should no longer concern anyone in this day and age on their employment of dramatic irony?

If one were as sane as Peter—although he could almost guarantee his sanity was diminishing by the day—they would undoubtedly agree with him when he said absolutely not. But frankly, it wasn’t up to him.

And so that was how Ned found him: cross-legged on the ceiling, with his back against the wall above his bed, his face as bright as a ripe tomato and with a worried expression that seemed to be carved in stone. But he had every right to freak out. He was failing English.

“You know, that’s not gonna help.”

Ned dropped his bag on the floor next to the spot on the carpet that was whiter than the rest, and then fell back onto Peter’s bed with a soft grunt, folding his arms under the pillow behind his head and gazing up at his best friend’s face about a foot above him.

“Nothing helps,” Peter groaned, unfolding his legs and stretching them out along the ceiling, the rough surface catching softly on the denim. “You know, I’ve come to think that maybe ending it all might be my only option.”

“Oh yeah, you could do that,” Ned mused, feigning deep thought. “But then who’d take over for the one and only web-slinger?”

“God, I hate it when you have a point.”

As if he actually considered it, even for a second. If there was anything more unbearable to Peter than trying to write about anything even remotely related to his English course, it was the thought of not being around to be the friendly neighbourhood super hero he’d promised to be. He had a city to protect. But it was also a long running joke between them that Peter would one day swing up high over the streets of New York and then neglect to catch himself on the way down. He couldn’t remember when it started.

Peter stood then, stepping a few paces to his left in order to drop off the ceiling without landing on Ned, and with a quick flip he was on the proper side of the world where the normal people were. His head throbbed, all the warmth that had gathered there beginning to flow back down to where it was supposed to be and the pressure behind his eyes subsiding. He glanced at Ned, who had closed his eyes and looked rather peaceful on Peter’s unmade, messy sheets.

“So have you thought about what you’re actually gonna do?” he questioned.

Peter sighed. “Nothing. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Ned sat up then, looking at him incredulously as if he’d just told him that there were vines sprouting from his ears. “Dude, you gotta do something.”

“Says who?”

“Says the school. You know English is mandatory, right? They won’t let you enroll next semester if you don’t pass.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Peter peeked at the clock on the small desk across the room, and though it was almost completely obscured by loose papers and notebooks that he never thought to put away, he still saw the bright green block numbers displaying the time. 4:43 PM. Nearly time to go.

As he rummaged through his school bag looking for the new prototype webbing cartridges he’d designed, he felt Ned’s gaze on him from the way the hairs at the base of his neck stood on end. The feeling that Ned wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to was making the air around Peter palpable. He felt the tension on his skin, eyes nearly watering at the way it stung the inside of his nostrils and he detested the way it made his mouth feel like it was stuffed with cotton balls. Though his heightened senses saved him from getting killed on a nearly daily basis, they always seemed to act up at really, really inopportune moments. Such as this one.

He felt Ned’s words before he heard them.

“Do you need help?”

Peter frowned, his brows coming together. “What, like a tutor?”

“Yeah, or something like that,” Ned replied. “I’m asking because I know someone, you know, if you ever manage to swallow your pride and accept the fact that you can’t get out of this by yourself.”

“Ouch.”

“I believe this is what the kids call ‘tough love’.”

Ned looked at him for a long time. Now that he was right side up it was easy to pinpoint all the warning signs that there was something terribly wrong. The bags under Peter’s eyes had always been there; those dark crescent moons etched into the creases there by many nights spent swinging through the streets of the bustling city, stopping crime whenever it had the audacity to crop up, had become a permanent feature on his face. But there was something else, something far more concerning in the way his shoulders stayed perpetually close to his ears, an undeniable tension tugging his entire frame upward as if he was being pulled up by a tight string.

And when he turned to face Ned once more, the crease between his brows that had been there since he’d been sitting on the ceiling was still present, if not more prominent. He was only nineteen, but Peter was going to end up with wrinkles soon if he didn’t stop frowning all the damn time.

“I’m worried about you.”

His expression softened, his features relaxing at his friend’s words. “I know.”

“You look like shit,” Ned continued, though his tone held the same care.

“I know.”

“You’re so frustrating.”

Peter smiled, plucking the mask of his suit off his desk and flipping it so it was facing the right way again, hiding the circuits and wires that lined nearly the entirety of the fabric. He brushed his arm across the desk, clearing space and knocking papers, books, pencils, rolls of solder and even a sock to the floor in the process. If looking at him wasn’t proof enough that something had been troubling him, then one only needed to step into the catastrophe that was his dorm. But to be fair, did anyone keep their dorm sparkling? He didn’t think so. He fished the red and blue suit out of the top right corner of his small closet and smoothed it over the area he’d cleared of clutter. Ned watched as he carefully slipped the cartridges into their holders at the hip.

“I’m serious though,” he pressed on, not missing the way Peter’s ears twitched in annoyance. “I’ve got a friend who could help you.”

“I barely have money to buy food, Ned,” Peter sighed. “I seriously doubt I’d be able to afford a tutor.”

“She owes me a favour anyway. She wouldn’t make you pay.”

He turned back to face Ned, eyebrows raised. “What makes you think she’d even be willing to help me?”

“Oh, please.” With a roll of his eyes, Ned reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, scrolling through what Peter could only assume was his contact list. “Would I even be friends with someone that cold hearted?”

“I don’t know, last time I checked we were still friends with MJ.”

“She’d punch you if she heard that.”

“Countin’ on it.”

He held up the suit by the shoulders then, the baggy material looking drab and uninteresting and frankly kind of ridiculous. Throwing it on the bed at Ned’s feet, he tugged the hem of his ESU hoodie up and over his head, his t-shirt and pants coming off shortly after. He discarded the clothes on his floor with little regard as to where they ended up. Ned moved around him as Peter tugged on the loose suit. He set up his laptop on the desk and pulled a textbook out of his backpack. This part of their routine was easy, comfortable even. It had integrated itself into their lives just as easily as everything else did.

Peter tapped the spider emblem on his chest, sucking in a quick breath as the material of the suit formed to his body and hugged his limbs. He turned to grab the mask but found Ned already holding it out to him, a worried expression on his face.

He took it carefully. “Thanks.”

Ned only nodded, swivelling around in Peter’s desk chair and opening up the textbook he’d placed next to the laptop. Something was off and it was making Peter’s skin crawl more than usual. He looked carefully at the back of Ned’s head, his words only being held back by his teeth and his tight jaw. If he opened his mouth, there would be no stopping. But what the hell, right? Ned was his best friend.

“Give her a call,” he said finally, and Ned turned to him with a smile. “If you think it’ll help, I don’t see why I shouldn’t try.”

“I hope you know I’m doing this for your own good,” he grinned, pulling his phone out again and looking for her contact.

“Yeah.”

Peter would always admire just how much his best friend had matured since sophomore year. Sure he still geeked out over Star Wars and comic books (but then again, so did Peter) but there was no doubt in his mind that Ned had simply… grown. As person, as a best friend, as his guy in the chair; Ned went from nervously helping Peter with whatever ridiculous idea he’d had that week to either fully supporting him or calling him a fucking idiot when he was being one. Ned was the one person he could always count on to be there for him.

“Hey,” he called, his foot on the windowsill and hand gripping the frame, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. “You’re here if I need you, right?”

Ned smiled, tucking his earbuds in and firing up the laptop. “Yeah, always.”

Peter grinned back, slipping on the mask and throwing up a peace sign before he jumped out the window of his dorm. Luckily, his dorm only faced an alley between the residences and no one was around to see him crawling up the side of the brick.

When he reached the rooftop, he sat for a moment admiring the autumn sunset, the warm orange hues washing the city with vibrant yet calm energy. Though he knew that this was but a mirage, and New York was nothing if not a complete disaster, he couldn’t help but think of a city at peace. Maybe one day he’d accomplish it, and hang up the webs one last time. But he doubted it’d come any time soon.

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

Ned’s voice was soft through the comm system, and Peter could almost hear the frown on his face. “Be careful, yeah?”

Peter grinned, his heads up display focusing and zooming in on a group of men standing near the edge of Washing Square Park, a scared looking girl at their feet and trying desperately to back away on her hands. Why were they always stupid enough to assault someone in broad daylight in the middle of a park? They were almost begging for a beating.

He webbed his backpack to a wall in the alleyway below him, then shot a web at the next roof over and pulled himself forward, landing gracefully on the balls of his feet and using the momentum to launch himself into the air. His head buzzed with the rush of air whizzing past his ears. He flipped once, twice, then landed in a crouch in front of the girl, fingertips on the ground with one arm extended to the side to help his balance, shielding her from the attackers. He could’ve sworn they could see his smirk through the mask, because their faces paled comically.

“Always am.”

━━━━━━━━

“Hello?”

“Listen, you know that favour you owe me? Yeah, I’d like to cash that in now.”

“Oh I’m great, Ned, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Y/N….” Ned whined, dragging out the last syllable. “It’s important.”

Y/N laughed, switching her cell phone from her right ear to her left, and pressing it in place with her shoulder as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She finally felt that she had room to breathe now that midterms were over and she had the weekend off from work. The library staff room was warm and cozy despite the chilly November weather, so all she really wanted to do was sit down on the couch with one of the new fiction arrivals that she’d unpacked that afternoon for a good little while, but she’d been interrupted when her phone rang.

The strong yet comfortable smell of bitter black coffee filled the small room, and she watched as the cream she poured into her mug swirled and mixed with the dark liquid. “Alright, alright. What’s up?”

She was so positive of the fact that Ned was beaming that she would have bet everything she had on it, and when he spoke she could see his silly smile in her mind’s eye.

“Okay, so, you remember Peter, right?” Ned asked, and Y/N frowned as she opened the fridge door to put the cream back.

“Haven’t met him but you’ve told me about him,” she said. “Childhood best friend or something, right?”

“The one and only. Anyway he’s kind of in a tight spot right now.”

“How so?”

“He’s failing English.”

Y/N smiled knowingly then, settling down on the rather ugly but still surprisingly soft beige couch in the centre of the room, the bright blue mug in her hands warming her to the bone. She knew instantly what the phone call was about and what Ned was going to ask of her, yet she feigned ignorance. Why? For her own amusement, she supposed.

“And you called me because…?”

“You’ve been talking about wanting to tutor people on the side… right? But I figured you might want to test how comfortable you are doing it before you start charging people.”

“And you’re suggesting that Peter would be my guinea pig?”

“...Yes, in a way.”

“Is he okay with that?” she asked, setting her phone down on the small foot table in front of her and putting the phone on speaker. She was all alone in the staff room, and there were only a handful of students and two other staff members in the building at the moment so she wouldn’t need to worry about disturbing anyone. That, and her neck was starting to ache.

Ned’s sigh confirmed her suspicions, that he had somehow convinced Peter into agreeing to being tutored even though he didn’t want to. She wasn’t sure why, but Y/N felt her stomach tug at the thought. But that was ridiculous—she didn’t even know the kid.

“I kinda had to beg him,” he admitted rather sheepishly. “He’s just… so stubborn and it- it’s infuriating. They’re not gonna let him back next semester if he doesn’t pass this time because he failed both times last year but honestly, I feel like he doesn’t even care.”

“Hmm.” Y/N knew the type of person Peter was just from the little information Ned had just shared with her. He was headstrong and stubborn, but only made time for things he enjoyed and had genuine interest in, which evidently did not include English. “What’s he studying right now?”

“Double major in Chemistry, and Molecular Biology and Biochemistry.”

“Jesus. That gave me a headache.”

“I know, gross, right? I always told him he should’ve done Com-Sci like me, and maybe he’d be less stressed, but he never listens to me. He’s actually the smartest person I know when he wants to be, but when he doesn’t…”

“Yeah, I get it,” she sighed. “Well, I’m free all weekend if he wants to meet up at the library. I was gonna stay far away from this place since I have a few days off, but I’m afraid I can’t abandon my books for too long anyway.”

“You have no idea how much this means to us, Y/N,” Ned sighed. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grinned, mostly to herself though since no one could see her. “I feel like this is more important to you than it is to him, though.”

“That makes two of us. Hey, can I give him your number?”

“Sure, go ahead. Tell him to text me, yeah?”

“He will. And if he doesn’t, I’ll make him.”

Y/N giggled at that, sipping on her coffee and relishing in the warmth that slid down her throat. She dreaded leaving the library and stepping into the cold autumn air. She wanted to stay holed up on that couch forever. “Alright, dude, I gotta go. I’ll never leave if I stay here any longer and I still have to read a couple chapters of a new book tonight.”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll see you around this week?”

