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maybe-your-left · 3 years

Text

Broken Pieces - 12 Hours

Happy Halloween Fellow-Terrible People

Here is the masterlist for Broken Pieces, which is part Two of the Unsalvageable Collection, please be sure to read Window Panes first. Here is the link to my Mega Masterlist, and my Random Ren Masterlist for more.

TW/CW: NSFW, degrading, not sexy talk degrading, explicit references to previous assault, flashbacks, triggering talk of child abuse (there is none, not once will there be in this fic), betrayal, infidelity, Dateline w Lester Holt, mentions of previous pregnancy, miscarriage mentioned from Window Panes, childbirth, breastfeeding, very apparent Stockholm syndrome still in place, therapy talk, Planned Parenthood, very talkative conscience, the narrator is losing her mind, Tom is Draco from Harry Potter, you’re welcome.

As I said before; this fic is intense and the tags are there because they are NEEDED. if you want to read it-thats on you boo.

A manhunt is underway for convicted murderer, Kylo Ren.

The news comes after the convict was moved to death row after dropping his appeals from his previous six years incarcerated. It’s been said that he has given up on a grand jury's ability to see the truth of his wrongful conviction.

Mr. Ren was scheduled to move from New York to an unnamed prison in the midwest to discourage followers who wanted him released. The prisoner was known to have many admirers after his public trial, and federal prison visitation records show some visited frequently.

All known admirers have been placed under investigation until further notice, the police have decided not to release the names of suspects in fear of tipping off the convict.

His transport van was last sighted in Colorado before a sudden hijacking that was so violent, it sent two armed guards and a driver to local emergency rooms. The victims were attacked by a group of 4 men who crashed into the vehicle on a backroad towards the Utah border. All assailants were dressed head to toe black and wore face masks. It is unknown who they are.

One guard was able to issue a statement to police saying that once Ren was uncuffed he attacked them. Showing off a sizable bite in the man's shoulder, dental records matching the escaped convict.

These five men are still at large, it's been 12 hours since they were last spotted running into the forest along the roadway. These men are assumed to be armed, and extremely violent. Please be safe and report any suspicious activities as the authorities continue the manhunt.

“Jesus,” Tom shook his head, an arm slung over your shoulder. Tugging you into his side before kissing your temple, “Can you fucking believe that? That there’s people out there that want to see that man free? It’s insane.”

You stayed still, unable to formulate a response. Tom hadn’t questioned where Luke was after you lied and told him he was staying at your friend Lily’s house with her son. Even though he was probably being wrapped up in a body bag as the clock ticked. Coiled with the venomous arms of his birth father, you couldn’t imagine the pain and torture he was already subjected to for just being born.

“I remember watching that trial when it happened,” Tom sighed, “I’ve never seen a woman so defeated, the awful things he did to her. I always wanted to write to her, she was pretty but it seemed like she wasn’t going out in public anytime soon.”

He caught your side eying him, quickly blubbering, “This was wayyy before I met you though, I wouldn’t dream of being with someone like that. With all her trauma, I wouldn’t be shocked if she was dead.”

“Hm,” you turned back to the TV, feeling his fingertips mindlessly running patterns along your shoulder. Thinking about how naive he was, not putting two and two together. His ‘son’ looked nothing like him, he knew you were from New York around the same time the trial happened, he knew about your night terrors, medications, therapy sessions, all of it.

But he didn’t seem to connect the dots that you were the ‘poor girl’ of his dreams.

Beside you, your phone began to ring, the screen lighting up with an unknown number as it buzzed. Tom frowned at it, “Who’s that?”

You launched at it before he could take it, cringing a bit when you saw it was a FaceTime. You weren’t ready, weren’t ready to see him, hear him, maybe get a glimpse of scars from your baby fighting back. But he was no match for him, the last time you saw Ren he was huge, towering over everyone else in his black and white jumpsuit from the jails. Scowling at every person who walked past him in the containment booth.

Practically screaming at the top of his lungs when he was found guilty, promising to rip your whore-ass apart, limb from limb until you were nothing but a spinal column to chew on.

“I’ll be right back,” you whispered, pacing out of the living room and up the stairs. Moving to the furthest corner of your house and shutting yourself away. If it was Ren, you didn’t want Tom to hear him. You just needed time, time to think through bargaining with Ren.

To get Luke back.

“Hello?”

The screen was black for a moment and suddenly lit up to the sight of your smiling baby.

“Hi, Mommy!”

His little cheeks lit up with happiness, bouncing in his seat on what looked like a black couch. A beefy arm was draped behind him, but you tried not to focus on it. Luke looked healthy, well-fed, and there were no signs of abuse.

“Luke,” you choked a little, wiping your eyes with the back of your wrist, “Are you okay? Mommy’s been so worried about you, where are you?”

His face scrunched with confusion, eyes flitting off-camera for a brief moment. Nodding to whatever was being fed to him from that black-hearted demon.

“Why are you crying? I’m okay, I had snacks and a nap and I got so many new toys.”

He scampered off-screen, leaving you staring at the muscled arm, yelling from afar, “I got a big stuffed animal! And a new blanket!”

The camera flipped, showing you a well-furnished living room. Almost identical to the one in Ren’s old home from New York. Giving you vivid flashbacks of bleeding out on the same hardwood and fluffed rug. Your attention was pulled back by the sounds of Luke running from whatever room he went in, dragging a gigantic stuffed animal in one arm and a big blanket in the other.

Grinning from ear to ear before standing in front of the flatscreen. Showing you everything he could, explaining to you that his new friend bought them for him special. That he was such a good boy for him, excited to show you everything when you came over.

You swallowed, fighting off an onslaught of tears. Because no, you weren’t coming over, you couldn’t. Not when you could see the owner of the cell phone in the reflection of the plasma. Legs spread wide, holding the camera up to block his face. But you could see enough, his alabaster skin, black t-shirt, jeans, dark hair framing the phone.

He was there, watching you.

Waiting to hear you give in for the most precious being in the universe, how could you say no?

“Our son is trying to show you things, love. Pay attention to him.”

You let out a small gasp, frightened of his voice, whimpering out a pitiful sorry before looking at Luke. He was just as upset, thinking you didn’t want to talk to him. You could see the tears pooling in his eyes, escalating quickly.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you choked, “I’m listening, that's such a pretty red blanket. Is it warm?”

Luke nodded his head silently, bottom lip trembling. When you cried, he cried, creating a vicious cycle that was a perfect recipe for a headache following a beating from Ren.

“Now you’ve gone and upset the boy.”

You watched the reflection shift to standing, flinching at the change of angle on your son, making him appear as nothing more than an insect. “Ren, please, I didn’t mean to make him upset, I’m just so happy about his new things…”

And that sent Luke into a crying fit, letting out a high-pitched scream and collapsing to the floor.

Ren tsked through the speaker, walking towards his pitiful boy, you gasped when his hand shot out. Looping under Luke’s shoulder and hoisting him in the air. Watching in the reflection as his little legs wrapped around his torso and wailed into him.

The camera flipped again, making you burst into tears.

Seeing him again, after years of trying to burn his image from your brain.

Years of psychotherapy, exposure methods, medications that cost you thousands, nothing could’ve prepared you for what you saw.

Predatory eyes, like a shark smelling blood in the water. Looking right through you, pink lips that you were abused by countless times, pressing into your son’s luscious dark hair. Cooing in his ear with the voice of your nightmares.

“It’s alright son, Daddy’s here now.”

Lukes face rotated, forcing you to watch him seek comfort in Ren’s neck. Nuzzling the skin like he did with you when he needed comfort.

“And there’s nothing Mommy can do about it.”

--------

You couldn’t sleep that night, rocking back and forth while Tom snored next to you.

How could he sleep right now?

Did he not realize how upset you were? Luke was gone, his supposed son was gone, on a school night. That was never allowed in the past, unthinkable actually. But Tom was oblivious, cuddling you as always, trying to get you to sleep with him before bed.

Usually, you’d indulge him before the events of the previous day occurred. Sometimes you needed the release too, and the night was a perfect time because you could close your eyes and imagine someone else.

With dark hair, falling on your face.

Spewing horrible names that made you unimaginably turned on, your therapists said that was normal for victims of abuse. To associate the cycle of punishment used during sexual encounters, as a way of coping with it like it was a reward.

Since men like Ren used sex as a ‘reward’.

Even though most of the time it was hell, having to sit back and watch him violate every inch of your mind, body, and soul.

You sighed, slipping Tom’s arms from around your waist. Stepping into your slippers and walking out your door. The halls were silent, wood creaking even louder than before, you’d have to get those fixed, but who were you kidding?

At any moment Ren could fly through the window like a bat to kidnap you again, there was no sense in wasting money on home improvements. When you’d need it to pay a ransom for Luke back, you found yourself standing in his room.

Clutching the edges of your sleep shirt, staring with watery eyes at the black and red sheets he had draped over his bed.

A few toys scattered around, color books, shoes, fuck.

You whipped out your phone, dialing the unknown number faster than you could blink. Chewing your lip nervously, it was 2 AM. There was no way he was awa-

“What is it?”

“Ren,” you stayed firm, “Give me back my son.”

“Hm, tempting, but no.”

You whined, sitting down on his bed so you could just smell the lingering memories of him in the house, “Please, you can’t keep him. The police will find you sooner or later.”

“I don’t think that's possible, love. He’s just where he needs to be, with me. Like he always should have been, instead of raised by that blonde-haired excuse of a man. How dare you (Y/N)? Allow our son, my miracle child, to be raised with a prick like that? Do you have no shame?”

“Tom is not a prick,” you scoffed, mind racing with every bargaining chip you had. “Ren, do you really want Luke to watch you get arrested when the police find you? He’s going to be traumatized-”

“More traumatized than watching his mother cheat on his father?”

“Excuse me?”

Ren huffed, it sounded like he was getting out of bed, “You heard me, for the past six years you’ve been nothing but an unfaithful slut. Having sex with that man, while you were pregnant with my child.”

“You cheated on me first?!”

“That doesn’t mean you can do it back! You’re mine! Always, and now you’ve tainted your body, I’ll have to clean you before I can have my taste. Disgusting woman.”

“Kylo,” you whispered, holding your head in your free hand as you took a deep breath. Allowing your tears to flow freely, “I need Luke, you can’t take him from me. Please don’t take him from me, I won’t survive.”

“Is that a promise?”

You began crying harder, knowing that he wasn’t letting up. He wanted you to suffer, and then he would turn it around and use it on poor Luke.

“Love,” he sighed, “He is fine. Sleeping soundly in his bed, waiting for you to join us.”

“I can’t-I can’t go with you Kylo,” you trembled at the thought. Imagining yourself willingly walking back into his outstretched arms. Even though your lizard brain was screaming for you to give in.

Let the big man take care of you once more, it was so hard being in control all the time. Always on the lookout, terrified that he would be around the corner.

But if you went with him, those fears would be a reality. And there was no question that he was even more bloodthirsty than before. You saw the news story, almost disassembling a human life as he did six years ago.

“I know you miss me.”

You swallowed, trying to make your voice sound strong even though it was breaking apart, “No-I don't.”

“I suggest you start telling the truth and come home willingly. Before I have to come find you myself.”

And he hung up.

———

‘My friend, I’m reaching out to you once more. I know you are scared. I am scared for you too. I can’t imagine how you feel every day. I hope you’ve read the letters I’ve sent, it pains me to think about you all alone.’

‘I pray you are safe.’

You swallowed back a sob, rocking on the cement floor in a ball of limbs. Arms tucked over your knees as you tried to breathe. In and out, teeth chattering as you counted down from ten.

The paper crumpled into a ball, dropping to the floor with no more than a small wisp of air. You clenched your eyes shut, breath catching as you heard shoes move closer to your bare feet. Toe to toe with their black leather, shining against the bitter red from your raw skin, bleeding from the repeated hours that you spent scraping the skin away just to be sure you were still alive.

“One of our neighbors received this in their mailbox by mistake,” his voice echoed against the bare walls.

You sniffled, he can’t see you cry. Please, just hold it together, yesterday you resolved to not let him see the weakness anymore. Pretending that you could be strong enough to be worthy of salvation, not damned to rot in the basement.

No food, no water, no love.

Only him.

“It’s a pity that someone would waste their prayers on someone like you.”

His shoes creaked as he crouched in front of you, you could feel the warmth of his breath. Heaving in sharp bursts against your knotted hair plastered to your scalp from blood. A beating you sustained days before, for smacking him when he tried to kiss your mouth. Earning a swift punch that knocked the wind out of your lungs, straight into the concrete wall you sat in front of now, at his mercy once more.

Would it ever end?

Would someone ever find you?

Clearly, someone wanted you back… why else would there be a letter for you?

A thick finger wormed its way into your cocoon of arms, crooking under your trembling chin. Forcing you to look up at your captor, nostrils flared like he smelled blood in the water. Eyes searching your face, fuck. Why did he have to be so beautiful? A tragedy really, that a man like him was so cruel.

A fallen angel, that's what he was.

Cloaked in darkness, surrounded by black drapings against his alabaster skin. Tiny smatterings of beauty marks, kisses from God some would say, all over him. But he would sooner grow horns from his temples and sprout wings, dragging you into the deep abyss of tar he must’ve climbed out of when he was purged from hell.

“Shaking like a shitting dog,” he quirked a brow, inspecting your face for a moment, “Maybe I’ll get you a collar and leash, parade you around like the bitch you are.”

“Please,” you whimpered, like the pitiful puppy he portrayed you as. Kicked so hard by its owner that it cowered in fear of setting them off once more, but with nowhere to run. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, as the old saying goes.

“Please?” he echoed mockingly, “Is that all you can say? Hmm?”

You swallowed back a dry sob, trying to look as small as possible to try and lure him into giving you something. Anything, after a week of being down in this dungeon, “I didn’t…”

“You didn’t?” he raised both brows, clutching your cheeks in his firm grip, “You didn’t, what? Send a letter to someone? About your whereabouts while I wasn’t watching you?”

He shook your face, “What was that? You’re saying someone just magically found out where you were? And sent you a letter?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked.

You were, so very sorry.

It was a long shot at best, he had been sloppy the second morning you were locked down here. Not doing a thorough sweep of the room, you found a piece of paper in a garbage pile. An envelope in fact, with a stamp on it.

So, you scrawled what you could on the scraps, using your blood from your trembling fingers to signal for someone. A close friend, someone who checked on you daily, would look for you. Someone had to be looking for you, it had been too long for your parents to brush it off as a crazy weekend of fun.

“You know I don’t like it when you lie,” he whispered.

You spared another glance at him, wincing at the sharpness of his face. He was pissed, the veins in his neck bulging from the anger coursing through him. You could see another pulsing along his temple, fueling him into a blind rage of unrestricted violence.

He cradled your face in his hands, holding you carefully as you would crack. Shaking his head softly before placing a terrifyingly affectionate kiss on your forehead. You couldn’t hold in your sobs, fear wrecking through you, he was nice like this when he was going to punish you.

Really hurt you, until you thought you had died from it, but he ripped you back across the line every time. Making it so much worse, “Kylo-please.”

His hands slithered around your throat in an instant, slamming the back of your head into the wall behind you. Your skull cracking, even more, brain shaking around like you were in a carnival ride, thrown around and around. Scream deafening over him repeatedly hissing for you to be quiet, that it was hurting him to do this to you.

At some point you blacked out, not remembering the events after the start. You hoped that your brain would never supply those memories to you, living through it once was enough. Waking in a straight jacket-looking contraption, on the floor of the basement.

Squinting at the single lightbulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling, you didn’t try to move your arms or legs. Too groggy for your nervous system to command it anyway, you were content to stare upwards, counting the cracks in the cement, he was a pacer.

