#(he gets out of the loop at the end of Heaven Sent! it took 2 billion years but the torment does actually END eventually!) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boldlyvoid · 3 years

Text

Amoreena | chapter twelve

Chapter Twelve

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: spencers mom has a bad day at the doctor's and so spencer thinks he's going to have a bad day too but he ends up having the best day of his entire life.

talk of pregnancy, celebratory sex, oral (female receiving), grinding, no penetration, serious deep talks after sex about their most depressive episodes, sharing trauma and making sure they know the other is loved regardless of what goes on in their mind. it's a rough one so read with caution

word count: 4.5K

from the beginning <3

He was up before Amoreena, awaking for the second time that morning to the sound of his alarm, kissing Y/N on the forehead before leaving their bed, she simply laid there and watched him get ready.

Most of his clothes were here now, every time he was near his apartment he brought more and more things home with him. Because that wasn’t his home, it hadn’t been for a long time, even when he lived there it was just a trove of books and a bed he slept on occasionally.

They were probably going to move all his stuff over in the summer, after the second wedding… after the girls meet Taylor, and hopefully when Y/N’s actually pregnant and not too sick or tired to help.

“Come here,” she whispers before he can slip out of the room, “kiss your wife.”

He can’t help but smile as he bounds towards the bed, jumping in and wrapping her up in his arms. He smothers her face in kisses, making her laugh, still half asleep as she let him manhandle her.

“I love you,” he reminded her.

“We love you too,” she replied with a smile, answering for Amoreena even though she was still asleep down the hall, “don’t wake her up yet, she needs all her rest for today.”

“I’ll be quiet,” he responds with a smile, kissing her again before he finally gets out of the bed, if not he would have stayed there forever.

He tiptoes down the hall and into Amoreena’s room, kissing her sweet little forehead lightly before exiting just as quietly. It was like he was never there.

He snuck down the stairs quietly, locked the door behind himself on the way out, and took off down the driveway in his old blue Volvo amazon, paying extra attention to the path for any kitties or Rufus out on their morning strolls.

It didn’t take long for a happy day to go sour when he was in a doctor's office with his mom. Those were the worst places he could go with her, especially on a bad day. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she really didn’t like hospitals or government buildings, even lawyers' offices stressed her out.

Today she was convinced he wasn’t really her son, Spencer, and that he was actually leading her to be a government experiment. It was hard to see her struggle, especially on a day they needed to ask her serious questions while she sat still. It was the fact she had to stay awake for 24 hours that triggered the episode, the EEG requiring her mind to be deprived of sleep. It was rough, she barely knew him. They wouldn’t have the test results for a while but he already knew it wasn’t good.

He dropped her back off at the home as quickly as he could, not able to deal with the verbal abuse any longer, he didn’t even say goodbye. The woman he dropped off was his mother on the outside but not on the inside today. It was really hard to look at her and know her, but not see that same look in her eyes.

By the time he’s returning to the farm, it’s 11:45 and he’s exhausted.

He finds Y/N in the bedroom, lying in bed in just a t-shirt and her underwear, completely sound asleep with the blankets thrown off the bed. She looks so beautiful, he slips out of his clothes to match her, sliding into bed beside her and just looking at her perfect face.

He presses a kiss to her shoulder that startles her awake, “oh god, Spencer!” she places her hand on her heart as she calms down.

“Sorry,” he smiles, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in closer.

“How’s your mom?” Her tired words meet his ears and his smile dies.

“Not great, really don’t want to talk about it yet,” he was honest with her, snuggling in closer as she hummed in agreement to drop it. “How was Amoreena’s morning?”

“I told Amoreena I wouldn’t tell you, but I don’t need to you to freak out in front of all the kids or cry or pass out in front of all them, but there’s a positive pregnancy test on her all about me project,” she explains it like she’s about to say it’s just Amoreena’s from 8 years ago…

He pulls back slowly, looking into her eyes as she smiles wider and wider, “you’re pregnant?”

She nods her head as her smile gets bigger and toothier, she’s wrapping her arms around him so tight it’s like he can’t breathe for multiple reasons.

“We did it, Spencer, I made you a daddy again,” the words carry from her mouth in a beautiful tune.

He’s holding her back so gently, afraid to squeeze too hard and hurt her and the tiny little life that’s starting inside her. He’s silent, overjoyed but absolutely dumbstruck at the fact it’s real. A month ago he thought about walking into traffic after work and just seeing what happened, now he was a father of 2 with a wife and a happy farm and a life that was good.

A life he deserved.

All thanks to a beautiful little girl with an interest in dinosaurs and making new friends. Amoreena was an angel sent from heaven, improving both of their lives greatly, and now they were making another.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, oh my god yes, I’m just,” he didn’t know what words to say and it was evident. “Amoreena knows?”

She nodded softly, “she now knows girl parts make eggs, boy parts make sperm, and that adults have sex but you can only make a baby at 25, she really didn’t seem to be all that interested in the science, but she’s excited to be a big sister.”

“Wow,” it all caught up to him then, he placed his hand on her stomach softly, “hi little one.”

Y/N laid back against the bed, pulling her shirt up so he could see the barely-there bump, “It’s mostly leftover’s from Amoreena, but yeah, there’s another one in there.”

He couldn’t help himself from running his hands over the curve of her stomach, thinking about Amoreena being in there once upon a time and how tiny she must have been. It was even weirder to think that a part of her was once even in him.

“It’s strange to think that I jerked off into a cup and you made the most perfect kid on earth with it… it just feels like it doesn’t add up. She’s so perfect I can’t believe she was once a part of us both,” he can’t help but let his inner monologue seep out, she didn’t mind it, she loved hearing how his mind worked.

“I can’t wait to see you holding this little one,” her hands joined his on her stomach, the shape of her forefingers and thumbs making a heart over her bare belly.

Spencer leaned in and kissed right in the middle, beside her belly button, in love with whoever was in there already.

“Amoreena had a dream last night too,” Y/N cuts into his little moment, “guess how many sisters she said she had.”

“8?” Spencer can’t help but smile.

She nods, “I don’t know what it is about this house but the good dreams always come true, who knows how many babies are in there right now.”

“I hope just one for now,” he says in all honesty, “I really want time with just one little one, you and Amoreena. A family of four for a bit and then the twins, that’s how it was in the dream.”

“Did they have names?”

“You called them Elly, Junie, tho and Cordelia, and you said there were 3 sets of twins, two after Cordelia,” he remembers it all as if he was really there, whispering all the words against her stomach, his cheek resting on the band of her underwear as he laid between her legs with his arms around her.

“Amoreena, Elizabeth, Juniper, Theodora, and Cordelia were all the options I was choosing from last time,” she says with the widest smile, “how the heck did your mind know that?”

“It felt very real, which is why I was so worried about where I was, I don’t know how I could have missed anything but now I know that part was just my anxiety,” Spencer rationalized it. “Amoreena probably had the better version of that future in her dream last night.”

“I was having a great dream before you came back,” she teases him, running her fingers through his hair as he continues to kiss her stomach.

He loops his fingers around the band of her underwear, sliding it down just low enough to really kiss where that baby of his is hiding out. She lifts her hips into the contact, letting him slip them down her legs and completely off, she spreads her legs even more.

He takes his time pressing a kiss to every single inch of her, her skin is soft, her leg hair is prickly on his hands and his cheeks but it’s nice, he rubs his face against her like a cat marking his territory as she continued to scratch his scalp.

He spread her open with two fingers, he presses a soft kiss to her clitoris and all the way down to her opening before licking a wet stripe up the sensitive skin. The moan she releases is the loudest one he’s heard on her yet, it was really the first time he’s been allowed to really enjoy her.

“It’s important for your partner to help with the stretching in the third trimester,” she teases him, “but they don’t mention anything about starting too early being a bad thing.”

“I don’t want to disrupt anything in there,” he worries aloud, letting her decide if it’s okay.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she laughed, “I don’t think you’d reach them, but if you’re really worried there are other ways to help.”

“Such as,” he asks, lowering his face back down to her wet heat, continuing to explore her with his tongue as he expects her to talk.

“You, um you can, shit, wow,” she props herself up on her elbows to get a better look at what he’s doing as she stalls for a few minutes, “just rub yourself over me, Spencer please, I want more of you.”

She grips him by his cheeks and pulls him up into a kiss, both of them rushing to push his boxers down and off his legs, she spreads her own once more so he can press against her.

His hard cock resting flat against her, rubbing back and forth as he spreads her wetness around with him. The head gliding over her clit just the right way as she held him close to her body, kissing down his neck and sucking marks all over his chest.

She was desperate for him and who was he to deprive her, so he rocked into her more, grinding down harder against her body and making her shaking lightly. It felt better, more intimate, more euphoric than any other sex he’s had, just being close to her had him on the edge faster than he expected to get there.

She’s chanting his name then, head tossed back against the pillow as she digs her fingers into his asscheeks, holding him so close to him he can feel her orgasm rush through her. She stills, bucking up into him one last time as he finishes all across her stomach.

His hands are curled around her cheeks then, holding her perfect face in his hands as he hovers over her, using everything in his power to not crush her or the baby. He’s trying so hard to steady his breathing, so is she, they just smile at each other, laughing lightly at how in love they are.

“I love you,” he says on impulse, “you’re so good to me.”

“Look at all the good you’ve given me,” she whispers, “it would be wrong for me not to love you for everything you’ve done for me, whether you were aware of it or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to tell you about my depression while your cum dries between us like glue,” she laughed at how crude it sounded.

He laughs lightly too, rolling off her to see just how much of a mess they made. “Tell me in the shower?”

“Seems appropriate,” she agreed, taking his hand and following him into the bathroom.

He loved the old feel of her bathroom, the green linoleum and floral wallpaper, the pink towels and bright orange shower curtain, it was happy and bright and the perfect place to laugh for half an hour as they washed each other.

She has him pressed against the shower wall then, water trickling over them gently as she stares into his eyes, “I don’t know how to say it without it coming out really scary,” she finally resumes the conversation they were about to have in the bedroom.

“I’ve probably been in the same mental state, I’m not going to judge your method of choice,” he explains it in a way that she’ll know he really, really gets it.

“I had a few suicidal thoughts when my grandma went to chemo before I chose your sample and before I did all the hormones, I was thinking why should I stay and bring another life into my misery when I could just die first and not have to see her go through that anymore,” she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as she stops, letting him digest all the words.

“Did you try anything?” He’s not sure why he’s asking.

She shakes her head, the best no he’s ever seen in his life. “My grandma noticed on my birthday when I wasn't coming down for breakfast like normal, I was really depressed and so we went out and talked and had lunch together for the first time in forever cause she wasn't feeling sick, I’ll never forget it. It was the best and worst birthday of my life.”

“I’m the worst husband ever,” he says, taking her by surprise, “I don’t even know your birthday.”

It makes her laugh, taking her out of the sadness as she realizes he really doesn’t judge her, he gets it completely. “January 16th, 1986, three minutes after Evan,” she manages to say it with a smile.

“That’s the date Maeve died,” both of them stare at each other in shock, wondering just how many other coincidences they had out there to figure out.

“How many days after did you donate?”

“On the 19th,” he confirmed without taking a breath, “holy shit.”

“We both were suicidal on the same day,” she covers her mouth with a wet slap, laughing at the worst thing she’s ever said, it’s the shock and the emotions of everything catching up to her right then and there.

“Oh my god,” he laughs in response, both of them laughing as they hugged in the corner of her green shower. “we are fucked up.”

“Soulmate things,” she shrugged, holding him even tighter.

He wished she could see his face then, the looking that overcame him as he heard the word soulmates. She just called him her soulmate. He licks his lips, taking it all in and almost hyperventilating, she can feel the way his breathing changes as she looks up with concern.

“What?”

He shakes the thoughts out, swallowing sharply as he makes eye contact with her, “nothing.”

“No, I know that look Spencer, what did your brain say to you this time? I will go in there and kick its ass,” she pokes his forehead then, threatening his anxiety to fuck off.

“I never thought I’d get to hear someone say that to me, it’s stupid,” he felt too vulnerable suddenly, sky and closed off.

“Who hurt you?” She asks in complete curiosity, wanting to know why he can’t imagine someone loving him.

“My parents,” it slips out before he can catch it, “I love my mom. I always have to preface that, she did what she could but it was nowhere near enough. I don’t hold anything against her, I just hate that that’s how it was, that she had bad days at all because they always shine brighter in my memory than the good days.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you,” she worries this time, seeing the hurt on his face and feeling like she fucked up, he can read her micro-expressions easier than anyone else.

“I would have told you soon enough, my dad left because of my mom's illness and he made sure I knew he didn’t want me. I don’t care that he kept up with me on the internet, the fact he didn’t even care to let me know he lived 10 miles from me my whole life makes me feel sick. I was 14 point 6 miles away from Amoreena this whole time and I would give all my fucking organs to go back in time and be with her from day 1, I don’t get how he could just not love me?” The rant comes out of his mouth for the first time ever, the same thoughts that have been there building for 40 years bursting at the seam.

She reaches behind them to turn off the water then, stepping away from him while he cools down a bit, “Yeah, no I get it, I hate him too now. That's so fucked up, honey, I'm so sorry.”

It makes him huff out a laugh, “I’m sorry, you’re not my therapist you don’t have to deal with all that.”

“I’m your wife, I deal with that regardless. In sickness and in health remember?” She reminds him, “depression is just as real of an illness as cancer. I don’t want you to keep these thoughts from me. I want to know about every paper cut, every splinter, every bad thought that crosses that beautiful mind because I love you.”

“As long as you always remember that too,” he makes sure that she knows he feels the same. “Don’t keep anything from me thinking it’ll ruin the happy atmosphere of this kingdom, Amoreena would tell you that a castle is only as strong as its weakest brick. If you crack we all tumble.”

“My foundations are strong, if not Derek’s a renovator right?” She raised her eyebrows, making another joke. They were always going to be okay.

“Speaking of, how are we going to house all 12 of these children you plan on having?”

"We, smartie pants, we are having," she tosses the shower curtain out of the way then, stepping out and wrapping herself in a towel, “I was thinking we add a few more rooms, nanny and pop were always adding on to this place, it would be nice to fix it up a bit.”

“I can see if Derek wants to help, or we can find a contractor?”

“Well, Alli still has another 8 weeks till her baby comes, so you might as well do something with Derek here in that time,” she agrees with a smile, “my nanny left everything to me, so I have a decent amount saved still for whatever you guys think the house can handle, I just want it done safely, and it has to match.”

She was bossy, he loved every second of it. “Yes ma’am,” he smiles as he steps out, drying off beside her.

Y/N couldn’t stop smiling at him as she watched him fluff his curly wet hair in the mirror, “how would you like to go out and get our first kid a big sister present before the graduation?”

“We never had a chance to read on Saturday, would you want to get her a big sister book and read at the tree?” Spencer suggests, making eye contact with her reflection in the mirror, even backwards she’s beautiful.

She nods with a smile, “sounds great, daddy.”

He wraps his arms around her before she can leave the room, kissing her neck and shoulder as she squirms, trying to get away from him but failing on purpose. “Spencer, seriously we have to go.”

“Then don’t call me daddy,” he whispers in her ear, and he can physically feel the way it excites her.

“We will revisit this later,” she says with a stern look as she pulls away finally, dropping the towel on purpose as she walks towards her new closet.

She was going to be the death of him, and hopefully, that wasn’t for a long time. Hopefully, he thought right then and there, that the moment he finally does die, he dies is beside her. Happily in his sleep, as they’re in their 90’s, and in a perfect world she’d slip away with him.

“Can I ask a dumb question?” He rushes the words out, taking her up on that offer of hearing all the bad thoughts.

“Always,” she smiles.

“When we get to heaven, stay with me? Pick me instead of Stephen for the forever part?” He’s not sure why he’s crying, or why he’s thinking about it. But it’s where his mind went and she said she’d always follow.

She tilts her head to the side, dropping her shoulders as she sighs, “we can set Stephen and Maeve up with each other.”