“My door’s always open for you,” she smiled, knowing that Ned’s dorm room was only a few floors below hers and he’d often pop by to visit her while she studied. “See ya.”

“Bye, my guy.”

Y/N wondered if everyone felt that odd silence after hanging up a phone call, that lingering stillness that felt a little too quiet, especially when she was alone. It made the skin of her arms prickle with goosebumps and she shivered, putting her things back into her backpack and tugging it onto her shoulder. Quickly knocking back the rest of her coffee, she grabbed her scarf off the hook on the wall and laid it lazily around her neck once, still too warm inside the building to put it on properly.

As she stepped out of the staff room, the warm atmosphere of the library engulfed her once more and she smiled as she stepped toward the main desk. Carol, her boss and the school’s head librarian, was typing away at the computer and busy signing out a laptop to a student. Y/N slid behind the desk, grabbing a copy of the new book she wanted to read and began to sign it out to herself on one of the unoccupied desktops as Carol thanked the student and let him know that he needed to bring the laptop back by the following evening. When she was done, she glanced at Y/N with a smile.

“Oh, tell me how that one is,” she said when she saw the book. “It caught my eye but I’m not sure if I’ll have time to read it. If it’s a worthwhile read, however, I’ll make time.”

“Will do.”

Carol was a kind woman, who looked so stereotypically like a librarian it almost made Y/N laugh when they’d met. Her greying auburn hair was always tied into a tight knot on her head, and her wire-framed glasses were always slipping too far down her nose. She wore cardigans and capris pants almost everyday, and Y/N was pretty sure she only owned one pair of beige shoes. But she was caring and sweet, never shushing anyone when they laughed too loudly or if they swore when they dropped a particularly heavy encyclopedia on their foot. She was one of the main reasons Y/N liked her job so much and never said no when Carol asked her to come in a little bit early or stay a little while longer. She was practically her second mother, and the library was her home away from home.

“I’ll see you on Monday, dear?” Carol asked as Y/N picked up her shoulder bag.

“No, actually,” she grinned. “I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She looked at her Converse clad feet and the fraying bottom of her pant legs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m tutoring a friend of a friend as a favour. He’s failing English and, you know me- I have an obligation to make everyone enjoy literature.”

“You and I both,” Carol smiled, the crinkles on the outside corners of her eyes folding and making her look like a sweet grandmother (she totally was sweet, though a grandmother only to her cat’s kittens, perhaps). “I do hope you go out and enjoy yourself this weekend, though. Every time I see you, you have your nose stuck in a book. And you know I do encourage that but you should really stretch your legs, go out and have some fun.”

“I find reading very fun,” Y/N smiled, tucking the book into her bag.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

She turned, walking backwards toward the library doors so she could wave to Carol. “See you soon then!”

“I’ll be here, as always,” Carol grinned.

It was dark when she stepped out of the building, the cold air hitting her like a wall and chilling her to her very core. She hugged her school hoodie around herself, tugging her scarf tighter and tucking it into the collar. The only downfall of studying at Empire State was that since the campus was in the centre of Greenwich, it was spread out over quite a few blocks. It would be a fifteen minute walk back to her dorm building, even if she cut through the park. So Y/N tucked in her earbuds and set off, stuffing her hands into the soft pocket of her hoodie and trying to keep as warm as possible.

By the time she arrived to her building on 7th Avenue, her fingers were numb as she held the keycard over the sensor. She was sure her nose looked like a cherry tomato with how cold it’d gotten on the walk. Making a mental note to buy herself a pair of mittens for the upcoming winter, she stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the sixth floor. She estimated it to be a little past 10 PM, considering her shift ended at 9:30 and she’d spent some time talking to both Ned and Carol before she left. But luckily, that meant there would be nobody in the common room.

Setting her bag down on the couch in her floor’s common lounge area, she took out the lunch she’d forgotten to eat and sat down with her book resting on her knees and her sandwich in her lap.

She’d spent so many nights this way, it almost became routine for her now. She nestled into her usual corner, facing the glass walls that allowed her to see out into the hallway and took a bite of her food as she turned to chapter one. She yawned, already used to feeling tired after work and figuring that a good book would help her relax.

And relax she did.

Y/N was unsure just how much time had passed when she woke with a start, her book clattering to the ground next to her with the movement of her body.

“Shit,” she muttered, picking it up and making sure that no pages had bent when it hit the ground. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 4:07 AM. God, had she really been there for that long? There was a kink in her neck where it had lolled back in her sleep, and she rubbed it as she took in her surroundings. It seemed like no one had been in the room since she’d arrived.

It wasn’t until she looked up, however, that she really startled.

There, in the hallway on the other side of the glass, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, stood a boy who looked like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as they gazed at each other, both equally shocked. It was then that she realized that it was the sound of him almost falling flat on his face, but catching himself against a wall with a sharp, pained shout before he landed that woke her up. He was still gripping the wall, knuckles white with the sheer force of his grasp, his other arm clutched around his ribs. Neither of them expected the other to be there.

He looked like he’d been hit by a bus. Or maybe hit by a bus, but then the bus turned around and drove over him another three or four times for good measure. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the skin around and under it beaten blue and purple, and yellowing at the edges. The blood from his crooked nose dripped onto his mouth and chin, down his neck and staining the collar of his t-shirt, which had some ridiculous math pun on it that Y/N would have rolled her eyes at if she hadn’t been so shocked by the state of him. His arms were littered with what looked like bruises in the form of fingers, as if someone had grabbed him and thrown him around. There were cuts and bruises all over the rest of his face, and his short brown hair stuck up at an odd angle as if he’d just taken off a beanie. He wore a backpack that looked like it was one throw to the ground away from ripping at the seams and, for whatever reason, he wasn’t wearing shoes.

They both sat in silence until he looked away, his shocked eyes then taking on a droopy, tired expression as he limped down the hall, his hand still supporting almost the entire weight of his body against the wall. His bare feet dragged against the hall floor, leaving dirt and blood behind on the linoleum. Y/N choked on her breath as she exhaled, not having noticed that she’d even been holding it.

What the fuck? What the fuck?

She scrambled to her feet, the book now long forgotten as it fell to the floor once again, and she fumbled with the doorknob as it slipped in her sweaty palms. When she finally got the door open, she stared down the hallway in the direction he’d gone, but she was met with nothing but an empty corridor.

Where could he possibly have gone that fast?

She stepped carefully and quietly, making sure to keep her footfalls as light as possible, as she walked in the direction she’d seen him go. She passed each door, looking for any sign that he might have been there, when finally she stopped in front of one with blood on the silver handle. Glancing up at the name tag that adorned every door, Y/N swallowed the dry lump in her throat and her eyes widened as she took in the name.

Peter P.

Oh dear God. What the hell did she just herself into?

━━━━━━━━

A/N: i’m so sorry but this is going to be the slowest slow burn in the history of slow burns, maybe ever. hope ya’ll are into pain.

ALSO i spell everything the canadian way, ya know, with ou’s and shit... if that bothers you then whoOps sorry

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tags: @psychedelicmagnum @jazmins-main-hoe

message me to be added to a taglist or add yourself (updates coming steadily through november) or send an ask/comment to give me some feedback! x

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annyoakley-blog · 5 years

Text

SC DR. DOES AN OJ

Mr Jack Swerlng Afternoon/ Re: > Killer X Doctor Lazzarini Oh, and Jack I am familiar with my First Amendment Rights, & the difference between TRUTH, AND DEFAMATION we're good here! Adam Killer Lazzarini a really bad thing is happening in your life right now overdo, and deserving this is NOT a dream! Please call WIS they recently received a tad ( all true) of my tragic true story going wide soon! Very soon! ... Every single medical institution in America shall have in their hands recordings dating back to 2010, but specifically 2016 that fateful day at WMC where you stated on recording " we'll revise you because you have osteolysis" caused by your conscious refusal to see me again after holding me 30 days in patient prepped for surgery 2010 failing to test my metal Cr/Co which were high in 2010 but you ignored the mandatory testing my dependent on your honesty knowing nothing until discovery of this insanity until late 2018 legally<you psychopath! after I collapsed & no mention of a ReCall< along with copies of radiology, progress notes, operatives 2010-2017 & a copy of the certified letter WMC & killer Lazzarini received notifying him & WMC about the (ReCall yah NopE! ya'll not off the hook here NO!).. egregiously concealing the identity of said device 2010 - 2017. Contemptuously egregiously both you & WMC denied me lawful disclosure in order I have the{ first time* best possible urgent revision performed by the Best! Surgeon} you made sure that did not happen thus I was stuck with you as noted in this elective urgent revision operative notes where you lie all over the place perjuring yourself over and over proven! after collapsing again! BEFORE KILLER YOU RIPPED OUT THE POISONOUS METAL attached to components (you were well aware were defective back in 2010 failing to disclose seeing multiple tumors and cysts necrotic tissue everywhere YOU FUCKING BONE GRAFTED OVER IN THE REVISION LATE 2016 WHEN YOU DESTROYED ANY POSSIBILITY OF MY WALKING AGAIN! Read for the first time by me after coming out of the coma and nursing home killer man< you placed me in to die consciously, deliberately, & egregiously!! unlawfully abandoning me with no referrals non weight bearing for over one year into my one year living in LA late 2017 unable to walk today on crutches left hip infection you left untreated along with the hematoma, & severe lucency you ignored leaving me with no acetabular failing to disclose you observed metal debris & high density on multiple reports you received me too sick /weak/ & unknowing trusting you! omygod!..DEAD TO RIGHTS!, & there is so much more...... and for the record no amount of money will return me ten years of lost memories with my son or repair my hip, spinal cord, and vision. working fast now aggressively intend to destroy any possibility of you working anywhere in the medical field because you are a killer! Working on a book in this matter / Am set with all the evidence I need now coming home to NY compiling even more evidence ~all of the above & so much more..... Dr. is reserved for those few! who take their oath "do no harm" seriously unlike Killer Lazzarini. Seriously this man is a killer at heart his true character to harm not! heal. I can prove this, and the whole world including his daughter's friends will know & I pray run for the hills. To think his Killer hands actually manipulated my left hip in late 2016 so I'd never walk again is MURDER!...He insured I'd lose enough blood so I'd die, and nearly did lost 900 ML of blood it's what he wanted. Listen to the 911 tape Jesus Christ I don't know about you but when my mother had an aneurysm right in front of me I was hysterical one hand on the phone for 911 screaming at medics to get her to the hospital or let me drive!...No and sadly our criminal justice system is black and white innocent until proven guilty...but then whatever it was killer used was out of her system by the time the call came in at 7am. If a spouse moves out of bed a loving spouse would follow early in the morning that terrible day for killer's spouse. Body was moved period. Sorry Jack but really ( heart disease / liver problems)...did this private autopsy show 100 % occlusion of her aortic valve? NO! liver problems? PROVE IT! Suspicious 100% he did it but like OJ in the end justice prevails Jack! The family of his poor wife should bring charges of marital neglect given he was a doctor consciously aware his wife had heart or liver problems leaving her to die like me? IS HIS TRUE NATURAL CHARACTER! I CAN PROVE IT. Yes of course a doctor would know exactly how to kill, and leave NO trace Mr. Swerling I'll insure it gets out there to the jurors before sentencing! Heck! Killer Lazzarini managed to fool me, and many others until late 2018 when I became legally competent, and stable enough out of sheer disgust for this killer to begin discovery in his premeditated plan to kill me except that I lived!...Oh yes no doubt I am well within the statutes and recently legally proven induced that agreement is DEAD! much like Killer's career anywhere! & I pray spends the rest of his life in solitary confinement after inmates get word ( well I'll leave that for now) and then break his hips oh I do not' know because he one day in mess hall says something stupid leaving him to suffer with no morphine in sight! as he left me for ten years straight away & counting consciously aware & ignored me! God is our law here this will NOT turn out well. I lost my son in this tragic true landmark matter, my ability to return to work I enjoyed, and loved so much more. Then this arrogant smug killer man his true character! just looked away. Trust that whatever this killer tells you is false all of which I can prove otherwise or I'd not waste my time sending this to you Mr. Swerling. First degree murder five counts including my left hip, spinal cord, and vision! Happiest day sadly in the ten years of my enduring the most tragic horrifying physical trauma caused by Lazzarini's criminal medical negligence 2010 to present day was* seeing this killer behind bars wearing what will become his favorite color ORANGE! AAOS is fully apprised!.. Nothing trumps a truth based tragic story backed by mounds of evidence proving every word about to go wide!.. I'm Patricia exceptionally smart Do you defend Felons in Criminal Medical Negligence cases. Dead to Rights hereto in New York, and soon this entire matter blows up before jury selection! Lazzarini is DEAD TO RIGHTS! Read on please as I will be a star confidential key witness in the Holland Trial!. Stryker Rep shot point blank in the heart killing him instantly! & then Killer Lazzarini obstructs justice lies & lies & lies...This was premeditated luring Holland to the bedroom sorry an intoxicated man manages to get off the shot many veteran officers miss. The gun went off my freaking back side!...The family confidentially has my testimony however until then my prayer is that this Killer rots in hell! where hell is too good for him. Nobody walks free from the carnage this criminal left behind for so many.... I am resourceful, and have evidence to insure this man is punished anywhere he goes. That this man murdered my hip , spine, and now just in vision caring less that at the time we met in 2010 I was a great mother having enjoyed a happy privileged life before we met an amazing life gardening on my farm in North Salem, and equestrian dire to get back in the saddle, prominent set designer in the world of fashion shot down by this man leaving me to die from 1/2011 after being discharged untreated 30 day stay in NY huge cover up until Pathology released the truth to me in LA while in Discovery.. He's done!...Jack you may somehow have the charges reduced however be advised I will be exposing this criminal along the way the entire length of both trials on every medical and social media outlet as we speak everywhere & then there is YouTube, my Auto, News, & my one on one scheduled to air very soon!...Landmark case!. Killer I hope you rot in hell! & spend at least ten behind bars is not good enough but hen God has this I know for sure! Jack if I were you I'd hand this case off it's not good for anyone to be attached to such evil, toxic outright energy. The man's no good he killed, and admitted it PERIOD. God's will is to see justice here as he broke the largest sin of all THOU SHALT NOT KILL.