That much you knew from the short time of your captivity, he probably ran a pathway through his carpet from how much he walked back and forth. Probably plotting another terrible thing to do to you, so you would break and be his little pet. Putty in his wretched hands, the same hands that felt so delicious when they caressed your cheeks.

Or slid into your hair when he bathed you that one time, you sighed at the memory. Instantly stiffening at the warmth it brought your chest, no. You were not falling for that, you’d seen enough murder documentaries. Stockholm syndrome was not your fate, you were getting out of here.

Going to finish school, and run away from that man.

But, what if you could change him?

Oh, yes.

Your heart liked that plan, very-very much. Thinking of taming the wild animal upstairs, making him your little attack dog, so you could feel protected. Like you did in the moments he held you, cooing in your sweat-laced scalp how good you were, a good little girl.

“Fuck,” you murmured, head falling back on the ground, you were fucked.

-------

Your heart was beating between your ears, almost like your body had rearranged its organs from the anxiety of your current situation.

Sitting at a red light, Luke’s school was just up the road, you could see it. The cute little sign in the front, other parents pulling in to pick up their kids, the crossing guard waving happily as people pulled in. Eager to reunite with their babies, you drummed your fingers on your steering wheel.

This wasn’t a good idea.

He would be here, he’s probably already been here.

All day, waiting for you to cave and try and sneak a peek at your baby. Knowing that you can’t leave him alone, you couldn’t just leave him to rot with Ren. You had to do something, even if it was just to cry from your car while you watched him walk to his car. You needed to see he was alive, true to Ren’s word.

Which meant little, but a small sliver of you believed that he would keep Luke safe.

You were signaled into the line of cars at the pick-up, dozens of little ones running around on the grass field in front of the school. Squealing and giggling with their friends, dressed in head to toe bright colors, mismatched socks, lunch boxes, fuck. You choked back a sob, where was he?

Frantically scanning the lawn, for just a trace of him.

But you saw nothing, not one child that looked like Luke. No little boys running around with dark hair all messed up from his day of playing, a red backpack hanging limply on skinny shoulders. He refused to let you tighten the straps, he was a big boy, okay? He would grow into it, he promised you.

A familiar set of shoulders came into your view, standing off in the distance, leaning against a tree. You swallowed, taking in his relaxed form as your rage boiled, head to toe burning. Ren was so casual like he wasn’t plastered on the news in all 50 states, with the FBI, CIA, and other government entities looking for him.

Arms crossed against his massive chest, a long-sleeve black shirt hugging him so tightly. Even from afar, you could see how much bigger he was, guess people have to do something in prison right? A pair of black ray-bans perched on his strong nose, a smirk playing at his lips, that son-of-a-bitch. You’d kill him, not a single question about it.

You stormed out of your car, the sound of your door slamming caused Ren’s head to turn to the right, zeroing in. Frozen in place as he surveyed you, you stayed absolutely still. Afraid that this was a dream, a nightmare, and at any moment he would transform into some kind of horrible creature and hunt you down.

But he didn’t move, just continued leaning in the shade.

You cocked your head to the side, what was he playing at?

He was making it too easy, all you had to do was scream and point and he would be arrested. Everyone was on high alert for a suspicious man on the loose, and there he was. Dressed in all black outside an elementary school, with no child in sight!

Wait, no child?

“Luke?” you whispered, whipping towards the drop-off zone. Eyes searching for your baby, you had gotten too distracted by that maniac that you’d forgotten your end game. To snatch Luke from his horrible father and run away, maybe to Alaska.

Everyone disappears in Alaska, there’s like more bears than people.

You walked towards the lawn, feeling Ren’s eyes on you the entire time. Determined to put it behind you, he wouldn’t dare try and attack you here, especially with the chance of Luke seeing him. His new friend, attacking his beloved mommy. Once you stepped on the sidewalk, your alarm bells began to siren once more.

All the other kids from Luke’s class were there, his friend Carson, and James, and Kenzie. All huddled around their teacher, shit yes. You approached his teacher, mouth open to accuse her of letting your son be kidnapped when someone snatched your wrist.

Yanking you back, you spun quickly, hand raised to backhand Ren for his audacity to come up to you-

“(Y/N)?”

Oh.

Lily, your friend, and fellow mom. Was holding your wrist in her feebly small grip, eyes wide with panic as she darted between your angry face and raised palm. With the threat of your attack looming between the two of you, she let go of you. Cradling her hands to her chest before speaking.

“I thought that was you,” her voice shook, “I didn’t mean to startle-I just-you haven’t been returning my calls…”

“Lily,” you let out a sigh of relief, briefly glancing at Ren’s way. Souring when you saw his face pulled in pure delight, “I’m sorry-I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“At our kids’ school?”

She gestured around, all the parents shuffling along, while her own son. Carson, Luke's best friend, runs up to his frightened mom to snuggle into her hip. You watched her stroke his hair, your heart flaring with envy, where was your son? Why wasn’t he in your arms right now, “Sorry-I’ve been busy since I got back.”

She nodded, “Yeah, you were in New York, don’t you remember calling me? You were frantic, asking about Luke and everything and then you just stopped?”

You were about to respond, ready to break down into tears, admitting that you lied about Luke being picked up by a relative. Instead, he was kidnapped by his real father, who happens to be the world’s most wanted man right now.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

Both you and Lily turned, faced now with your kids’ teacher. Smiling at you with a tight-lipped expression, almost shocked to see you there. She cocked a brow at the scene between you and Lily, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here?”

You scrunch your forehead, “Why wouldn’t I be here? This is my sons’ school?”

She still looked confused, gesturing around, “Luke was withdrawn this morning by your boyfriend, Ben? He came in and let me know that the two of you were moving…”

Lily turned to you, “Boyfriend?”

Your mouth snapped shut, looking between the two. Shit-shit-shit-shit, this was not good, Ren took Luke out of school. Extending his parental rights, waltzing inside the building, a public building, without being stopped. Taking Luke right out of his safe place, Lily cleared her throat. Drawing your attention back to her, “You have a new boyfriend? What happened to Tom?”

“Nothing-I don’t,” you panicked, backing away from the two of them staring at you quizzically. This was not good, now they thought you were the dangerous one. Showing up here, getting all sweaty, shit. You really were sweaty, baking in the heat as the sun beat down on the sidewalk.

Lily stepped away from you, nodding softly, “I didn’t know things weren’t working out with Tom.” She looked at the ground, face colored with betrayal, “I guess we aren’t as close as I thought…”

“Wait,” you blurted out, eyes darting towards the movement to your right. Ren was walking from the trees, making a beeline for your car, “It’s nothing, we are still together. There’s no Ben.”

“Then who picked up Luke? He looked just like him, had to be someone you were close to.”

Your car door opened, the siren blaring in the busy parking lot. Everyone turned just in time to catch the door shutting, Ren nowhere to be seen. You held up your keys, shakily pressing the lock key.

Sweat beaded along your hairline, what you said next would be the difference between Ren being arrested, or you being arrested.

“I must’ve forgotten to close my door…” you walked away from the ladies. Staring at you suspiciously, you picked up the pace, waving a hand behind you, “There’s nothing to see here!”

You snatched the drivers’ door open, clambering inside as you held your breath. Chest tight with unshed tears and anger boiling inside, you whipped around to the backseat. Expecting to see Ren’s large frame, but no. There was nothing, not even your purse was moved.

“Fucking-fuck.”

————

You sped home, cringing when Tom’s car was in the driveway. Did Lily call him? Would she have told him about your behavior today? He thought Luke was with her…

The TV was on when you came inside, the sound of Tom eating a sandwich dulling the whistles for whatever sport he was watching.

You tried to shut the door as quietly as possible.

“Babe,” Tom yelled, “I got some chicken for dinner, Luke’s favorite. Since we missed him yesterday.”

Silence.

“It’s on the counter,” it sounded like he took a swig from some beer, burping in his arm. You rounded the corner slowly, leaving the safety of the entryway and into the mouth of your living room. Tom was seated on the couch, doing what you imagined, grinning at you with his shimmering teeth.

His face fell when you made eye contact, your bottom lip trembling. This was it, you had to tell him that Luke was gone. And he wasn’t the father, put your heart on your sleeve and tell him that you’ve spent the past six years lying to him.

“What’s wrong?”

You croaked, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands, “N-n-nothing.”

Tom set his drink down, brow furrowed with concern. “Why are you crying?” he leaned to the side, looking behind, “Where’s Luke?”

“I-I,” you took a sharp breath, cradling your face in your hands, “T-tom.”

“Did something happen,” he moved off the couch, approaching you with cautious steps, “Is he okay? Why isn’t he-”

Thud.

Creak.

Footsteps were coming from upstairs.

You both flinched at the noise, looking at your ceiling for the culprit. The floor creaked as the weight shifted towards the hallway, right above you. Tom looked back at you, his face now a mixture of fear and suspicion, “What’s upstairs, (Y/N)?”

It’s him.

He’s here.

The steps grew louder, slowly descending your old wooden stairs. A hand was placed on the railing, callused skin scraping against the smooth varnish. You cringed at the sound of nails clawing their way down, how they used to feel on your skin. All those years ago, before digging into you.

“(Y/N).”

You gasped at the sound, eyes now snapped shut as you trembled in Tom’s arms. He was right there, you just knew it. Standing at the landing before the hallway, eyes boring into the back of your skull. You shuddered, mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton at the thought of being so close to him.

Earlier you were brave, now you were terrified.

“Ready to go home, my love?”

--------

this is us:

Taglist (Same as Window Panes): @finn-ray-nal-beads @millenialcatlady @ohdamnadamm @daydreamsofren @candycanes19 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @millenialcatlady @safarigirlsp @caillea @roanniom @mrs-zimmerman @insufferablelust @emeritusemeritus @eagerforhoney @mareeeah @richbrittstein @direnightshade

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

#adam driver #kylo ren #adamdriver #modern kylo ren #my writing #maybe-your-left #kidnapper kylo ren #kidnapper kylo #broken pieces #the unsalvageable collection #mind the tags

32 notes · View notes

mistaeq · 4 years

Note

Hello! May I please request headcanons for what camping with Joseph and Caesar be like? Especially if they're both crushing on reader? Thanks!

Joseph Joestar & Caesar Antonio Zeppeli: Camping with them

TW // none

Oh god. Oh dear. Dora wrote an actual request. Dora wrote an actual fucking work. Yes I did. I missed writing longer stuff. Hope I haven't lost my ability,,, Thank you for your request, dear! ♡ enjoy~

Camping with both Joseph Joestar and Caesar Antonio Zeppeli crushing on the reader. Neutral!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

Joseph is the one who suggests camping first. In his mind, it would have been cool, just him and you, in front of a warm fire, or maybe alone, in a tent... he even thought about confessing during camping.

When Caesar learns you're gonna go camping together, just you and Joseph, he's kinda upset. JoJo knows about his massive crush on you, why in the world would he invite you to spend some nights in camping alone? Without even asking, he just decides he's gonna tag along. Screw the gentleman side.

The young Joestar has decided: this is gonna be war. He knows Caesar has a crush on you, but he had been crushing on you too, why should he be the one giving up? The blonde guy always gets plenty of partners, not that Joseph's not popular too, but damn, if Caesar wants a partner, he can have anyone he wants. But not you, come on!

"Uhm... y/n?" Joseph would ask. "I'm kinda into saying goodbyes to pretty/handsome/stunning babes, can you pretend I'm going away for a long trip and you're telling me you're gonna wait for me? Yes- yes, I know you're gonna come with us, I was just wondering if you could pretend for a second..." dork.

After fighting over who would have driven the car with an intense and breathtaking Rock, Paper, Scissors session, Caesar won, jumping on the drivers' seat with a clear smug grin on his face, Joseph grunting something under his breath as he sat on the passenger's one.

What Joseph actually grunted was "You didn't even have to come with us..."

You must admit you aren't oblivious, about their crushes on you. On the contrary, you are aware of it, since they're being pretty obvious, and enjoy seeing them bickering with each other about every little stupid thing, just to impress you.

During the trip on the car, the driver actually changes. Caesar was being too busy trying to impress you by shooting bubbles out of his finger, for them to disappear in the air over your heads. Pretty romantic, not gonna lie, if it wasn't that he almost ran over three people and bumped against a wall, saying he totally did it on purpose.

With a victorious smirk on his mouth, Joseph switches seats with the young blonde Zeppeli, who's now pouting with his arms crossed in front of his chest, but giggling when you tickle his neck to get a reaction from him.

Please. Someone get Joseph to stop singing. He's not bad, and sometimes he changes lyrics in some funny stuff, but after more than a hour of just hearing the Joestar singing, you feel like your eardrums are gonna explode. You appreciate him for this too, though. He's the soul of the party.

Let's enjoy some good advertising spots while Caesar and Joseph fight over which area of the wood you should choose to place your tent and light up your fire.

[Thank you for we're close to 500 !! Please hug me I crave love.]

End of advertising spots. In the end, you're the one who chooses where you're gonna set up your camping equipment, and suddenly the both of them fully agree with you, even if you purposely suggested an area that they had discarded from the start. How can two guys be so effortlessly obvious? You giggle, without them noticing.

Time to divide the tasks! Joseph is way more muscular than Caesar, this is why he's the one who's gonna set up the tents. Or at least, the tents he wants to set up. Obviously he had gotten rid of your tent someway, so that now there were only two tents, and you had to sleep in someone else's - hopefully his - tent.

Caesar had started setting up the fire with an old lighter and some wood laying around, while you took care of looking for some stronger wood, so that the flame wouldn't die during the night. You didn't want to be alone with a single one of them, this is why you left them alone to go looking for wood.

When it's time to eat the packed meals Suzie Q prepared for you before you left, both the boys offer you your favourite thing from their plates. You never accept, first of all because you don't want to play with their feelings, since it's clear that they're trying to prove who you prefer. Second of all, because you know Suzie knows her thing, and if she packed such different stuff for every single one of you, it probably means that food can be healthy in different ways for your bodies.

"Ho capito! I understood you got rid of y/n's tent for them to sleep with you, but they'll be so angry at you for this, they'll only want to sleep with me." the blonde italian boy would say, pointing his tapered finger against the american one.

You slept in Caesar's tent. Alone. You forced Joseph and Caesar to sleep together. The worst night of their lives. Won't guarantee the brown-haired didn't try to suffocate the blonde with the blanket.

Joseph won't be able to sleep at night, not just because of his companion's presence, but also because of the terrifying night sounds. Oh god. He's pretty sure a lion is gonna attack the three of you as soon as possible. You tried to explain several times, there's no lions in Italy, unless you're visiting a zoo.

Still, you found him calling you out of your tent at three AM, saying he wanted to protect you from the beasts that were approaching your area. You completely understood he just wanted to be comforted and protected himself, but you tried not to expose him too much, to keep his dignity up. You find no harm in a man being scared of something, but maybe he did, for his own reputation.

The following morning, Caesar woke up to you checking on the fire after you went to look for wood, and Joseph sleeping in your tent, understanding JoJo hadn't slept, not even a second, because of his fear. Why did he suggest going camping, if he's so afraid of sleeping in the wild, though...

The italian boy helped you reviving the flame with the wood you had found, but noticed your ankle was hurt. "You should have woken me up, signorina/o..." he says, in a scolding but almost playful tone. "I told you not to wander around when nobody's awake. What if your wound was worse and you got lost in the wood without being able to reach for us?"

Luckily, after some interesting hours of chaos, [see bonus scene at the end] the boys gently - and together, surprisingly - put you back into the car, and without fighting, decided Joseph would have driven. Caesar asked him only for the condition of not singing.