It makes him smile, she always knew what to say. “Who knows, they could be the reason all this happened.”

She nods then, “I like the thought of that, they deserve to be happy together, I’m sure they would like each other.”

He really believed they were soulmates then, that something bigger set up all these dominoes and he was so excited to watch them fall. To see where they landed, the beautiful pattern that they would reveal. The wonderful world he was creating with her was always going to be amazing because something greater than them said so.

—

She looked more beautiful than he’s ever seen her as they rolled up to the school. She was physically glowing, her hair was perfect, her dress laid over her stomach in the right way that he could see proof she was with child, even if she called it leftovers from the last one. It was his favourite part of her, it was where she made the best person they knew.

They walked around to the back gate, hand in hand, smiling wide as they walked into the little classroom. There were balloons and streamers everywhere, they had little cupcakes all set up and all of them were in matching blue caps and gowns.

Amoreena waved at them when she saw them, not allowed to leave her seat from where they were practicing their ceremony. It was unbelievably adorable, Spencer couldn’t help but be that Dad who took a million photos on his cellphone. He was never going to miss another moment.

JJ wrapped her arm around him sneakily, startling him as she hugged him, “hello Spencer Reid, father and husband,” she teased him. “Still weird thinking of you as a dad.”

He wanted to tell her, but she’d know soon anyway once she saw the all about me project, “shit,” Y/N says from behind him as she realizes too. “Tell her.”

“We’re having another one,” Spencer whispers in JJ’s ear before she can even react.

She smacks his side as she pulls back, staring at him with her mouth wide open. The same face Henry made when he saw Y/N for the first time, completely shocked and nervous, “oh my god?”

He nodded, “we’re not telling anyone, I was supposed to find out on her all about me project but she didn’t want me to pass out in front of all the kids.”

It made JJ laugh, shrugging as she agreed with the idea, she pulled away from him and wrapped Y/N up in her arms, hugging her ever so softly. Y/N closed her eyes and pressed their cheeks together as she accepted the thank you, knowing JJ was just happy to see Spencer succeed.

She placed a hand on Y/N’s tummy before pulling away fully, “I always hoped I’d see the day where Spencer made a little genius, I still can’t believe Amoreena is his sometimes, that hasn’t really hit me yet, but this… this is real. I’m so happy for you.”

Y/N cried a little, wiping her eyes as she laughed it off, “okay, sorry this is a big day for me, my first baby is graduating, this baby is trying to grow a heartbeat, it’s all a lot.”

“I get it, believe me,” JJ agreed, placing her hand on Y/N’s lover back and holding her close to her side. Bonding in that moment, making Spencer’s heart swell.

“Where’s the cowboy?” She changed the subject, looking for Will.

“Oh there’s a case in Kentucky, I missed Henry’s graduation, so I’m here for Michaels while he’s on the case, it’s only fair,” she explained with a smile, content with how their life and relationship worked.

“Do you want to sit with us?” Y/N offered, pointing at the folding chairs, taking a seat with JJ in the front, sitting between her and Spencer so she could talk to both of them before the ceremony.

It was lovely having them become friends, his first love and the last one he'd ever have.

They passed out tissues (thank god) before the ceremony, Y/N and Spencer both using at least 5 as they watched Amoreena get her tiny scroll of paper, move the string on her hat to the other side and then wave at them. Spencer took at least 100 photos of her, unable to stop how proud he felt that he made her.

What Amoreena failed to mention was that she was chosen to be the class valedictorian, surprising them with a tiny speech at an even tinier podium. It was so cute, both Spencer and JJ recorded it to remember for later.

“My class chose me to talk to everyone because I’m the oldest, lots of my classmates like to think of me as an older sister,” she smiled right at her parents, hinting at the fact she knew when she thought Spencer didn’t yet.

So he played along, looking surprised at the word choice.

“I’ve had the best two years with all my friends in this classroom, Miss Kennedy was the nicest women they could pick to make sure we learned everything we need to before grade school starts,” her words were definitely chosen by her, possibly reworded by her teacher but definitely from her heart.

“My mom taught me the alphabet, she taught me how to spell and count, she taught me lots of things that miss Kennedy taught in here, at first it was hard being the kid who knew more, but then it was fun getting to help everyone else learn,” she continued with the most enthusiastic voice, going off-script as she thought of more. “My dad, though, he’s taught me how special our family is. How special it is to get to meet new people and learn about the world with them, I’m so glad my parents made me so I could learn with all of you these past 2 years.”

All the parents were crying, she was able to touch the hearts of everyone around her. At the age of 7, she was more well-spoken, more understanding and grateful than any of the adults in that room.

“I’ll see you all on the big kid yard next year!” She cheered, jumping up and down and clapping, all her friends rushed to the stage for a big group hug.

His little girl was so unbelievably loved, the way she deserved.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #amoreena

113 notes · View notes

actordougjones · 4 years

Text

Helen Chavez 1959 ~ 2020

Sitting in silent conflict today, some numbness, many tears, grief, and the happiest memories that make my heart smile. To lose a close friend (whom I referred to as my big sister for the last 16 years) to complications from covid-19 and other health issues, is a blow I could not be prepared for. Yet to sit with my memories of her is a relished joy.

Many knew her as “Hellmistress” on the Sony Pictures Hellboy message boards in 2003. As I was an occasional visitor in those boards while filming Hellboy, I took special note of the witty, gentle, sarcastic, encouraging posts from this woman I found myself wanting to know more of.

She made her way into those message boards by way of her love for Ron Perlman, as she also was a contributing writer for a site called ThePerlmanPages dot com. But once in there, and once we got to interacting, Helen and I both found kindred spirits in each other, about the same age, about the same irreverent sense of humor.

She jokingly described herself as “windswept and interesting.” When we finally met in person the first time around the premiere events Guillermo del Toro had arranged for these fans of Hellboy in April 2004, I found this description of her to be true. All I had to hear was that Helen had sold a cow to finance her flight from Scotland, and I knew I was right about this one! Yes, she and her husband Mark raised cattle on their rural farm outside Aberdeenshire, Scotland. But she was also a highly knowledgeable archivist at the local museum there. With a thirst for learning, and a lover of history, artifacts, classic film, TV, music, literature, science fiction, and all things geekery, she did indeed earn her “windswept and interesting” title.

(Our first in-person meeting after “Hellebration” 2004 with Sony Pictures Hellboy message board regulars, Left to Right: Maurice Mpayamaguru, Dougie, Pat Paone, Helen Chavez - who was so excited to be having a burger with American ketchup!)

She flew away the next day in 2004, but that would not be the last of this Helen. Upon returning home to Scotland, her friend and ThePerlmanPages creator Pat Paone (who had also been on this trip) said something to Helen that lingered in the air... “After this entire ‘Hellebration’ weekend in Los Angeles, do you realize you haven’t stopped talking about Doug Jones?” which struck Helen odd since she was a devout Perlman fan who was gushing about someone other than Ron after a weekend to celebrate a movie in which Ron held the title character.

That’s when I received an email from Helen proposing an official website she wanted to create for me. So was born TheDougJonesExperience dot com, a site that was lovingly poured over and updated by Helen as her pet project that she never let me pay a dime for, no matter how I tried, from 2004 to 2014, when her own life required her to take pause. That pause from the site included finishing up her Masters Degree, still working full time at the museum, still tending the cattle, and now caregiving to her husband’s failing health ... followed by her own health issues.

She was ever the stoic type, though, who never ever, EVER wanted to be a burden on me, so I would rarely hear of her trials in life unless I told her, “I’m not hanging up until you start talking.” She would always brush off her own issues and turn things back around to doting on me like the protective big sister she loved being. She also took in Mrs. Laurie as her little sister with great pride.

To sum up the amount of life shared with this incredible woman would take volumes. Volumes that could be tied together with one thread.... “cheerleader.” She championed me personally and professionally with the kind of care and tireless energy that gave my own mother and Mrs. Laurie a run for their money!

Her cheerleading came in the form of not only that exhaustive website with endless fan correspondence as she wrote with a voice that was uncannily like my own, then later helping administrate “The Tank” forum on DelToroFilms dot com where “FanSapiens” would gather to chat about little ol’ me, but also trips to see me when I was in the United Kingdom for a fan convention in Birmingham, or a make-up trade show in London. She also ingratiated herself to Guillermo del Toro and was invited to visit our Hellboy II: The Golden Army filming set in Budapest with her old friend Pat Paone, spending a large part of that visit with me through my whole day, from make-up, to the Troll Market set, to lunchtime, to afternoon naps in my trailer for all of us, to touring the city on a rare day off.

(During Hellboy 2 set visit 2007 at Budapest, Hungary’s “Hero Square” pictured Left to Right: Pat Paone, Dougie, Helen Chavez)

And I could never tally up the countless hours of phone chats, messenger chats, book-length emails, where she was often celebrating successes with me, calming my nerves when I had failed, giving me some well-needed big sisterly advice on life, or playfully nagging me to sleep and eat more. Boy, was she ever stern about those last two. If I even hinted that I had been pushing myself too hard, not sleeping enough, not eating right, she would give me “the look.” You don’t want “the look.” It was that raised eyebrows, all-knowing eyes searing into me kind of look, with a probing stare over the top of her glasses into my soul kind of look. You could hide nothing from her when she gave “the look.”

I adored hearing all her tales from her museum, getting history lessons all the while about who used what in what century in what country for what purpose, everything from farm tools to ancient toilet paper. To keep me in her loop, one year for Christmas she sent me some ancient Roman coins, after I had mentioned how I love looking at coins, waving it off with, “those things are so easy to come by.” Her gifts were always accompanied by authentic Scottish shortbread cookies. But my favorite story of hers was the mummy head she had no better place for, so he lived under her desk ... for years. And of course, she named him “Marlon.”

I’ve always been a hugger, but Helen is the one who taught me about “Bosies.” The difference being that a Bosie is a huggle that doesn’t need to end anytime soon, where you envelop the other person in a cradle that makes them feel safe. She was masterful at those Bosies.

I could tell Helen stories for hours, as could so many of you puppies whose lives she touched with her listening skills, mentorship, and her tireless encouragement to keep all of us creatives reaching for our dreams.

(Pictued at “Hellebration” 2008 with “FanSapiens” Left to Right: Tim Rosenberger, Katie McGregor, Helen Chavez, Stephanie Metz, Dougie, Kate Daley, Seth Lombardi)

(Pictured at Hellboy 2 premiere after party 2008 with DelToroFilms regulars; Top row: Paul Kindschi, Gary Deocampo, Maurice Mpayamaguru. Bottom row: Helen Chavez, Dougie)

But I’ll leave you with one last story. It was 2008, and we flew Helen out to Los Angeles (I didn’t want her to sell another cow) to join all the festivities for the premiere week of Hellboy II: The Golden Army, and to see the finished product of the film set she visited with me the year before. Everything from having a salon day with Mrs. Laurie to get all done up for the red carpet premiere, and the next day she was sporting a fancy fish-print top to dutifully lead Team Blue (those beloved FanSapiens) at the Del Toro sponsored “Hellebration” party and screening night. Another experience I wanted to give her that week was her first press junket, so Mrs. Laurie gladly went to her own job that day, and Helen went with me down to the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills, where many film press junkets take place on a floor full of press suites. These are high energy days, as one after another, TV, radio, print, and dot com journalists interview us back to back all day. Helen watched from behind the monitors with Publicist John, and every time I glanced over, she was just beaming as she gave me a thumbs-up. At the end of this marathon day, we were heading home in the back of the studio-hired limo, and my eyes were getting droopy in the dark. Helen glanced over the top of her glasses with “the look” and said with all the doting mother, favorite auntie, protective big sister she had in her, “Awe, little brother mine, come here.” I leaned my head onto her shoulder, while she pet my hair and told me how overjoyed she was with this phase of my life, and how watching me handle all the press that day made her “buttons burst with pride,” a phrase she used many a time. She always knew how to bring such peace, such calm, such encouragement, such a safe harbor. The next thing I knew the car stopped in front of the house, and I awoke with her still holding my weary head.

Oh how I wish for one more limo ride. One more chance to soak in her uplifting words, so I might know how to handle whatever comes next.

She went by many names -- Hellmistress, Webmaster Helen, or her preferred “Webmistress” Helen, Auntie Helen, Mentor Helen, Therapist Helen, Dear Friend Helen, Big Sister Helen, but there was only one Helen in this wacky world. She leaves a void that no one else can fill. It’s painful how much I miss her already.

I pray the angels gave her a thrilling ride to her rightful place in Heaven. I can almost feel her gaze again right now, as she sits at the edge of a crescent moon, tilts her gaze down over the top of her glasses and gives me “the look”.....

Alright, Big Sis, I’ll eat something and get to sleep now.

#rip #hellmistress #webmaster helen #sister #dear friend

288 notes · View notes

itwillbeall-dwight · 4 years

Text

trials in error

danny "jed olsen" johnson | the ghost face/felix richter; fluff and angst; canon-typical violence; enemies to fwb to lovers to enemies lmao; 5677 words

a/n: did i finish two fics in the same day? yes i did. i’ve had this done since one in the morning but didn’t want to post it them bc no one would see it by the time it was flushed out of the tag bc tumblr hates fic writers for real actually.

my friend booker is to blame for this. they mentioned this pair to me offhandedly but then i turned around and made this, and basically learned 2 things. 1) writing danny is fun, and 2) i have. a lot of feelings. about them.

while i have a couple of long pieces to finish, requests are still open, so if you liked this and would like smthn written, feel free to shoot me an ask!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: “Tell you what.” He folded his arms over the top of the generator, looking the man in the face as he rested the side of his head against his forearm. “You’re still a noob, and I can’t be having anything fun with that. I’ll give you, hm… 10 seconds to run and hide, phone a friend, you know… not die, but after that, you’re all mine. Sound good?” The blonde remained silent, blinking at him in bewilderment. That was as good of an answer as any. “Alright. 10-” “Ah, wait, but what about-” “-9-” He didn’t say anything after that, dropping the wires in his hands and taking off into a sprint, stumbling as he stood to his full height - and oh boy, was he a tall guy - and turned a corner of old cars. Danny chuckled, standing up to rest his ass against the side of the gen, flipping his knife in his hand as he kept counting down. “8… 7… 6-5-4-3-2-1- ok, here we go.”

Another day, another trial. As the fog cleared from his vision, the Ghostface flipped his small knife in his hand, feeling the silent breeze whistle through the tendrils on his uniform. The Autohaven Wreckers was as sorry of a sight as it always was, but one that he’d grown quite accustomed to use as his playground. From the sight of the old garage, he could almost pick out memories of all the times he’d scared the pants off of the poor survivors, which he took more than enough pleasure in doing. Danny looked around, still absently flipping his knife in his hand as he formulated a plan, taking a brief moment to watch the ever-present moonlight glint off of the freshly cleaned blade before he looked up once more, a slow grin forming behind the mask as the game began.

Poor Meg thought he was stupid, thinking she’d lost him at a simple enough loop around a pile of tires, all up until he pulled her off of her generator with a cackle (“screw you, creep” she said as she slammed her fists into the back of his shoulder - changed her tune real quick after he slid a hook into hers). Nea didn’t hesitate in giving him the runaround, powering a generator in his face and slamming a locker door into him for good measure. Danny knew the girl would throw a palette at him if she had the chance - she was the most fun to play with. But he soon lost her, so soon after catching her, but it was that detective asshole that ruined their fun, as he’d shone a damn flashlight in his eyes while he had Nea on his shoulder, finally, enough for her to wiggle free and run off again. And by the time his vision had cleared, the both of them had gone. Danny growled - as much as he enjoyed fun, it was only when he was winning was it any good.

It was while he was stalking around the battered old killer shack looking for the bastard that he saw him for the first time. Blonde hair, broad shoulders, and a fancy suit that just screamed rich, with a touch of “please tear me off or splatter me in blood, both sound great”. A man he didn’t recognize, sat on a generator, eyes darting around as he worked the best he could with shaking hands, clearly on edge about being left on his own to work. Whatever annoyance he had in him melted like hot wax, as he approached, slowly, knowing this guy would be a wonderful victim to mess with. The killer’s fingers curled around the edge of the wall as he watched the man, the way he swallowed and sighed, muttering to himself in reassurance in a tongue that sounded familiar to him, too quiet to tell. The generator got louder and louder, its mechanisms and inner parts in tune as the man worked his magic, almost letting himself smile in triumph as he grabbed another wire.