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marvelousmarvelimagines · 6 years

Text

The Longest Attempt at a Proposal Ever

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary - Steve Rogers is a workaholic. For the past two years of dating him, you’ve known this, but now that the world has finally come to a sort of peace, you think it’s past time that he took a vacation. Little do you know that he has something else in mind for this trip.

A/N - Surprise! I wasn’t even planning on posting this, but here we are! This story hit me while I was at the beach a couple months ago, and I thought it might be a cute little idea to make into a series. Right now it only has six parts, but that could change. I’m not going to lie, this series is going to be pretty much full fluff, so if you’re into that, give it a read! Tag list is completely open so if you want to be a part of it, just let me know. Thanks!

Warnings - None! Tooth rotting fluff.

I didn’t like to believe in the impossible. As a technical analyst, one of my main jobs was to make the impossible, possible, but of course, meeting and dating Steve Rogers meant that I had to deal with the impossible a lot, from aliens to other worlds, to a whole being made out of a computer. Yet, all of those impossible things seemed like nothing compared to getting Steve Rogers to take a day off work. My goal was a whole week. Was it going to happen? I sure hoped so, or else I’d wasted a lot of time, money and favors. I knew one thing for sure though. It wasn’t going to be easy, but like I said, I like making the impossible things possible.

After the retinal scan, handprint, and vocal recognition, I was finally able to enter the Avengers compound. “Ms. Y/N, we were not expecting you today.” FRIDAY voiced.

“I’m just here to surprise Steve. Can you tell me where he is?”

“Certainly. Mr. Rogers is training with Mr. Barnes on the fourth floor.”

“Of course,” I replied, shaking my head with a soft smile. “Thanks FRIDAY.”

Watching Steve train was definitely a very nice perk of being his girlfriend. The training room had two levels, one was a track while the one beneath was covered with equipment and a sparring mat. That’s where I found Steve and Bucky. I climbed between the railings of the top half and sat down, my legs dangling over the edge while I watched. It really was something to see, his determined gaze, the precise movements of his arms and legs, the muscles rippling under his white v-neck . . . it almost had me forgetting my mission. I sat and watched for several moments before Steve finally got the drop on Bucky, pinning him. I let out a cheer, getting both of the super soldiers’ attention.

Steve grinned up at me, but Bucky used his momentary distraction to flip their positions.

“Oops! Sorry!” I called out.

“It’s not your fault that Steve gets distracted easily, darling.” Bucky said with a smirk as he helped his best friend up.

“I don’t get distracted easily.” Steve argued, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“Your current position says otherwise.” Bucky told him, smirking. “Can’t say I blame you though with a girl like that.”

I rolled my eyes at his compliment. “If you’d let me set you up -” I had been trying to get the man to go out on a date with a friend of mine for ages, but he wasn’t having it.

“I told you -”

“I know, I know!” I held up my hands in surrender. “For the record, I disagree with you and so does Steve.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows at the man in question, crossing his arms over his chest, the vibranium reflecting speckles of light around the room.

“You know I’m not supposed to argue with the missus. Especially when she’s right.” Steve said, shrugging his shoulders.

“You two enjoy meddling in my life far too much.” Bucky said.

“It’s my favorite pastime.” I teased.

“Hey now -” Steve interrupted.

“Trust exercise!” I yelled, sliding out of the railing and into the level below, right into my waiting boyfriend’s arms. Immediately, my arms wove around his neck, my legs his waist.

“You’ve got to stop doing that when you want to change the subject.” Steve chided me. “One day someone’s not going to catch you.”

“That would be the purpose of the trust exercise, Steven. When they drop me, I’ll know I can’t trust them.” I told him.

He shook his head at me, and I felt his arms tighten around me, pressing me against his warm chest. “What are you doing here anyway? I didn’t know you were coming by today.”

“Well -”

“I’m going to leave you two to it.” Bucky said with a knowing look. “Good luck,” he said, patting my shoulder as he passed by.

“Good luck?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows at me.

I smiled innocently at him. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Other than being here? Because that’s already a really nice surprise.”

I nodded, flushing just a little at his words. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind and don’t say no immediately.”

“All right . . .” I could tell that Steve was a little worried. He let go of me, and I slid down his body. As soon as my feet touched the floor, he took his hands in my own, keeping me from moving too far away from him.

“Okay, so you know my birthday is next week?”

“Yes . . . I’ve actually talked Fury into letting me head out early -”

“About that . . . you’ve actually got the whole week off.”

Almost immediately he started to protest, but I cut him off before he could.

“I know, you can’t take off that long,” my voice deepened, putting on a poor imitation of his own. “I’m Captain America, I can’t afford to take time off because I never know what’s going to happen.” While my impression was horrible, it did bring a little smile to his face. “Yes, I understand, but I’ve already taken care of that.” I squeezed his hands tightly in my own. “I called in every favor I have with everyone. I’m working overtime for two weeks for Fury, taking Natasha on a shopping spree, cooking for Bucky for a week, and I even called Thor in. Thor! Do you know how hard it is to get in touch with a God who doesn’t have a cell phone or computer?” Steve chuckled a little, and I kept going. “All of them will be here to cover for you while we’re gone. Yes, you are amazing at what you do. You’re an incredible person, a selfless leader, and there’s no denying people need you, but I need you too.”

His eyes darkened a little in sadness, “Y/N, I didn’t know -”

“I didn’t tell you this to make you feel bad, or to make you think I feel like I’m being neglected, because that is so not the case. I think we both know you spoil me far beyond what I need or deserve, and I love every second of time with you. I also love how much you care about keeping people safe. It’s such a big part of you, and I don’t mind it. Really I don’t. I couldn’t be prouder when I see you out there saving the world. I’m just telling you this so you’ll know how important this is to me. I want you to come with me somewhere I love, and honestly, I want you to take a break. Everyone needs one every once in a while. Even Captain America”

He was silent for several moments, considering my speech. My heart pounded as I awaited his response. “Well, how can I turn down an offer like that?”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Had that really worked? Was this actually happening? Maybe I should pinch myself? My grin was so wide my face hurt. “Are you serious?”

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I said no to something you obviously want and went to so much trouble to set up?”

I reached up and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, tugging him down for an intense kiss. No matter how many times we kissed, it would never get old. The butterflies would never stop, his lips would never be uncomfortable, and my knees would never not be weak. I tried to show him just how happy I was with his decision in my kiss. I didn’t pull away until I knew my super soldier was breathless.

“I should take days off more often.” Steve replied, our faces still only inches apart.

“I love you,” I told him, my smile soft and gentle as I nuzzled my nose against his.

“I love you too,” he said, pressing another brief kiss against my lips.

I trailed my hands down his chest, regretting that I would now have to leave. I always hated leaving him. It always felt so whole and right when I was with him, it made leaving miserable, but I knew I now had things to do. “Okay, I have to go finish packing, and you need to start.” I said, tapping his chest with my finger.

“You’re leaving already?” Steve said, frowning down at me.

I kissed it away softly. “Don’t worry Rogers. I’ll make it up to you all week at the beach.”

“The beach, huh?” He asked with raised eyebrows.

I nodded, grabbing a hold of his shirt once again and leaning up to whisper in his ear. “Which means bikinis.” I kissed his cheek, grinning at his equally pleased and distracted expression. “I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow!” I told him happily before practically skipping away.

Mission accomplished.

-----

“Bucky! What the hell?”

“Language, Steve,” Bucky said, grinning up at his best friend.

“You know what I was planning for her birthday and you went along with her idea?” Steve was absolutely furious with his friend. Weeks and weeks of planning had just gone down the drain, and now he was right back to square one.

“Really, I thought you’d be happy with me.” Bucky told him.

“Why would I be happy with you?”

“Because instead of some proposal at a baseball game that’s been done hundreds of times, you’ll get to do a super romantic one on the beach. I thought that screamed Steve Rogers.”

Steve sat down on the couch beside Bucky, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the strange yet colorful piece of artwork that Tony had placed on the wall. After a moment his shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “You thought my idea was bad?”

“She likes baseball, but she likes watching you watch it more.” He pointed out, patting his best friend’s shoulder sympathetically.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” He asked him.

“Because that ring has been burning a hole in your pocket for months now. I was just happy you were finally doing it.” Bucky told him.

Steve tensed up a little bit. Had it really only been months now? It felt like longer. “I haven’t found the right -”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head at his friend. It was hard to believe sometimes that this oblivious man was the same guy who led a team of Avengers. “Steve, we picked that ring out six months ago. You haven’t found the right time in six months?” Bucky asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Steve scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not wanting to answer Bucky’s question.

“She’s not going to say no.” Bucky assured him.

That wasn’t what had been holding Steve back. He knew she would say yes. That didn’t mean she didn’t deserve better. “She should. I wouldn’t want to marry me. Gone all the time -”

“Getting in unnecessary fights -”

“-Occasionally on the run -”

“-Waking up at an ungodly hour in the morning -”

“-Everyone I love is constantly in danger-”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Steve, I wouldn’t marry you either.” Bucky teased him with a smirk.

Steve sighed, pulling out the small velvet box that he carried with him at all times. “She will though.”

Bucky patted his shoulder as Steve opened up the box, revealing the ring.

The band was rose gold, something he knew she would love, small oval diamonds surrounding half of it with one large oval diamond in the middle. It was simple, it was beautiful, and it was perfect for her.

“You gotta ask her first, Punk.”

Steve nodded, closing the box back up. Bucky was right. She was perfect for him. Everything that he wanted and more. For so long he had been afraid to settle down, thinking the next big disaster could be the last one, and he didn’t want anyone suffering when he didn’t come home. Now though, the world was semi at peace, and while he knew that he was always in danger, he wanted to be selfish for once. He wanted her in his life, he needed her, and he knew that she needed him. She was his safe place and he was hers. Steve didn’t want to waste another second of whatever time he had left without her by his side.“I’m going to do it. I don’t want to waste anymore time. Before we come back, I’m going to propose to her.” He said with determination.

“Good, and then when you get back, you can break the news to Wilson that I’m your best man.” Bucky told him, grinning excitedly.

Steve just shook his head.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers fanfiction

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shadow-light19 · 6 years

Text

The Wolf of Lilac Lake: Dr. Redwood and Mr. Hyde Act 2

Summary: David unleashes Hyde and soon realizes the mistake he has made.

Notes: There is one last part to this story. It became longer than I thought so I downsized it to compensate. Also, have some more Preston and David interaction as well as more dadvid! Just in case, David is capable of partial transformation. He elongates his nails and teeth as Daniel but the audience just thinks its special effects.