As soon as you got back home, the boys got scolded by Suzie Q herself, who blamed them of not being able to take proper care of her dearest friend - you -, and helped you to get inside the house to medicate your ankle properly.

"Why not getting the two of them?" this is the sentence that echoed into your mind for the rest of the night, a sentence Lisa Lisa had told you, when you talked to her about your feelings towards Caesar and her son. Getting the two of them, huh?

BONUS SCENE

You had hurt your ankle, stumbling on a tree's root which was coming too much out from the ground. This is why, Caesar offered to help you and go get wood in your place, and you couldn't really choose whether to say yes or no. Even Joseph accepted Caesar helping you. Just because now he got to be alone with you until the Zeppeli boy was away, of course. You noticed it when he got closer to you, already blushing and clearing his voice.

"So... looks like we're alone, now." he mumbled, sitting next to you in front of the fire. It was pretty clear that he wanted to say something, and was being pretty bad at hiding it. Still, you nodded.

"Looks like it." You giggled, trying not to meet his gaze. Deep down, you wanted him to confess the same way you didn't. Because you knew you would have felt the same if Caesar was in his place. Why did this have to be so complicated?

"Look, I know Caesar tagged along and ruined everything, but I actually had invited you because I need to tell you something." Joseph finally admitted, fidgeting with a flower he had picked before. It's not like he had picked it thinking about giving it to you, but since he already had a flower in his hands, he thought this would have been a good start.

"Y-yes...?" you asked. You tried to keep it seriously, but lowkey failed, since you had noticed Caesar was probably around, and he had come back. You understood because of the giant, full of water bubble floating behind Joseph's back. Oh dear. Oh god. What was he gonna do?

If felt kinda wild, to know two guys were ready to fight this much for you. And not two random guys, but Joseph Joestar and Caesar Zeppeli... damn, couldn't they crush on you in different times? This sounded so difficult to deal with. But it still left that good feeling about being appreciated so much.

"I... y/n, this is what I wanted to tell you. It's that I actually lov- hhgg-!" you stared at him in shock, as the giant bubble wrapped around his head, stopping him from breathing and to confess anything more. You can't hide you admire people who can master it, but hamon is terrifying sometimes.

Without saying a single word, you turned around to look for Caesar, as he came out from behind a tree, some good branches to be burnt under his armpit.

"Come on, free him. I'm pretty sure he won't say it, now that you're here." you said. You were happy he stopped Joseph from confessing, but on the other hand, you would have wanted him to tell you. Or Caesar to tell you, as well.

"But what if I said it instead?" the italian boy asked, pulling your leg on his lap to check on your ankle. As he didn't want to embarrass you even more than Joseph, he suddenly changed the topic. "I remember some tricks with bandages an old nonna taught me. I'll take care of this, okay?" well, this was... fine? Surely better than a straight confession.

"Mhmhkay." you mumbled, as he released his hamon to let Joseph breathe. The english boy furiously turned towards Caesar, who shrugged unbothered.

"It'll take a while for him to be able to attack me back. I messed up his breath's pace. No decent hamon." he explained, as you laughed, hearing Joseph's distressed noises in the background.

This really would have been a camping to remember.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part two #battle tendency #caesar antonio zeppeli #caesar x reader #joseph joestar #joseph x reader #jojo headcanons #camping

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whumpywhumper · 4 years

Text

Photographic Evidence

Please see the new Markus/Lucien Series: Masterpost

This follows shortly after: Here to Help there’s a little time skip with some mentions of things that haven’t been written yet, but it’s fairly obvious what’s been skipped over.

Tagging: @oceanthesarcasamfox @insanitywishes @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump @captivity-whump

Huge shout out to both @0idril0 and @rosesareviolentlyread: I would not keep writing without you two, and Idril puts up with way too many questions.

Also, @walkingchemicalfire HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! Have 6k words :P

TW: aftermath of captivity; aftermath of abuse; graphic depictions of injury and medical treatment; mentions of potential brain injury. Please, let me know if there’s something specific I’ve overlooked.

V***V

“Look, ma’am, I’m just trying to do my job. I didn’t meant to—“

“I don’t give a fuck what you meant to do, you are endangering my patient. Get. Out.”

Ben heard the raised voices from the other end of the bullpen, turning with the nurses and other police officers to see what the commotion was about. Not that it was the only commotion taking place, they were less than a day out from one of the biggest raids NYPD had seen in decades and there was a truck-load of uniformed officers and plain clothes detectives milling around the harried nurses, but this particular commotion sounded volatile.

Eyeing the crowd, Ben saw that he was likely the ranking officer available to mediate the dispute and sighed.

He was exhausted, sweaty, and still in his tactical pants from the raid. His head was killing him, and his eyes were blurring and scratching with the need to find his glasses. He had no idea where Kincaid or Holland were located, and this was the very last thing he wanted to be doing right now. He didn’t, however, hesitate to heft his stack of files and the clip board he’d been using to take notes on his interviews, and step toward the room. The room was like many of the others on this floor, glass walls with curtains that protected the patient’s privacy, and made them convenient for private interviews. That they also just so happened to be the hospital’s more intensive stay rooms was not something he was trying to think too hard about, guilt that they were interrupting the hospital’s natural rhythm settling heavy in his gut.

At this point, there was no telling who was inside this particular room, the victims had been shuffled like a back alley shell game as they tried to make sense of who needed to go where. He was pretty sure he’d already conducted three separate interviews in the room next door, and it wasn’t even noon.

There was a uniformed officer inside, the creases and pressed nature of his uniform screaming rookie, with his back to the door. His hands were at his hips as he tried to, quite unsuccessfully, stare down a tiny brunette nurse standing in front of a bed. There was practically a storm cloud over the woman’s head, her dark eyes flinty as she poked him in the chest. “I’m not going to ask you again,” the woman threatened, her voice soft over a rolling hispanic accent.

Reading the tags on the door, Ben quickly grabbed a face mask and juggled his precarious paper burden to slip it on, before knocking on the door jam and sticking his head inside. “Is there a problem here?”

The rookie turned sharply on his heel, and Ben’s eyes caught that he didn’t have a mask on, but his attention was drawn away when the nurse’s gaze snapped toward him as well. Ben winced at the vitriol in her expression, even half-covered by the mask, and prepared himself to soothe some ruffled feathers.

“Yes, there’s a problem here. Your officer is endangering my patient, and he needs to leave. Now.”

The rookie, Peters, from his lapel, sighed and held up the camera hanging from a strap around his neck. “Sir, Captain Holland asked me to get pictures of the victims and their injuries. I’m just trying to do that, but she’s interfering.”

“That is not the issue and you know it.” The woman’s eyes flashed, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

The young officer turned on her with bared teeth, apparently repeating something he’s said to her before. “Captain Holland told me not to get in the way of the nurses or bother them. I’m not trying to hurt your patient.”

Ben could feel his head throbbing as his migraine grew, and pressed his lips together, trying for a calm, measured tone as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ma’am, it really is very important that we collect the necessary evidence from the victims. I’m sure if you and Officer Peters can cooperate—”

“Cooperate? You think this is an issue of cooperation?!” The storm fell with a fury, and Ben’s eyes widened as the nurse’s voice raised, words coming faster and faster. “If he’d asked for help then there would be no issue, but moving a critical care patient by himself and almost ripping out his chest tube is absolutely an issue.” She drew herself up to her full height, the top of her head coming up to Ben’s shoulder, the force of her spat words making him want to lean away. “I don’t care if you don’t know his name, but he’s my patient, and I won’t let you to hurt him out of ignorance.”

Ben blinked, eyes shooting to the still form on the bed. It felt like he’d been punched in the gut when he recognized the pale skin and dark hair, and his breath left him in a sharp exhale.

The John Doe that he and Kincaid had transported from the nest was still intubated, the tube pulling the side of his mouth painfully from where the apparatus holding it in place had been knocked askew. There was a wetness to his lashes which spoke of fake tears and absolutely no color had returned to those pale cheeks. Ben’s eyes were drawn lower, to where the blankets had been pulled away from the younger man’s torso, vicious red droplets of blood staining the white sheets where a chest tube, amongst others, was running under the mostly unconnected gown.

Ben felt his expression harden and his shoulders straightened from their fatigued slouch. He turned from the nurse’s rage to look down on the rookie, whose eyes widened at the cold fury on Ben’s face. “You tried to turn this patient without the assistance of one of the nursing staff? What are you? Stupid?!”

“No! Sir! I was just—“ A slashing hand motion cut Peters off, and his teeth clacked together with the speed of his jaw closing.

“I don’t give a shit what Holland ordered. Use your goddamn brain, Officer.” Ben’s voice was seething between his teeth, and he used his free hand to grab the young man’s shoulder and swing him around so that he could face the patient in the bed. “You could have killed him, do you get that? Use your brain and ask questions next time.”

The rookie, wisely, did not say anything other than a quiet, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Ben took a deep, calming breath, wincing as the ache of his head turned into a knife behind his eye. “Now, give me that camera and take these to the conference room at the end of the hall. Report to Holland, and let him know that I’ve put you on filing duty. Explain to him what happened, and if what I hear from him does not match what actually happened then we are going to have words. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Peters nodded, not quite meeting his gaze as the camera and folders exchanged hands.

The younger officer left the room quickly after that, and Ben closed his eyes as he fought to control his temper, his fingers massaging against his eyelids in an effort to push away the headache for a few more hours. Of all of the stupid, idiotic, ill-conceived. . .

The nurse cleared her throat, and Ben jumped, shooting her an apologetic glance at her over his mask. He adjusted the angle of his shoulders, giving her a slight nod. “Ma’am, I apologize for Officer Peters behavior and thoughtless actions.” The professional apology slid out of his mouth automatically, belaying the still swirling protective drive that was making his heart pound in his chest. “It is never our intention to put victims at any more risk than they’ve already been.”

She nodded at him, her expression easing out of its angry cast at the sincerity in his words. “Thank you, Lieutenant—?”

“Carter,” he answered, offering her his hand to shake until he saw her gloves and retracted it. “Lieutenant Benjamin Cater, but please, I answer to Ben.”

Ben tried to smile at her, even with the futility of the mask hiding his expression, but it felt hollow even to him. Usually, he was charming, flirtatious even, but he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in over twenty four hours, had forced himself through the adrenaline crash following the raid, and he didn’t know how long it would be before he got to sit down, let alone sleep. He was tempted to cry.

“Now,” Ben took a deep breath and set the camera on the empty chair, “before I address that again—“ he glanced at her badge “—Ms. Dominguez, would you like some help resettling your patient?”

She raised her eyebrow, looking him up and down shrewdly. “Call me Catrina,” she huffed and uncrossed her arms with an eye roll, “pick up the camera, and I’ll help you after I check him over.”

He felt himself relax a little. At least he wouldn’t have to sweet talk her into helping him after all. “Thank you, it really is important that we get these photos as soon as possible.”

“It’s always important,” Catrina muttered, turning to the John Doe. “Get some gloves and a gown before you even think about touching my patient,” she instructed him sternly.

Ben didn’t even consider arguing, and did as he was told. After he suited up, he snagged the camera by the strap and stepped to the opposite side of the bed from Catrina, his back to the door.

Catrina was carefully adjusting the apparatus holding the intubation tube in place, freeing the younger man from the painful pull on his mouth. “Okay, there you go, cariño,” she said softly, almost to herself. He felt his estimation of her go up another notch when she fully addressed the John Doe, her voice only a little louder. “We’re going to turn you now, Mr. Doe, so I can check your chest tube.”

Ben watched her steady hands as she folded back the blanket and unsnapped the shoulder of Doe’s gown, uncovering the mottled purple skin of his chest. He’d seen it in the nest of course, but the light of the lantern and flashlights had done a poor job of actually showing the damage. In the full brightness of the fluorescent hospital light, the damage was stark and told a story of overlapping misery. With all of the trauma and bruising, Ben felt like it shouldn’t be possible, but he was sure that he could see the impression the heels of his hands had left on Doe’s sternum from where Ben had tried to keep the other man alive.

He swallowed hard, shaking himself out of his self-recriminations, as Catrina folded the Doe’s arm across his torso in a way that didn’t pose a danger to the other IV lines or drains, and, at her head tilt, he helped her pull Doe on his side so that she had better access. One of his broad palms covered the swell of Doe’s shoulder, the other the jut of his hip over the gown, and Ben tried to ignore the impression of holding eggshell in his hands, conscious of the bones so close to the surface that Ben could feel them shifting.

The new position revealed the tube Peters had apparently almost ripped out. The white gauze around the chest tube was stained red, and with Ben helping her, Catrina’s hands were free to peel back the bloody bandages to fully reveal the intrusion to Doe’s body. The thick plastic tube was as wide as one of his fingers at the fattest knuckle, protruding from between his ribs with jagged black stitches holding it in place. His stomach swooped at the dark liquid being pulled through the drain, and he shook his head, tsking between his teeth. “You had to replace the chest tube.”

The brunette nurse looked at him askance, eye brow raised. Her eyebrows were very expressive, Ben noted. “And how do you know that?” she asked.

He took a deep breath, gesturing with his chin. “Fresh stitches, and it wasn’t pulling blood at the extraction site.”

She blinked, connecting the dots, and tilted her head to look up at him through her lashes. “You’re the one who found him.”

Ben nodded. “My partner and I were the ones who brought him in.”

“Everyone was talking about how you rode in here on that gurney like a pro,” she acknowledged, her hands never faltering as she re-bandaged her patient and tested the patency of the drain.

He hummed, unable to find the heart to feel anything other than sad about the circumstances of that story. He did not like having to perform CPR. He especially did not like having to perform CPR on nameless victims.

Catrina picked up on his somber mood, and dropped the subject. “That should do it, Mr. Doe,” she said to her patient, “We need to get a better look as some of the injuries, so we’re gonna be moving you, but it shouldn’t take long, okay?” Obviously not expecting an answer, she looked at Ben with a raised eyebrow. “How do you want to do this?”

“Help me move him, and I get photos of all of his injuries. Even the little details can help us break the case.”

“That’s going to be really stressful on him, Ben,” Catrina said, shaking her head. “He’s got a lot of injuries.”

They were both silent for a moment, their gloved hands keeping Doe on his side, the rasp of the ventilator filling the air. Ben could see the level of damage that they were dealing with, and it made him nauseous to think about everything else that was hidden by the gown. He knew a lot of it, but there was only so much he’d been able to see at the nest itself.

“I hear you,” Ben acknowledged, “We’ll do what we can, and you make the call on when we need to stop, okay?” Catrina nodded her agreement. “Since he’s already on his side, let’s get his back.”

Their hands swapped position, and Ben stepped to the other side of the bed as he fished out the forensic scale from one of the many pockets in his tactical pants. With the blankets pushed down and none of the ties done on the gown, the patient’s entire back was visible, and there was a cold sympathy circling in Ben’s gut as he took a photo of the exposed length of his back and shoulder, motioning Catrina to move her arm out of the shot. Moving closer, he placed the scale against the other man’s skin, taking photos closer and closer. There was a massive bruise across the breadth of his upper back, the green tinges at the edge putting the healing at most a few weeks old. If Ben had to guess, it was probably from being slammed into a wall. Or the floor.

Catrina moved her hand at his gentle nudge, and Ben shifted the scale again, taking a photos of a bullet scar in the John Doe’s shoulder. “How old do you think that is?” he asked quietly.

The nurse clicked her tongue, pondering. “There’s no telling, a couple of months at least.”