“Hey there, handsome.”

A voice from behind his neck, raspy and deep, caused him to jump, a spark sending the generator into smoke as he turned, face going white as he pushed his back against the wall.

Oh, he was right. He was going to be fun, all right. Danny chuckled. “Oh, sorry. Did I scare you? Tend to do that. It’s in my… nature.”

The man swallowed, glancing around for any kind of help, seeming to find none as his attention turned back to the killed, speaking in a low, rich voice, though it shook from fear. “Don’t you have… things, to be stabbing?”

“Why, is that an invitation?” He laughed again, leaning up against the generator and crossing one leg over the other. “Nah, I’m just kiddin’. Ain’t it enough to get to know the new neighbours? Haven’t seen you around before, pretty boy. They smuggled you in, huh?”

“I… suppose.”

He hummed, tapping the blade of his knife against the metal of his knife, the clanging making the survivor jump. Oh, bless him - well and truly, it was a mistake for him to get caught up here… but a happy mistake, to be sure. “Got a name?”

“Huh?”

“Like I said, I like to know the neighbours, ya know… real close and personal. A preference. Bit of normalcy. Soooo…”

He remained silent. So he was a little bit smarter than what he’d look like, from the way he was shaking in his rich white boots. Impressive.

“Tell you what.” He folded his arms over the top of the generator, looking the man in the face as he rested the side of his head against his forearm. “You’re still a noob, and I can’t be having anything fun with that. I’ll give you, hm… 10 seconds to run and hide, phone a friend, you know… not die, but after that, you’re all mine. Sound good?”

The blonde remained silent, blinking at him in bewilderment. That was as good of an answer as any.

“Alright. 10-”

“Ah, wait, but what about-”

“-9-”

He didn’t say anything after that, dropping the wires in his hands and taking off into a sprint, stumbling as he stood to his full height - and oh boy, was he a tall guy - and turned a corner of old cars.

Danny chuckled, standing up to rest his ass against the side of the gen, flipping his knife in his hand as he kept counting down. “8… 7… 6-5-4-3-2-1- ok, here we go.”

Curious as it was, he lost the blonde beauty soon after he let him go, instead finding Meg oddly open about where she was, spriting right into his vision. Not that he was complaining; a game was a game, and if the runner decided that she wanted to play tag, then who was he to turn her down? Especially when she was so easy to catch… though as soon as she was hooked, flashlight clicking and Swedish profanities in his ear was enough to make him chase after Nea rather than go after his original chase once again… they were painting a target on their back, and for what? To save the new guy’s skin? He wasn’t an idiot. Just surprised that some of them had the compassion.

Well, they managed to get another generator done, but the two girls were dead, and a soon injured Tapp was surely soon to follow them. A means to an end, it seemed, as his knife plunged into the detective’s side and sent him crashing into the dirt with a grunt of pain, rolling over onto his back with one eye open, the other wincing in pain, the shadow of the killer cast over him in the moonlight as he wiped his blade.

“OK, Detective, we’ll make this real nice and simple.” He crouched down next to the survivor, taking note of how the blood pooled around him as he laid on his back, staring up at him. “Tell me where your new friend is hiding, and I’ll let you live.”

Silence.

“C’mon, it’s not that hard of a choice to make. I’ve heard getting sacrificed is long and painful, like your insides are getting ripped at over and over again until, poof, you’re back again, at that cozy little campfire, only a little bit more traumatised to show for it. Now, you want that to happen to only one of you, or both of you, hm?”

Tapp looked away, seeming to ponder the possibility.

“Self-preservation instincts, Detective. I know you have them.” He tapped his knife into the dirt. Humans were fickle beings, easily swayed when their life was on the line.

The detective sighed, chest shaking from the strain. “Fine. I know where he’s hiding. But I can’t… breathe right, with a knife in my chest, so come a little closer.”

Danny blinked, but surely he didn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve, so he did as he was told, for once in his life, letting his mask get inches away. “Yes?”

A moment of silence, before there was a whisper in reply, backed by the assurance of an idiot who knew he was going to die regardless, as he spat blood pooling in his mouth onto the mask of the ghost almost pressed against his own. “Go fuck yourself.”

He was almost stunned at the bravado, leaning away with a chuckle, though he gritted his teeth through it. “Oh, you’re a funny man. Absolutely hilarious, you know that?” But still, that was as good of an affirmation of choice as he was going to get from someone so stubborn, so Danny grabbed him by the front of his vest and hoisted him up onto his shoulder.

The screaming echoed as the heavens opened up, the Entity surely pleased with her feast for the evening, but he still wasn’t done… oh no, far from it. There was still one more handsome devil to track down. Danny rolled his neck, grinning at the gentle cracks from the strain, strolling more than hunting, at this point, for the well-kept survivor he didn’t know the name of, but was practically dying to know. He almost skipped up the crane, looking out of the window as Rapunzel did out of her tower window, before chuckling to himself and hoisting himself out. Danny tapped his blade against his hand, almost going to begin whistling if not for the angelic cries coming from the hill just close by. A grin overtook him, as he chased the calls of cherubs from the ground below.

He slammed that hatch shut with a satisfied sigh, throwing his knife between his hands as he looked around and arched his neck for the doors. Normally the whelps would just give up at this point, but the guy was new, and probably didn’t know what was best for him. Still, the doors were easily within view, so if he made it out of this alive… well, he wouldn’t, so no promise needed to be made. The killer chuckled to himself, finally settling on wrapping his fingers around the handle of his blade, curling one by one, slowly and deliberately for no one in particular, before setting off to take part in the real game that had begun.

He had no idea how he did it. Perhaps Danny had become too complacent in his work. But that handsome devil slipped past him more than once, enough for him to open up a gate and tiptoe his nice ass into certain safety. The survivor stared at him from inside the gate as he walked past in bewilderment, shaking like a dog in the rain that was just waiting to be gutted, battered old medkit in hand. And while he was stunned, the man swallowed, nodded, and left the trial head high, descending back into the fog as it began to consume the old gas station, leaving Danny to stare into darkness, barely blinking.

Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it?

—

His name was Felix, he’d learned from the pig in the meat plant, having overheard it while she watched him blow the generator out by accident and got cursed out by the familiar bane-of-their-existence Swede. German, from the way he’d spoken to Danny by the generator in their first encounter, high up on the social ladder from the way he dressed (unless he’d gotten all dressed up just to see him? Funny, that would be, but very unlikely), shaken by the fog and with a disposition not unlike a lost dog.

And yet, despite his nerves and cluelessness to the fog, he always seemed to escape him. He didn’t know how he did it, but from finding hatch to evading the hooks, Felix somehow managed to keep him on his toes. Trials were somehow more exciting, knowing there was a challenge, and a chance to catch he who refused to be caught. Danny knew he was going to revel in the moment, when it eventually came - there was no way someone could be better than him, when he was so in his element.

So, after not seeing the man for the entire trial while hunting through the streets of Badham, catching him at the gate seemed like a dream come true. And he was none the wiser, as Danny quickly slammed his hand against the wall next to the lever, making him jump and freeze, pulling his hand away, two bright lights reflecting onto his face. “And so we meet again.”

“S-so we do.” He ran a hand through his hair before it found a place at the back of his neck, quietly taking a few steps back.

“Aht, aht. I wouldn’t run. I’ll just find you again anyways.”

He stopped.

“...You know, I don’t quite know how you do it. It’s like you’re avoiding me on purpose.”

“That is… the point, is it not?”

“Oh, how rude- people come here to see me, surely. I’m a spectacle; call me a master at my craft.”

Felix chuckled - god, he chuckled, though it was riddled with nerves, but it most certainly happened, and sounded great - fiddling with the cufflinks on the sleeves of his suit jacket as his back straightened a little, as if flicking a switch to go from sorry sight to professional businessman. “Well, I… don’t suppose you’d be willing to show me why?”

He blinked. “Are you… flirting with me?”

“Am I?”

Danny wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not, from the way he stood beside the lever at the gate, leaning a shoulder against the brick and folding his arms across his strong, broad chest (the way his shirt was unbuttoned just so was something Danny now noticed, and couldn’t stop noticing, barely tearing his eyes away to meet his gaze again) with an almost expectant look. “You’re... a weird one.”

“I… suppose so. Anyone normal would have ignored you and already run for their lives.”

The killer chuckled. “You’re not… entirely wrong. But I gotta say, I do like that. Among… other things.”

Though his eyes weren’t visible, it was as if the survivor knew exactly where he was looking, coughing and covering his mouth with the side of his fist. How cute was that?

He almost couldn’t contain himself. But he managed, somehow, not sure where this whole thing was going, but more than ready to go along for the ride. “Say… how far are you willing to ask that question, anyway? You really wanna know that bad, huh?”

Felix swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking up again, with his piercing blue gaze, lips parting just so into a coy little smile. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Danny had never thought a man of such sophistication was willing to whore himself out for freedom, but sure enough, he himself opened the gate to let the German go, almost sad to see him leave (though it wouldn’t be for long), but very much enjoying the view.

He paused. He was supposed to catch him and kill him, wasn’t he? Danny frowned, somewhat troubled, but tried to justify it as returning to old habits in Roseville, as he left the gate, and waited for the fog to consume him again, taking a seat just outside the battered old preschool.

—

It was like the attraction of magnets with twice the force as soon as they saw each other, wasting no time as suddenly Felix’s back was slammed into a tree, a loose and cold gloved hand finding its way up his shirt, sending a shiver up his spine for another reason as he felt lips hit his, with a hunger and desperation he was not expecting but certainly didn’t mind reciprocating, as Danny soon found out. And he wasn’t complaining; he was damn good, for a man with the disposition of a 40-year-old virgin, moving his hands to Danny’s wrist and placing his hand on his waist, which again, he did not mind at all, while the other was still halfway up his shirt. Let the man take the lead, at least for now, because it’s the only chance he’ll get to.

Danny chuckled as a hand moved to grab his ass - quite the eager beaver, wasn’t he? He was practically purring as he pulled away, the survivor trying to follow him before reeling back as he moved to kissing up the side of his neck, listening close to the adorable little whimpers that came out of him as he squirmed in his grip. The killer then went to move his hand out from under Felix’s shirt, finally, casually undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt one by one, taking the time to walk down his chest with his fingers and feel the shaking breaths of anticipation under his fingertips. Oh, the things he wanted to do-

Distant voices were enough to make the survivor crack open an eye, pausing before he began to push the killer’s head off of his neck.

“Hey, hey,” Danny didn’t appreciate the interruption, moving to look up as Felix looked around, like a startled animal, though he still purred in the crudest fashion. “C’mon, buddy, I was just getting started.”

“Quiet.” His voice was low and commanding, still shaking from adrenaline.

And for whatever reason, Danny complied.

He swallowed, listening to the silence of the wind in the barrens of the fog-covered forest and there was another distant call, which upon hearing he began trying to wiggle out of the killer’s grip. “Off.”

“Why?”

“They’re looking for me-”

“And you don’t wanna be seen with me?” He gave a mock gasp of offence, though the grin that was slowly growing larger still remained on his face.“Oh, honey-”

“That’s exactly it. Move, please.”

That was enough to make Danny chuckle, squeezing his hips that he still held, enough to make him yelp a little. “Still so polite. If you want me to do somethin’, hon, you gotta be a little more, ah... demanding, yeah?”

Felix glared. “Alright. Get off. Now.” His voice had an annoyed growl to it, though his voice still cracked a little out of embarrassment, as he pushed down on Danny’s arms to let himself go.

“There it is.” And so he moved, standing back and sliding his hands into the pockets of his cloak. He watched the architect fiddle with the buttons on his shirt to redo them again, rushing to do so and messing it up a few times, mumbling to himself. “Need help?”

He glared again.

Danny laughed, observing how he looked like a kicked puppy as he went back to fiddling with his shirt, pulling down his own mask again to hide what little of his face he had revealed. “You know, I think you’d look much better with it off.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, that’s not what you were saying with your eyes earlier-”

“You were a lot more tolerable when you were quiet.”

“‘Cos I never had a chance to speak, what, with you all over my mouth.” He shrugged as he spoke, as if it was a nonchalant fact, only smiling wider when he heard Felix try to stammer out a flustered reply, to no avail, choosing instead to simply huff and finish off the buttons on his shirt.

“Regardless, this affair is over.”

“Wait, hold on.”

“What?”

The killer moved his hands up to Felix’s neck, watching the man flinch and hold a breath with a soft chuckle, gently undoing a few of the top buttons that he’d redone. “You normally wear it like this.”

He gently touched at his collar, looking down at his fingers and then to the mask starring back at him. “And you’ve noticed?”

“Hard not to.” He shrugged, tugging at the shirt collar and going to fix up the waistcoat too before his hands were slapped away, which he held up in defence with a grin behind his mask. “So when are we doing this again, sunshine?”

The survivor moved away before he could’ve boxed in against the tree again, taking a few steps towards the direction of the campfire and the voices, though not too far as to disengage from the conversation, perhaps a little unsure how to. “You speak like this will be a regular affair.”

“Well, we had fun, ja?”

“...Are you mocking me?”

“Not mocking, just… appreciating the culture.”

Felix started, smoothing down the arms of his suit jacket with a light scoff of disbelief. “Truly, you’re insufferable.”

“Can't say you didn’t enjoy yourself though, huh, mein Schatz?” He leaned his shoulder against the tree now, folding his arms across his chest, earning him a weak-hearted glare.

“Werde gefickt.”

“Gerne.”

Being outplayed in his own game of native tongues, somehow, Felix conceded, looking down at his cufflinks again. “You’re… not entirely wrong, so ...perhaps a name, so I can find you.”

“Oh, so now you want to know me? What happened to a one-time affair, sugar?”

“When you’re so easy to please, I would be an idiot not to take advantage.”

Danny laughed, shrugging with no retort (though he was uncertain if hitting this pretty boy like a fish was just as good as getting in his pants… that much was yet to be determined). He soon trailed off, swallowing to himself, a lie escaping him as effortlessly as it had always done. “Jed Olsen.”

“Mr. Olsen…” Felix pondered for a moment. “...Ja, OK.”

—

So they’d been fooling around, yeah. Danny had always said he was willing to try it, should an idiot be brave enough, and if it was someone that wasn’t either Ace or David - he was a man with some standards, even with the blood on his hands - but never had he thought about it getting this far.

The sun never rose or set, but people slept and woke as time passed, regardless of the light outside, and that was no exception here. If anything, it was the cold chill of Ormond that awoke him from sleep, though he’d grown complacent in it, realising the teens that called this shithole a home would probably evict him if he so much as dared to complain. Danny still grumbled, attempting to pull the scraps of the blanket over himself, but finding it unable to move. Turning over, he now heard the sound of gentle snoring, the body, next to him sometimes shuffling, but remained mostly motionless, aside from the movements of breathing from his chest. His latest fling, almost his newest obsession… god, he still looked perfect, even now, golden locks of hair falling out of form, the lighting of the shitty little cabin not enough to hide that perfect jawline tickled with stubble in all the right places, red marks down his neck and back from an encounter that had lead them right here, in the bed he was practically renting in the corner of the resort.

They’d gotten a little adventurous, hadn't they? Banter in the trials was one thing, borderline voyeurism in the entity’s forest was another, but here? Letting himself be taken back to the realms to stay, where killers were not technically bound by rules of obedience, with Danny of all killers, a man who loved to bend the rules? Felix Richter was a smart man, that much he knew, but by god was he stupid. Maybe he thought there was a good man still in there, in the Ghostface. Well, that was his mistake; it was almost cute for him to still hold out hope though, regardless of how much disappointment was awaiting him down the road. Danny gently ran fingertips along the sleeping man’s arm, feeling the soft skin underneath his touch, smiling despite himself, only pausing at the gentle stirring he caused, practically freezing with his hand in the air as the architect moved, and slowly opened his eyes, sleepily smiling.