Previous Chapter: https://shadow-light19.tumblr.com/post/174324549652/the-wolf-of-lilac-lake-dr-redwood-and-mr-hyde

Songs used in this act

Better Than You from Camp Camp (Daniel’s part only)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wb1Ai9-r8FA

Confrontation from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oECK1dNbuho

Act 2

“-ntermission! We will begin again in 10 minutes. If you have yet to visit the concession stand, please do so. All proceeds go to funding the camp. Thank you!”

Preston ducked back under the curtains. He walked past the stagehands setting up the next scene and sought out David and the trio.

“Beautiful, David! Absolutely stunning! I can just feel the disgust and distress from you.”

Max rolled his eyes.

“That’s because he is disgusted and distressed.”

He gestured to David who was sobbing and being comforted by Nikki. Preston frowned and walked over. Neil looked up at him and gestured for him to fix this.

“David? Why are you upset? You were amazing!”

David looked up from where he was sitting.

“A-All of those p-poor children! I know it’s fake but it hurts to imagine any of that happening to you kids.”

Max, Nikki, and Neil looked away. Preston patted David on the shoulder.

“Come on, David. I know it makes you sad but that’s because you have so much heart. It’s amazing to see because half of your acting is the real you! That’s why the audience loves it! Now, come on. I need you to get mean. What would you do if you ever encountered such abuse and neglect in real-life?”

David wiped his eyes. He looked at the ground before looking back up with a determined expression.

“I would make sure the kids are away from such an environment and I would give my last breath trying!”

Max, Nikki, and Neil looked at him in surprise.

“That’s right! What would you do to anyone who tried to stop you, to people who condone it?”

Preston continued to rile him up. David stood and smacked his fist into his palm.

“I would like to see anyone try to stop me! You can’t mess with me when I get hard!”

Preston raised an eyebrow at him. Max smacked his face with his hand and Nikki and Neil started snickering.

“Oh-kay… I can work with that! Now get ready, David, because I want you to funnel that emotion into the next act!”

David marched to the stage.

“Don’t forget to partially transform when you become Hyde!”

Preston called out before turning to the trio.

“You guys did astoundingly as well! You all are great singers but Max, I am especially impressed with you. The father-son dynamic you and David have going is so natural.”

Max raised a brow at Preston.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Preston smiled and held a hand to his heart.

“There’s something about the way you two interact that can’t be faked. I don’t know what it is but if I didn’t know you two, I would’ve assumed you were family.”

Max glared at Preston.

“That has to be the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard. Get away from me before I choke you with the cords for the stage lights for even suggesting that David and I could along like that.”

Preston shrugged his shoulders and went back to the stage to announce the next act.

“EVERYONE! Get to your places! We are beginning the next act!”

He walked back to the side of the stage. David looked at him and he gave a thumbs up. Preston returned it before signaling for Nurf to dim the lights.

*Evening in the laboratory

David looked at his notebook that contained another set of observations on Cassandra. She had come in with a broken wrist. The bruises on it looked like a hand. He could see that she was uncomfortable around her Aunt, who had brought her in today. David figured she was responsible but he needed more proof. The kids were hanging out in the living room, already fed and relaxing before bedtime. David had gone down to the lab to test the serum.

“Hey, little guy.” He grabbed the cage that had the mouse he had saved.

He tested the serum on it. David slipped a picture of a cat into the cage. The mouse ignored it.

Perfect. Next up.

He took a second serum and gave that to the mouse as well. When he slipped in another picture of a cat, it fled to the corner of the cage.

I think it works. Seems safe at least.

He grabbed the two serums and pocketed them. Then he walked out into the town.

*Night outside the Midler Residence

David pulled out the first serum as he approached the house.

If God, can’t stop them, I will.

He drank the serum. His convulsed as his hair turned bleach blond, his clothes turned white, his teeth sharpened into long canines, his fingernails became sharp claws, and his green eyes became icy blue.

“Well, well, well.” He looked at himself under the moonlight.

“This worked better than I hoped. Now, let's go find Alison’s father. I’d say he’s escaped justice for far too long.”

Daniel picked the lock. He silently pushed the door open and looked around.

*Inside the Midler’s residence

He found the master bedroom and walked inside. Midler and his wife were asleep. Daniel unsheathed his knife, a long-crooked thing, and approached the man. The man shifted and woke up to the sound of footsteps. He screeched but Daniel muffled him with the blanket. The wife quickly woke up and huddled in the corner of the room.

“Good evening Mr. Midler. How does it feel to feel the same fear that your daughter, Alison, felt before you killed her?”

Midler sputtered and shoved Daniel’s hands off of him.

“Now listen you, I don’t know what’s going on but that was a freak accident! The stupid brat injured herself. Now get out of my house before I call the police!”

Daniel cut the cord to the phone that was by the bedside table.

“Oh-ho, sir. I must say I don’t take kindly to liars. All that negative emotion your releasing is poisoning the good people around us. It poisoned you, it poisoned your wife, and it poisoned your daughter.”

Midler backed up until he fell off the bed, then continued backing up until he was against the wall. He looked down at the knife in Daniel’s hand then back to the madly-grinning man.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Daniel spun the knife in his hand and cracked his head almost completely horizontally.

“I’m going to rid this world of your poisonous filth. You’ll never taint the purity of others around you EVER again.”

Midler shivered at his drawl.

“It wasn’t my fault! She made me do it! That piece of shit disobeyed me!”

Daniel tsked at him.

“You really are a monster. What a shame I couldn’t save that poor child.”

Midler bristled.

“You’re the monster! Breaking into my house, threatening me, torturing me like this!”

Daniel whipped the knife up the Midler’s neck. He pressed firmly enough to draw blood but not enough to kill.

“Sure, I am a monster by your standards but I’m just doing Zemoog’s work. Who’s the better man? The man who killed his daughter or the man who killed a murderer?”

Midler spat in Daniel’s face. Daniel let out a snarl of disgust before breathing deeply to calm himself down.

“You won’t get away with it, freak!”

Daniel let the pressure of his knife slacken. His chuckled slightly before it morphed into a loud cackle.

“Oh, you filthy, pathetic cretin.”

He caressed Midler’s cheek.

“You seem impressed by all your lies,

But I don’t find them that compelling.

You left her to her own demise,

And well, I think that’s pretty telling.”

Midler shoved Daniel away and lunged to attack him but Daniel side-stepped and tripped him. Midler landed heavily on the floor.

“And while we’re on the subject of,

How it all went from push to shove,

You, ought to know your you’ll pay your due.”

He pulled the man to his knees by his collar and got in his face.

“I know that might be hard to swallow.

This won’t take long and then I’ll leave.

You’re gonna die and soon this town will know what,

Child abusers will receive.”

He threw the man against the wall. He hit it forcefully. The man groaned and raised a hand to his head.

“You’ve been outdone,

Now you see who really won,

But it was fun.

Your end’s begun, and

Soon they’ll know I’m better than you!”

Daniel grabbed his collar and slammed him to the ground. He slashed his throat and stabbed the man multiple times, smiling as blood sprayed everywhere and the man gurgled a scream.

“And I’ll prove it to them too!

I’ll cut you up so gruesomely,

And then they’ll know that it was me.

You’ll rot in hell where you belong,

And join the screaming, writhing, throng,

Of sinners where justice is done.”

The man stopped struggling. His eyes stared sightlessly off ahead, wide in fear. Daniel cleaned the knife on the man’s shirt and sheathed it.

“They’ll know I’m better than you.”

The wife sobbed in the corner. Daniel turned his attention to her. She flinched.

“Now dear, don’t be afraid.” Daniel crouched in front of her.

“I know you had nothing to do with her death. This had to be done.”

The woman stopped sobbing but didn’t stop shaking.

“Did you know that you can be purified? Cleansed of your sins and the taint of negative emotions that surround you? What if I told you the world didn’t have to be so cruel and unforgiving?”

*Afternoon at the clinic

David was preparing a room for his next patient with the radio on.

“The latest on the news is the recently discovered death of Joshua Midler, the principle of Sleepy Peak Elementary. The man was discovered brutally murdered this morning in his own home. Police on the scene could not find any information on this assailant. Barbara Midler was found huddled in the corner, dressed completely in white, while smiling and mumbling about purity and negative emotions. At the moment the police do not consider her to be a suspect. She has been released from police custody and allowed to return home to aid in her recovery from this traumatic event. Her daughter Alison Midler died two days ago from an accident. Barbara Midler is the last surviving member of her family.”

David turned the radio off.

It looks like my serum worked a little too well. I hope Barbara is alright. It sounds like she was traumatized.

David heard the bell ring for the clinic door and turned to see his newest patient, Harrison.

“Good afternoon, Harrison, Mr. Sanders.”

He saw Marshall enter with his hand on his son��s shoulder.

“Good morning, Dr. Redwood! How are you today?”

David smiled.

“Please, call me David! I’m doing well thank you. If you will step right this way, I’ll give you a checkup. Do you want your father to come in with you, Harrison?”

Harrison nodded.

“Okay, right this way then.”

David led them to the room he prepared and sat Harrison down on the chair. He gave him a quick check-up, noted down the healing bruises and cuts on his arms and back, and used his stethoscope to listen to his breathing.

“You’re breathing seems a little irregular, Harrison. Does it hurt to breathe deeply?”

Harrison tried to breathe deeper but he winced. David wrote that down as well.

“I got punched by a bully at school yesterday,” Harrison admitted shyly.

David went and grabbed a bottle of children’s Tylenol.

“I want you to take this if it becomes too painful, alright? Follow the directions I’ve written here for you. Other than that you’re good to go.”

They thanked him and left. David looked over his notes.

Too many cuts to be clumsy. I’d say some were intentionally made. Some bruises were varied in shape as though hit by different objects. I’d say maybe something blunt since there were rarely any cuts on the bruises. Maybe it really is a bully? I’ll ask Max when he gets home.

David sighed and locked up the clinic.

*Evening in the house

David set his keys by the door and started on dinner. Neil was spending the night at his mother’s house today so he set the table for three.

“Hey, Dad! We’re home!”

David knelt down with his arms out. Nikki and Max ran up to him and hugged him. He guided them into the kitchen and brought them a snack.

“How was your guys’ day?” David asked.

Nikki started rambling about something funny that happened in math class. David listened as she talked and laughed when the story was over.

“And you, son?”

Max started working on his homework.

“Nothing really special happened today. Harrison left class early though.”

David nodded.

“He had an appointment with me today. That reminds me, does Harrison get bullied?”

Max looked surprised but nodded.

“Yeah but Nurf hasn’t been at school this week. He caught the flu.”

David frowned.

Okay, so Harrison lied to me. But why? Maybe there is more truth to the abuse case than I thought.

David helped the kids with their homework and once it was night time again, headed down into the lab. He pulled out a binder with the file on Cassandra in it and added his file on Harrison to it.

Two kids who are likely being abused. I’ll take care of Harrison’s father tonight since I have proof.

David grabbed another pair of serums and left the laboratory.

*Afternoon of the next day in the house

David didn’t have many patients today and welcomed the relief of finishing work early. He wanted to hear the news to know what happened last night.

“There is belief that we have a serial killer in Sleepy Peak. Police are on high alert for a blond man that was seen leaving the Hayes’ residence last night. When police arrived, the aunt was brutally murdered and the daughter Cassandra Hayes was dead. It seemed she died by drinking juice containing rat poison. Cassandra did show signs of child abuse and the parents exhibited similar symptoms to Barbara Midler. Both we dressed completely in white and going on about negative emotions and purifying the innocent so that they may be saved. The man also visited the Sanders’ residence last night. Harrison Sanders was found dead by the same method as Cassandra and his father was brutally murdered. Harrison also showed signs of abuse.

In other news, there is a new religion rising in the town-”

David covered his mouth with his hand.

That isn’t what I wanted! Why are the kids dying?! Why did I visit Cassandra’s house too?!

“Because they needed to be saved!”

David froze.

Why did I just say that?

The strange feeling came over him again.

“If I didn’t save them, they would’ve continued to bathe in a negative rich environment all their lives until they died as tainted as the people who hurt them.”

David was paralyzed in terror. He ran into his bedroom where he saw his appearance on his full-body mirror. He was conscious this time as Daniel took over the body and David saw his other form fully in the mirror. He changed back to David.

“This is insane! What’s going on? I’m not supposed to be able to change without the serum!”

“Oh, my poor David. You really don’t realize? I’m getting stronger. Soon, I will control you and continue my God’s work!”

David snarled.

“You murdered children! I only wanted to kill those who were absolutely guilty but escaped justice!”

He tugged his hair with his hands.

“I never wanted this!”