He nodded, taking pictures of a clearly defined hand print on his bicep. Fitting his hand over the bruises, Ben stretched his fingers, noting that his hand didn’t have quite the reach as Doe’s attacker. “Definitely a male,” he noted under his breath, feeling his eyebrows draw together when he imagined how much force would be necessary to cause bruises that deep. Definitely a vamp, he thought. Tugging away the lingering edge of the gown, Ben got photos of the bruises that trawled along his ribs, placing the scale on several different boot marks. One of the blotchy marks lower on Doe’s side was the impression of the sole of a shoe, a popular brand name etched into his skin. “Fucking hell,” he muttered.

“You’ll want to get this one,” Catrina interjected, her hand sliding to the back of Doe’s head.

Stepping around Catrina, he examined where she was indicating, and his stomach bottomed out. The other man’s neck was a symphony of healing bruises, the equidistant fang marks littering up and down the column of his throat, but at the nape of his neck was a bruise on the latter stages of healing. Even as healed as it was, Ben could make out the bite mark. This wasn’t just the penetration of fangs, it was the clear oval of someone’s teeth, the top and bottom of the impression on either side of his neck.

“Goddamnit,” he cursed, a steady thrum of rage kicking up in his chest. Ben closed his eyes for a moment. Trying to get a rein on his eroding temper.

That bruise wasn’t just an injury. It was degrading and possessive. Marking. For a vamp to use all of his teeth in an attack like that, when he’d clearly had physical control of the victim. . . Ben could guess some of the reasons for the location of the injury. He shook off the anger, taking several different photos of the teeth marks, including the ones over his jugular.

“I think that’s all for this side, he’s got bruises on the opposite hip and leg, but you can get pictures of those when he’s laying back down.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ben responded, following Catrina’s instructions as he helped her role him back to his supine position. Ben’s hands were shaking slightly as he helped Catrina unsnap the rest of the gown hiding Doe’s torso, and he consciously stilled them. It didn’t matter that peeling back that flimsy material was like peeling away the curtain on a horror show, it had to be done. With Catrina’s help, he removed the white gauze hiding the incisions that had been made, both old and new, that covered the massive trauma that was John Doe’s existence. There were more openings to his body than should have ever occurred: drains and tubes tunneling into his torso; IV’s and catheters pumping him full of fluids, medications and fresh blood; incision and stitched stab wounds that introduced staples and stitches in varying sizes. It was a travesty of cruelty and pain that stripped Ben’s heart to the marrow.

He did what he could to preserve the John Doe’s modesty, but Ben took every photo that he could to document the injuries that littered Doe’s wrecked frame. Too many to focus on, unexplainable bruises and abrasions, the unwritten history of torment.

Ben could tell that the younger man had taken care of himself before being taken, the lingering muscles in his chest and stomach speaking of someone who had been in shape before captivity. But what he had gone through was wasting him, making Doe appear fragile and weak with every mechanical breath as his chest rose and fell. “God bless, sweetheart,” Ben muttered, the flash blinding him again as he captured the image of the huge bruise that engulfed Doe’s hip and thigh, crawling down to his knee. The swollen tissue there was clearly painful, telling of a lot of damage. “What’s this injury?” Ben asked, looking at Catrina.

She stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched her patient and the monitors for signs of distress. “Torn ligaments and muscle damage.” Stepping forward, she unvelcroed the compression devise from around his calf, stripping it down to his foot. “You’re going to want a picture of that too,” she said, tone dark as she revealed a black hand print on her patient’s ankle.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ben spat. The headache he’d been ignoring flared to life with a vengeance, and he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, blinking forcefully to force away the pain. This guy had been through so much shit, and Ben wasn’t even done taking pictures.

“Are you alright?” Catrina asked, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just been a shit 48 hours.” He shook her off, taking pictures of the dark marks around his ankle. They looked like they were the same size as the ones on his arms, but they’d have to get an accurate measurement later.

From there, he had Catrina help him remove the bandages and splint around his wrists and hands, taking more photos of the damage there. He noted the overlapping finger marks from where he’d either been held down or held in place, and carefully, he traced the lines that wrapped around his wrists, the rough scabs and deeper abrasions from too tight cuffs. “You’re a fucking fighter, Bambi,” Ben muttered, splaying Doe’s long, nimble fingers over the blanket to get photos of his regrowing fingernails.

Catrina scoffed under her breath, already working on recovering and rebandaging her patient, “you can say that again.”

The last thing Ben took photos of was Doe’s face. Which was the opposite of the procedure that he normally followed, making sure the victim came before their injuries, but desperate, overworked times.

Doe’s features were slack, the intubation tube resting on dry, cracked lips. The delicate skin of his face was peppered with bruises, the arch of one cheek bone split, a sharp angle from some kind of corner marring the otherwise unmarked expanse of his forehead in green tinged memory. His thick, dark lashes were fanned over the purple half-moons under his eyes, the color so deep Ben wasn’t sure if they were from a black eye or lack of rest.

Examining the bruises scattered across the bottom of his face, Ben squinted and found the shape of the black marks even under the apparatus holding the breathing tube in place.

More finger marks.

He didn’t have the energy to curse again. There weren’t words for what had been done to Doe. All Ben could do was finish taking pictures.

When he straightened from his stoop over the bed, Ben’s vision swam, and Catrina’s firm grip on his elbow steadied him, kept him from toppling over. “Damn...” he groaned, pressing against his temple, head splitting open with the fury of its ache.

“When was the last time you ate something, Ben?” Catrina asked, her quick, accented speech softening slightly as she pushed him toward the empty chair.

“Um?” The noise was more than a little sheepish, and he rubbed the back of his neck, plopping down into the chair without resistance as his legs tried to give out under him. “Does it mean that my memory is shit if I can’t remember or just that it was that long ago?”

She rolled her eyes, pressing him forward until his elbows rested on his knees and his head was hanging. “Stay there, don’t pass out, I’ll be right back.” In a blur of blue scrubs and yellow gown , Catrina left the room. Leaving Ben alone with her patient, the quiet beeps of monitors, and the steady pump of the ventilator.

After a few seconds, the dark vertigo inducing throb of his head let up, and Ben lifted his face out of his hands. “Well, pumpkin,” he said, addressing the still form on the bed, “I hope you’ll forgive the lack of professionalism.” He smiled sadly, rolling closer so that he could take Doe’s hand between his own. “It’s been a hell of a long day, you know?”

Ben studied the other man’s face, looking past the bruises and tubing to the person beneath. He was handsome, whoever he was, the dark hair and pale skin contrasting to make him stand out rather than blend in. The faint beginnings of lines around his eyes made him seem like someone who was used to smiling. Someone Ben would’ve liked to know.

He remembered those striking green eyes and how they’d stared at he and Kincaid—the vivid emerald color enunciated by the broken capillaries, probably a result of the blow that cut his cheek bone, creating a stain of red on the background of white. The fear that had no business being in his gaze. What kind of hell have you been through, sweetheart?

The knowledge that this John Doe was a witch just amplified the horror that Ben was feeling. The fact that, in another life, this could be Kincaid in that bed. Used as a plaything, as a junkie’s source, until he was a shell of who he really was—with no one knowing who he was or where he came from?—it killed him. This guy was clinging to life with blood coated tenacity, and no one even knew his fucking name.

Ben had no idea how long this guy had been held, the bruises not even a clear outline of what had been done to him. Vampire venom was an anticoagulant, amongst other properties, and most every vampire victim Ben had come across was anemic. It made for interesting bruising history, the marks of captivity and abuse lasting for weeks longer than they should.

His teeth were grinding together, and Ben loosened the clench in his jaw, letting his frustration out in a shaky exhale. Fuck, he thought, I’m tired.

It didn’t take long for Catrina to come back, and Ben looked up in time to accept the small box of apple juice and crackers from her. “Thanks,” he said, rolling away from her patient, far enough he was comfortable moving his gloves and mask to suck on the straw under her hawk eyed gaze.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, another expressive movement of her eyebrows indicating that it really would be better forgotten.

Catrina busied herself with her patient while Ben made sure he didn’t pass out, moving smoothly around the room to check a beeping drip and taking a new blood sugar. Ben watched her, fatigue coming for him in heavy waves.

“What’s his prognosis?” he asked, the question slipping free while he rubbed at his blurry eyes. He had to ask it for his report, even if he knew the likelihood that it was a good answer was a nullity. Plus, there weren’t any loved ones here to ask, to worry about him, so Ben would have to do.

The nurse looked at him, her dark eyes holding a well of emotion at bay. “Not good,” she answered, voice solemn. “I’m going to give my report to Anna in about fifteen minutes at shift change if you want to sit in, she hasn’t been on with him yet so she’s going to get a full run down, but in short, not good.” She sighed, adjusting the pillow behind Doe’s head, breaking her gaze with Ben. “He’s having seizures, we suspect an anoxic brain injury.”

The words hit hard.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” he hissed, running his hands over his face and burying his fingers in his hair. Fuck.

Anoxic brain injuries were caused by lack of oxygen. Commonly occurring during CPR. Which Ben gave Doe when he crashed in the ambulance.

“Ben,” Catrina’s voice was adamant, she crossed to where he was sitting, her bright purple shoes invading his eye line as she put her hand on his shoulder. “We don’t know how serious it is yet. It’s been, what? Eighteen hours since your raid? He’s been through emergency surgery and anesthesia and a whole lot of other things since he’s been here, but there’s still a lot we don’t know. You didn’t do this to him, okay?”

He wanted to believe her. Logically, he knew that he didn’t do anything wrong. There was no way for him to do CPR better, no way for him to have gotten them to the hospital faster. The witch was so heavily injured at the nest that moving him was a risk, but it was a risk that they had to take. They couldn’t have left him there any longer, and he was going to crash whether they were there or not. It just so happened that Ben and Kincaid were able to get him help when it happened. There was no other option.

So, logically, he knew he did everything he could. But. . . what could he have done better?

Ben nodded, taking a shaky breath. It took a minute for his next words to come, but when they did, they evaporated from his tongue with a whisper. “He was conscious at the extraction,” his shoulders curled in, “he could answer questions. . . he was awake.” Her shoes blurred into a smear of purple, and he sniffed, swallowing hard against the tears. He was so fucking tired.

Catrina’s inhale was soft, surprised, and her hand tightening on his shoulder.

“You know what that raid was for?” he asked, tipping his head up to look at her face. Even if it wasn’t openly stated in the reports, a lot of people would put two and two together. It just took a person who actually believed that there was the supernatural out there.

At Catrina’s nod, he lowered his gaze again, feeling a tear slip down to dampen his mask. He closed his eyes, the scene playing out behind his eyelids. “Raids are these brief, staccato clips. They move so fucking fast, and you have to piece everything together afterward.” He shook his head, sighing heavily. “I haven’t. . . haven’t gotten the chance to do that yet.”

Catrina didn’t press him, didn’t stop him either. She settled on her knee. Patient. Expectant.

Ben swallowed, chest heavy. “When we first breached the building. . . “ he stared, words wet and slow, “there was this barrage of humans and vamps trying to get out. Until, just, one second to the next—“ he made a poof motion with his hand, “—they were just gone. I don’t know what happened, how they got out.” His eyes were wide, unseeing, and he didn’t feel his body shaking. “There were a few stragglers, but otherwise it was this dark silence that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck.

“After every corner, we expected there to be a hoard of them ready to pounce on us. Every sense was on high alert for any noise, some small—“ his face screwed up in search of the right word, “—animal corner of your mind trying to feel where the predator was going to come from. Our teams cleared most of the compound by the time we made it up to the clinic, but so much was still unknown.” His breath hitched, and he let go of his hair, his hands falling between his knees. Shaking. “We didn’t have any idea what we were walking into, really. There wasn’t much to it, just some curtains and medical supplies. It was innocuous.”

He paused again, licking his lips behind the mask. Nose not quite stuffed enough to miss the medicinal smell of the disposable shield. “The other rooms on the floor were all empty, everywhere you expected someone to be was empty. So when we heard the machines, it was just background noise. Enough to know we needed to be on guard, but we were on guard anyway.

“We have these flashlights on the ends of our guns,” he said, waving a hand in vague explanation,” and the lights jump around, create these jerky splashes of light and shadow on the walls. They’re useful, but it also makes you jumpy as hell.” Another tear slipped free, dripping down to plop quietly onto the sleeve of his crinkly, yellow gown. “When we pulled back that curtain. . . I think the only thing that saved him was the fact that he couldn’t move.” Shame flushed through him, and his bit his lip, throat closing up over his words as he fought to explain himself. “None of us expected to see someone in that clinic. In the cells below? Sure. In the quarters with the vamps? Yeah. But for some reason, we all expected that clinic to be empty once we got up there.”

Ben blew out a choked breath, almost a sob, tucking his chin against his chest before he continued.

“The sinking feeling that went through my gut when I saw that figure on the bed. Fuck. For a second, everybody just froze.” Logically, Ben knew that he should be filtering his words. That he should stop. That Catrina didn’t need to hear about how scared her patient was when he was found, or what it did to Ben to see him like that, but the words wouldn't stop. “He was so scared. Hands flat—“ Ben flattened his own for a second in demonstration, “—on the bed like he could be any threat to anyone in the condition that he was in, like he wasn’t already strapped down and helpless”

Catrina’s breath caught, and he saw her gloved hand go shakily to her mouth.

“I’ve got a lot of training,” he wiped at his eyes, looking into Catrina’s dark eyes, unsurprised to find tears there too, “enough to know that how they were treating him. . . “ He shook his head, unable to put it into words. She would know better than he would anyway. “He was too weak to talk, but the way he looked at us. . . “ Tears were choking him, and he couldn’t get a full breath. “And now. . . now. . .”

He wasn’t expecting the arms pulling him in, the warmth of Catrina’s embrace, but he gave in to it all the same. His head rested heavily on her shoulder, her gloved hand on the back of his hair, the latex pulling slightly at the short strands there. Her breaths weren’t steady either, and he heard her cursing quietly under her breath, her voice shaking.

When they pulled apart, Catrina looked him dead in the eye, her hand tight on his bicep. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? What he needs, now, is for us to take care of him and for you to find out who did this, and who he is. Find where he belongs, right?” Another tear escaped, her mascara smudged underneath her eyelashes.

Ben nodded, sniffling quietly before he rubbed his tears away with the back of hand. “Yeah. . .” he cleared his throat, taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders, “yeah, we’re gonna find who did this.”

They both looked over to the John Doe, his unconscious figure unchanged from where Catrina had left him.

Ben was going to find who did this if it was the last thing he ever did.

#Markus/Lucien Series #Protective Caretaker #Crying Caretaker #Medical Whump #Hurt/Comfort #Angst #Unconscious Whumpee #Intubated Whumpee #Chest Tube #Exhausted Caretaker #Urban fantasy setting #All will be revealed #captivity #abuse #graphic depictions of injury #graphic depictions of medical treatment

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

Text

Café: Cottage

Previous: Teaser 1, Teaser 2, Hospital/Squad Car, Empty Bar, Used Car Lot 1, Used Car Lot 2, Gas Station, Roadside 1, Roadside 2, Forest, Treetops

Ngl, this one..... genuinely hurt my heart.

TW for: illness/fever, referenced murder of a child (she was a zombie but that still is very much what happened), Sharing A House With A Corpse, panic attack, hallucination, heavily implied past abuse, past suicide attempt, nonsexual nudity, serious PTSD flashback, survivor unintentionally triggered while receiving medical help. I hope that’s everything but please ask if you need anything else tagged.

@whumpitywhumpwhump

Sol stops at the door of the little house so fast he almost drops Kent on his ass; Kent whines sleepily in his ear.

“Oh my god,” he says, staring at Pax in absolute horror. “That’s— are you a fucking sociopath, dude? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The one remaining mark in Pax’s favor is that at least they don’t look happy about it, either. “What?” they say, sounding harried. “This is the only house we knew for sure would be out here, and her tracks were pretty easy to follow, it just makes—”

“I am not going in there. We are not looting the house of the little girl we,” he drops his voice, even though he knows that’s stupid, “fucking murdered!”