“Good morning.”

“...Hi,” he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, letting his hand fall into the space between them. “Hardly mornin’, but sure.”

“Close enough.”

“Sure.”

There was a soft, amused hum from the other man, adjusting his position a little to better face him, hair falling out of place just so, like some disheveled Ken doll. “I would ask if you slept well, but-”

“Oh, very well, thanks to you. Really outdid yourself this time; I gotta say, that was almost the most fun I’ve had since I got here… or maybe even before-”

A light shove to his chest made him stop and laugh a little, feeling the slight coldness of metal from a family ring against one pec, and almost wanting the light touch of his hand to remain there, before it hit the mattress with a thump, dangerously close to Danny’s. “You’re a funny one, Mr. Olsen.”

He sat up, resting an elbow on the stained old pillow and holding his cheek with the corresponding hand, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you liked me better when I was quieter?”

Felix stared at him with those perfect eyes of his, and he laughed - like audible silk it was, smooth and defined, with a sleepy smile and everything - adjusting himself with a hand under his pillow. “Sometimes. Sometimes I like to hear you.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ve been told it’s my best quality.”

“Hmm. Is it how you make jokes to deflect, or how you talk out of your ass?”

“...Well, hey now, Princess, ouch-”

As he tried to defend himself, the survivor smirked, somehow braver here than anywhere else (and it wasn’t his persona), quipping back to match him, and as he was talking, Danny paused, watching the way his eyes diverted and how his mouth moved, how he talked with his body and the way he smiled and waiting for a small hum in response, and how Danny liked the way his name sounded coming from his mouth, even if it wasn’t entirely the true one. Almost made him wonder what the real thing would sound like… no, that was too much, right? Couldn’t get attached. He wasn’t attached, was he?

Couldn’t hurt to wait a little more to think on that, before escorting this pretty little thing back to the campfire.

—

So he was thinking about Felix a lot more than was normal for an obsession of his. What started off as a vengeful curiosity had morphed into something else, something so ugly yet so beautiful, foreign to Danny in recent years, or perhaps his entire life. Was this how high school girls felt, chasing after the jocks for a chance to get them off, and maybe start a high school whirlwind romance? Well, he certainly wasn’t a prepubescent cheerleader, but the survivor that had caught his attention seemed just like the squeaky clean Prince Charming that girls drooled over.

And he couldn’t have that. Not at all.

The fog cleared out of his vision slowly, and he opened his eyes, almost rolling them as the field of corn came into view. Coldwind - the rotten fields, it looked like, from the wide expanse of produce hiding his vision. Despite the cards not being in his favour, a game could still be played here, if he played his hand, carefully. And he was planning to. He’d let himself get distracted. But not again.

Getting back into the routine of the hunt was like sliding into a comfortable sweater, blood shedding with no tear from him. Laurie was always a thrilling chase, her determination being almost cute. Quentin was similar, though the boy with insomnia had a lot less appeal than the virgin final girl, to be sure. David, of course, was David - loud, frustrating to deal with, and incredibly annoying. And… Felix. He knew how he felt about Felix already.

As well as he tried to play it, this time, the game was not in his favour, and quite quickly generators across the field were powered, with only a few hooks under his belt. Getting to a gate, it was already beginning to open, three of them already filing into the funnel of the exit. But Felix, he was lagging behind, and without thinking, Danny took a swipe...

...No one escaped death. Not even the man he may have fallen for.

As he wiped the blood from his blade with a gloved hand closed around it, he watched the architect grasp at his side and stumble, leaning a shoulder up against a wooden wall for support.

“Go.” He called to the woman in the blue shirt, standing at the gate.

“Felix, we can’t-”

“I said go, Laurie!”

She gritted her teeth and went to ignore him, running back into the cornfield, but a grip and pull on her arm from David stopped her, as much as she tried to fight against it. Quentin was the last to leave, watching the two of them for a moment before he swallowed, and chased after them, a medkit in hand.

“Alone time, eh? Hon, we’re on a time limit here-”

“Just get it done.”

Danny tried to laugh. But it didn’t… feel right, somehow, even if it was the same as it always had been. As Felix leaned against a wall to support himself and slid down, knees buckling underneath him, he crouched down to meet him. “I dunno… no fun when they don’t squirm, you know?”

“...Jed-”

“Danny.”

He paused. “What?”

“It’s Danny Johnson. My name, I mean. I lied, when we first met. ...Surprise!” Knife still gripped, he tried to do a small jazz hands movement, though it seemed a fall flat. Only hurt more with what came next.

“...I figured as much.”

“Oh yeah? And why’d you set yourself up for failure like that, sunshine?”

“Because… I don’t know. I thought you were like me.”

The killer deflated a little, tilting his head to one side.

“I… maybe, I thought you were playing something up. I always felt… something else, there. Maybe something even you didn’t know about. Under all that ego, Mr Ol- ...Mr. Johnson, there was a man who cared, once.”

He tapped the blade of his knife against the floor. “...Maybe. I dunno.”

“Do you think he’s still in there?”

Danny didn’t reply right away, dragging his blade through the dirt by his feet absentmindedly. He didn’t entirely know, at this point. Normally this would have been the end of their little game - it was over, he had caught him and won - but something was stopping him. The ground shook, reminding him of that first moment where this fascination had started to plague him. “...You’ve done something to me, Felix.”

He hummed, trying to shift where he sat, holding his side where the blood had stained his very nice suit. “Have I?”

“Must have done. Because this isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

“That’s the reality of most things, I’m afraid.”

“I hate it.”

The survivor almost laughed, though it was pained and strained, clearly struggling… but was the sliver of it that made it, that small smile on his stupid, perfect face - that was enough, it seemed, to make Danny smile too.

He pulled up his mask entirely, tugging down his hood and fixing his hair with a quick ruffle, feeling the cloth tendrils on his sleeves whip behind him from the movement. The killer took a second to stare at Felix in front of him, before he moved his hand up to his face, watching him flinch. “Hey- relax, baby, I’m not gonna hurt you yet.”

“Yet.”

Danny hummed, cupping his face and wiping away the blood starting to dribble out of his mouth with a finger. “There. You’re a messy little boy, aint’cha?”

A cough, more blood involuntarily spilling out from his mouth now, this time splashing onto his shirt and the front of Danny’s suit. “My apologies. I’ll make sure to bleed less next time you stab me.”

“‘Ppreciate it, babes.”

Though he thought the man would shove him away, he instead seemed to lean into the touch, moving a hand to hold onto Danny’s wrist. “You still smell like cheap cologne.”

“It’s the only thing they sent me here with. ‘Sides, your scent goes away after a while.”

“Gross.”

“The one and only.”

And despite his small smile, of both annoyance and amusement, the third overwhelming emotion behind his eyes was that of sadness. The ground shook around them, but they didn’t seem to care, not until Danny moved his hand away and stood to his feet again, grabbing his knife from the floor and wiping the dirt off of the blade on his thigh.

“Is this it, then?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“...It was fun.”

“Oh yes, it was.” He looked down at his knife, pressing the tip of the blade against his finger and twisting it, the moonlight and bleeding of the ground catching the light of the metal. “...For what it’s worth? You were close.”

“Close to what?”

“Makin’ me a person. Ya know, not a prick, like… an actual loser, with empathy. Almost had me for a sec, hot stuff.”

“Is that why you’re stopping this? Are you scared?”

Danny swallowed down a reply. He took a moment to look down at Felix, who’s eyes had followed him the entire time, making a small ‘call me’ sign with his free hand and forcing a smirk. “If you ever decide you wanna make a mistake again, you’ll know where to find me.”

“...Goodbye, Danny.”

He walked off into the corn, not wanting to see the way those blue eyes stared at him anymore, only stopping at the pained screaming that followed. The shaking of the ground had stopped now. She had come to feast.

As he stood in the middle of cornfield, he looked up at the sky of the farm, overcast and grey, tendrils of the Entity reaching down to claim her prize, and fog swirling around him to take him back, to lay in wait, until the next time.

He was right. His name did sound nice coming out of Felix’s mouth.

#dead by daylight #ghostfelix #the ghostface #felix richter #prove thyself #off the record

38 notes · View notes

cosmic-hearts · 4 years

Text

castles in the air | lee donghyuck | epilogue

lee donghyuck x female reader

genre; enemies-to-lovers, friendship, romance, fluff, angst

warnings; none

foreword; in which you might be a real-life princess with a prince promised to you right from the start, but you won’t be getting your happy ever after.

<< previous

2 years later

Fairy lights illuminate the darkened streets of Hongdae, and everywhere you go, you see groups of friends trooping about and couples huddled close together. For a moment, you feel a bitter pang of loneliness, conscious of how glaringly isolated you appear, but then you tell yourself that you’re walking with a purpose, and you’re not meant to be milling aimlessly about like these carefree youngsters around you.

Just like it always has been.

You remember when you were younger, you wished you could chill with friends in a cafe in Hongdae, the neighbourhood brimming with the vitality of youthful hearts. But you were always either busy studying or attending social functions, and you hung out more with adults than people your age. Of course, there was a time when you acted like a normal teenager for once; you went to a high school party, got stuck in a musty closet with a boy who had an angelic voice, and you got so wasted that said boy had to haul your drunk ass home.

You went to cafes with him; he dirtied your favourite bag, but he got you a new one to make up for it. He sang you songs on the hood of his car, beneath the cloak of stars that sheltered you both. He took you to prom and told you that you were pretty; you had never seen him so shy before. He kissed you once, breathing starlight into your soul and fire into your veins. And he even gave you a song, wrote a melody into your heart that you find yourself humming occasionally, till this very day.

You pull your scarf tighter around your neck as a gust of chilly air blows across your cheek, sweeping up the fallen leaves scattered across the sidewalk. All that’s left of the boy now are nothing more than bittersweet memories, a silent echo of what could have been. You don’t like to dwell on it too much; there’s simply no point. You’d stopped building castles in the air ages ago.

But you’d never stopped hoping, with all your heart, that he’s finally managed to build his own castles for real.

You cast a quick glance at your watch, jolting yourself back to reality; you had been sent by your parents to check up on the new branch of their fashion company they just had opened up at Hongdae. You are now slowly learning the ropes of running their company, getting ready to take over. You’re not sure if this is truly what you want in life—you wish you had Donghyuck’s firm innate passion for something—but for now, it gives you a vague sense of fulfilment, which is sufficient. Maybe one day you’ll find something of your own that ignites a spark within you and burns so brightly that you’ll have no choice but to pursue it in reckless, passionate abandon.

As you walk with quickened steps and renewed purpose, the heels of your boots clacking rhythmically on the pavement, you begin to notice more and more buskers lining the street, each with crowds of people surrounding them. Most are dancing; there are a couple singers as well, and even a rapper at the end of the street.

You’re about to turn the corner when a familiar melody halts you right in your tracks.

And it’s not just the melody; it’s that honeyed, saccharine voice you’d once thought was a celestial gift from the heavens. That voice you wanted to have on loop forever because it was too precious and beautiful to ever let go.

Lee Donghyuck’s voice.

True enough, he sits on a high stool a few feet away, eyes closed as he sings to a small crowd around him. But he looks so immersed in his own little world that you think it’s more likely he’s singing to himself rather than performing to anyone else.

Bathed in the vivid glow of passion and completely in his own element, moonlight irradiating the planes of his face, he’s just so beautiful.

He has glossy purple hair now, and it’s tucked messily under a black cap. His fingers are closed tight around a mic in his hands as he belts out the lyrics to ‘Beautiful Time’.

Your song. The song he wrote just for you.

Hearing it live is truly a surreal experience. Your hands tremble slightly; you clutch your bag just a little tighter.

It’s all worth it, and you’re so glad. Seeing him like this, you know you made the right choice back then.

The song ends, and everyone breaks out into applause. It is just like that day in the cafe, when Donghyuck sang and everyone fell right under his spell, entranced by the sound of his voice.

“Thank you,” Donghyuck says bashfully, smiling at the floor and rubbing his neck. “Actually, I wrote this song for my friend. It’s been really long since I last saw her, and… well, I really miss her.”

Your heart just about stops right there.

“I was about to give up singing, but she was the one who persuaded me not to. And I’ll be forever grateful to her for that.”

“I hope that wherever she is, she’s happy, and I hope she always will be.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek; you wipe it away hastily.

“All right,” Donghyuck says, grabbing the mic again. “It’s time for the last song of tonight. I hope all of you will enjoy it.”

You want, more than anything, to stay and listen to this last song, but you know that once you do that, you won’t be able to move on with your life and do what you’re supposed to do. You’ll fall in too deep, and there will be no escape this time. Donghyuck’s voice just has that power over you.

No, Donghyuck has that power over you.

So you clutch resolutely onto your Prada bag, steal one last longing look at the boy who’s held your heart hostage, and walk away.

—

Donghyuck’s about to start the last song of the night when he notices someone lurking at the edge of the audience, turning away to walk off, presumably to the next busker.

More specifically, he notices the bag the person is carrying; it is filled with pastel hues of pink, purple and blue, with a shiny triangular Prada logo right smack in the centre. It is all too strikingly familiar.

Because he chose those colours himself. And he chose the customised design, which means that the bag can belong only to one person.

A surge of adrenaline pumps through Donghyuck’s veins; he gets up from his stool and takes off into the night, startling the little crowd around him. But he could care less.

The past two years, he’s never stopped thinking about you. He’d broken up with Sohui shortly after the prom he took you to, and he was planning to tell you just that on the night of your birthday. That you two didn’t need that stupid contract anymore, not when he thinks his heart might have finally found its home. That when he kissed you, it was like the stars aligned and he felt constellations erupt in the universe of his soul. That he was sorry for ever hating you, and he’d make it up to you in any way you wanted. But then you abruptly ended it all, cutting off all forms of contact with him and destroying all the castles he’d built in the air.

He figured you probably would never feel the same way as he did.

But that didn’t stop him from writing, singing, and dreaming about you. After all, you told him to chase his dreams, and he wouldn’t stop doing that, not for the world.

And now, you’re right there within his grasp. He’s not letting you slip away from him again.

It doesn’t take him long to catch up to you. Before you can walk any further, he grabs your wrist and you whirl around in response.

It’s really you. You look just as ethereal as ever, with your hair a moonlit cascade down your back, eyes sparkling like stars amid sundown.

“Y/N,” he breathes, just as your eyes widen at the sight of the boy you’d resolved to erase from your life standing right before you.

And it is at that moment that the castles in the air come alive.

—

a/n; aaand that’s a wrap!! tysm for all the support and the comments hehe <3 i hope you guys enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it !! peace out, stay safe and healthy yall ^^ till next time :)

#lee donghyuck #lee donghyuck imagines #lee donghyuck scenarios #lee donghyuck fluff #lee donghyuck angst #nct dream #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 soft hours #nct dream fanfiction #nct haechan #haechan scenarios #haechan nct #haechan fluff #haechan fanfic #lee donghyuck fanfic #nct dream fanfic

97 notes · View notes

spaceskam · 4 years

Text

freedom tastes of reality

for @isobelevansappreciation day 5: self-discovery

Summary: With the help of Michael and a handful of beautiful women, Isobel figures out apart of herself. OR Aromantic Pansexual Isobel like we deserve.

Warning: mentions of explosions/war, implied sexual content

ao3

.1.

She was the first thing Isobel saw that night.

She looked like a literal angel: dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, white clothes. Her hair was big, a mass of perfect curls forming a halo around her head and resting against her shoulders that were covered in a long white cardigan. Beneath that was a white tube top, white hot pants, white pumps. She was heaven-sent. Isobel forgot how to breathe.

Her eyes followed her to the bar all the way until Michael snorted loud enough to break her trance. Isobel looked back at him to see him smiling smugly at his drink.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he hummed, "Just wondering how long you're gonna lie to yourself."

"Excuse me?"