“Yes, you did. Face it! What better way to save children, than to make sure they can never be hurt again? Zemoog will protect them. They have been saved from the negative emotions that clog this wretched world. We are down here suffering and clawing our way through the darkness of life. This is no life for innocent children! That’s why some people hurt them. They know how clean and pure children are and want that respite for themselves.” David clenched his hands into fists.

“What madness are you talking about, you monster! None of what you say makes any sense to me!”

Daniel smiled and cracked his neck.

“What a mean thing to say to yourself, David. After all, you are the one who created me remember? Daniel Hyde is your disguise! You wanted to murder those people, I just went through with your desires.”

David ran down to the lab and drank the second serum. He was terrified and panting harshly. He created and drank the second serum one more time to make sure it counteracted the effects of the one that created Daniel.

Never again will I take the serum. I do not like what I have become.

He dumped the serums together and then poured them down the drain. He took the recipe he created for the first serum and burned it.

Let this be the end.

*Next night at the Laboratory

David finally calmed down. All day he worried about Daniel somehow getting out but nothing ever happened. David sighed and bent over his desk, hands in his hair. He was thankful this whole mess was over. Max, Nikki, and Neil were suspicious that something had been upsetting him and had done their best to cheer him up. He smiled as he thought of his precious kids. However, he didn’t want them to ever find out how low he had fallen.

All I heard on the news today was the continued investigation into Daniel’s murders and about some new religion that seems to parallel the beliefs that Daniel spouted.

David sighed and looks at the newspaper front lining the murders.

I never wanted those poor kids to die. My twisted sense of justice has caused so much pain and suffering… but now…

”It’s over now I know inside,

No one will ever know,

The sorry tale of Daniel Hyde,

And those who died…

No one must ever know.”

He closed the notebook and left it on the desk. He made his way over to the mouse in the cage. The little creature ran up to him and nuzzled his hand.

“They only see the tragedy.

They’d not see my intent.

The shadow of his evil,

Would forever kill,

The good that I had meant.”

He turned to his desk and picked up a photo of him and Max.

“Am I a good man?

Am I a madman?”

He hugged the photo close.

“It’s such a fine line

Between a good man and a…”

“Do you really think?

That I would ever let you go?”

David jumped.

No, but I-!

“Do you really think I’d ever set you free?”

David whirled around and ran to a bookshelf by the stairs. He tossed items aside as he looked through a drawer for a mirror.

“If you do I’m sad to say,

It simply isn’t so.

You will never get away from me!”

David gave up and slammed it shut.

He turned to his left and stomped to the center of the room.

“All that you are is a face in the mirror!

I close my eyes and you’ll disappear!”

He felt the change take over and suddenly his body was facing the right.

“I’m what you face when you face in the mirror!

Long as you live I will still be here!

David grasped control again and rushed to his desk. He started writing own ways to get rid of Daniel.

“All that you are is the end of a nightmare!

All that you are is a dying scream!

After tonight, I shall end this demon’s dream!”

Daniel resumed control and picked the book off the desk.

“This is not a dream my friend, and it will never end.

This one is the nightmare that goes on!”

He ripped the page out and shredded it.

“I am here to stay no matter what you may pretend,

And I’ll flourish long after you’re gone!”

David snarled and snatched control back. He plopped the book down and started writing on a new page.

“Soon you will die and my memory will hide you! You cannot choose but to lose control!”

“You can’t control me I live deep inside you!

Each day you’ll feel me devour your soul.”

David started grabbing chemicals and pouring them in beakers.

“I don’t need you to survive as you need me!

I’ll become whole as you dance with death!

And I’ll rejoice as you breathe your final breath!”

He felt Daniel hurl his consciousness from control.

“I’ll live inside you forever!”

“No!”

David tried to gain control again.

“With Zemoog himself by my side!”

“Nooo!”

David could feel his strength fading. He tried with all his might to grasp control.

“And I know that now and forever,

They’ll never be able to separate Redwood from Hyde!”

David felt relief as he took over his body once again.

“Can’t you see it’s over now!

It’s time to die!”

He added the last ingredient to the solution. He backed away from the desk and gripped his head as Daniel forced his control again.

“No, not I! Only you!”

David felt a strong rush of fear. He didn’t have the mental strength to regain his body.

“If I die, you’ll die too!”

“You’ll die in me, I’ll BE you!”

If David could cry, he would.

“Damn, you Hyde! Leave me be!”

“Can’t you see? You are me!”

“No deep inside-“

“I am you! You are Hyde!”

“No, never!”

“Yes, forever!”

Daniel walked out of the lab.

“God damn you, Hyde! When I get my chance, I will end you!”

He threw the front door open and stalked out into the town.

“You will never break through. Ha-ha-ha… Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

#camp camp #cc david #cc daniel #cc max #cc nikki #cc neil #cc preston #cc harrison #camp camp fanfiction #werewolf david au #dadvid

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isthisableism · 6 years

Text

🚨🚨Disabled comrade in need of emergency assistance!! 🚨🚨

Copy-pasted from a Facebook post, with permission

Posted by Katrina:

I am in a really bad spot.

I have an important appointment with my eye doctor tomorrow. My sight depends on it.

Apparently I don't have insurance. I don't have a ride. I don't have things that were supposed to be taken care of.

If I can manage to drive, maybe they will even see me when I don't have the cash for the visit, but it's doubtful.

Then I have court Friday for an expired registration that I wasn't able to get taken care of, because I've been experiencing so much hardship. I don't know what will happen with that?!

I think it's worse to have half assed "support". People think you're being helped and cared for, when you really are being sabotaged. Malicious or not, that's my material reality.

I can't get anyone to aid me in getting assistance from social services like Medicaid.

My 2.5 year long social security application and accrued back pay was throw out because I trusted someone to mail off an appeal when I was not physically able to. The tracking number receipt was misplaced and of course they said they "didn't get it".

I don't have any energy or ability to go find an advocate. Everyone wants you to come in for an appointment, but I can barely make it to see doctors.

Being sick and poor is a death sentence. It seems that I'll probably have to wait til I have cancer from my high risk syndrome to get any official help.

There is plenty of evidence that I'm disabled, but the gov orgs have beuroRATS who are only familiar with more common stuff. Even with that, I should be a clear example of someone unable to fend for myself, trapped, in a state of neglect.

I really did try to keep making some income. I can't rely on my body. I pushed too hard for too long.

Even having a private policy was supposed to be temporary last year! Just for the few months it would take to get approved for public assistance!

All my records are a mess from moving, I was never able to physically get all that shit together and see someone.

I keep having health events pop up that prevent me from doing all that.

I'm disabled. This whole broken system is so ableist.

I can't always drive, have been hemorrhaging cash on medical costs, and have nothing left, I can't dig any deeper. There's never even enough for food and meds.

How the fuck was I supposed to go to the DMV? Things just keep snowballing. The hole is getting deeper.

If I'm underinsured I really won't be eligible for any programs, but I have emergencies pop up and can't go without. You have to be in good standing with these doctors. I'm in collections with so many medical bills.

This stress is the biggest trigger to my symptoms flaring. I'm unable to present my case and start over again. No one makes house calls.

I really don't want make a go fund me for myself and exploit that kind of biased platform, but I know I don't deserve this either.

I've been way less active on here lately trying to give myself a break, but nothing helps.

There are so many things I could try to get better quality of life and functionality, but they're just not accessible.

Even if I'm approved for Medicaid, they don't cover a lot of the stuff I'll need, there will always be more hoops to jump through.

I can't even get myself mobility aids, braces, things like that.

I can't just shell out $1000 to try a med that may not work or go to therapy.

To get the Medicaid you have to have a current social security application. I'm at my breaking point.

I shared what happened to me with the local eye doctor in a post a while back.

I was sexually harassed, physically assaulted, intimidated, and defrauded. That's why I'm still having to go back and forth to this new doctor, still on these eye meds, and having complications.

I can't catch a break. The fucking pig who pulled me over didn't have to give me a citation, but went ahead and did. I was almost home from a 13 hour day. I had to go 4 hours away to see my PCP and back, got detoured, just utterly demoralizing.

I needed to see these doctors to get well enough to even be able to go get all my stuff up to date with my car, license etc.

I needed to get my flare under control first off, so I can see, so I'm not spending every dime on copays, and to document just how screwed I am.

Every period of time that I go without the medical care I need is also going to be held against me. They're not going to see that I should have had tens of thousands of dollars or more worth of medical care. They just want to see how much you've actually spent.

So, when I should have had all this stuff checked out or fixed, I've just been terrified and suffering more.

I need a miracle, but in the meantime, I really need emergency funds and solidarity. I mean it when I say I am physically unable to do this shit.

I don't know how to even express how bad spending hours on the phone fighting for help, being told to "just go here", etc makes my symptoms worse.

Those stressors make me shut down. They incapacitate me.

I'm in debilitating pain and can't even make my case anymore. There is no "doing what you have to do". I'm past all that. I did that until there was nothing left. It really is too much.

Please help in any way you can. Before I got so sick I took care of people. I really was there for others. I still am emotionally. I give moral support, people seek my advice, I freely give what I have to offer, I know it's not much, but I'm not worthless.

I'm still a problem solver, you have to be when you can't take care of yourself, I'm at a loss here though.

Sadly, there just isn't reciprocity from those who benefitted from me when I was able to be organized, thorough, physically supportive, I showed up for people. For shit like this!

I guess I'm disposable. I'm a prop for photo ops on holidays and other functions like that, but otherwise abandoned beyond superficial appearances. From the outside it looks like I have people in my corner, but I really don't. Not in a meaningful way that counts.

That hurts more than truly being alone. Then I'd probably have more tangible relief.

So, please, I really need a hand here. I don't need general life advice, I really don't think I can take suggestions like that right now. I don't need medical advice. Well, I do, but from my doctors.

I need solidarity and action. I am open to thoughts on how to get over the obstacles that I've mentioned. Specifically, how do I get crowd sourcing going? Can someone please help with that? Do I work that even though it's problematic as fuck?! Ya know? I am being left to rot.

Can y'all please share elsewhere for me as well? I can barely keep myself composed thinking about this stuff. I've been through some shit, but I'm tapped out. My eyes are acting up. I'm dreading what that means.

What's going to happen at court? I am not ready to give up my old car, nor would I feel safe doing so. I need it for emergencies. People really don't get that I can't just be somewhere as planned at 9:30 am, let alone face a judge! My body doesn't work like that.

The more indigent I appear, the more discriminated against I am with healthcare providers, and they're shitty at helping with the clerical paperwork shit even when you have your shit together.

If anyone could write up a post that can be used for reaching out to the general public, that would be extremely helpful.

I'm not worried about my pride, but I am in a very vulnerable dependent situation. I really need things to turn around. I need to be able to have my surgeries and to take better care of myself, to have the fixable stress alleviated.

Here's my PayPal...

paypal.me/KMartling

#disability #assistance #disabled #mutual aid #support #emergency #signal boost

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leo--chimaira-blog · 6 years

Text

New Face of Fear

Leo wished he’d been a little smarter with the whole letting Noah out of his cage at the request of Reza, Cahill, and one unknown werewolf. The Family finding out about it was inevitable, as Dharm always knew about problems before they even happened, yet he felt like he could’ve played up his part a bit more. They could’ve thrown him around a little more (though he still had a colossal, massive hand-shaped bruise on his face from that highly dangerous alpha, Cahill, which definitely helped), or threatened more creatively to make it feel more like he had no choice in the matter. The way things went, he all but rolled out the red carpet for them and sent them away with goodie bags, which the Family certainly wouldn’t be happy hearing.

Here, there weren’t secrets (or, he wasn’t allowed secrets of his own, the hypocritical snakes), or so much as the whitest of fibs, there were sins that were temporarily overlooked by Dharm until they built up enough to warrant punishment. Today, Leo realized as his phone buzzed with an ominous Meet me in the basement, was the day he reached the end of his chain.

Well, freedom was nice while it lasted. A small, weak part of him was looking forward to having things like personal agency locked back away by the Gift, because really, he didn’t even know how to begin to process that their whole group murdered nonhumans without so much as letting them say goodbye to their families. The Family dismissed them as a liability, something to be exterminated, but in reality, every creature was different, and even if they were evil through and through, it was still insanely cruel to let them all starve to death, or keep them in cages like he’d done to Noah, or shoot them in the head like Maryse ordered of that intruding man. Leo didn’t know how to go about living with that on his shoulders, couldn’t begin to fathom.