Pax bristles, their hand already on the door handle. “It’s not—” They visibly force themself to relax. “First of all, it’s not looting if everyone who needs it is dead, don’t be a fucking narc. Second of all, it’s not looting if we need it more than they do, and your boyfriend needs whatever they’ve got, baby.”

Sol laughs hysterically. “Kent will literally die before he takes medicine we stole from that little girl’s house,” he says with complete conviction.

Pax has been facing the door, and now he turns back to Sol and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t doubt that he will, yeah,” Pax says. “You planning on letting him?”

Sol shift’s Kent’s too-insignificant weight on his back. Kent makes a very quiet sleepy groan in his ear.

“Ugh, fuck,” Sol says. “Fine.” Pax nods and opens the front door of the house in the woods from which Leah the Dead Girl came. They take a step inside and go rigid, but then give themself a shake and keep going.

Sol, wanting to do literally anything else, sticks his head in the door and looks around, and immediately stumbles sideways. The door opens onto the living room, and there is a dead man sprawled on the floor in front of the tv with the top of his head blown off.

“Jesus!” Sol yells, and Kent flinches against his back, gasping quietly. “What the fuck, Pax!”

Pax is trying doors off the hallway and does not look back at Sol, or the mangled corpse, either. “I didn’t fucking put it there,” they snap. “That must be dear ol’ dad.”

Sol stares at the dead man. The room smells like blood, but nothing else, yet. Must be— must be new. God.

“Oh, thank fuck. Come on,” Pax calls from the end of the hall, and Sol holds Kent’s legs securely and scurries gratefully after them. “Master with an ensuite. Jesus loves us after all.”

The bedroom is small but blessedly free of corpses. Sol kicks the door shut behind him like that will somehow help him forget there is a dead body in this house.

He backs up to the bed, and crouches so Kent will be close to it, and turns his head, tapping Kent’s arm gently.

“Hey,” he says softly. “We’re here, buddy, you can get off now.”

Kent blinks slowly, his eyes unfocused, and exhales a slow, hot breath into Sol’s ear, and then carefully unwinds his arms from around Sol’s shoulders, and Sol lowers him onto the bed. Sol turns back to him, standing quicker than he means to without Kent’s weight.

The second Sol isn’t holding him up Kent sags sideways, so completely limp that Sol has to grab his shoulders to keep him from falling right off the side of the bed. His head lolls forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Sol drops to his knees in front of the bed, reaching for Kent’s forehead, which is bone-dry and hot as a pavement under the summer sun.

“Pax,” Sol says, his voice coming out high and scared, and cups his hand on Kent’s burning cheek, resisting the urge to try and shake him awake. Kent’s eyelids flutter weakly.

“Dnnwa— don’ wnnn,” Kent mumbles, his brow furrowing.

“Paxon,” Sol cries, “he’s— “

Paxon appears at his side holding a damp cloth and an oral thermometer. “Yeah, I heard,” he says, sliding the thermometer into Kent’s mouth and holding his jaw. Kent’s frown deepens and he makes a protesting noise, and Paxon leans forward and says, “don’t spit that out,” in a deep, commanding voice. Kent immediately goes completely still.

After a second Sol realizes that Kent is holding his breath.

He leaps up to sit on the bed next to Kent and wraps his arm around Kent’s narrow waist; Kent is a full head taller than him but immediately leans into him like a little boy, grabbing a weak fistful of Sol’s wet shirt. Sol hesitates, and then reaches up with his other hand to stroke Kent’s hair; Kent shivers.

“Kent,” Sol says, trying to remember the utter calm of Kent’s voice when he was first talking to the little girl who used to live in this house. “Breathe through your nose, buddy, come on.”

Kent takes a deep, shuddering breath in. Pax, still kneeling in front of him on the floor, holding Kent’s chin, darts their eyes over to Sol for a second, looking deeply troubled, and then frowns back into Kent’s face.

There’s nothing else to do, so Sol scratches Kent’s scalp lightly and counts the thermometer’s beeps. Pax is completely still, watching Kent’s face with intense focus. Kent trembles and doesn’t open his eyes, but when Sol tightens his arm around his waist and reminds him again, he does keep breathing.

The thermometer goes off after what must be seconds but feels like several years, and when Pax pulls it out of Kent’s mouth Kent sags against Sol’s side, and then turns to hide his face against Sol’s shirt, and Sol realizes with a start that he’s crying.

“That was good, Kent,” Pax says, and Kent shivers against Sol’s chest. Pax looks down at the thermometer’s display, and pales slightly. “Fuck. Okay. Hold on.” They get to their feet and whirl back to the bathroom to rummage through the cupboards some more.

Sol doesn’t pick up the thermometer when they drop it; the specific number is deeply not worth letting go of Kent at this stage. Kent is pressing his head against Sol’s chest, making his tall body as small as possible, and he’s breathing hard, his arms around Sol’s waist. Sol tightens his own arm around Kent’s waist, and Kent’s breath hitches, becoming more like sobbing.

“Hey,” Sol says, desperately. “Kent, it’s okay, it’s— we’re gonna take care of you. Can you relax for me a little bit, buddy?”

Kent shudders violently, and he folds over completely until his forehead is resting on Sol’s thigh; Sol freezes, baffled. Sol can feel his breath because it’s shaking his whole body, and it’s—it might be words, but Sol can’t understand what they are. He bends down to hear better, moving his hand on Kent’s back in what he hopes are soothing circles.

“Sorry,” Kent is saying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Okay,” Pax says with forced briskness, striding out of the bathroom. “These should bring his fever down, assuming we can actually get him to— um.” Pax blinks down at Kent, shivering mostly in Sol’s lap, and for a second they look genuinely distressed. “Uh, okay, sit him up, I’m gonna see if I can get him to take these. Hold this.” Pax helps Sol pull Kent upright— though it isn’t hard, he’s limp as a ragdoll— and Sol gets sort of awkwardly behind him to hold him up, supporting the back of his head with one hand, and holding the glass of water Pax hands him with the other. “Kent,” Pax says. Sol’s brain is trying to squirrel away in a thousand directions so it notes that this is the first time he’s heard Pax say Kent’s actual name. “I’m gonna give you two of these, and I need you to swallow them, okay?”

Kent’s eyes open, finally, though they’re bright and reflective as glass, and he shakes his head, his hands opening and closing uselessly in his lap.

“I— Donn’ wwant—”

“Kent,” Sol says in his gentlest voice. “It’s medicine, baby, okay? Will you please take it?”

Kent swings his head unsteadily around to look at Sol. There are big full tears rolling down his cheeks and he looks like Sol has just told him to step in front of a firing squad; even knowing he’s telling the truth it’s still a look that sinks in Sol’s stomach like lead. Then Kent looks back at Pax and finally nods miserably and opens his mouth.

Pax slips a tab of aspirin onto Kent’s tongue and Sol holds the glass up to his lips and Kent swallows obediently, closing his eyes and shuddering. By the time he’s swallowed the second one his silent tears have turned into big hiccupping sobs. Sol— hates this, maybe more than he’s ever hated anything his whole life.

“Jesus,” Pax says, getting shakily to his feet; it’s an understatement but one Sol thoroughly endorses. “I’m gonna run him a bath. Try to get him to finish that water.” They back away, running a hand through their hair, which is beginning to fall loose around their shoulders now. “Christ.”

Sol watches them trudge into the bathroom and kneel next to the tub, to give himself a second to take a deep breath. Kent hasn’t tried to move away, is still leaning against Sol’s side and crying great wracking sobs. Sol hesitates and then very carefully puts his hand under Kent’s chin and tips his chin up so he isn’t hiding his face against Sol’s shirt anymore. Kent lets him, but his eyes are unfocused and he clearly isn’t seeing Sol.

“Kent,” Sol says. “Can you look at me, honey?”

Kent blinks slowly, his long eyelashes heavy with tears, and exhales, his brows pulling slowly into a confused frown, like he’s thinking very hard. “Wh...ere...?” he says in a small voice. “Don’t... I don’t— “

“Okay,” Pax calls from the bathroom. “The bath is ready. Do you need help getting him in?”

Kent goes completely rigid in Sol’s arms, his eyes flying wide; he stares forward toward Pax’s voice, his eyes still blank and unseeing. “No,” he says, grabbing a handful of Sol’s jacket, his trembling turning into huge shudders running down his whole body. “No, please d— I can, I can be better, I’m sorry, please don’t— “

“Kent,” Sol says, alarmed, “Kent, it’s fine, what’s—Kent!”

Kent turns back to Sol, desperate, still not seeing him. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words coming so fast Sol almost can’t understand them. “Chase, tell him, tell him I’m sorry, please don’t let him, Chase, please—”

He grabs for Sol’s arms and Sol lets him, searching his face for any shred of recognition, but there’s nothing. “Kent, that’s not— that’s not me, baby, I don’t know who you’re—” Kent whines in the back of his throat, a horrible trapped-animal sound, and lets his head flop forward onto Sol’s chest. “Pax, what’s— what is he—?”

Pax, standing in the bathroom doorway, shakes his head helplessly. “I don’t— I don’t know. Just— here, get his shoulders and I’ll get his legs.”

“No!” Kent wails, and tries to pull back from Sol, but he’s so unsteady Sol has to grab him by the coat collar to keep him from falling off the bed. “No, fa—father, daddy, please, I’m sorry—”

“Kent, it’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you,” Sol says desperately, but Pax just picks up Kent’s feet, ignoring his weak and uncoordinated attempts at shaking them off.

“He’s not hearing you,” they say grimly. “Best way we can help him is to get his fever down. Help me get him in the bathroom, at least, and we’ll—” They falter, and then square their shoulders and keep moving. “We’ll get his clothes off and cool him down.”

Kent thrashes in Sol’s grip but it’s distressingly easy to hold him. “God,” he moans. “Do we fucking have to, that’s— that’s—”

“You don’t want him in wet clothes, man,” Pax says. “Here—careful—lay him down here first. Help me with his coat.” Sol stares at Pax, feeling his own eyes burn. Pax looks at him, their face softening. “I know, man. But you can apologize when he’s lucid.”

Kent doesn’t resist, and that’s— much worse, but it does mean that he’s in the bath within five incredibly terrible minutes, his head back and his eyes squeezed shut, every muscle visibly pulled as tight as it will go.

“For god’s sake, sunshine,” Pax says, leaning back against the side of the toilet. “The point is to calm you down. Take a deep fucking breath.”

“I’m sorry,” Kent whispers. “I’m sorry, I’ll— please don’t put my head under. Please don’t, daddy, I don’t think I can—”

Sol, kneeling next to the tub, grabs his hand where it’s dangling limply over the side of the tub, squeezes it in both of his. “Kent,” he says, horrified, “Kent, we’re not— we were never going to do that, Jesus Christ.” Kent squeezes weakly back.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you, thank you, I won’t do it again I promise, daddy, I promise.”

Sol holds onto Kent’s hand, not looking at Pax. The scars on Kent’s wrists reach halfway up to his elbow, one vertical line on each arm crossed with two horizontal ones. The adrenaline that’s been powering him through since they first came in the front door is running out and Sol lowers his head to rest against Kent’s hand, exhausted.

“We’re not gonna hurt you, baby,” he says, knowing Kent won’t hear him. He’ll say it again when Kent is in the room with him instead of whatever terrible place he’s lost in now. “That’s a fucking promise.��

#whump #original whump #the café at the end of the world #fever #sickfic #delirious #flashback #begging #resisting care #past suicide attempt #scars #past abuse

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theav0cadobaby · 5 years

Text

Podcast Recs cause I'm listening to too many of them. I listened to most of these in a month.

WOLF 359:

I literally couldn't recommend this podcast enough it's a ride of excitement and stress; twists and turns that is a rollercoaster of an experience. Basically it's about this crew of three plus a friendly AI orbiting the dwarf star Wolf 359, it seems like a fun comedy until shit gets real.

This podcast has frequent stressful situations, a lot of violence, and a lot of near death experiences. It's hard to tag everything.

WE FIX SPACE JUNK:

This podcast so far is really interesting in world building and characters. It's about these two mechanics held in debt by this intergalactic corporation that go around and fix space junk.

This podcast has violence, body horror in one episode, and alien plagues.

KING FALLS AM:

This is kinda like a mix of Gravity Falls and Welcome to Night Vale. The show is told completely through radio broadcasts of the Sammy and Ben show. Though mysterious things (more mysterious than all of the other paranormal shenanigans) start happening and it's just... Great. All of the characters are wonderful and honestly hilarious, I really recommend this one it's sooooo good.

There are depictions of Gaslighting, violence, alien abductions, intense racism from one character though it's very clear that that character is a bad person and it is comedic, homophobia in later episodes, violence against sugar gliders specifically (no I'm not kidding), and one murderous elf on the shelf.

THE INFINITE NOW:

I honestly don't know what the hell goes on in this podcast but like it's pretty cool time stuff so like yeah. Its two hours tops to get through it.

This story is a bit trippy and I honestly barely remember it so I don't have much in the way of trigger warnings

JANUS DESCENDING:

This podcast is good technically I'd say but it's kinda thick if that makes sense. It feels like a chore to watch cause I don't care that much for the characters and they don't talk like normal people which is annoying. But it's still something I think is good. It's about these two scientists going to an alien planet and getting their shit fucked up thoroughly. It's genuinely terrifying at times.

There are trigger warnings in the show notes but this podcast has a lot body horror, violence, and is kinda fucked up sometimes.

TIDES:

Honestly this podcast is the next big thing in my opinion. I really liked the first season it's so interesting and it's like Janus Descending but a lot cooler and more interesting and funny. I'm really looking forward to it's next season! Basically this Xenobiologist (space animal scientist) is stranded on alien planet with intense tidal activity and the podcast is a mix of her complaining about her co-workers, surviving, and talking about the ecosystem. It's super interesting.

This podcast is kinda icky but I love it. There are depictions of small spaces and people who don't like water might not like this podcast.

EOS 10:

This is one of the big ones. It's about doctors, a cook, and an alleged space terrorist on this space station. It's really funny and I love the characters to death. The third season got a bit tricky though cause they kinda had to retcon a character out of the story cause they apparently fired his voice actor. And it gets like.... Super confusing. But still please watch it it's so good.

This story deals with alcoholism and drug addiction, along with violence, terrorism, grief, sexual interactions (though these are brief.) And medical stuff in general.

STAR TRIPPER!!!:

It's like We Fix Space Junk but 100x more positive (not saying that WFSJ is inferior, that's not true at all) and honestly it's like so sweet to watch. Things can get a bit unclear but that's okay. Also apparently the main character is nonbinary so that's great. It's about this fellow Feston who decides "fuck it" and fucks off away from their office job and goes to explore the universe with their ship (who I love btw, she's really nice)

There are occasional moments of violence and implications of sexual situations but overall it's pretty safe I think.

THE PENUMBRA PODCAST:

I haven't listened to the other storyline yet but basically it's about this private detective on mars. It's really gay like... REALLY GAY. This is the epitome of the "podcasts are really gay" posts. This podcast is what they're talking about. Aside from that is has a really interesting plot, stellar voice acting and great characters!

This podcast has depictions of violence, body horror at some point, guns (laser guns though) and abuse (there is a warning before those episodes however.

WELCOME TO NIGHTVALE

This is a genre defining podcast. All of the podcasts I just listed proably wouldn't exist without this and it's actually so good. It's fucking trippy, and it's so much fun. You can tell the creators put so much love and thought into the podcast and it's just amazing. Basically it's a radio show about this incredibly weird town. And if I have to explain it to you, that means you need to listen to it.