Michael rolled his eyes and then looked her in the eyes.

"How old are you?" he asked. She furrowed her eyebrows.

"Twenty-one?"

"So you're an adult."

"Yes? What does–"

"And adults do things that are scary."

"I mean, not–"

"So go over there and ask her to dance and stop saying you come to a gay bar to make me feel better," Michael said, throwing a straw wrapper at her. She stared blankly at him for a moment, stumbling over her entire thought process.

"I'm not–"

"Izzy," he said, "Fuck labels. Have fun and figure it out on the way. You want to talk to her so go do it."

Isobel felt frozen for way too long. He eventually rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink.

"Or don't. Not gonna shove you out of the closet," Michael said, putting his drink down, "But I'm gonna go hit on that guy over there. Take your time." Michael stupidly pat her on the back and swaggered over to a guy covered in tattoos and who Isobel wouldn't have assumed was his type.

But eventually her eyes drifted back to the absolute angel who was already looking at her. Isobel quickly looked back to her drink.

Yeah, that girl was gorgeous, that didn't mean Isobel wanted to dance with her. It didn't mean Isobel wanted anything to do with her at all. But she was staring at her and that had her face turning an embarassing shade of red.

And when she looked up again, Angel was coming closer.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Angel asked. Isobel, bold and ever-confident Isobel, opened and closed her mouth a few times to try and find words. And Angel smiled. "I think I do."

"I don't think–"

"No," Angel said, "I know you. I can feel it. Come dance with me."

And, well, Isobel couldn't say no.

By the end of the night, she and Michael walked home full of excited laughter at the new revelation.

.2.

Isobel decided she was blessed when a stunning, long-legged maid of honor walked into the venue.

She looked like a goddess, honestly, high-waisted jeans and a dark purple shirt tucked into them. Her sun-kissed skin complimented her short, firetruck red hair. Isobel hadn't seen the braids maid dressed yet, but she could already see her looking gorgeous in it.

"Isobel, uh, Evans Events, right?" she asked, "Daphney sent me in her place. She's sick and can't taste anything."

"Well, you're a good friend," Isobel smiled, "Nice to meet you."

Isobel led the way to the kitchen where the caterers had set up a bunch of cakes to test. Goddess looked over them and gave her a little smirk.

"Maybe it's unprofessional of me to ask," Goddess said, "But do you maybe wanna try these with me?"

"Maybe it's unprofessional of me to agree," Isobel said, "But why not?"

The next 45 minutes consisted of making eyes with a stranger while trying cake, creating a new form of foreplay out of nothing more than looks. It built slow until eventually they stood closer and Goddess made an excuse to make her try a bite off her fork. Isobel hummed softly in approval and watched as Goddess licked off the excess icing after her. It was small, but heat bloomed in her stomach at the sight.

As confident as Isobel was, this was also brand new territory. She'd danced with women, even kissed them, but she'd only ever slept with men. It was a travesty, honestly, but it seemed like she had a real shot at experiencing something.

"I think this is the one," Goddess said, nodding.

They wrapped that up as quickly as possible and yet it still felt like hours of talking and trying to make sure she didn't let this woman just leave. Eventually, when they finally finished finalizing that, Goddess turned to her.

"Would it be unprofessional to ask you to walk to me to my car?" she asked.

"I mean, technically, you're not my client and my day ended with finalizing the cake choice. What we do doesn't have to be professional," Isobel said boldly. Goddess smiled slow and suggestive and Isobel was losing her goddamn mind.

She walked her to her car and neither of them left it for the next 45 minutes.

.3.

"Don't tell Max."

"Oh, my favorite stories start like that, go on."

Isobel rolled her eyes at Michael and bit the tip of her thumb as she looked around to make sure no one overheard. She leaned against his shoulder.

"I'm gonna sleep with his new coworker."

Michael laughed, but he hid it by bowing his head when she dug her elbow into his side. Then her name was called and she left his side to grab the tray of four coffees. They waited until they got outside and started walking to the police station before they continued their conversation.

"How do you know she's into women?" Michael asked, "Actually, how do you guys do that? 'Cause I still haven't figured out how to do that if I'm not in a gay bar."

"It's all about the eye contact, Michael, Jesus, you know nothing," she scolded. He just snorted in response, waving for her to continue. "I brought Max coffee yesterday like I always do and I had to wait for him to get back and we talked a little bit and basically I know she's into me."

"She said that?"

"No, eye contact, keep up."

"Oh, okay," Michael said, "How can you tell the difference between, like, normal cop eye contact and flirtatious eye contact?"

"What do you mean? There's a clear difference between authoritative eye contact and 'fuck me' eyes," she said. Michael didn't respond right away and she gave an exaggerated sigh. "You poor, poor child."

"Yeah, whatever, I'm the one getting regular dick from a guy training to be a military officer and you're just making eyes at your brother's co worker, who's the real loser here?"

"Still you."

"Rude."

Isobel smiled and looped her arm with his, both of them grabbing their respective coffees and taking a sip as they continued walking towards the station.

When they stepped inside, she almost immediately saw Jenna Cameron sitting posted up on her desk. She was as gorgeous as she remembered and immediately went to give her the coffee she got her.

"Didn't forget you this time," Isobel said as Michael excused himself to give them space.

"Thanks," Jenna said, taking a sip slowly and maintaining eye contact. For a moment, Isobel could see how Michael blurred the two different types. But she could tell and it felt glaringly obvious. "You know, Max doesn't talk about you enough."

"Oh?" Isobel asked, smiling as she leaned against the desk, "Well, what is he leaving out?"

"From what I can tell," Jenna said, pausing to give her an obvious once over, "A lot."

"Well, maybe we can go out for drinks and I'll tell you anything you want to know," Isobel proposed. Jenna smirked and nodded.

"I'd like that," she said, "And maybe I can teach you a few things while I'm at it."

"Like what?" Isobel prodded.

Jenna just shrugged, coyly taking another sip of her coffee and keeping Isobel on her toes. She enjoyed every goddamn second.

"Just a couple of things," she said, "Maybe a couple different ways to use handcuffs. You know, if you're interested."

Isobel sucked in a deep breath and her skin felt hot. It was so, so forward. She was obsessed already. Sorry, Max.

"I'm interested. Absolutely."

"Good."

And Jenna taught her more than a few things.

.4.

It wasn't until she was 26 that Isobel realized something might be a little off.

"Shhh, it's okay," Isobel whispered, combing back Michael's hair as he threw up until there was nothing left to throw up and he was just dry heaving and sobbing into the toilet.

He'd gotten a call from one of Alex's brothers who gave a slightly incoherent spiel that boiled down to Alex's unit having been bombed and he hadn't been found yet. There was a chance he'd never be found or, if he was, he wouldn't be found alive. Michael was a mess.

It didn't quite make sense to her, mainly because she didn't realize he and Alex were still speaking. She thought they hooked up sometimes, but she didn't notice that Michael saw it as more than a hook up. And, yeah, you could be upset about a hook up or a friend dying, but... This was Michael. He was deteriorating in her hands.

She tried to think about a time maybe he'd let on that he was in a relationship with someone and couldn't remember it. She always just assume he was like her, not like Max, and thought dating was stupid. It was fun to hook up, but she never really craved more. Hell, ever since Michael encouraged her to ignore labels and just dive into her sexuality, she stopped worrying about that pressure all together. Every time someone asked when she was going to get married and pissed her off, she had Michael right there confirming her feelings right alongside her.

And now he wasn't.

"It's not okay," Michael choked out, "It's never gonna be okay."

Isobel laid her cheek between his shoulder blades, still combing through his hair and trying her damnedest to comfort him through something she couldn't understand.

"We-we were supposed to have more time," Michael cried, "This was supposed to be his last tour. He was supposed to come home. We were gonna get married, Isobel. Now he's just gone. He's gone. I didn't get to say goodbye."

Married. That one word rung in her mind through his whole speech. He wanted to get married. Her brother, the one person just like her, wasn't like her at all. He wanted to get married. She hadn't considered it. She hadn't wanted to.

She thought through the catalogue of people she'd hooked up with and not a single one had she ever wanted to actually be with romantically. It never crossed her mind. Was it possible she still hadn't met the one?

She pushed the thoughts out of her head for later. Michael deserved her full attention.

"It's not over yet," she whispered, "They might still find him."

"But–"

"And if they don't, then I'm here. You're not alone, okay?" Isobel promised him. Michael choked on a sob, but he nodded.

She held him until the phone called to say he was found alive. Barely, but alive.

They slept easier after that.

.5.

Josh, Brandy, Caroline, Sam.

Isobel dated every different type of person she could find, trying to find her person. They all either bored her, went too fast, or wanted to push boundaries that she didn't like being pushed. PDA was much different when it was something like holding hands and she didn't like it.

In fact, she hated all of it. She was almost 30 and she'd been dating even though she didn't really want to. She'd heard women online say it was fine to be single, but it still didn't sound right. She single didn't feel like the right word. She wanted something... just not that. She didn't know how to describe it.

"You think there's something wrong with me?" Isobel asked Michael as they laid out by the pool she'd had installed during the winter. He turned his head to her, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

"What?"

"I want like a perpetual fuck buddy instead of a boyfriend or a girlfriend," Isobel said, "I don't mind it being the same person for awhile, you know, but just not like that. Every time I've tried, everyone wants something different than I do. Is that so wrong?"

"No," Michael said, "Who said it was?"

"I mean, my mom, society," Isobel explained. Michael snorted.

"Fuck society."

"Yeah, but still. Even you have a person, what if I don't?" Isobel said. Michael shrugged.

"I wouldn't really call Alex my person," Michael said, "But I'm sure you have someone out there."

"What if I don't want one?"

Michael paused for a few seconds before saying, "You don't have to have one."

"Then why did you have a dramatic pause?" He stayed silent for too long again. "Michael!"

"Sorry, I'm just thinking," Michael said, "Is it commitment you're not interested in or is it the, like, romantic relationship part?"

She thought about it, but it didn't long to find her answer as she filtered through her failed relationships. It was fine up until the point they started expecting her to be a girlfriend or started treating her like one.

"Romantic part," she said as confidentially as she could. He hummed and laid back on the chair.

"Have you ever heard of asexuality?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I'm not that. Definitely not that," she said. He snorted.

"Yeah, but there's a word for the other side of things too. There's aromanticism, kinda sounds like what you're saying. Or at least what I know about it," he explained. Isobel's mouth felt a little dry.

"What happened to fuck labels?"

"I mean, yeah, still fuck labels. But they can be helpful sometimes when you feel alone," Michael explained, "And that might help. I can help you look into it."

"Okay," she agreed softly.

They stayed silent for a little longer as she mulled over the word. If that was it, then she had an answer. She liked the idea of having an answer. She also liked the idea of not having to fucking worry about something so trivial.

That sounded nice.

"You're fucking married!"

"I'm fucking married!"

Isobel hugged Michael so tight she nearly lifted him off his feet. He just laughed helplessly, so unrelentingly happy. And she was happy for him. Maybe she didn't get it, but it didn't matter. He was happy and that mattered.

"This is so fucking weird," Michael laughed, looking around the room at their tiny little reception. Alex was sitting beside his brother, Greg, talking about whatever brothers like them talked about.

"I bet," she said, resting her head against his shoulder as they stared out at the party.

It took a little while, but Isobel finally realized that her relationships were just going to be a little bit different. Just remove the romance. It made it harder to find someone, but, honestly, it was worth it now that she had a word and an understanding. Queer platonic partners weren't easy to come by where they lived, but she didn't even care. She was finally happy with her situation.

"I'm so happy for you," Isobel said. She'd gotten to walk him down the aisle which was an unforeseen dream of hers. "You and Alex are gonna be so happy."

"I hope so," Michael breathed, "A long goddamn time coming. I'm ready to just fucking be with him without all the bullshit."

"Well," Isobel said, "Your time is now."

"Yeah."

He rested his cheek against her head and watched as Alex squeezed his brothers arm before getting up to go speak to someone else. Isobel watched as Greg sort of folded in on himself after Alex left, curling over his phone.

"Don't tell Alex, but his brother's kind of hot," Isobel noted. Michael snorted.

"You know what, Greg might actually be a good fit for you. His dad fucked him up real bad."

"Oh, thanks for that."

"No," Michael laughed, "I meant he's got a bad track record at girlfriends 'cause he doesn't give them enough attention or whatever. Married to his job, he said. But he's nice and he does his best, so I say go for it. See if you guys fit."

"Ooh," Isobel said, slowly peeling herself off Michael, "Gonna go see if I can offer something more his speed, you go blow your husband." Michael laughed and let her go.

"Oh, and, Izzy?" he said before she got too far. She hummed as she turned back to him. "You're my person. Not Alex. Just thought you should know."

And that meant more to her than anything else.

#isobelevansappreciation #isobelevansweek20 #isobel & michael #isobel & michael fic #isobel evans #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic

37 notes · View notes

harrylee94 · 3 years

Text

Log Entry XXXXXX - Chapter 5

Summary: A new space station, complete with the most high spec and up to date technology there is to offer, has been set up at the edge of the known universe, a new way point for explorers to keep in contact with the rest of the human race. It has been carefully designed by the best scientists and engineers Earth could offer, and now 7 brave souls are being sent out to ensure everything works perfectly.

However, when Logan wakes from cryosleep from the journey, he is informed that several things are now in need of repair, though everything had been in perfect working condition when the station had been reconstructed before he and his crew had arrived. They will have to solve the problems they’ve been left with before the station is up and running, and yet Logan can’t help but feel he’s done this before…

Relationships: Intrulogical (Remus/Logan)

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Parasites, Remus having an overactive imagination, It’s an Among Us crossover so there will be bad stuff afoot.

A/N: The ending was heavily inspired by this post, which I loved so much I had to include it!

For those of you who don’t know, this story is based off of a comic by @fangirltothefullest which I HIGHLY recommend you check them out on the link above! Their art is AMAZING.

Note to everyone before we begin; there will be graphic descriptions of gore, dismemberment, possibly torture, and any other awful things that come with the territory of writing a story in an Among Us universe.

Link to; Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

To read it on AO3 please click here.

Chapter 5: Log Entry #59

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:17 AM

Logan was tired. He’d lived the same six hours over fifty times now, give or take an hour or so each time, and not once had he been given a chance to rest. Though his body might have been able to handle the strain this time loop was creating due to its very nature, his mind could not. He had snapped at Remus for the first time today, had pushed him away before Remus pushed past his defences and held him close until he told him what was going on with the briefest of explanations.

Remus had become a Host to one of the parasites no more than five times, the lowest number of all the others barring himself, mostly because Logan had been with him almost all the time save for those four instances when they'd been separated, and yet, despite knowing that time had been reset, making the last run essentially non-existent, Logan still couldn’t bring himself to trust the man he loved most in the world until those arms were around him. He felt disgusted with himself for ever doing so, and the guilt still riddled him for being so frozen when it had happened that first time, but the experience took its toll.

The worst time had been when they had been forced to vent him, sending the feral creature in Remus’s form shooting into space. Logan had watched as he’d drifted slowly away, his body expanding, a small splatter of blood escaping his lips as the oxygen was pulled from his lungs, rupturing them, until he grew still. Waking up after that, despite knowing that the real Remus had been dead long before that moment, Logan had hovered over Remus as he recovered from falling out of his cryotube until, after that initial contact, he clung to his partner and sobbed into his shirt for a long time.

It was a similar situation to the one he was in now actually, sitting in Remus’s lap as the man hummed, swaying back and forth and rubbing at his back. He wanted to sleep here, to just drift off and forget all of this was happening. He needed to recharge, but he couldn't.

“I can tell them that the cryosleep messed you up,” Remus suggested softly, pressing a kiss to his hair. “We can say that you need time to recover and you can stay here and sleep.”

Logan shook his head. “But then everyone will die.”

“Sounds like we do anyway,” Remus said. It was supposed to be comforting, or at least reassuring that taking a break would be okay, but Logan couldn’t help but to flinch. “Okay, not the right thing to say, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re burning yourself out.”