Going against Dharm was already a strain on his poor mind, as he suffered from feeling insect legs up and down his spine and bat wings all through his guts and his neck muscles were so tense from it all he’d probably have knots in them until he died. The link was too faint to do anything except hum unhappily and occasionally make him spout propaganda when he was trying to talk to people. He didn’t want to continue to act in a way that made those effects continue, plus Dharm probably had a lot to say about responsibility and consequences.

More than anything, Leo wished he didn’t know. He wished he was capable of returning to Dharm’s arms and accept whatever fate was planned for his insubordination. And with the Gift backing his dad up, he may have no choice but to bend to his will.

That in itself didn’t scare Leo. It’d been the dynamic since day one. Everyone else, however, the ones outside their control, all running around directionless and loveless that he found off-putting. He had purpose with Dharm.

But after everything he’d seen… it was all a lie. How could they have everyone’s best interest at heart when that involved promising to rehabilitate nonhumans and then neglecting them until they died in agony? They knew it was wrong enough to hide.

Leo wasn’t supposed to know. His role was to struggle, to be a gentle, malleable prince who’d only toughen up when Dharm died and it came time for him to inherit the Relics, keeping his faithful aunt and uncles by his side to advise, lofty positions safe even as the crown changed heads. Certainly none of them expected him to find out about their sick little setup, much less start developing opinions of his own on the matter.

At the point, he didn’t have a choice. Leo couldn’t just go back to being ignorant, as appealing as it was, no matter what he faced in the basement.

He puttered around the kitchen for another minute, drinking a cup of water to stall for time and prepare.

Already, the old letters branded into the small of his back throbbed in anticipation, as they were a favorite target of Dharm’s when it came time to be physical. Leo wished he’d pick another place to torment; the scars healed slow, flesh so ruined from the initial fire and all the times it’d been reopened, toyed with, or scorched again that it scarcely closed up anymore. Follow, it once read, inflicted with love and the desire for Leo to take its meaning to heart, but the letters were now warped almost beyond recognition.

Despite his numerous reservations and growing sense of dread, Leo’s instinct to be a dedicated son won out as he finished his water, placed the used glass in the dishwasher, ruffled his hair, and made his way to the basement. Its eerily creaky door paired with stairs that sounded like dying cats under his feet let Dharm know he was on his way down to the earth-scented room.

The space was circular in shape with a faded creamy brown wallpaper that peeled up around the edges, a wooden floor upon which was carved a number of commands (they may have summarized the speech from his seminars, but Leo’s head spun too hard when he tried to read what they said, too slippery and elusive for him to absorb), enough ancient rugs to cover the words up, and Dharm’s rocking chair, similarly marked. For now, it also contained Dharm himself, seated sagely with his lantern propped up on his knee, watching his son pad off the final step with disappointment already fresh over his pointed features.

“Hey, dad. You called me?” Leo tried weakly, like he wasn’t aware of exactly what this little meeting was about. “What’s up?”

“Leo,” Dharm sighed, “don’t play this game today. You know what you did.”

“What did I do?”

His blue eyes glinted in the dim light, unreadable. “I’ve been hearing some pretty strange stories. People are saying there was a werewolf on the property who wasn’t initiated. Have you heard anything about that?”

Leo shook his head innocently.

“So you don’t know he got busted out a few nights ago?”

Another head shake.

“Say it out loud.”

“I had no idea he was here.”

Dharm laughed, cold. “Boy, you are a hoot. You realize what you’ve done, right? You just confirmed your role in his release. And you lied to me.”

The accusation was clear in his voice. It was one thing to keep a secret, but quite another to speak slander to the face of the man who controlled all Gifts. Leo should be compelled to tell the truth at all times, but instead was sticking to his false guns with only mild efforts. It was under Dharm’s skin, too, fingers curled too tight around the handle of the lantern, leaning forward in his chair with interest, icy eyes appraising.

He was gearing up to tear the prodigal son down into his rightful place, under his heel, too obedient for deceit, but Leo didn’t want to go along anymore. “I never lied to you.

“But you did. Just now.” Dharm’s lips pulled back over his teeth. “This game you’re playing, Leo, it’s making you weak. Working against your own family? That’s a sin. I can feel it eating away at you.”

Leo’s skin crawled. The remnants of the spirit linking him to Dharm was beginning to thrum alive from where he’d pushed it down, weakened after the trauma of discovering the legion of dead. He wasn’t going to bow to its will. He knew better. But he couldn’t quite form the words to tell the man no.

“Obey,” said his dad sternly, stepping into the center of the room and jerking his head in a ‘come here’ motion.

Leo guiltily allowed himself to be moved, less from the desire to continue down this road and more out of habit. He was bent over backwards at the knees, shoulders supported by Dharm’s thigh, kept from sliding off with a firm arm looped around his neck. The position was reminiscent of being baptized, but instead of crashing to the floor, Leo was suspended there, helpless to his dad’s will, nothing to break his fall if he were to wriggle away, head left to dangle awkwardly. Dharm’s free hand came down like a vice, heel resting just between his brows, palm flat and fingers clawing to keep him still. From here, he couldn’t run, or speak, or even struggle. Not that he would’ve, since Dharm hated being interrupted.

“It’s my fault too, of course. I’ve let you run wild without consequence for too long. I saw this malice growing inside you and did nothing.” The voice was cold and husky and came from everywhere.

Leo thought that was a load of manure. Behind his eyes flashed the dozens of dozens of nonhumans which lay without graves, mangled and forgotten, without allowing them even a goodbye to their families. He could imagine all too clearly what it must’ve been like to sit there, still as death, docile, and silent as hunger and thirst raged in their bones, surrounded by rot, yet having complete faith that any minute, an initiate would come with the secret to enlightenment, setting them free from their terrible affliction, which was, obviously, their nature. Or worse, they might’ve just sat there fully aware that nobody was coming, and being perfectly okay with it. Their lives were putty in the hands of the Family, falling through their fingers to splat on the sidewalk and cook into clay under the sun.

And on top of all that, how many times had they fabricated this pretense? How long were they watching, laughing at him and his rosy blindfold, preaching about their superiority when they knew full well that they were just as ugly as anyone else? No, Leo wouldn’t bend his will so easily. Not when Noah was the only living soul to escape death’s greedy claw.

He was glad the kid free, because he was safe and with his own weird family, and Leo could accept his part in the whole thing and move on. It was strange that he of all people, who lived and breathed for his family, who knew better than anyone else how family kept each other sane, played a part in keeping the guy from his werewolf pack and Reza. They were pretty damn happy to have Noah back. Dharm was just mad that Leo wasn’t acting according to his dictation any longer.

“Consider this my apology, boy. I’ve let you suffer too long in chaos. When I rip it out,” here his hissing voice became like gravel, pronouncing the rest with awful leisure, “you’ll be empty enough to fill with fear.”

With the force of the Relic to back him up, Dharm’s palm seared against Leo’s scalp. The vision blurred, morphing into something darker, corpses turning monstrous, growing fangs, skin purpling, yellow eyes rolling around dully as if they were all intricate puppets springing around with an unseen hand pulling at their spines, tickling their dead nerves into spastic motion, spewing maggots and liquefied intestines at every twitch from their gaping mouths and spots where flesh flaked clean away from the bone. But more than that, more than disgust, more than panic, Leo’s link had lit up, helpless to do anything except experience the terror that echoed wildly between them.

“We fight monsters for a reason.” Dharm leaned down and whispered so close to his ear, he could feel his stale breath on his cheek. “Fear brings order, isn’t that what I’ve always told you? From the state you’re in, removing all that chaos will hurt. I expect you to bear it proudly. It’s for your Family.”

Leo’s mouth fell open in horror, brain kindling beneath his skull. He tried to jerk away, and was met with a harsh squeeze of fingertips into his temple. This wasn’t right, it was the Family who wallowed in chaos and deception, not Leo, but the thought melted away like dew through the rising temperature.

“I’ve got you, boy.”

Dharm’s entire body rumbled with the words, but Leo didn’t hear, eyes rolled back in his head, ears beginning to bleed, leaking steadily down his neck. He was paralyzed with the movement of the Gift. It was writhing like a squirrel was trapped there, caught between using its contents to build a nest and trying desperately to escape, gnawing and clawing, making room by any means possible. Dharm told him to be composed, so he didn’t make a single sound, biting his tongue even as his body arched.

What was the point of his rebelliousness? What good did free will do when all it got him was dragged into his place with all the ceremony of a spider waiting for its venom to still its tangled dinner? Was it worth it? In that moment, webs tangling up his mind, Leo decided it wasn’t. He surrendered, blacking out.

Time passed.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t move, and if it weren’t for the swollen, satisfied thing behind his ears, he’d have suffocated. He was the same as those awful dead beasts. Disobedient. Chaotic. Straying from the path of enlightenment.

He didn’t deserve his own breath as long as he worked against Dharm.

Swimming closer to awareness, his eyes fluttered open, he recognized that he was laying on his front, neck just beginning to ache from being turned at an uncomfortable angle. Maryse had joined them, standing against the wall with her arms crossed, sorrowful as she watched Dharm, who knelt over Leo’s back with her borrowed knife. The superheated blade following the same old path along the ruined skin and shot nerves. He thought he’d be sick, hurting worse and worse with every pass.

Follow. He intended to. Whatever conflict- its exact nature eluded him currently- wasn’t worth fighting with his family. This was where he belonged.

He must have made some noise- already going back on the resolution to stay silent- because immediately both eyes snapped to him, and momentarily, the pain ceased. Like a comforting blanket, the refreshed link jumped to follow some unspoken command from his dad, smothering Leo back into oblivion so he didn’t have to feel the sharp, ever-burning point return to his spine.

#touchofsolo #touchofpotw #potw the long arm #body horror tw #gore tw #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #new face of fear #tldr; leo gets his flat ass re-brainwashed so he's loyal to them again #>: ]

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ladydracarysao3 · 6 years

Note

Since I love hearing you babble about writing... Care to talk about Nemesis of Neglect? I know you're wary about spoilers, so I'll just ask in general questions: What inspired it? Why did you want to write it? Which character have you had the most fun developing? Why do you think people will enjoy reading it?

Sure thing!! Thanks for asking :D

I can’t remember the precise moment when I thought of doing a Jack the Ripper AU, I had it set as a note in my phone. I was having lunch with @ma-sulevin when she ended up seeing said note. I thought it was probably a terrible idea, but she is really great when it comes to enabling me ;) She also gave me the idea to set it in Kirkwall, which made the idea finally click. (Thanks Kate!!!)

Jack the Ripper in general has fascinated me for years and years. I have no idea how it started? But I find true crime and late Victorian England really interesting, so Jack is the perfect storm. One of my favorite movies is From Hell, which inspired things like using drugs to see visions. I’ve also stream rolled through the series Ripper Street recently, which gave me some ideas and insight on things, also.

It was from the urging of you guys that made me want to write it. It had been sitting in my notes for a long time, and probably would have never seen the light of day if not for Kate and you and other people showing interest in the idea.

Kirkwall was my favorite character to develop! I was scribbling in a notebook for days about how I could mesh 1888 London with Kirkwall. The city is its own entity and I have the most fun writing about what it’s like. You mentioned in a comment that you liked this description:

Her feet carry her through Kirkwall to the slums. The stark contrast between the care of the streets in Hightown, especially the Viscount district, and the laxity in Lowtown is even more apparent when traveled at once. No longer are trees and bushes decorating the clean cobblestone. No longer are there guardsmen patrolling in almost laughable numbers - whose main purpose seems to be helping the elderly society folk from their stately carriages, and knocking their billy clubs on rot iron fencing when rascal children get too loud.

None of that is present.

No, instead of wide avenues lined with beautiful estates, the streets turn smaller and smaller until bystanders and carriages alike have difficulty moving. Instead of greenery and fencing, there is filth and crates - poor folk standing with stolen baubles hollering at passersby to purchase their treasures for the lovely ladies at home. Instead of cobblestone that is swept by silent, invisible men, the streets begin to resemble more of rivers of mud, shit, and piss than anything else. And instead of kind guardsmen keeping order and helping the weak, one more likely will find them heckling or beating the numerous starving unfortunates in rags.

I loved writing that and the other scenery/atmosphere descriptions in this fic. Kirkwall was already rough and dark, but setting it in a noir-ish Victorian London setting allowed me to really push that further. I found out I love world building - who knew?

Beyond Kirkwall itself, I loved meeting Ian. She came so naturally. I thought Marian made her approachable and easily identified. I then pushed the red Marian a little farther by chopping off her name to just Ian, and throwing her into suits when most women of her rank were in elaborate dresses. I actually played as a red-hawke so that all came together smoothly. No matter what, Hawke beats to a different drum.