This podcast is very existential, and since it's just so weird and all over the place in what's weird it's hard to really tag anything, I apologise, plus it's been a while since I've listened to it.

THE ADVENTURE ZONE:

This podcast is so fucking good, you've probably already heard of it, and definitely of the producers, the McElroy family. It's these three brothers and their dad playing DnD (initially) together and I can't even describe it. But it literally made me cry so hard that I got a sinus infection.

There are depictions of violence, torture during the suffering game arc, there's an instance of bury your gays which I'm not gonna elaborate on cause of spoilers but don't worry about it. And sometimes some innuendos and sexual stuff ("hey thug what's your name I'm about to tentacle your dick" is an iconic line and a good example of that)

UNDER PRESSURE:

This podcast is about a philosophy student going to live in a underwater station and it's a lot of fun and the atmosphere of wet and uncomfortable is really excellently communicated. It's another really diverse podcast (which seems to be a trend with Procyon podcasts)

This podcast is not for people who like small spaces and deep ocean.

THE STRANGE CASE OF STARSHIP IRIS:

Maybe I'm just stupid or this one's hard to keep up on. Nevertheless I really liked the characters and it's just really fun. It's about this crew of ragtag smugglers trying to find out what's up with the former ship of their new crewmate. Featuring a lot of diversity (This is a Procyon podcast) and good voice acting.

BEAR BROOK

This is actually a true crime / nonfiction podcast about the Bear Brook murders. It's rather gory and disgusting at times but really interesting.

This podcast is not for the faint of heart though, it is a true crime podcast, and it does talk about the horrible things that a serial killer can do.

THE BRIGHT SESSIONS:

Basically therapy sessions for those with abnormal abilities. It's really good and the characters are actually so amazing. This podcast does a lot of interesting stuff that really interests me. I haven't finished it but I'm currently pretty far in. I think this podcast has the potential to actually help people with their problems.

This podcast has depictions of gaslighting, manipulation, panic attacks, mentions of torture and isolation, attempted kidnapping, actual kidnappings, depictions of war (this has trigger warnings though), and violence

TIME:BOMBS:

I'm actually sad that this is just a three part series. It's so much fun, and so good. It's by the same people who made Wolf 359 and it follows a bomb squad on New Year's Eve. Highly recommend it cause it's a really quick listen.

This podcast has bombs.

LORE:

This podcast deals with true crime and supernatural stuff and is presented in the classic podcast way. It's also really triggering cause of the true crime aspect but I seriously recommend this. It's genuinely really informative.

This podcast like Bear Brook is not for the faint of heart.

MYTHS AND LEGENDS:

This is a really interesting take on various legends it's a mix of storytelling in a very nonfictional sense that slips into dialogue that's rather interesting. I haven't listened to a lot of the episodes but it's good.

This podcast does discuss myths that were a product of their times so there are depictions and mentions of misogyny, rape and violence, even if I haven't listened to all of it.

MYTHUNDERSTOOD:

Has that same kinda switches in storytelling as Myths and Legends but a lot less coordinated and a lot funnier. Its a lot of fun to listen to the podcast and the hosts are really funny.

These also have the same tw as the podcast before this.

ALICE ISNT DEAD:

This is by one of the co-creators of WTNV it's about a trucker trying to find her lost wife. Ive only listened to the first part but it's really good and I highly recommend it. It's actually like amazing and really captivating. Also terrifying.

This podcast has depictions of intense violence, existentialism, and body horror. And probably more I haven't even finished it.

I'm sorry if I didn't include something in the trigger warnings about these podcasts, but I hope it helps. I've been listening to a lot of them and it's so much fun!

#podcasts #ella rambles #podcast recommendations #im not tagging all of them

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peachywise · 6 years

Text

Falling With You

steve harrington x reader

– one-shot

– synopsis: You were the best babysitter ever. Who else would take the kids to an abandoned hospital? It’s just too bad Steve Harrington doesn’t think the same. (age; 17-18) (au where you’re will and jonathan’s sibling)

– notes: so this is pure fluff and i don’t think i edited it that well, but I HOPE YOU ENJOY, as always theres a slight swear warning, and i guess an accident tw?? the reader hurts their leg a bit. let a gal know if you want to be added to the tag list!!

You were the best god damn baby sitter ever.

For about two weeks, your little brother Will has been talking about an abandoned old hospital about an hour out of town. It was small, not a massive structure, and you knew it wasn’t unheard of for some people to go out there at night and explore. Will and his friends had wanted to go so bad, but the only possible way they could get there by themselves was with their bikes which would take a while. Since Jonathan was the only one with a car, they had asked him to take them, but he quickly rejected that idea. Apparently, it was too dangerous. What an uptight loser.

But of course, being the better sibling, you had no reservations about taking them. You just needed the right opportunity. And finally, it had come.

Today was the day you got to babysit the gang. Jonathan had gotten news the day before that he had to take an emergency shift when Joyce was also working. You were quick to offer your very free baby sitting services to make sure they wouldn’t call Steve Harrington to take over. There wasn’t any need for that Farrah Fawcett hair wannabe. He’d spoil the fun.

Just last night you had borrowed Jonathan’s car to scope out the hospital. You had said you were just going over to Nancy’s house to study, but that was a blatant lie. Really, you just wanted to make sure there weren’t any weird things lying about the old place, and to get a lay of the land so you wouldn’t get lost leading them around. You weren’t as uptight as your brother or Steve, but you still gave a damn about their safety.

But now? Now it was time to let them know the good news. Making your way into the dining room area, where Mike, Max, Dustin, Lucas, El, and Will were all crowded around talking over one another in a flurry of words you couldn’t understand, you unceremoniously smashed the car keys you had hidden from Jonathan this morning (making him walk to work), and yelled out, “who’s ready to go to the doctors?”

All you got in return was a collective stare of confusion from the kids. Maybe that wasn’t as clever as you thought.

Clearing your throat slightly, you tried to nonchalantly twirl the key ring around your finger as you stated, “we’re going to go to that abandoned hospital while it’s still light out, get your butts in the car.” You had never heard such a chorused reaction. Will smiled brightly as he raised his fist in the air excitedly, looking towards Dustin and Lucas who both chattered excitedly. Max seemed indifferent, but you easily knew she was just as excited as they were. El just looked at Mike, who stared at you and said the obvious, “all of us aren’t going to fit in the car.” Dustin let out a long groan of, “come on, Mike.”

“You guys are small, and it’s only a short ride. Two of you can sit in the front, and four of you can squish in the back. As long as you don’t tell your parents,” you said pointedly, glaring your eyes playfully at your little brother, “then I don’t see much of an issue.” As reserved as Mike still seemed, everyone was already up and moving out the door so he really couldn’t argue. Patting his back gently, you muttered, “don’t worry so much, El will protect you from any big bad we may find,” before skipping out the door with the rest of them, just as excited.

As soon as you stepped outside, Dustin, Lucas, and Will were all fighting for shot gun on the front porch. “Why don’t you guys just rock, paper, scissors for it?” you offered, as you popped open the driver’s side of Jonathan’s beat up car. As the boys proceeded to just that, you gave a knowing nod at Max who quickly scurried into the middle passengers seat and shut the door. You heard Dustin exclaim, “that’s not fair,” as you gave a conspiring grin to the red-headed girl.

As the rest of the kids climbed in the car, Lucas seemingly winning the coveted final shot-gun spot, you double checked to see that everyone was safe and secure before pulling out of the gravel lot and driving off.

The trip ended up being a bit shorter than an hour, thank God for that. Being in a cramped car with a bunch of noisy preteens turned out to be not the most enjoyable experience. Especially since you had to pull over the car twice for Dustin who had to go to the bathroom. What kind of mutant bladder did that kid even have?

By the time you had pulled the car into a small dirt lot walking distance the hospital, you were so close to ripping Jonathan’s steering wheel out and hurdling it into the back seat at them. Instead, you went the moral route. “Hey!” you shouted, clapping your hands for added dramatic effect. They all quickly quieted down and stared at you with wide eyes. “Be careful while we’re in they’re alright? Don’t separate from the group, and we have to be out before it get’s dark. Got it?”

Lucas was the first to speak up, adding “but what if—”

You raised your hand up to cut him off. “Nope. Those are the rules.” The group collectively muttered various agreements, as everyone scrambled out of the car. Stretching your limbs out, you turned to glance down at your little brother who’s eyes were glued to the street. “Will, what’s up?”

Turning his attention towards you, his eyebrows were slightly creased. “Uh, no, it’s nothing. I just thought I saw Steve’s car behind us for a while there.” Oh no. Oh shit. “You thought you saw Steve’s car?” you questioned carefully, gripping both of his shoulders and holding on for dear life. “Yeah! But no one’s here, someone must have had a similar car…” he trailed off, his eyes wandering to look over your shoulder again. His face dropped a bit.

Turning to look over your own shoulder with a slowness and anticipation only seen in horror movies, you let out a long breath as you noticed a very familiar car pull into the lot. “Here comes dad, everyone” you muttered out loud. Dustin stifled back a snorted laugh.

Letting go of Will, you moved him a little behind you as if to block him from view of the fight that was inevitable about to happen. Such innocent eyes shouldn’t have to bear witness to something that was going to be so utterly disappointing.

“What do you guys think you’re doing here,” Steve’s demanding voice rung out as he opened his car door, swinging it shut behind him in an almost theatrical motion. He planted his hands on his hips. Here we go.

“Have you taken up stalking now, Harrington?” you questioned with a quirked smirk, stepping up to the boy who was dressed in some sort of gym uniform. Must have had basketball practice or something. Not that you noticed what he did in his spare time. Nope.

“Stalking?” He sputtered out in a bit of shock, before trying to cover it up with a laugh of disbelief. “No. I went to your house to give Dustin the hat he forgot in my car since I knew he was there, but instead I saw someone cramming six kids into one small car,” he accused pointedly. Fair.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you inquired defensively, “so what? You just decided to follow us? Steve, you really should get a hobby.”

It seemed that pinched a nerve. Good.

Making a scoffing noise, Steve stepped closer to you as if to intimidate you. It didn’t work. “I was going to offer to drive some of them to wherever the hell you were going if I caught up to you, but I didn’t think you were going to this freaking death trap!” You gave a small fake yawn, as Max mumbled behind you, “this is getting boring.” You agreed.

“Seriously, we’re going back, get in” Steve continued, as he marched his way over to his car and opened up the back seat door, pointing inside like some lame ass admiral. No one made any effort to move as he just gave a stern look back. After about a half a minute long stare down, all he did was breathe out a frustrated, “really?”

Rolling your eyes, you walked up to his car and slammed his door shut. “You can leave if you want, Steve. It’s alright. We know you don’t like fun,” you smiled as you brushed past him, Lucas giving a small ‘ooo’ sound as you did. “Come on guys, let’s go ghost hunting,” you cheerfully stated, wrapping your arm around Will’s shoulder as the small group began to make their way down the trail. You heard gravel moving behind you as if Steve was pacing, but after about a minute, his steps caught up to you.

Dropping your arm away from your brother, Steve was quick to grip it and stop you in your tracks. “What now?” you bit out, turning to face his hard look. Dang. Intense looked kind of good on him.

“Come on, are we going or not?” Mike pressed as he turned to look at you two from the head of the trail. Sighing, you shrugged your arm from Steve and ordered, “just follow the trail and we’ll catch up. Don’t go in without us.” Will was the only one who seemed slightly hesitant, but a tiny smile at your brother seemed to reassure him enough as he moved along with the rest of his friends.

“Do you even know what could be in there? Squatters. Dangerous medical equipment. Murderers!” Steve exclaimed, as he actually threw his hands up into the air. Wow. You’d never seen anyone actually do that before. “You really think that lowly of me? Steve, I was here last night. Other than a few old structures, it’s safe. It’s pretty much gutted,” you commented honestly. You were more hurt than anything at his lack of trust in you. You were only a year younger than him, and had taken care of the kids countless times. “We’re only going to be here for an hour or two, tops. Besides, I have my pocket knife on me,” you added with a shrug of your shoulders.

“You have a what?!” He hollered out. Mmm. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned that.

Poking his chest, he stumbled back a bit as you glared up at the taller boy. “Oh don’t you judge me, Steve Harrington. Are you telling me that if I go look in the trunk of your car right now, I won’t find that nail bat in there?” you gritted out, as his eyes seemed genuinely a little stunned. He sat there stuttering for a second, as if unsure what to say, but still wanting to prove he was right. In the end he gave up. Sweet victory.

“Okay. Fine,” he sighed.

For a beat, you two just stood their eyeing each other down, but it was broken all too soon when he hesitantly asked, “do you mind if we go back so I can grab it?” You didn’t even try to stop the laughter that busted out of you. He just gave you a dirty look as you tried to calm yourself down enough to smile and say, “yeah we can go get it.”

By the time you two had finally made it to the front entrance of the small, three story hospital, the kids were no where in sight. Oops.

“Perfect. This is great!” Steve chastised, turning to give you a disapproving look. Oh no. He wasn’t pinning this on you.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t shown up and needed to get that stupid bat of yours!” you shot back, stomping up the steps of the hospital and swinging open the rickety, pale green door. Shit. They weren’t even inside the entrance. Where the hell could they have gone?

“This bat isn’t stupid, and it’s sure as hell better than whatever crappy little switch blade you have with you.” You gasped in fake melodramatic shock, whirling to look back at him. “Well,” you breathed, trying to come up with another comeback. You came up flat as you weakly retorted, “I have better hair than you.” Steve just chuckled, bumping his shoulder into yours as he passed by with a bored, “we both know that isn’t true.” Yeah. He was right, But you wouldn’t admit it.

Dragging your hands down your face, you span around the dirty area in frustration. “Maybe we should just split up and look for them? You take one side, I’ll take the other?” Steve quickly shot that idea down as he said, “Uh, no. Splitting up is the worst thing we can do. We should wait here until they get back.”

“Well that’s a stupid idea too,” you mumbled, as you began to walk up the eastern corridor, not even waiting for Steve. They weren’t some lost kids in a grocery store. He just let out an aggravated groan before catching up to you.

You began to search rooms in a somewhat comfortable silence, making a passing comment here or there about how weird the place was or pointing out any sign that one of the kids had passed by. You half suspected them of playing some twisted game of hide and seek being how quiet they all were, but before you had time to propose such a theory, Steve spoke first.

“So why did you take them here?” Turning to give him a look that you hope read ‘don’t argue with me again or I’ll use your own bat against you’, he lifted his one free hand in feigned innocence. “Just curious.”

Studying him for a moment, you let your guard down a tiny bit as you began poking around in a large room you once suspected was an emergency ward. “Will had mentioned it a few times. I knew that if I didn’t take them, they’d end up just finding a way to get here themselves,” you stated truthfully, as you moved a squeaky curtain from side to side. Steve stepped behind it, and as you moved it away to reveal his face, he contorted his features into a goofy look. With a grin, you laughed and gave him a playful push away. Stepping back out of the room to continue the search, you continued, “anyways, I thought it’d be kind of fun. They seemed really excited about it.”

He nodded along, glancing down at you as you walked side by side. “Makes sense. Those weirdos would have ridden their bikes down here,” he offered, as you both laughed at the image. Yeah, that would have been pretty bad.

Moving into the next space, you noted how the wooden floor creaked under you. Too bad you needed to cross it to get the next corridor. Turning to warn Steve to walk across it one at a time, unsure it would support both of your weight, your hypothesis was unfortunately proved correct as he stepped on the floor after you and it cracked and began to cave in. Letting out a small yelp of surprise as you started to fall through, you shut your eyes tightly, bracing for impact. You barely registered the deep shout of your name as hands wrapped around you, pressing your body hard against theirs, head nestled to their chest.