“I can’t stop.”

“You have to.” Remus held his face softly in his hands. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? Rest. Recuperate. Even I know I have to stop every so often or I’ll crash worse than the Hindenburg.”

“I can’t leave you to face this alone,” Logan said, leaning into his hand.

“You’re not. You’ve told me what’s happening and where to find the information I need to prepare.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Well I’m not letting you leave this room.”

Logan scowled at his boyfriend. “They will kill you. They will pull you apart, shred you from within, vent you into space, turn you inside out-”

Remus stopped his words with his lips. Logan hated how he still couldn’t resist this, that he would still kiss him back with desperation when he knew it was a distraction, but he couldn’t resist. These moments were sometimes few and far between, and he clung to them like a man starved of affection.

“I would die for you a million times if I had to,” Remus said against his mouth as he pulled a little away, even as Logan followed him. “I can see how tired you are. Sleep.”

Logan shook his head. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“You have to, or you’ll collapse.”

“Then I’ll collapse.”

“Logan!”

He huffed. “I won’t be able to anyway. My body is well rested.”

“That’s what drugs are for,” Remus said with a roll of his eyes.

Drugs? “You mean sedatives?”

“That’s what I said.”

Even though Remus was giving him one of his many smirks, undoubtedly a little proud of himself, Logan could see the worry etched into the faint lines by his eyes and the edges of his mouth, even in the way his fingers were still holding onto his face a little harder than usual. Remus was scared for him and that was just about enough to convince him.

“Janus is in charge of the mission,” he said after deflating with a sigh. “Patton and Virgil are usually the targets of the parasites, though I haven’t been able to figure out why yet, just that they have been most frequently chosen as the hosts. Orange is usually the first victim, probably because he is the one with the most advanced knowledge of the reactor and the engines. And work with Roman when you can; I know you can be a formidable team when you get past your differences.”

Remus nodded to each point, even if he looked disappointed at not being chosen to be the new leader, and rubbed his thumb over Logan’s cheek. “You’re making the right decision.”

“The only right decision I’ve made since this started was telling you,” Logan said and turned his head to kiss Remus’s palm. “I could never regret you.”

“I love you too, Lo,” Remus said, pressing a kiss to his lips again. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I know,” Logan replied, unable to keep his sadness from tainting his words. “You always are.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

Logan woke with the rising light of the fake dawn. The sting of the needle from the sedative had vanished, and the tingle of the cryosleep still sat in his muscles. He sighed, closing his eyes as he remembered his last conscious moments and smiled to himself when he heard the familiar thump of Remus falling out of the cryotube. The sound was more comforting than he thought could be possible, especially considering Remus was getting hurt every time, but it was a confirmation that Remus was there, that even though all these horrible things were happening, he was still able to have these moments with the love of his life.

He did feel more rested now, even if not recovered completely (though he doubted there would be much that would help him recover from what he was experiencing), and he heaved his still aching body up to look down at the one that was groaning on the floor with a fond smile.

“You’re supposed to wait for your blood flow to return to normal,” he said, voice gravelly as it always was just after waking.

Remus groaned again and looked up with a squint and a blink before he rolled over and grinned up at him. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, his voice sending shivers up Logan’s spine. “Did they make a mistake at the gates of heaven, because I’m pretty sure I’m meant to be roasting with a spit up my butt right now and not looking at a beautiful angel.”

Logan grinned, blushing a little. “Are you sure I’m not some sort of demon here to trick you into Hell?”

“I’d follow you anywhere; heaven or hell” Remus said, and Logan hummed at the sound of awe the man made.

“I know you would,” Logan said, only for his smile to fall a fraction. “I’ve already led you to your death.”

Remus blinked at him again. “Huh?”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 7:06 AM

“How many of those notes have you made?” Remus asked as Logan walked with him towards the storage room, having decided to start his journey there this time.

“Fifty-two,” Logan replied, waiting for the bar to finish loading while absently picking up the empty fuel container to set Orange up for refuelling later. “I have, unfortunately, been unable to make notes in some instances, though I have made up for some of those delays in future loops.”

“And you’ve relived this day…?”

“This will be my fifty-ninth time,” Logan replied, setting his tablet aside so he could fill up the container.

Remus whistled. “And you don’t even know how many times we’d gone through the loop before!”

Before? Oh, he should have thought of that. It was entirely possible that the first time he could recall living through this ‘cursed’ day (if he was using the expression correctly) was not in fact the first time he had lived it. No one else could remember after all, and he had not made any notes the first time, so there would have been no proof left behind.

“It’s getting kinda full there, Logie.”

Logan flinched and quickly turned off the tap before the container could spill. “I… had not considered that.”

“Well it kinda makes sense, doesn’t it?” Remus said, screwing the cap onto the container and pulling Logan’s hand into his. “Do you think anyone else will remember? One of the aliens maybe!”

“Please, don’t even suggest that!”

“Sorry.”

Logan took a deep breath to calm himself and banish the thought of an even more challenging experience, and nodded. “It’s possible.”

Remus hummed and gave his hand a squeeze. “Can I look at the notes?”

“Of course.” He reached for his tablet and handed it over without looking at the screen, prying his fingers away so he could go in search of the next container.

“Um, how many notes did you say you’ve made?” Remus asked, the light of the screen reflecting on the surface of his visor.

“Fifty-two,” Logan replied, finding the container behind a box. “Why?”

“Because there’s fifty-three.”

Logan paused. “... What does the last one say?”

“It doesn’t say anything,” Remus said. “It’s a video, but it says I have to access it in Communications.”

A video? “You must have made it. I was asleep all of… yesterday.”

“Should we watch it?”

“I think we all should.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 7:18 AM

“I don’t see why you couldn’t have done this earlier,” Orange said as he leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “We’ve only been here for fifteen minutes. I haven’t had the chance to do anything yet.”

“Fifteen minutes is plenty of time to set up a deep space communications network,” Janus chipped in. “It’s not like we’ll need it or anything.”

“I am well aware that I am causing a great frustration to all of you, but I must insist on everyone watching this,” Logan said, still searching the system for the file.

“Haven’t we got more important things to be doing?” Virgil said. “Fixing the Station, maybe?”

“This is important,” Remus said, and Logan smiled. He’d stationed himself next to him, keeping watch on their team to make sure none of them would leave without making them feel trapped.

“Why?” Roman asked, suspicious.

“Because it is.”

His skills in defending this argument needed a little work though. At least now he’d found the file, and he opened it. A video file opened on the main screen as a black box, the play button waiting to be clicked.

“What’s the video about?” Patton asked as Logan stood up from his chair to allow everyone to see.

“I don’t know,” he replied softly and, taking Remus’s hand, pressed play.

For a few seconds the screen remained blank, only a timestamp in the corner counting the seconds giving any real indication of time passing as heavy breathing could be heard.

“Twelve thirty?” Janus said, looking at the numbers. “But the system-”

Whatever the man in yellow was about to say was lost as there was some rustling and the camera was uncovered. It was the Communications room from the perspective of the screen; the lights were off, but the screen was giving off enough light to reveal the mess the room had become. They couldn’t see the floor, but they could see that the door was closed, and there were streaks of what had to be blood across the wall.

And then there was the figure. Remus’s fingers tightened in Logan’s as they watched him haul Janus’s torso from the desk to set him down on the ground, the eyes already milking over. The body left a stain on his green suit, and when he looked back at the camera, it revealed that the visor on his helmet had been broken, a chunk of it missing entirely. He huffed and quickly removed it, tossing it aside.

He looked pale, his eyes holding an edge of mania, and his entire right ear and a section of his hair was missing dripping blood down his chin, which they saw with more clarity when Remus turned his head, his eyes on where the screen must have been. He laughed.

“Oh man, they got me good,” they said with a cracking voice, and Logan noticed a few side-glances towards them, but he was more focused on how the Remus on the screen was trembling ever so slightly. “Shit. I’m not going to have time to start this again, so uh, I’m sorry you had to see... “ He looked down at where he’d just put Janus’s body and swallowed. “They’ll be here any minute. I’ll be torn to shreds for sure.”

This laugh was broken and he sounded so close to snapping. “You told me! Patton and Virgil, you said. I kept an eye on them, but then Orange…” He shook his head. “Fuck. Fuck! Why did I let him leave?”

There was a bang on the door behind him and he spun around, but quickly turned back. “Rambling. Shit. They’ll get through-- I read all your notes. All of them. You’ve been through some fucked up shit, Logie! I mean, I believed you when you told me, but when I read it… This loop is fucked up.”

There was another bang.

“Oh Re~mus!” It was Patton’s voice, still so familiar and joyful, and yet punctuated with another hit to the door. “Come out and play!”

Remus had shut his eyes, leaning against the desk. “I watched them pull Roman’s heart out of his chest,” he said, a tear dripping from his cheek. “Janus is… Well, you saw that. Orange is scattered across one of the Engine rooms and they… they found you. They took you and they made me watch as they put you in the trash shoot and--” He cut himself off as another bang rattled the door and looked up into the camera, eyes filled with tears.

“You had to do that to me once. I don’t know how you survived. It felt like my soul was being torn out of my chest when I watched you die.” He wiped at his cheeks, wincing as he caught the torn flesh, but otherwise he didn’t seem to care. He looked down again, his face hidden by his hair. “I don’t know if this will even work, but I wanted to leave a note, like you do.” When he looked up again his face was scarily blank.

“Log Entry number fifty-three. The parasites have taken Patton and Virgil as hosts again. It was in the Medbay. They went after Janus first, as he was alone. There’s evidence they played with him before they pulled him in two.”

“Who are you talking to, Remus?” came Virgil’s voice from beyond the door. “We’re the only ones left.”

Remus stalwartly ignored them, eyes fixed on the camera. “Orange and I found the body. He left to fetch the fuel so we could try to burn whatever they are. I heard his screams when I found Virgil, or the thing he’d become, with Roman. My brother had been pinned to the wall by its tentacles, and it ripped his heart out as he begged for mercy.”

Another thud, this one louder than the others before it, and Remus flinched.

“They must have run out of energy or something, because they only captured me and dragged me into Storage. The Thing with Patton’s face had dragged your body off the shuttle. You were still asleep when they stuffed you in the trash shoot. I… I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I must have screamed myself hoarse.”

He looked over his shoulder as the metal of the door groaned with the next hit, then turned quickly back.

“I somehow managed to escape, though not before they did this.” He motioned to his missing ear. “I ran everywhere. I think I must have slipped in Orange’s blood when I found what was left of him in that Engine room, because I left footprints. This is the first room I could find without vents. You mentioned vents a lot.”

The door groaned again and bent a little behind Remus, but he didn’t look this time. He just smiled.

“I wish I could have done more. I wish I could have saved you, but… I know I’ll see you again. I’ll wake up and fall out of the cryotube and I’ll make you pesto pasta for breakfast just to try to make you smile. You’ll tell me about this fucking time loop and I’ll believe you, because I know you. I know you would never lie to me about this. And I will tell you I love you. I’ll tell you that you mean more to me than life itself. I’ll-”

The door behind him tore open, the metal shredding like cardboard, and the figures of Virgil and Patton stepped through. Remus tried desperately to reach something on the desk but he was pulled away by Patton, who had barely moved, before he was given the chance. Remus’s helmet flew at Patton before Janus’s followed, and the wheely chair started to move across the screen as Remus yelled profanities at the creatures.

Virgil and Patton, meanwhile, had begun to unfurl, their tentacles escaping and their bodies splitting into gaping maws.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” Not-Patton said as he pulled a struggling Remus up into the air by his foot, even as he continued to try and fight. A second, third and fourth tentacle stretched out to hold him still, and still he struggled.

“Fuck you! Fuck both of you! You dickasses both deserve to-” Remus’s shouts became muffled as Not-Virgil covered his mouth and gave the struggling man a considering look.

“You know, you’ve always been so fond of medieval torture,” it said. “Why don’t we try that, what was it? Ah yes, being hung, drawn and quartered.”

“That sounds like fun!” Not-Patton said. “Let’s do it in the cafeteria. The tables are better there.”

Not-Virgil nodded with a double grin and helped drag the screaming Remus from the room.

It took Logan a few seconds to remember how to breathe, staring at the screen as the silence around him threatened to engulf him, but then Remus pulled him closer and gave him the best hug he could while they were still in their suits. Logan clutched back at him, turning away from the screen as Remus continued to stare at it over his shoulder, and his entire body flinched when his own agonised screams came from the speakers.

“So-someone turn it off,” Remus said, shaken but still standing strong somehow.

There was some shuffling and the screams suddenly cut off, making the silence somehow even more unbearable. Remus gave Logan another squeeze.

“That… that can’t be real,” Virgil said after a few more moments, the edges of panic staining his words. “I’m not… Patton and I…”

“Remus?” Roman said, and Logan pulled away from his partner enough so they could both turn towards the rest.

They were all in various states of shock or disbelief; Patton had tears streaming down his cheeks, Virgil was clutching at his body, Janus looked to be trying to figure out if it had been an elaborate joke or not, and Roman looked blank. Orange, however, was the only one to look somewhat angry, which Logan thought was fair considering the circumstances.

“It’s real,” Remus said, his eyes still on the screen as he spoke but they landed on his brother soon after. “Everything I… he said is true.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” Orange said with a snort. “It’s very clever though. Did you set it up before we left Earth?”

“He can’t have.” Janus said hesitantly. “The plans for the Station were kept confidential, to be released to the public after we’d already left, and no one else would have helped him gain access.”

Orange frowned. “That… That can’t be right. If it was then…”

“Is everybody okay?” Patton asked beyond the tears.

“Oh yes,” Janus drawled. “I absolutely love watching one of my best friends get dragged away to be tortured and killed. It hasn’t affected me at all. Especially not the part where he had to drag my own lifeless body away from the camera.”

“... Yeah, me too,” Patton said softly, and he leaned into the hand Roman had set on his shoulder. “How is this possible?”

“Remus was talking to Logan in the video,” Roman pointed out.

“I don’t know,” Logan said. “I… I haven’t been able to find an answer. There must be some sort of… rift or something. A black hole near our orbit that’s distorting the flow of time. There is so much we don’t know about them after all, and it’s possible, but I haven’t seen any that would be close enough to cause any real changes to the environment. Perhaps it’s the parasites themselves, but that doesn’t make any sense or they would remember as well, and that hasn’t happened. Not yet at least, and I hope it never does.”

“It won’t,” Remus said, and Logan graced him with a brief smile.

“Believe us or not, this is still a problem,” he continued. “The parasites only take a host after 9:30am, though I cannot tell you the exact time as it changes depending on a variety of variables, but it is always near the Medbay or the Reactor. I suspect they might be found in the vents but I cannot be certain.”

“Oh. Great,” Virgil said, Orange having to step to his side to guide him into the chair, He immediately ducked his head between his knees and Logan could hear him trying to control his breathing. Patton was at his side a moment later to hold his hand and help guide him through his breathing techniques.

“Perhaps we should have a codeword!” Roman suggested with forced charm. “Something to say to each other so we know if anyone’s… you know.”

Logan shook his head. “It wouldn’t work. The parasite essentially becomes us once it’s in our system. The host knows that it’s a host, that it was once human, they just don’t care anymore.”

“And how would you know that?” Janus asked.

“I’ve… been one, once,” Logan replied quietly, looking away as Remus’s hand squeezed him in comfort. It was really a miracle that he hadn't been caught again, and it had been a close call on a few occasions, but somehow that first time had remained the only time.

“What do you propose we do then?” Orange asked.

“We stick together, get through as many tasks as we can to get the Station back to full operation before the creatures emerge, and find a way to get them off the Station.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:35 AM

There had been no sign of the aliens. It had been an hour since they should have appeared, and yet there had been nothing but a growing sense of dread and, in Orange's case, annoyance. It was becoming increasingly clear that the engineer was growing impatient, and that his belief in the credibility of the video was tenuous at best. The further notes on what Logan had been able to assess from his observation of the creatures had not helped either, though the others had been enough to keep him satisfied for a time. However, it seemed that his patience had finally run its course.