Why do I think people will enjoy reading it? Fuck. I enjoy writing it! And I hope that translates. I work so hard on the wording of this thing, lordy. In general, I love the dark shit. I love angry, angsty people and places. The super dark and deeply flawed hero is my crack. My heroin. My addiction. I hope that people who are into that type of story find this and enjoy it. I hope I do it all justice.

I know it’s not for everyone. It’s pretty violent. People actually die, but I mean, it’s about a serial killer. There’s not much fluff to be had, it’s not going to be smutty. Those things wrapped together are not so popular in fanfiction, lol, but I hope those that read it will get into it for what it is. You know?

#thanks for asking #i love the babble #this story is as close to me as Abner's storyline in ILS #you know - the dark shit #hahahaha #Fic Commentary #idrelle-miocovani

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punknumbershasmoved · 7 years

Text

Heist AU Exercise Part 3

Though the original opening of this one, which I was convinced was legendary, may have been deleted because of a computer malfunction, I still managed to hash out the rest. I was hoping to get more out of this third part, but I get anxious not uploading things frequently enough and thought maybe this had enough length to be put out by itself. Plus I’m impatient. The point is there will indeed be more after this, possibly two parts I think, but for now:

The current crew makes their journey to find their next recruit. What Gus and Molly see to be a simple garage, Numbers sees to be his own personal Hell, the guardian of which he was hoping not to face.

The garage was nothing malicious or even remotely impeccable to look at when first observed, at least not to Gus who had no knowledge of the proper criminal cues and signals to keep an eye out for. With lack of information on what to gather and what to dispose of, Gus created for himself a personal checklist of key factors to keep in mind, some of which included Scooby-Doo fashioned props and antics that did nothing but skew his vision even further. However, with how Numbers slipped him the tale over his shoulder with a slightly stumbling silver tongue, Gus could not help but paint himself a grotesque picture of dry metallic bones baking dully in the high noon sun, dusty and abandoned long ago in the front lot of the shop with little purpose other than to ward away the more suspicious of heart and soul. The heaps of scrap and rusted skeletons twisted and reflected the mangled morals of the men who resided behind the shop’s closed doors, secretly and tediously tending to the more fortunate of their mechanical guests. The rest, already harvested and neglected in the dry boneyard of the front lot, lay to waste, glistening until their eventual inevitable corrosion. The metal morsels settled without purpose except for the paltry interest of a few mere vulturous patrons who picked apart the structures like they were nothing but simple snacks. Gus imagined a barren wasteland, a graveyard to what once was extravagant, luxurious, sharp, and swift with nothing left to them, but donor parts and memorial services to encourage the younger crowd. Not only were the vehicles themselves coarse and unkind in keeping, but their caretakers were just as unforgiving. The overseers of this deserted Hell’s gate were rough and ragged, dark and driven, with no tenderness thrown to those of flesh and blood, only the prospering metal they toiled with underneath their seasoned hands. Supposedly, the cryptic image of this Wes character mingled among these brutal figures of metal and decay, however, Gus could not figure where he resided within the bunch, especially with the real garage for which his illustrations drew inspiration now in sight.

The group pulled into a simple shop, something possibly even family owned, and not sinister in the slightest. Gus saw no weeping skeletal structures of iron longing for their peaceful demise, except that of 1984 Buick Riviera. Although, the Buick showed signs of life reflected along its glistening exterior. It was cared for, very well in fact, and Gus could see that while it lay on an operating table in the present, it was only for the time being. Soon enough it would be reconnected and resurrected, never abandoned and left to rot like the poor souls in his now crumbling mental image. Though the promising sight of it presented Gus with prosperity and hope within what was supposed to be a chop shop, it did nothing but plague Numbers in the passenger side. He slunk low in his seat, like a cat kicked to the curb, and could do nothing but peer past Molly into the work area of the garage with wary eyes. Gus followed his skittish yet stock steady line of sight past the mouth of the port and into the black holes of another. The infinite wells felt familiar, as if they were Numbers’ own, but they did not belong to the intelligence’s although they shook him ceaselessly. Rather, they lay sunken deep into the only attendant visibly at hand within the garage, a man with hair frosted at the crown of his head much like the tips of mountain peaks, whose skin crumbled and creaked with the wisdom of an ancient range of work worn sierras. Gus assumed he knew many things beyond his own years, but most certainly he knew the nervous face of Numbers. Clouds shifted over his towering summits then, though as he stood tall to greet them, he was not tall at all. In fact he was slim, but sturdy, a lesser peak when alongside others yet not forgettable. His now shadowy exterior spoke of secret knowledge and toxic hate, perhaps a volcanic personality as Gus considered him further, but before he could ponder more on the shop’s overseer, Numbers’ voice broke his mind’s own in two.

“It’s him or me, Sher.”

Gus, surprised by the use of him, glanced back at the elderly mechanic and questioned his identity. He couldn’t be the Wes could he? He stumbled for Molly’s aid, though she was preoccupied with rolling eyes.

“No it isn’t-“

Numbers glared his way up at the garage as if it were his own personal hell, waiting expectantly for his begrudging return. “Yes it is, I know it is. If I walk in there I’m not getting back out alive.”

“Grady. I know him, and while he may have never had a taste for you-“

“Thanks.”

“-He couldn’t be too hurtful, you know? Especially since you’re here to say you’re sorry.” Molly’s voice mimicked that of a tender tune, easily working to sway those under its whimsical trail.

Numbers barked back to cancel the calming chorus. “Hey, hey! I never said I was going to apologize!”

“Well, whatever it is you’re doing, you’re heading out there. Or do I have to drag you out myself?” The threat seemed laughable in image, but Gus very well believed in her ability to grapple with the grumbling companion.

“It would be safer that way wouldn’t it?”

Molly began to unfasten her own seatbelt, hand already on the latch of the door, as Numbers’ pride strangled a loath and loud “Fine,” out of his throat. Silence kept the bodies still within the car’s shelter, only vibrating with the shivering and stretching sigh from the passenger side. “Fine,” he repeated in what must have been an attempt to cool his agitated nerves. Quickly, he flicked about for a cigarette, a guidance figure in his dank and desperate time of trials. A singular helping hand that Molly actually allowed him in that moment. Numbers asked no permission, however, and she made no argument. The smoke lingered lazily around them, Numbers settling his body as if in attempt to mimic the haze around him. If he were airy then, possibly even ethereal, perhaps he could not be wounded as easily. Before Gus could grasp the slowing pattern of Numbers’ murmuring breaths, he was gone out and recklessly approaching his foreboding harbinger of doom like the fire as opposed to the smoke.

He was smooth, but not delicate in his manner or greeting. Instead, he was casual, possibly too much so. “Hey, Hanzee~” His voice whistled through the man of many years before him with the envelope of a quiet smile. Without a moment’s hesitation the man, Hanzee it seemed, took to his own welcoming procedure. The hiss of Numbers’ words was met with the slick subtle shriek of a singular blade. Quickly, flags were raised and bared, Numbers drowning in his own gloating correctness in predicted events while Molly leapt from her seat so swiftly her skin almost lay left behind. Numbers raised his hand in attempted peace, though with the door slamming behind him he sounded his own triumphant alarm.

“This is what I was talking about! You see? I can’t-“

“Doesn’t want to see you.” The words tumbled like an avalanche from Hanzee, curt but unrelenting in force. The pressure of such few utterances kept Numbers as stiff as the blade itself. Molly hurried to his side, Gus quick at her heals though never stepping out from behind her. She waved her own olive branch to the garage attendant with a polite grin.

“Hi, sorry, we tried to contact one of you earlier, but-“

“Someone won’t answer their texts.” Molly bumped Numbers before his sour criticism could reach actualization. Best for the enemy to keep silent in front of such a hostile guardian.

“No phone,” was the concise reply. The man never wavered, like the mountain that he was.

“Well, we need to talk to him,” Numbers spat back lowly, docile enough to keep his skin intact, yet threatening enough to let the old man know he had never gotten the best of him. It only darkened Hanzee’s expression further.

“Not you.”

Numbers crooked his head to Molly’s. “You give up yet?”

“I need my driver.” She spoke then to all who would hear her. Hanzee did not see her or the anxious man in her shadow as a menace unlike the refined punk standing to her side, hissing. “Can we at least see him. Mr. Dent?”

Before the leering figure of Hanzee could reply, the doors shook within the garage, more workers it seemed were approaching the situation mindlessly. One singular worker at least, who did not seem to notice the skirmish at the front gates, one very much taller than the current guard. He made his way to the workspace, tucking what Gus caught to be a package of cigarettes into the front pocket of his jumpsuit. Gus could have sworn the familiarity in them, but was then too preoccupied in the hollow appearance of the worker. His eyes were sunken into drained and drooping sockets while stumble lined his strong jaw like tumbleweeds dancing across a barren desert. He walked with antsy energy in his heavy, hulking frame, searching desperately for work to tinker away at, at which point he glanced up and noticed the Mexican standoff at his feet. Though he may have enjoyed the prospect of such at any other time, now was not the opportune moment and his jaw went slack in response. Immediately his eyes connected with the conspicuous and sullen glare of Numbers’ own dark wells, and his face twisted shut, bolted and locked to portray nothing but disdain and anger to his presence. Jaw tight, brow lowered, he was the embodiment of hatred, and though Gus was not the target of his rage he was still fearing for his fragile life. Then he thought

Oh, this must be Wes.

#Fargo #Fargo FX #Wrenchers #Fanfiction #My writing

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missingmorethanmyskull-arch-blog · 7 years

Text

Tox’s (and part of Arum’s) Life Story, and music

This gon’ be long so I’ll put it under a readmore

(a bit of comparison to Red and Boss too so I think I’ll reblob this to them)

This is me rambling to my dear @r0astet0aste but I took out everything that’s not actual rambling to shorten it if only a little

I've got to get up an info page for Tox

-slams hands down-

LISTEN I'M GONNA DUMP ALL HIS SONGS ON YOU

OK SO

ARUM NEVER PAID ATTENTION TO HIM. EVER. EVER EVER. NOT UNTIL THE WAR

HE WAS FAR TOO FOCUSED ON BEING GASTER'S ASSISTANT, AND THEN TRYING TO GET HIM BACK

THE SCIENCE DAD AND SON IGNORED THEIR 'UNINTELLIGENT' SON/BRO

TOX GREW UP FEELING INFERIOR AND NEGLECTED AND STUPID

SO HE THREW EVERYTHING HE HAD INTO PHYSICAL ABILITY IN THE HOPES IT WOULD GARNER HIS BROTHER'S ATTENTION

AND EVENTUALLY STARTED TAKING OUT HIS FRUSTRATION BY ABUSING ARUM

BUT ARUM DIDN'T GIVE A FUCK

HE TOOK THE PUNCHES AND KICKS LIKE "are you done throwing a tantrum, bitch? yes? good bye i'm going back downstairs"

Basically he was enamored with his dear old daddy and considered Tox a waste of space

So getting beaten up had the same effect as Tox wailing annoyingly as a small child. That "ugh stop" effect

Meanwhile poor Tox just

Wanted attention

Yes he beat up his big bro but all he wanted was attention

So there's this song for his feelings on Arum pre-war

Diary of Jane - Breaking Benjamin

Keep in mind he doesn't remember G

So all he knows is Arum ignored him for science for no reason

And so he was desperate for attention

He got it in the royal guard

He was good. He was powerful. He was Undyne's favorite

He fell for her of course

So they got together

(Arum has been with his Grillz, his Alphys, and the shopkeep bun in terms of real relationships I just need to figure out the order. Alphys first I'm p sure)

Then

The human fell

Arum fell for her gradually, put his trust in her, believed she'd break them free, etc

That didn't happen

King died. Six souls were destroyed

Toriel returned to the throne

Undyne didn't like that

Because Toriel instilled a mercy policy to fallen humans

But Frisk had told Arum that the human population had grown immensely in the last several centuries

Breaking free and initiating war - Undyne's plan, just like Asgore's - would result in monsters being eradicated

Arum was always on Toriel's side

When Undyne challenged her, the civil war broke out

Tox felt loyalty to his lover, ofc, but he also realized Arum and Toriel were right. War was a bad idea

Besides, the last thing they needed was their ruler to be another Asgore

Who was ruthless and made the underground hell

So he was torn

He eventually settled on a side - Toriel's

There's this song for when he had to fight Undyne

Headstrong - Trapt

Then

then

well, keep in mind

none of this was actually Frisk's fault

Everyone thinks it was but

In reality, she was trapped in the void by Flowey during his omega battle

Flowey felt horribly guilty for fucking it all up

He started rewinding time, again and again

Arum was the only one aware of this

He experienced the resets and reloads

So the Civil War, which stretched for idk a few decades probably

was actually much longer

Tox died

When he was killed the first time

Arum had a meltdown

He realized then that

despite everything

Tox was the only family he'd had left

And none of their fighting mattered, did it?