Blinking open your eyes as a severe pain radiated through your leg, you winced under the uncomfortable feeling of whatever you landed on. It looked to be a bunch of boxes. Thank fuck they weren’t filled with used needles or something.

Feeling one of the hands around your waist clutch tighter, you tried to wriggle your way out of Steve’s death grip. “Y/N, are you okay?” he moaned, as he rolled over to flop off the cushion of boxes, and on to the cement floor. Could have been worse. He could have still been holding his nail bat.

Trying to move yourself to the ground to join him, you had to stop as any sort of shift in your leg caused a sharp shooting pain that almost made you bite the inside of your cheek off. Not good. Not good at all.

“My leg kind of hurts,” you underplayed with a wince, as Steve struggled to get himself off the ground to stand up. You felt a small blush rise to your cheeks as the bottom half of his shirt lifted when he stretched up, revealing a bit of his abs. Man, did he have those all along?

“Bend down, let me see if you have any cuts or anything,” you motioned, just about ready to make this bed of boxes your new home. Not like you were moving anytime soon.

“Bend down?” He asked a little confused, as he did just that. But instead of showing you his face, he simply moved to inspect your leg. What a little asshole. “How much does your leg hurt, Y/N?” He questioned, as he moved your pant leg up a bit. To try and stop yourself from yelling out in pain at the sudden motion, you slammed your hand down on the box and squeaked out a totally normal sounding, “not that bad.” Super subtle.

“Sounds like it,” he muttered, as he moved one of his hands to your back and the other arm under your legs. This time you didn’t hold back the painful cry you let out, as he picked you up princess style. You didn’t know what was more painful, your leg, or your embarrassment.

“Put me down!” you complained, as Steve tried to shift you into a more comfortable position as he carried you gently across the room. “Calm down,” he gritted out, as he tried his best to sit on the floor cross-legged, setting you on his lap while still cradling you. Oh God, you were going to die down here. You were going to die cradled in Steve’s arms, smelling like old dried up hospital and residual Farrah Fawcett hairspray.

“Steve, please, I’m begging you put me on the ground,” you complained, tensing up at how weird the situation was. Even he was avoiding eye contact. “Look, I don’t know what’s wrong with your leg, but this way it won’t shift,” he stated, his hands slightly moving down your back.

Slumping a bit in his arms, you turned your head to look down at your folded hands, fighting the rising heat spreading to your cheeks. You couldn’t come up with an argument to fight his reason.

After about five minutes of absolute silence, Steve whistled under his breath. Yeah, no, you couldn’t just sit around and wait like this. “Uhm, should we yell out or something? I’m sure one of them is bound to hear,” you mumbled, clearing your throat as you glanced up at his face. He looked down, and it was like you finally just noticed how close you two really were. Oh no.

“Uh, yep. Probably a good idea,” he agreed a little softly, as neither of you made any motion to open your mouths and actually yell anything out.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Steve quickly asked, as you cocked your head to the side a bit. You had no idea where this was headed. “Yeah, sure,” you replied, studying his features as he seemed to be struggling with his words. Smiling a little, you teasingly said, “not like I’m going anywhere anyways.” He visibly relaxed.

“You said something before about how I think lowly of you,” he started, as he looked up at the gaping hole in the ceiling where you guys fell, breaking eye contact. You weren’t sure you were going to like this conversation. “Is that really what you think?”

“Yes,” you replied, before quickly changing the answer to, “no. I’m not really sure. You just seem to treat me like one of the kids a lot, like I’m irresponsible. I don’t think you trust me, is all.”

Immediately, his eyes found yours again, shock written all over his face. “No, no you have that all wrong!” He countered, with just a touch of panic in his voice. Giving him a slightly curious gaze, he seemed to be searching your face for something as he continued, “it’s not that at all.” You weren’t particularly sure what to reply to that, but as his wandering eyes settled to look at your lips, you weren’t sure you’d have to.

Lowering his head, Steve hesitantly pressed his lips against yours in the most soft, tentative kiss. It lasted only a moment before he pulled back, but you instinctively moved your head forward, already missing it.

His hand tightened a little on your back, as he waited for your reaction with an anxious look. You said the first thing that came to your still hazy mind.

“So you don’t think I’m a bad babysitter?”

A beat passed as you both stared at one another in silence, but as a snort escaped you, you both bursted into loud laughter. Covering your face with your hands, you bent down to nestle your head under the crook of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he continued to laugh, with a little bit of smugness laced in his tone. Shifting to look back at him, you shook your head in disbelief as you stated, “then we have to do a better job than that.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him back fervently. This one was a bit more deep and intense, and holy hell, you would curl your toes if it didn’t hurt so god damn much.

As you tangled your fingers through his silky hair, you nearly melted when a soft moan escaped him, and suddenly, the whole falling through the floor situation didn’t seem as bad.

“Eww, I don’t want to see that!”

Yeah, suddenly it was much, much worse.

Breaking apart, you turned to look up to where your brother Will was poking his head through the giant hole, the rest of the kids soon following suite. Steve in a jerk reaction let go on his hold on you, and you tumbled on to the floor in an aching heap as a result.

Ignoring the rebirth of pain in your leg, you and Steve both shouted out, “don’t tell your parents what happened!” at the same time.

– General Tags (sorry this isn’t IT y’all, let me know if you want to be just tagged in IT/ST general tags or both): @multi-parker @stan-the-losers-club-man @ubertrashmouth @this-cute-shit-xo @breederofguilt @babylovereddie @derrydenbrough

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crimsonrevolt · 6 years

Photo

Congratulations Dani you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Sirius Black!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Dani you’re back! And we’re so excited to have you back! Sirius is so important to this group, especially with the most recent plot drop and we’re so excited to see you play him out and cause a little trouble. As usual, your writing is wonderful and your characterization is lovely.

application beneath the cut (tw: slurs, mentions of body dysphoria)

INTRODUCTION

Dani here (again, finally!) and I’m 25 now. My preferred pronouns are she/her and I am from Michigan in the US, so EST timezone.

ACTIVITY

I’m going to low-ball and say like 5-6/10 ??? I have a few weeknights free, and then more time on the weekends.

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Old member, but initially it was through the marauder’s rp tag, I believe.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Funnily enough, I’ve always hardcore connected with Sirius. Our personality types are very similar, and I’ve always been the ‘Padfoot’ in groups of friends. And growing older I’ve identified similarities between his upbringing and home life and my own, so yeah. But I also identified with Harry, Hermione, and Luna when I was younger. I don’t exactly remember why, but I did ? Maybe it was the outcast factor or whatever, but those are all tied for second after Sirius, I think

ANYTHING ELSE?

This group is legit the best group ever.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Sirius Orion Black III ——– He is named for the Dog Star, the most brilliant star in the sky, visible from anywhere on Earth - an actuality he embraces and carries with him from the moment he is able to understand its meaning. Ancient namings signify he is scorching, sparkling, bringing destruction and rebirth. He is important, and his name informs everyone of such.

But he is the point of Canis Major, a hunting dog, ever looking towards his master, Orion. Later, he would think it ironic that he was intended to obediently follow the hunter across the sky. When he was young, though, he did follow his father, his master, with wide eyes and a thirst to learn, to emulate. He did, after all, carry his father’s name as one of his own. He thought it only right that he be his hunter. He learned quickly enough to leave Orion Black be.

His name embraces the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - a reality he despises when he is older. He is taught to believe that to be a Black, to be a Pureblood is to be royalty. He believes it.

He spends the majority of his childhood being trained to be the perfect Pureblood heir, to be the perfect Black. He attends many Pureblood-only balls and events, and is taught the proper way to mingle with other Purebloods. He learns manners and etiquette, and he is expected to be a proper child. There are never many other children at the balls, but he is reminded that it is improper to run about and make a fool of oneself like ordinary children; he is, after all, anything but ordinary.

How could he be? His name attests to his brilliance.

FACE CLAIM

Miles McMillan is my boi, okay

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER (tw: mania, depression, alcohol)

This is long, I’m so sorry but not really. But Sirius Black has been one of my favorite literary characters since I was in 3rd grade and first read Prisoner of Azkaban. There was just always something about him, and I don’t even know how to put into words how much I love Sirius Black. I remember the moment I fell in love with him, though, was when I was reading PoA and this man who had just spent the last twelve years wrongly imprisoned for an horrific crime he didn’t commit, and who had just spent the last year on the run with his godson thinking him responsible for betraying James and Lily, offers for Harry to leave the Dursley’s and move in with him. Even after everything he had been through, he was still willing to immediately take in Harry and take his place as his rightful guardian. It breaks my heart that they were never able to be a proper family, but that’s discourse for another time!

Sirius was really the first character I ever really roleplayed, and he’s been living and growing in my head for six or seven years now, as silly as that sounds. My Sirius muse is always active and talkative and ready for action, and I love being able to put him out there and develop him further and still learn new things about him even after all this time (reference, yus!). I’ve always just felt a real connection with him. Maybe it’s because I see parts of myself in him, or maybe it’s because it’s just always been really natural and easy for me to get into his head and way of thinking. He’s always been more than just a character to me.

His personality, for me, has developed a lot since the early days. I think it’s easy to get sucked into fanon interpretation early on, especially with characters that have a really strong fandom presence. But I’m really proud of the character he’s become, and I think he strays from a lot of typical fanon stereotypes. One of the biggest stereotypes - and one that really bothers me - is that Sirius is some kind of Don Juan-Lothario-playboy-heartbreaker-type.

“With another shock of excitement, Harry saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up….a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn’t seem to have noticed.”

Sirius’ main concern has always been, and will always be, his friends. He cares far more for his Marauders and their pranks than he does for birds and sleeping around. He’s a flirt, yes, but only because he’s charming and needs to grace everyone with that charm. It’s harmless flirting, and it’s not his fault if anyone takes it as anything other than that.

I also love dabbling in the Black side of Sirius. While Sirius is a very good person, I think a lot of that is due to him being sorted in Gryffindor and befriending James Potter. Without his influence, I think Sirius would be a very different person. Not all of that is inherent, but Sirius definitely has a cruel, cunning streak in him (i.e. that time he almost killed Snape). A lot of it is in his nature, and some remains from his upbringing; our early years and development have a huge impact on the people we become. So, I think it’s interesting, especially in the state of the world as it currently is, to play with just what parts of Sirius’ personality become more dominant. Add to that Sirius being part of the Aversio, and I think it’s a really great combination of ruthless, cunning cruelty and the person the Marauders helped him become to create something new all together. I’d be really interested to see how that changes him and, maybe, influences a shift to the Sirius he could have been had he not met James and the Marauders.

In my headcanon, as well, Sirius is living with undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder. It won’t ever be diagnosed or named in-game since they’re living in 1979 (it’s still fairly misunderstood now), but it definitely affects him. I feel like his upswings are pretty intense, and it usually results in him wanting to be out all the time and doing things, and he feels infallible and invincible, and he’s a lot more likely to be reckless and make snap decisions. He definitely has a tendency towards dangerous ideas that he thinks are absolutely brilliant (see: the Prank with Snape). On the other end of it, though, Sirius’ lows are very low, and he self-medicates with alcohol when he ’s suffering from the worst of his depression (see: pretty much all of Order of the Phoenix). But I don’t think that Sirius recognizes the depression as such. It’s a lot easier for him to acknowledge when he’s feeling great and on top of the world as opposed to when he’s feeling like shit and struggles with getting out of bed in the morning. He’s a lot more likely to hide that side of himself, too, and play it off with a smirk and light-hearted joke at someone else’s expense.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS (tw: slurs, mentions of body dysphoria)

If someone were to ask Sirius his gender and sexuality, though, he would quirk a brow and scoff and let out a bark of laughter because, obviously, he’s got a cock and he’s not a queer, what sort of daft question is that? But his closest friends know that he enjoys the company of both men and women, although lately he’s sought out men more often than not.

Sirius doesn’t remember the exact moment when he realized that he was attracted to men. Maybe it was sometime in his third year, when he had accompanied James to watch the Quidditch team practice. Maybe he had caught himself staring at one of the seventh years - a boy with shaggy brown hair and a strong jaw - as he flew around the Pitch. Maybe he had felt the distinct swoop in his stomach as he had watched, and maybe he had imagined what it would be like to kiss the older boy.

But Sirius only really remembers being too afraid to say anything to James, Remus, and Peter, being afraid that it would change everything and they would think him a freak, a faggot they didn’t want to be friends with, anymore. James found out, though, and nothing changed between them, and soon after so did Remus and Peter. It became much easier after that to accept that part of himself. He doesn’t hide that amongst his friends or the Order; although the muggle world is less accepting of his sexuality, he doesn’t pay much attention to anyone who gives him shit. He flips them the bird and continues on his way.

What he would never admit to, however, is the many times he has passed frilly shop windows and imagined being able to wear whatever clothes he wants that he sees, or wished he could be as comfortable in his own skin as David Bowie, or Freddie Mercury. Sirius doesn’t always feel exactly right in the body he has, and he doesn’t understand it even a little bit. After all, it’s hard enough to deal with the war; he doesn’t want to even begin to focus on the whole gender bit.

The other thing he would never, ever admit to is the feelings he has harbored for Remus since they were realized in roughly fifth year. He remembers it was an ordinary moment; Remus had been working on an essay and nibbling on the end of his quill, and Sirius had been watching him, entirely too distracted, and it had just…hit him. But, of course, he wasn’t deserving of Remus. He would never be deserving of Remus. Sirius wrestled with the feelings for a good year or so, but he has long since accepted them without hope for it ever changing.

In modern terminology, he would identify as a gender-fluid demiromantic pansexual, but that’s too fancy and way ahead of his time, so all he knows is that he’s queer - just another way in which he would have disappointed his family.

As far as ships go, I’m def wolfstar trash. They were my first real ship and I love them to pieces. That being said, Sirius/Chemistry is my #1 jam. The only thing is that he isn’t always into serious relationships unless he’s good friends with the person first. In my headcanon, he’s never had a real, serious relationship (although every relationship is most certainly a Sirius one, lmao), but he doesn’t feel wanting, necessarily. Relationships aren’t exactly a priority right now when there are bigger things to worry about.

EXTRAS

&;;—— PERSONALITY TRAITS (tw: alcohol, mentioned violence/blood)

✓ Funny ——- “Did you like question ten, Moony?”

He is barking laughter and poorly timed jokes, puns upon puns - seriously. A grin as wide as the day is long, carefree and easy. Light in the black of war; white sheep in the Black family. His good humor has covered him and carried him through all that he’s seen. It’s as much a shield for himself as it is those with whom he surrounds himself.

✓ Loyal | Loving ——- “Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!”

He is fierce, heart full for those he holds dear. Not many are kept that close, but there is no hesitation when asked to give his life. Warmth and comfort, in the crook of his smile and the corners of his eyes. Brilliance and steadfast companionship: a dog is man’s best friend.

✓/✕ Strong-minded | Judgemental ——- “Besides, the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters. We’ve all got both light and dark inside us.”

He is a tree rooted to the earth, tall and proud. Unmoving and firm against the hailing storm. Beliefs, unwavering, unwilling to hear. Opposition is wrong, and he knows it as well as he knows the stories written in the night sky. He is strong-willed and stubborn; a brick wall would be more receptive. He thinks himself open-minded, but it is only another belief.

✕ Doesn’t think through consequences ——- “What is life without a little risk?��

He is snap decisions made in the heat of the moment. Turbulent and emotional, judgement shifts as easily as debris caught in the tide. Words, biting, leaving scars as easily as laughter erases them from his mind. Passing thoughts in an endless stream of chaos - why waste time paying mind to outcomes when you can just act?