"Look, you guys can all huddle together like scared little bunnies," he said, as they waited for Virgil to finish sorting out the medical supplies, "but we have a job to do, and we can't do it if we're doing everything one bit at a time!"

"Kiddo, we're trying to-" Patton started, but Orange huffed and started walking towards the door.

"Spare me," he spat. "I'll be in the engine rooms if anyone needs me, doing my job."

With that he stormed out of the Medbay, heading out of sight around the corner. Logan, who had been taking notes about their situation on his pad on the bed nearest the door, looked after him and didn't even blink when the door shut immediately after. He wouldn't have been able to reach him in time either way. He turned back around and gave Remus a look.

"That… that was you, right, Sherlock?" Roman asked as his brother heaved the mattress he'd been lying on off the bed frame. The lights went out a moment later and Patton squeaked in alarm as the room plunged into a pitch darkness.

"No," Logan replied, glancing up at the fading glow in the bulbs. "No it wasn't." He turned back to his pad and started to hack into the door to open it again.

The mattress hit the floor.

"Shit, where's the vent?" Remus cursed, and Logan could hear him dragging the mattress around.

"Over here." Janus.

"Get away from it," Remus growled, even as he dragged the mattress closer.

"Be careful," Patton said from next to Virgil, the two of whom were the only people visible thanks to the faint light of the isolated test lab.

Remus grunted and, after some sounds of shuffling, the mattress flopped down heavily again, this time with a slight echo.

"Got it," Remus said after a little more shuffling. "How are the doors, Lo?"

Logan tapped a few more keys and had the door ready to open. "I'll open it when you get here. We don't know if they're waiting for us out there."

"You mean Orange might be-?" Roman asked, but couldn't bring himself to finish.

"I believe it is all but certain," Logan confirmed, and he heard someone -- probably Patton or Virgil -- whimper.

There was some more shuffling and Logan turned his screen around to shed some light on the room. From the shadows cast and the sight his suit could offer him, he could just about see Roman coming slowly closer, his arms outstretched so he wouldn't go into anything. Janus, Remus, Patton and Virgil were all clustered as a group, Remus keeping his hand on Janus's shoulder as he glanced back at where the mattress (and therefore the vent) must have been while Virgil seemed to twitch at every sound.

Once everyone had reached him Logan slid off the bed and joined the cluster. "Let's go."

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:52 AM

Walking around so close together was not only cumbersome but also a little claustrophobic. Logan could hear every breath, every footstep, feel each unexpected touch and each slide of shoes against his own. Patton and Roman would occasionally whisper the breathing exercises to Virgil to keep him from panicking too much, but otherwise it was a slow walk in near silence.

They had walked through both engine rooms on their journey to Electrical, and while it was dark, there had been no sound of Orange on the entire journey. It was all but certain that he was now a Host. Now, however, they had all stopped to look into the ominous darkness of the room before.

"This doesn't feel like a trap at all," Janus said.

"Do you think Orange might be in there?" Patton asked.

"Either that, or the second parasite is lying in wait," Logan replied, squeezing Remus's hand. "Either way, something has to be in there."

"So someone's either going to end up becoming a big tentacle monster with a mouth that tears their body in two, or they're going to end up as a kebab," Remus said with a nod. "I think I'd prefer kebab myself."

"I would prefer it if neither situation happened," Roman said, Virgil making a noise of agreement.

There were a few seconds where nothing happened, but then Logan sighed and released Remus's hand to step forward; or at least he tried to.

"What are you doing?" he asked, Remus's hold having only grown stronger.

"I'm not letting you go in there alone."

"Who said I was doing that?"

"You did." Remus caught his shoulder and turned in to face him. "You're never silent in group projects."

Logan clenched his jaw. "You know me too well."

"You know me better," Remus said with a slow grin.

Logan huffed in annoyance but turned back to the others. "The fuse box is at the back, next to a vent," he said. "If we stick together and keep an eye on it then we should be able to get through this easily enough."

"And if Orange is in there?" Virgil asked.

Logan shared a look with Remus (as much as he could in the almost complete darkness anyway). "We will have to… take action."

"... Oh," Virgil said, sounding a little queasy.

In a way Logan envied their naivety. He envied their ability to hope for a better solution, their expectations of getting out of this alive, but his own experiences had worn that away. He had always been defined by the truths and facts that had become his life, but now even that was being worn away, and he knew he was becoming more jaded in each loop.

"Let's get this over with," Roman said, bringing Logan out from his thoughts.

The scientist nodded and pulled Remus after him into Electrical. "The fuse box is just around-"

The door slammed shut, cutting the couple off from everyone else.

“-... the corner.”

Remus stepped closer as a few bangs came from the door. “We’re dead, aren’t we.”

Logan swallowed. “Yes.”

Remus hummed. “These aliens; they take on our memories when they take us for a host?”

“I… yes, that’s right.”

“And we just want to kill everyone in sight.”

“Yes,” Logan replied, trying to block out the noises that were coming from outside the door. He needed all of his senses if he was going to get them both through this, though every calculation he was making was only leading them towards one bloody and awful end. “You’re just… angry, and there’s this hunger, and you crave it. Nothing from before matters. You simply loath humanity.”

Remus hummed again, and they both froze when they saw something moving in the dark. Logan was so focused on it that he barely registered the click-hiss that came from beside him, from Remus, and he only understood that he had removed his helmet when he was shoved back into the wall behind them.

“No!”

He could see it happening, the lights of the Medbay blinding in his memory as Remus threw himself forwards, but this time he would not be frozen. There was shouting coming from the other side of the door as he pushed himself off the wall, chasing Remus into the dark, but when the love of his stopped short and Logan crashed into his back, he knew he was too late.

“Remus,” he breathed, catching him as his knees gave out and holding him close as he choked on his own blood. “Oh God, what did you do?”

Remus grinned. “Saved… you.”

There was no time to argue, and the smile fell quickly to a cough as the parasite ravaged his body, making its home inside him. “Yes. You saved me, Remus,” he said, all but tearing his own helmet from his head. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He kissed Remus’s blood spattered lips and carded his fingers through his hair as the door opened, ten seconds too late.

“L-Love… yo-you,” Remus stuttered, only to choke, his body stiffening as the shaking began.

“I love you too,” Logan said, vaguely aware that the others were talking, that someone was moving, and a second later the lights were on again.

There were tears streaming down Remus’s cheeks, and tears running down his own. He could see the patches of red where the parasite was chewing away at Remus’s body, seeping into the fibres of the suit, and Remus struggled with himself until he roared in pain. Logan watched as it clouded his eyes, his gaze only briefly leaving his partner’s when Roman tried to come to their side, but was mercifully held back by Virgil and Patton.

“It’s okay,” he muttered as Remus’s body slowly went limp in his arms. “I love you, Remus. I love you. It’s going to be okay.”

The dark threads he had seen before started to seep from each blood-soaked spot, crawling out to start encompassing Remus’s body, and he choked on a sob, holding Remus closer. All too soon the body was completely encompassed, and the shape in his arms congealed with the pressure he was exerting with his arms. Someone tried to pull him away but he shook them off.

“I’ll distract him,” he said, though the tears threatened to choke him.

“Logan-”

“Go!”

There was only a brief hesitation before they left. He tried not to think of the anguish in Roman’s eyes.

As the mass in his arms solidified back into the shape of his lover, his strands of hair growing back between Logan’s fingers, he looked into those eyes that he had grown to love and saw the brief flash of recognition.

“Logan…” Remus said, the pain gone but the fear he had seen before still hanging onto its last threads, but then even that was snuffed out, and all that was left was a growing hunger. The grin that stretched Remus’s lips grew inhumanly wide as sharp tendrils extended out from him to puncture Logan in every way possible. He gasped as he clung to Remus’s form, vowing to never let this happen again.

“You smell delicious.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

Logan woke with wet cheeks. The light of the cyrodeck had never felt so cold.

#fanfiction #sanders sides #among us #sanders sides among us au #sanders side fic #logan sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #orange sanders #tw blood #tw gore #tw character death #time loop #writing

6 notes · View notes

slash-em-up · 4 years

Text

A Meeting of the Minds pt. 4: The Collector x Reader x ChromeSkull

This one carries a heavy TW for mentions of suicide and infant death - nothing that should come as a surprise if you’ve seen the after-credits scene in L2R2; but better safe than sorry....

———————————————————————

It was a well-known, but rarely addressed fact that of the three of you, Jesse - oddly enough - was the one with the best track record in relationships.

You’d pried it out of Asa one night when Jesse was off dealing with business of a more… bloody nature.

“You know he was married, and now he’s not. Why are you digging?”

You scowled at Asa. Finding it highly annoying that he was so casual about something that seemed like such a big deal to you.

He didn’t even look up from the laundry he was folding as you stomped up to his side.

“Aren’t you at least a little bit interested? Who were they? Why did it end? Does he want to get married again some day?”

Asa snapped one of his button-down shirts out with a flick. The side-eye he sent your way was communicating ‘you’re an idiot’ in THX.

“I’m not interested because I already know –“

You opened your mouth.

“- and before you ask, no, I will not tell you. It’s Jesse’s private business.”

“You are no fun at all.”

Your statement was met with a small smirk and a shrug.

On your way out of the room you swiped Asa’s glasses off of the dresser in retaliation.

Enjoy reading ‘Bugs Quarterly’ or whatever without these, nerd.

———————————————————————

The car ride over to Jesse’s ‘company headquarters’ was pleasant enough. You were incredibly grateful you’d let your men talk you into letting them buy you a new car because the convertible top was really working wonders on your mood.

You pulled up to the nondescript factory building and punched in the gate code Jesse had given Asa and yourself. A black-clad security duo met you as you parked in front of the entrance, each offering you a tight nod and a crisp ‘Ma’am’.

Smiling, you let yourself into the lobby - if you could call it that. If anyone walked in off the street, they might think they had just entered the worlds dingiest janitorial company… or maybe a chop-shop. But one swipe of your thumb on the scanner took you back to the actual office space, which was all gleaming black floors and matte metals. Very industrial-chic.

The first person you stopped in the hall and asked to direct you to ‘Mr. Cromeans office’ looked at you like you were either a corporate spy or someone with more than a few screws loose…. Maybe a combo of the two; but gamely pointed you towards a large pair of ebony wood doors.

There was barely a sound from the door as you opened it just wide enough to poke your head through and scan the room, looking for your boyfriend.

Jesse was the farthest thing from a small, unobtrusive man; but even he could have been dwarfed by the sheer size of his office. You don’t know why you were surprised. Leave it to Jesse to have an office larger than your last apartment…

Speaking of… the man of the office was apparently still taking care of business, because unless he was hiding underneath the desk (could happen, it was big enough), the room was completely empty.

What an excellent opportunity to do a little snooping…

You sidled up to the highbacked leather chair that sat imposingly behind Jesse’s desk and took a seat. The leather felt like butter underneath your fingers and you couldn’t help but wriggle around a bit, enjoying the plush padding and broad seat which had clearly been custom made for a man of Jesse’s stature.

Giggling lightly, you tucked your feet up underneath yourself and ran your hands over the dark wood of the desk, tugging gently at several drawers, hoping one or two would pop open and share their treasures with you. Happily, several were unlocked, and with great glee you began to rifle through Jesse’s knickknacks and paperwork.

You weren’t really sure if he’d have any kind of information on his ex-wife just chilling in his desk but hey, you were already pretty infamous among your guys as a busybody – much to Asa’s ire and Jesse’s amusement – so every little detail was of interest.

Snorting in amusement, you pushed a drawer containing a chrome-cased Switch and three different boxes of condoms closed, and smiled as your questing located an old digital photo frame in the lowest drawer– because heaven forbid Jesse would ever have something so pedestrian as a physical photo…

You plugged the frames power cord into a port by the lamp and waited a moment as the screen came to life.

The first image that popped up was the overview screen – it looked like there were only three pictures saved on the tiny card inserted into the back. Oh well, better than nothing.

It took you a moment to recognize the person staring back at you from the small image as Jesse. The height should have been a dead giveaway; but the wide, toothy grin on the unscarred lips of the man threw you for a loop. You still thought Jesse was very attractive; but before his accident? An absolutely stunning man. The kind you would have lusted over from a distance in college.

Moving your focus, you turned your attention to the woman Jesse had one of his long arms wrapped around. This must be the former Mrs. Cromeans.

She was gorgeous. No two ways about it. Every bit of her looked perfectly put together, from the roots of her stylishly cut blonde hair to the tips of the soft-looking manicured hands she had delicately placed on the table in front of her. They both looked so happy…

You swiped to the next image.

Mrs. Cromeans stared up from the picture – her smiling face trained on something above the camera. She was outside, and clearly in the middle of saying something as her mouth was slightly open as if forming words – looking no less pretty for it – while the sun shone down on her at a fetching angle. You’d bet anything that this was one of Jesse’s photos. He had an eye for that sort of thing.

Another swipe.

A sharp gasp broke from your lips as soon as you realized what you were seeing in the next picture.

Black, white, and grey morphed together in the ultrasound picture, giving you the vague, but unmistakable image of a tiny head, legs, feet, and hands.

The text of the photo read ‘Crom, M. GA: 12w6d’.

“Oh my god…” you could hardly believe what the image was telling you. Jesse was a father? What the fuck had happened?

Shutting off the power with a quick flick, you lowered the frame back to where you’d found it – halting all movement as a file folder loudly proclaiming ‘Federal Bureau of Investigations’ on the front with a white label reading ‘Cromeans, M. 31/10/2011’ caught your attention.

Pulling it out from underneath the pile of random papers, you held it for a moment. The sinking feeling in your stomach telling you that you wouldn’t like what you found inside.

You were right.

Blood spattered walls of what looked like a police interrogation room were the first thing you saw when you peeled back the front of the folder – blood, gore, and in the next photo, the nearly unrecognizable body of Mrs. Cromeans. Skimming the contents of the report you gagged at the unemotional tone the writer took as they described springing the news of her husbands status as a wanted man, including pictures from one of Jesse’s murders, to the very pregnant woman. Tears began to fall from your eyes as you read further – her shocked denial… grabbing a gun from the agent… a single shot… unable to save the baby…

A sob broke from your lips as you tossed the file and it’s horrific contents back into the drawer. You had enough forethought left to re-cover it with papers, hiding the fact that it had been disturbed in the first place; before you stood on shaky legs and ran from the office.

——————————————————————

The trip back to Asa’s house was a blur. Nothing registered until the door slammed behind you, and you slowly lowered yourself to the floor, tears still rolling down your cheeks.

You felt, more than saw Asa approach you from the living room. He crouched down in front of you, gently grasping your face in one large hand and raising your eyes to meet his. The stoic man was hard to read on the best days; but right now his pursed lips and furrowed brow clearly showed a mixture of concern and annoyance.

He sighed deeply as he wrapped an arm under your knees and one behind your back, gently hoisting you into the air and carrying you up the stairs towards the bedroom.

You buried your face into his broad shoulder, and for once he didn’t complain about you staining the fabric with your tears.

“I told you to leave it alone.” He murmured quietly.

Nodding in agreement, you promised yourself that next time Asa told you that you didn’t want to know something, you’d listen.

The bed squeaked as you were gently set on it, feeling numb and tired as your shoes were removed and a quilt was draped over you.

“Sleep now. I’ll wait up for Jesse.”

Humming out your assent, your sore eyes closed, and exhaustion took over in minutes. The door closed quietly as the horrors and sadness of the day drove you into an uneasy slumber.

———————————————————————

Pale blue light woke you from your dreams of blood, and it took you a moment to focus on the numbers being projected onto the white ceiling.

2:15 AM Tuesday

You knew Asa preferred his analogue alarm clock, so that must mean Jesse was home…

Turning slightly, you found yourself spooned up against the large man. Asa was nowhere to be seen; but you often found yourself missing a partner when the urge to indulge in their ‘hobbies’ struck.

Deep, even breathing into your hair told you that Jesse was fast asleep – his trips always took a lot of energy out of him – even though you knew from experience that his mood and libido would be high for the next few days.