He'd wasted his brotherhood. He'd ignored the only person he had that was family

First mental break

This song

Not Gonna Die - Skillet

ISN'T IT GREAT?

the last thing i heard was you whispering goodbye... and then i heard you flatline

Arum was an absolute mess

Then time rewound again

He tried to warn Tox not to fight in that battle

Tox didn't listen to him ofc

so he died several times in the war

So I've got a few songs about that

Soldier Side - System of a Down

Battle Cry - Skillet

Not Afraid to Die - Written By Wolves

And my favorite for the Civil War time (aside from Not Gonna Die)

IS THIS ONE

Rise - Skillet

(by the way, yes, in every Skillet song on his playlist, Arum is the girl singing)

I mean

technically Undyne is the one revolting from Toriel's rule but

Toriel's rule is basically a revolution from Asgore's reign of terror

They're fighting on Toriel's side for a semi-peaceful life

They can't wage war on the humans

They obviously won't be breaking the barrier any time soon, back at 0 souls

All Toriel and her followers want is for the death to stop

So the last 40 seconds of this song?

With the phone call and the news reports and all that

They're all things that would've happened in Asgore's reign

Monsters breaking into each others's houses and dusting them for EXP

People being left on the streets to die

etc

AND THAT LAST MALE VOICE?

"You're such a failure!"

"What is wrong with you?"

"You're worthless!"

"You can't do anything right!"

"I wish you had never been born!"

All things Arum has snapped at him throughout his life

So he's got shit like that playing in his head

But he's still fighting to protect

and by this point

Arum has lost him so many times

He just

He wants to take it all back

He synthesizes a carefully measured solution of determination

Aware of his and Alphys's failures with the amalgamates, he realizes pure determination would only make Tox melt

(Alphys has committed suicide by now btw)

So he works desperately to find a working determination amount, mixed with other chemicals, so he can stop Tox from dying without making him melt

Not much time to test it but he does his best

Keep in mind Tox can't remember any of his deaths

All he knows is his brother has flipped his fucking lid ever since the human left

And keeps talking about time shit that he doesn't understand

Arum forces the determination mixture into him

It works

Tox survives the battle he kept dying in

Drawback: Tox's body distorted

It didn't melt but

It had to shift and change to account for the DT

this is why he's nine feet tall

The civil war continues

Inevitably, Toriel loses and steps down

She returns to the ruins

Undyne takes the throne

Tox is one of the only survivors on Toriel's side

The brothers return to Snowdin and Arum attempts to explain the whole time shit

(He pointedly does not attempt to explain Gaster or what he was always working on)

But he apologizes for everything

So ok Tox doesn't really get it all

He's still just... not very bright

But he realizes that Arum has lost everything and is trying to change

So things for sure aren't perfect, but they at least stop hitting each other and attempt to communicate more

Arum's first mental break and the endless resets within the war has left him not enitrely stable

Arum was a mess

He put his faith and trust in Frisk and look where it got him

Look where it got the whole underground

He returned to working desperately to try and get his dad back

He somehow convinced himself if Gaster was back, everything would be okay again

Honestly he put G on such a high pedestal, it's crazy

He consistently believes he could never measure up to him in terms of scientific ability, though he's been monitoring and repairing the core personally ever since G was cast into the void

He's probably surpassed G by this point but he can't believe it

he's got Red's failure complex honestly

He just shows it far less

Oh I should mention his HP was never 1

He always had over 200

Physically, he was always stronger than Red

He just didn't use it

Bigger, stronger, he didn't have the defects that Red was created with basically

anyway after that, whenever a human fell, they'd kill the human and purposefully crush their soul into little bits

so Undyne couldn't take the soul for herself

a few slipped through the cracks, tho

current time, Undyne has 3

Flowey kept occasionally fucking with time

The magic in the underground soured

Crops began to fail

Soon, food became very scarce

the monster population had basically halved due to the war but still

Hunger began to take control over everything

Tox came up with the clever idea (for once) of slowly conditioning himself and Arum to be resistant to most poisons

They started to poison their own food stores to deter people from stealing their food

But the fact is they started to starve slowly

Another human fell

In a fit of hunger, having lost himself, Arum killed and ate the human

well he set half aside for Tox but

yeah he tasted meat for the first time that day

Cue another mental break afterwards, when he realized the brutal, horrifying act he'd just committed

He'd killed only a few times in his life, and only in self-defense

Tox had dusted many in the war, but that was war

This was him murdering and eating someone in cold blood

and he really loved the taste, too

He was sickened by himself

Tox, too

But they didn't really have a choice anymore

Tox had long since accepted that the world was fucked up

Arum was new to the idea, having locked himself away in labs for most of his life, he was far more sensitive to this shit

This was around the time that Arum first became suicidal

So here's another Tox song as he started to realize Arum was in even worse mental shape than he thought

Never Too Late - Three Days Grace

Arum is growing ever more desperate about getting his father back

On a very bad day, he attempted to use the machine he was building, before he had finished it and properly tested it

Oh boy did that backfire

He reached into the void with a flawed machine and the void yanked payment

You've seen Fullmetal Alchemist, right?

Them boys reached into the void asking for the impossible

Arum reached into the void asking for something very possible, but he did it in a flawed way

He didn't have enough power or control in the machine

So first of all it exploded and took a chunk out of his skull manually

Now that could be healed with green magic provided you have all of the bone material with you

But what the void took wasn't all physical

It took chunks of his mind

Not only that, it soured and rotted his soul

His soul reached 0/0 HP but he did not die

His soul was permanently rotted and changed. He's already at 0, but still there, so he can't die

His magic soured too

You recall his dark, dark red magic color? Almost brownish black?

Wasn't originally that color

The hole in his skull destroyed one eye but the other began to glow permanently

He can't teleport, he can't die, he can't conceive a child, he can't even soulbond

He's essentially a zombie

And he looked the part for a while, too

Tox heard the explosion and rushed down there to find Arum unconscious with a chunk missing, tendrils of voidy shit being battered back by vines

Flowey probably saved them all from more damage

Tox attempted to heal the wound in Arum's skull but it didn't work

His body no longer accepted green magic

The basis of green magic is healing HP and at 0/0, there is nothing to be healed

Green magic hurts Arum about as much as being attacked does

Both make his soul glitch the fuck out like an amalgamate's

Anyway, Arum was unconscious for a damn long time

Days

But finally, he woke up... And he couldn't remember anything. He couldn't focus his gaze on anything. He couldn't speak and could hardly move

He was completely catatonic and only vaguely conscious

Tox had to take care of him the same way you might take care of a baby or doll, minus the crying

He fed Arum by hand, carried him around the house, manually moved his joints so Arum's body didn't entropy

Attempted to communicate in any way

Eventually Arum started to be able to recognize sign language again, and at least nod or shake his head in response to simple questions

He slowly regained control of his body, then speech, and at last, his memories began to come back hazily

He's still missing chunks of his life but he made a pretty miraculous recovery over a period of several years

He remembers, vaguely, the feeling of time resetting

But he can no longer experience resets properly

He doesn't remember them and they give him intense migraines

He never remembered the events of the day the machine exploded, and seeing as Tox has no clue what happened, he still doesn't know

He's just sort of... Assumed the machine is fine

And hes always like "oh yeah i should get back to building it some day" but hasn't gone to the basement since and he doesn't know why

Flowey ain't around

I mean they were never friends

Arum and Flowey fought over resets before, though Arum's mostly forgotten it

And they've talked about Alphys or about science briefly but

Theyre acquaintances at best

But Flowey, guilt ridden yet again, hasn't been around and won't tell him what happened

Anyway

The period of several years where Arum was 100% dependent on Tox stuck with them

Their shaky bond has evolved into a full on dependency on each other

Arum needs Tox desperately because he's a fucking mess mentally, and often he'll have bad days where he can't remember anything and goes semi-catatonic again

During which days Tox babies him and ensures his safety and comfort

Tox needs Arum because now he has a purpose

He's not only wanted but needed

It's like they never fought

They're as close as brothers can get

(Without being incestuous lmao)

They rely on each other 100%

Arum is there for Tox when he has war-induced PTSD flashbacks and needs comfort. Arum feeds them both with humans and other food he can steal.

Tox mans puzzles, patrols, keeps them safe from Undyne and is there for when Arum's mental health deteriorates

They split food evenly down the middle

Arum would give Tox more of his share since he can't starve to death, but Tox refuses

Arum is still often suicidal

He's honestly tried every method in the book to die

Overdose on poison he's trained himself to survive. Bullet to the head (ow). Trying to crush his own soul. Starving on purpose. Drowning. Freezing. Setting himself on fire. Hell. There's a Reapertale Sans rp blog ( @jokingdeath ) that Arum went up to and was like "touch my hand and kill me"

He literally shook hands with death and it didn't kill him

And nights when he's attempted or wants to attempt, and knows it's all useless, and is just a sobbing mess

Tox is there for him

Here's the last two songs lol

Also both Skillet

Fire and Fury - Skillet (I realize this is a love song but platonically okay)

The Last Night - Skillet (not all of the lyrics fit but you get the gist of it)

Oh i fORGOT MY OTHER FAVE!

why isn't it on the youtube playlist how dare

wait there it is lol

Ok so this one, The Last Night, Rise, and Not Gonna Die are my top 4 for Tox

honestly I can't rank them they're just my top four

Fix You - The Offspring

She sees a million stars like holes in the sky

Arum has a far more bitter take on the surface world than Red does

all God's tears for her they cry, and I am in her rain

Arum is just

you think Red is in bad shape depression wise?

hAH

The difference is Arum puts up a far better "i don't give a fuck" front than Red

Arum laughs at his own pain far more. He makes death jokes and dead baby jokes

(His laugh is not sane anyway)

He kills mercilessly, without hesitation

With a smile on his face

(His smile is not sane either)

Gore makes Red vomit

it makes Arum grin

Red has at least a modicum of faith that they'll get out some day

Arum knows damn well he's never going to be free

Honestly they're both Underfell!Sans but they are vastly different

They were vastly different long before Frisk fell

And they had vastly different lives from the beginning

Arum's Gaster was a good man

Yes, he neglected Tox terribly, they both did

But Dros created them to be his children

As the last skeleton alive, and not interested in a romantic relationship, he created Arum and Tox in a similar fashion as how Erebus created Red and Boss, bot for the opposite reason

He also didn't fuck up with Arum

Red's physical body came out wrong

He formed too small, too frail

He always had 1 HP

Yes, it was in part due to his pessimism, but physically, his body can't hold much HP in the first place

If Red's HP were to rise (and it will) I think I'd cap him at 50

My 5 foot smol was born with the short end of the stick

slaps knee

short end

Boss was born with the long end slaps knee again

Boss's body was always too big

He couldn't control his magic properly and his body was pushed too far

which made him a very sickly child

but as an adult he evened it out with endless training

They're both on one end of an extreme

Whereas Arum and Tox were both quite average. They were evenly leveled, physically

Arum is 5'6", he's completely normal

He just happened to have inherited Dros's extreme intelligence

a fairly common thing in humans, genius can be hereditary

Meanwhile Tox... didn't

Boss was born with strength that he had to hone. Tox was born average and created his own extreme strength through willpower and desperation

Red was born with a too-strong mind that was further distended with experimentation, and had to hone and focus his intelligence once they escaped. It left him with so many emotional issues

Arum's inherited intelligence was carefully guided by his father and he was an average genius, also made extreme through willpower

All of his emotional issues are because of his fucked-up timeline 8,D

Ahhh I love designing characters

Red and Arum as as different from each other as they're both different from Chaos

who is also an Underfell!Sans

Who just happens to be female

and just happened to go insane and kill her entire timeline due to a certain brat :3c

BUT THAT'S RAMBLING FOR ANOTHER DAY

#Out of Skeleton #its just how i am now (headcanons)#precious poison (tox)#music #pretty as blood (aesthetic)#intoxicating (tox aesthetic)#tw: suicide #tw: abuse

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