✕ Hellacious attitude ——- “There are things worth dying for!”

He is 2 am, leather, and a mess of discarded liquor bottles scattered about the floor. Blood-kissed knuckles and knuckle-kissed jaw. Smirks and sighs toppling from carved lips. Caught in a tempest, winds whipping his hair about his face, unable to see, blindly stumbling along, deafening roars threaten to consume him - one foot in front of the other. Raw magic crackling in the air, electricity against your skin; a beautiful sight when it implodes.

&;;—— WAND: As badly as Sirius sometimes wishes his wand was made from Dogwood (think of the irony! the puns! the beauty of the universe!), he was chosen by a Cypress wood wand with a Dragon Heartstring core, 15 inches, rigid.

“Cypress wands are associated with nobility. The great medieval wandmaker, Geraint Ollivander, wrote that he was always honoured to match a cypress wand, for he knew he was meeting a witch or wizard who would die a heroic death. Fortunately, in these less blood-thirsty times, the possessors of cypress wands are rarely called upon to lay down their lives, though doubtless many of them would do so if required. Wands of cypress find their soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures.”

Sirius won’t think about the wandlore behind cypress wands and their masters dying a heroic death until the fleeting, infinite moment in which he begins to fall in the Department of Mysteries. He will think it ironic, then, that his death is hardly heroic at all; that, naturally, James and Lily had far more heroic deaths than him. (He will also think about finally, finally reuniting with them again, and he will think of how sorry he is for leaving Remus and Harry behind, but James, here I come.)

“As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.”

It is of interest to note that dragon wands tend to be easily swayed towards the Dark Arts. Sirius thinks it should be noted, and then he will tell it to fuck right off, thank you very much. He knows that, had things gone just a little differently, he wouldn’t have had any difficulty using Dark Magic; in fact, he’d have been rather adept at it. Sirius laughs at the notion - and would like to tell the Dark Lord that he can fuck right off, too.

Sirius is a very quick learner. He is intelligent and, when he puts his mind to a task, he is able to stay determined and focused. Magic runs strong in his veins, so it’s only natural he be paired with a wand that is able to keep up with him and his raw power. That being said, however, Sirius’ magic is - too often - unpredictable. It has been since he was a child, and he still experiences outbursts of unintentional magic when his emotions get the better of him; the dragon wand nurtures his accidental magic, at times.

&;;—— PATRONUS: It’s commonplace that a Patronus will match a witch or wizard’s Animagus form, if they happen to be such, and Sirius is no exception. His Patronus takes the form of a dog, matching that of his Animagus counterpart: a bear-like German Shepherd. German Shepherds are known for being intelligent, loyal, and fiercely over-protective. Any close friend of his would attest to the fact that Sirius exemplifies those qualities. He is a bright wizard, and he would do anything for those he cares about.

&;;—— The best thing that has ever happened: ”I know that you will make us proud, Sirius.”

No one ever expected Sirius to be a Gryffindor; he certainly hadn’t when he had stepped up to the stool to be sorted his first year at Hogwarts. His entire family had come from Slytherin. He even knew that, somewhere in his lineage, he was related to Salazar Slytherin himself. But as Sirius’ attention had drifted to the far table of green and silver, he had felt a tug in his stomach that he hadn’t really understood.

….“GRYFFINDOR!”

He ignored the shouts and jests coming from the Slytherin table to rightfully take his place amongst the lions of Hogwarts. He was joined, thankfully, by James and the redhead he had met with the greasy boy (he was grateful - and always would be - that the greasy one ended up in Slytherin).

It wasn’t before he was whisked away to his dorm and he got to know his fellow dormmates: one sickly-looking boy named Remus and a short, ordinary boy named Peter. Sirius thought he could do without Remus and Peter. Who needed them when he had James, his best friend? But Remus and Peter did prove themselves when they turned the greasy boy’s hair a bright shade of pink for a week. That, Sirius decided, was enough to earn his respect.

The four of them quickly became inseparable, and Sirius decided that being a Lion was worth the consequent Howlers he received, even if meant returning from the Christmas hols with bruises hidden beneath scratchy sweaters.

&;;—— And the worst: “Blood traitor! Filth! Scum!“

He tried not to cry out as he was punished him one final time for being an insolent disgrace; he wouldn’t give them the pleasure. He was worse for the wear, however, when they finished with him and sent him off to think about his disobedience. Again. Sirius sat, on the edge of his bed, trembling; it was out of his control. He thought, but it didn’t take long for him to realize what he must do.

He needed to leave.

He hastily threw what belongings he could into his school trunk, gathering up anything he deemed important. He was able to perform a simple expansion and levitation charm - he decided he could deal with the Ministry later - and led his trunk out of his room. But he knew he needed to stop at his brother’s room before he left.

Sirius loved his brother and he has always loved his brother, but Regulus was not like him. He was weak-minded and bent to the wishes of their parents. Sirius always wanted to keep Regulus safe from them, from Mother, but he went to school and was sorted into Gryffindor and it changed. He became the disgrace, and it had been up to Regulus to be the perfect son. Sirius never wanted that for him, and he didn’t want that for him now. So he tried to bring Regulus with him. He wanted to ask, wanted him to leave and escape the hell they had grown up in.

But Regulus didn’t leave with him. He wasn’t like Sirius. He was an idiot, and he didn’t leave. So Sirius goes. But not before he watched as his mother blasted his name from the family tree.

(Sirius still regrets not making Regulus leave with him.)

&;;—— AESTHETICS here [x] and here [x]

&;;—— PLOT POINTS ~ I really want to explore the conflict that Sirius is facing between his loyalty to his friends and his allegiance to Aversio. He very, very strongly believes that the Order isn’t doing enough, but he knows that a lot of Aversio’s tactics and such clash with the Order. He knows that there are many friends and allies that would look down on his involvement in the group, and he loathes to disappoint them. But Sirius is firm in his convictions. He isn’t one to waver in his decisions, and he truly believes that Aversio is the action the world needs. Again, however, that contradicts his closest friends, and I want to explore how Sirius reacts in such a situation. I want to push his loyalty to the limits and see what he does when it really comes down to it.

~ On the same note, I would love to have some of his closer friends find out about his involvement in the rogue organization. I feel like I know Sirius fairly well, but I honestly don’t know how he would react in such a situation that calls to question where his loyalties truly lie. I think it would be an interesting bit of character development to really put the pressure on him like that.

~ Sirius has a dark side, whether he would like to admit to it or not. It’s part of who he is, so deeply ingrained in his being that he doesn’t recognize it in the slightest. But it’s there. War tends to bring out the worst in people, and I want it to do so to Sirius. I want to mess him up, to play with his mind and pit him against himself until he no longer knows what he is or where he stands. I want to dive into the more psychological aspects of the affect of the war, especially since this is full AU now. If he doesn’t end up getting messed up in Azkaban, I have to mess him up somehow =)

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it: “S’pose I’d make one that’d be able to track the greater London area,” Sirius answers with a smirk, wand twirling between slender fingers. He shifts, eyebrows flashing. “Y’know, something along the lines of magical cartography, but…big. Large scale. Easy spell, I’d imagine, if you could figure out the scale.” If they put their minds to it, Sirius is sure he, James, Remus, and Peter could come up with something. “Be able to locate anyone anywhere in all of London just by looking at a map. Imagine how bloody brilliant it’d be!”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you: “James, Remus, and Peter. Package deal, yeah?” He quirks a brow. “Probably bring James’ cloak - usually do. It’s a bloody miracle, that thing. Gotten us outta loads of trouble over the years.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make? Sirius grins, back straightening - pride rolling off square shoulders. “Well thought out ones. That’s what I’m told, anyhow. I’m better at the quick ones, the real difficult ones.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you? He hesitates, smile faltering - though he catches it, corrects it before it can be noticed (he hopes). “I dunno,” he says, gaze averted, a shoulder shrugging. A pause. A flash of an image behind his eyes - his friends, hollow-eyed, telling him that he’s a Black, through and through, just like them, can never escape it, terrible awful cruel heartless Black. “That I’m like them. Because I’m not. I’m so much better than they are.”

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Okay so, I really love that the last plot drop has some conflict between Sirius and those he’s closest to. It’s about time for things to come to a head with him and his juxtaposed involvement in the two groups, and I think he’s about ready to begin the process of separating himself from the Order and their non-action. It will also be really interesting to throw him into another party that resonates so closely to him, but under the guise of not himself. I think, with how things have been playing out in his mind in regards to the war, that it could be very interesting to see how well he’s able to keep himself under control and not make rash decisions when it comes to being in the middle of the Death Eaters and their little party.

WRITING SAMPLE

(this is from an old post on here, i hope that’s okay! i’m just hella fond of this one, tbh)

In his youth, when the sky had appeared infinitely brighter and the days seemingly endless, when everywhere could bring forth a new adventure with little to no warning, when the silken tendrils of optimism wound around his body, weaving between pale fingers, toes - gently cradling and protecting; then, Knockturn Alley had not frightened him. But he had been young, naive. He hadn’t known the manner of the witches and wizards who frequented the cobbled street and dark, slanted buildings. They had towered over him, then, and he had stared back, challenging whatever authority they wordlessly claimed. He had challenged the world.

But, as it so often is, childhood naivety gave way to harsh truths, and accompanying his father to Knockturn Alley no longer offered boundless adventure. Instead, he saw the buildings for what they were, the witches and wizards as the cruel people they had always been. He saw the shadowed sky, tucked away behind pointed rooftops, and just how unlike its neighbor, Diagon Alley, it was. The Alley was no place for decent witches or wizards, which was why he supposed the Blacks held such fondness for it.

Now, Sirius had no need to traverse the uneven, dismal avenue, and yet… here he was. Hands stuffed into pockets, fist firm around his wand, Sirius averted his eyes, silently cursing the bloody wanker who had volunteered him for this bloody “mission,” although he was loath to describe it as such. Inquire about such and such item at some shoddy shite-hole shop, speaking only to Git McWanker blah, blah, blah. It was a fucking waste of time, was what it was.

Yet, here he was, pointedly staring at books on a shelf in some corner of Knockturn Alley - many of which he recognized as titles from the walls of the Black family library. They dredge up images of the study and lessons and evenings spent pouring over texts he had no care for, all in the name of properly educating the heir, or some bollocks. He almost scoffed at the thought, adjusting his jacket as he eyed the shopkeeper. Feign interest, then approach him for information; it was a decent enough plan, but Sirius was stopped in his tracks by the woman that rounded the corner.

Eyes locked, drinking up the vision before him - something out of a dream, a nightmare - and he was suddenly eight beneath her gaze, frightened and angry and improper, insolent, yet again. Hands balled at his sides, shoulders tense, and he resisted the visceral pull to back away, run away, get away from her. Instead, his jaw set and he held her gaze - challenging her command over him, because she now had none.

“It’s comforting to know that some things never change,” he remarked brazenly, determination settling squarely atop his shoulders. “Seeing you here, I mean. Of all places. Picking up a new addition to the library, hmm? Perhaps a copy of Magick Moste Pure: Grimoire of Pureblood Fuckery? I hear that’s been selling quite nicely with your crowd.” He sneered, arms crossing over his chest - tight. “Oughta be careful who sees you walking around with that shite. Hear the Ministry’s got eyes and ears everywhere these days. You’d hate to be caught up in all that, now, wouldn’t you, Mother?” The word was spat, harsh and mocking; she was nothing to him now.

#Accepted App

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crimsonrevolt · 6 years

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Congratulations Dani you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Sirius Black!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Sirius shares the spot for my favorite character in the series and your app captures him brilliantly, Dani. It’s hard to pick just one thing we loved but we especially appreciated how you talked about the nature vs nurture aspect of Sirius’ life and how he would have been a very different person had certain turning-points never happened. It’s easy to see how various influences have shaped him yet no one thing defines him. Sirius remains, as ever, his own person. It’s wonderful to have you back, Dani! *your faceclaim change to Miles McMillan has been approved.

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Surprise! It’s me, ya boi! Dani here and I’m 25 now. My preferred pronouns are she/her and I am from Michigan in the US, so EST timezone.

ACTIVITY

I’m going to low-ball and say like 5-6/10 ??? I’ve been working a lot lately, but things are calming down. So definitely at the very least I’ll have a few weeknights free, and then time on the weekends.

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Old member here! Initially, though, it was through the marauder’s rp tag, I believe.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

ANYTHING ELSE?

I’ve missed you guys, ok.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

His name embraces the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - a reality he despises when he is older. He is taught to believe that to be a Black, to be a Pureblood is to be royalty. He believes it.

How could he be? His name attests to his brilliance.

FACE CLAIM

Would Miles McMillan be okay?? He’s my ultimate #1 top fave Sirius face.

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER (tw: mania, depression, alcohol)

“With another shock of excitement, Harry saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up….a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn’t seem to have noticed.”

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS (tw: slurs, mentions of body dysphoria)

EXTRAS

&;;—— PERSONALITY TRAITS (tw: alcohol, mentioned violence/blood)

✓ Funny ——- “Did you like question ten, Moony?”

✓ Loyal | Loving ——- “Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!”

✓/✕ Strong-minded | Judgemental ——- “Besides, the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters. We’ve all got both light and dark inside us.”

✕ Doesn’t think through consequences ——- “What is life without a little risk?”

✕ Hellacious attitude ——- “There are things worth dying for!”

&;;—— The best thing that has ever happened: ”I know that you will make us proud, Sirius.”

….“GRYFFINDOR!”

&;;—— And the worst:“Blood traitor! Filth! Scum!“

He tried not to cry out as his mother punished him one final time for being an insolent disgrace; he wouldn’t give her the pleasure. He was worse for the wear, however, when she finished with him and sent him off to think about his disobedience. Again. Sirius sat, on the edge of his bed, trembling; it was out of his control. He thought, but it didn’t take long for him to realize what he must do.

He needed to leave.

But Regulus didn’t leave with him. He wasn’t like Sirius. He was an idiot, and he didn’t leave. So Sirius goes. But not before he watched as his mother blasted his name from the family tree.

(Sirius still regrets not making Regulus leave with him.)

&;;—— AESTHETICS here [x] and here [x]

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

One of Sirius’ biggest fears - a pardoned Orion - had been just on the horizon - a horrible truth born of the wavering fealty of the Ministry to the people it should serve. The Ministry had not proven useful in any form when it had come to dismantling the threat of the Death Eaters, nor action been its strong suit. So, it was with gusto that Sirius had volunteered to finally -finally - do something about the useless Ministry. It was with little regret, no mercy that Sirius would have raided the Ministry, striking down anyone in his way, fear and rage and a childhood that haunted his every memory of Orion Black fueling his actions. Until–

It was too late. The Death Eaters had taken the Ministry, and Sirius couldn’t help but blame his hatred for his father for blinding him to what had happened that night. So, he fled, with those closest to him, to a safe house far from London’s ground zero, shame and disgust at his own actions grasping hold of him, crippling any sense of logic that may have remained. Sirius fell back - too quiet, maybe, not as bright as he was supposed to shine.

Still, as they settled in Scotland, worked towards a new goal, a new plan of action, Sirius found himself not quite wavering from the ideals that drew him to Aversio; again, they were waiting, holding back while the Death Eaters took hold of London. Again, inaction, when there should be something, some retaliation to show that they were still there, still fighting, and wouldn’t Lord Voldemort win. But - nothing. And Sirius wondered how differently the war might be if Aversio had full control over the decisions, over the course of action.

WRITING SAMPLE

(this is from an old post on here, i hope that’s okay! i’m just hella fond of this one, tbh)

#Accepted App

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