Reaching back, you pulled one of his large arms across your waist, bringing his hand up and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it before settling it lightly next to your heart.

You didn’t know if you wanted to talk to him about his wife anymore. You were afraid, you were nervous, and you didn’t want to hurt Jesse by re-opening old wounds.

Asa probably hadn’t said anything to Jesse -more out of his own desire to avoid any emotional upheavals than any protective action over your own mis-step; but you would be thankful for his silence at any rate.

You’d heard somewhere that what’s dead should stay buried; and right now the words of the phrase rang truer than they ever had.

If Jesse wanted to talk to someone about his dead wife and child… you were here for him. But the more you thought about it the less appealing having that conversation became. It was as simple as that.

Eyes closing once more, you drifted back into slumber. Determined to keep the ghosts of your lovers past exactly where they were.

#jesse cromeans x reader x asa emory #asa emory #jesse cromeans #chromeskull: laid to rest 2 #laid to rest #chromeskull #the collection (2012)#the collector (2009)#horror movies #slasher fiction #jessica writes

68 notes · View notes

wantstoflyafraidtofall · 4 years

Link

CHAPTER 8 IS UP!

read on Ao3

----

Notes: Here it is! Chapter 8! It took me a while with school and the next chapters will most likely take some time as well, but I got it done and am going to work hard to get the rest done too! I would estimate around 4-5 more chapters, maybe 6 depending on how things work out.

Enjoy!

(Chapter below the cut)

----

“Sam?” Dean asked, confused.

He knew his brother had gotten back from his trip with Jess a few days ago but didn't expect for him to visit this soon. He’s trying to hide it, but Sam’s nervous, he keeps shifting his weight and tucking his princess hair behind his ear.

“Uhhh, am I interrupting something?” Sam questions, glancing between his brother and Cas.

“No, come in.” Cas says.

A tense feeling follows Sam inside the house. He is practically radiating with worry even though he is doing his best to hide it. Even Cas seemed a bit nervous. Did something happen?

They walk into the library and sit, the uncomfortable air following them and making their postures awkward and tense. A feeling of unease set into Dean’s stomach, he felt out of the loop.

Sam and Cas’s quick glances at each other made him squirm in his seat. They weren’t telling him something.

“So, what brings you to our humble dwelling?” Dean says nonchalantly, trying to hide his anxiety.

“Oh, uhm…” Sam traded another look with Cas, “I wanted to know if you wanted to come stay with Jess and I for a bit.”

“Why would I-”, It suddenly made sense. Sam, appearing unannounced the morning after the knife incident and asking Dean to leave with him.

He turned his attention to Cas who was growing extremely nervous. He met Cas’s eyes with a stone hard glare, Cas looked down at the floor guiltily.

“What the hell, Cas!” Dean hissed, “You called Sam to take me away like some teenager in detention!”

Cas was looking at him with wide, apologetic eyes, “Dean I-I-I’m sorry, but-”

“But what, Cas?” Dean rose from the chair, glaring down at him, “Does “let's figure this out” mean kicking me out and solving this on your own now?”

Sam rose from his chair and tried to angle himself in between Cas and Dean, “Dean, stop! He is just worried for your safety!”

“How much did you tell him, Cas!”

“He didn’t tell me anything other than he was worried about you, Dean! He said you would like to have the option to share what happened yourself.”

Dean was about to yell again but held back. He took a step back from his brother and housemate, turning away from them. He took a deep breath and sighed, letting his shoulders relax.

He knew this was going to happen. He knew Cas would get rid of him one way or another. Everyone gets rid of him one way or another.

They see how broken he is, how he can't be fixed, how he is just a mess of problems in a pretty package. And then they get rid of him like a hand-knit sweater from your grandma that you would never wear.

“I guess I should go pack.” Dean said as he began walking out of the room.

A hollow feeling ate away at Dean while he packed his duffel with a week's worth of clothes. He didn't know how long he would be gone but he would just wash and re-wear the stuff he brought.

He was grabbing some shirts from the dresser when he heard footsteps behind him. He knew who it was without turning around and a burst of annoyance flared in his chest.

“Dean?” Cas said quietly.

“That’s me.” Dean replied, not looking towards the doorway where Cas stood.

“I...I’m sorry. I’m just worried that I can’t protect you. That you’ll get hurt. I know you're mad but I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Yeah, well next time you should maybe ask what I think before getting my brother to take me away.” Dean turned to see Cas, shoulders slumped, tears glimmering in the corners of his eyes.

He felt a pang of hurt when he saw the tears in Cas’s eyes but that was just added to the pain he already felt from being abandoned again and ended up just adding more fuel to the fire.

Dean turned away and zipped up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and walking past Cas without making eye contact. He walked down the stairs, limping slightly on his bad leg with each step.

Sam was waiting by the door looking at Dean with a muddled expression, something between apologetic, nervousness, and relief. He walked past him and looked for Sam’s car. The only car was Baby, meaning Sam took an Uber down.

Dean walked over to Baby, tossing his bag in the back before settling in the front passenger seat. Sam wasn't going to let him drive right now but Dean didn't have room to care right now.

He waited a minute for Sam to finish his goodbyes to Cas before he saw the door of the house open and his moose of a brother clomp down the stairs.

Sam got in the driver's seat and started up the car, slowly pulling out of the driveway. Dean risked one last look at the house, catching sight of Cas standing forlornly on the porch, cheeks still damp with drying tears.

He curled into himself, looking out the window at the trees and houses passing by with glassy eyes. Trying to keep everything stuffed inside again, just like always.

He felt numb, his body seemed so heavy. Was he really going to lose everything again?

Dean knows he’s broken. He sees how everyone looks at him and treats him like if you push him too hard, he will break.

Honestly, he feels like that himself sometimes. He feels like he’s hanging on by his fingertips, hanging on for the sake of others and not himself. That the reason he is still here is because he can't leave Sam with the burden of a lost brother.

And Cas, he had helped Dean. When he was slipping, when he almost fell, Cas was there holding him close. Taking him off the ledge where he hung so he could sit on top, looking at the view.

Guess he was wrong. Cas was just being a nice person. Paying for his stay with actions, nothing more than that. He didn't really care.

Dean let himself open up again, let his walls down, just to be reminded of why he built them so high in the first place. And now those walls are so, so broken. Practically dust blowing in the wind. There is nothing to rebuild and nothing protecting him from himself.

He felt a tear slide down his cheek. And another. And soon he was silently sobbing, his body shaking with the effort to hold it in.

Sam kept nervously glancing at his brother, not sure what to do. Not sure how to fix this. He couldn't fix Dean’s past so he doesn't even know how to try now.

They continue driving. They drive further and further away from Cas and the house. Further from Charlie and Kevin and Gilda. Further from the fish pond and amazing kitchen. Further away from home.

He knew this was coming so why did it hurt so bad?

~~~

Dean tossed his bag onto the floor by the dresser and looked around the dark guest room. There was a small closet and bathroom to the right and a queen bed centered on the back wall.

He didn't turn on the light when he closed the door and made his way to the bathroom, flipping on the dim shower light, filling the small bathroom with a yellow glow.

When he was sent home, he had spent days sleeping and recuperating here. He spent weeks in that bed, showering in this bathroom, and now he's back again, still broken, maybe more than before.

He thought he was getting better. That he could go have his own house and take care of himself and become a functioning member of society.

He just seemed to be going in circles. Never escaping his past, always returning to the same places, same ideas. He’s 24 but his life is basically already over. Why did he ever think it would end?

Dean slowly stripped out of his clothes and brushed his teeth, the actions were muscle memory and required no thought. Dean flopped down onto the bed, his mind empty and body heavy.

He felt so empty. Alone.

When will it stop?

~~~

The phone started ringing again. Dean rolled over in his burrito of blankets to check the name. He saw Charlie’s number and sighed. She has called him at least 3 times a day since he left but today the count is up to 7.

He declines the call and rolls back over to face the laptop, un-pausing his episode Doctor Sexy MD.

It’s been 5 days since he left. 5 days and not a single call from Cas. 5 days of sitting in Sam’s guest room doing nothing other than watching TV and moping. 5 days of Sam nagging him about his health and needing to eat more and get out of bed.

Dean gets where Sam is coming from, he knows that this isn't healthy and that he might feel a bit better if he got up, but he doesn't want to. He knows that as soon as he stops, as soon as he gives himself one second to breath, the thoughts will come right back.

It’s either non-stop movement or no movement. He tried non-stop after Lisa and that didn't help so Dean’s going with option 2. Which isn't any better if he’s being honest.

Lisa was only his girlfriend for a few years during and after high school but when she left him it still hurt. It hurt so much.

“Dean, you're just not the one for me. You're a great guy but I can't be with you while you're across the world fighting on a battlefield, I just can't,” Lisa had said, “Good bye, Dean.”

The words were like a blow to the stomach and had Dean careening off track. It took him almost 3 months to get back on his feet and join the military. He was a marine, like his dad.

That blow was nothing to what he felt now. He felt like he had been stabbed over and over and now was just lying on the floor, bleeding out while everyone watched.

He can’t stop thinking about Cas. The days they spent in the library reading, when they would sit in the back yard watching the fish and talking, nights where Dean would cook dinner while Cas watched from the island, being wrapped in Cas’s arms every night, how they had almost kissed, how Cas sent him away.

After everything, Cas still doesn't want him.

No one wants him.

There was a gentle knock on the door before a beam of light split through the darkness. Sam peaked his head in the room, glancing around before stepping fully inside.

“Hey, Dean, I just got off a call with your friend, Charlie. She says something wrong.” Sam says, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Tell her I’m fine and she doesn't need to call me every fucking day.” Dean snapped.

“She says it's about Cas.”

Dean moves into a sitting position. Sam holds out his phone, letting Dean grab it out of his hand before he exits the room.

“Charlie? What's going on?” Dean asks

“Well hello to you too, asshole,” Charlie replies, “You’ve been completely ghosting me, dude!”

“I’m sorry but I really haven't been feeling great. What’s going on with Cas? Is he alright?”

“Well he hasn't answered his phone since Monday, the same day you also vanished. I went to knock on the door and check up on you but your car wasn't there so I figured you were out. When I checked again, there was still no car and when I knocked there was no answer. I didn't even know you left!”

“Again, sorry, but where's Cas?”

“Well I thought he was with you but Sam says he stayed. There hasn't been any lights in the house and the door and windows wont even open.”

Panic rose in Dean’s throat. Now that Deans is gone, it's just Cas and the shadow, and the shadow will definitely win.

“Thanks, Charlie, I’ll try and come back as soon as I can.”

“Ok, Dean. Just take care of yourself, ok?”

“Yup, you too.”

Dean ended the call and rolled out of the bed. He walked out of the room, blinking in the bright light of the hall, letting his eyes adjust before walking out to the living room to hand Sam his phone.

Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly and Dean just shook his head before making his way back to his room. He considered packing up his stuff but it would be way more suspicious and he has the rest of his stuff back at the house anyway.

He got back in bed and tried to focus on the episode of Doctor Sexy but kept thinking about Cas.

Was he ok? Will Dean be too late?

After what seemed like forever, Dean saw the clock read 1:00am and closed his laptop. He grabbed a small backpack out of the closet and put in his more essential items he brought with him and slid into his shoes.

He crept out into the dark hall and found Baby’s keys in the dish by the door. Carefully, he opened the door and slipped outside sighing with relief once the door was shut tight behind him.

He jogged over to the impala and climbed inside, putting her in neutral and letting her roll down the slight slope of the driveway. Once he was on the road, he started up the engine and mentally apologized to Sam.

Dean knows Sam would have let him go but he would tag along and Dean wants to do this alone. He needs to do this alone to keep Sam safe.

Baby rumbled out of the neighborhood Sam lives in and he began heading home. He had to get to Cas before it was too late.

~~~

It was still Dark when Dean pulled into the drive. He could see the dark outline and shadows of the house but just as Charlie said, not a single light was on.

Once Dean parked the impala, he walked to the back and got a flashlight out of the trunk. He turned to the house, looking up at the tall columns supporting the roof and balconies over the porch.

His stomach dropped when he caught sight of red, beady eyes glaring down at him from Cas’s balcony. He could see the white sparkle of teeth and the outline of the shadows body. It was practically sucking light out of the air, making it darker than the shadows surrounding it.

Dean ripped his eyes from the shadow, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he sprinted towards the house, bounding up the steps and to the door.

He backed up a bit to get momentum to try and kick it down but saw a sliver of darkness along the edge of the door. It was open.

Dean carefully crept forward, kicking the door open wide. I swung open, showing the dark, quiet interior of the house. He crossed the threshold and as soon as he stepped inside, it was like being sucked into a vacuum of cold, dark, silence.

He took a step forward, moving further into the house. The door snapped shut behind him with a loud boom, causing Dean to jump as he was plunged into darkness.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light before moving carefully into the living room, grabbing the fire poker from the stand below the mantle. He gripped the rod in both hands, holding it at the ready.

Dean turned back to the atrium and saw the shadow smiling devilishly at him before flickering back out of existence. Dean tightened his grip on the fire poker and marched forward, clearing one room at a time.

The ghost didn’t show again but Dean felt it there, watching him. He made his way up the stairs, hoping to find Cas upstairs. He carefully searched the entire second floor, under beds, in closets, in the bathtubs, but Cas wasn't there.

Then it hit Dean. There was one place he hadn't looked.

The basement.

He spun on his heel and jogged down the hall and bounded down the stairs spinning to go towards the basement but stopped. The ghost, obviously not pleased that Dean discovered where Cas was, was blocking his path to the door.

It reach an inky black arm towards him and Dean did the only thing he could think of. He swung at it with the bar and it cut clean through the tentacle, making the shadow creature flicker and release a high pitched hiss, making Dean flinch.

The shadow looked a bit surprised, Dean took the moment and lunged at the ghost, swinging the bar and slashing it right across the middle of the thing.

It released a shriek, leaving Deans ears ringing and his vision a little spoty, but the shadow was gone. It had just… disappeared.

Dean got up from the floor, having fallen when the thing shrieked and ran down the hall to the basement door.

He grabbed the handle but it wouldn't turn. He began kicking the door, but it wouldn't budge. He began panicking.

Who knows how long Cas has been down there? What if he's not even alive?

Dean shook his head, adjusting the grip on the fire poker in his hands and lining up diagonally with the door.

He raised the bar above his head and swung down on the door handle. The knob popped off with a crack and the door rattled in its frame a bit. Dean backed against the wall and launched himself forward, kicking the door with his good leg.

The door-frame splintered a bit as the door was ripped open, revealing the dark, musty basement.

Dean peered down into the murky depths of the basement and looked for a light switch by running his hand on the cool concrete of the wall as he made his way down the steps. His fingers bumped into the plastic switch and he flipped it, light filled the large, empty room.

Empty except a small, dirty body laying curled up in the middle of the blood streaked floor.

----

@stuff-that-is-other, If you want to be on the tag list, send an ask!

#pieces of heaven and hell

5 notes · View notes

averyroundsquare · 4 years

Text

I Love “You” Again

It’s like You never left. I still love You and want more of You. I think of You as something I can enjoy over and over again.

That’s enough of basic wordplay. I am a huge fan of Netflix’s “You” as I thoroughly enjoy anything psychological.

I’ve been reading reviews and I’ve seen people say Season 2 is a disappointment because it was “a little too much” or some parts were predictable. What they don’t understand is that’s the whole point. That is exactly what the life of a narcissist or living with a narcissist is like.

There are parts when you understand Joe Goldberg and his logic. There are parts when you feel sorry for him. There are parts when you fall for Joe and just want what’s best for him if only he would stop his shit. Then the smallest thing happens and before you know it there is blood involved. Things are always either one extreme or the other. No inbetween. There’s a dead body on his hands and somehow he just always seems to get away with it. Then things seem normal and suddenly there’s conversation about $50,000 like dude wtf, were you not just reading a pizza menu 5 seconds ago? How did we get here?

It’s not sloppiness on the writers part, it’s sheer genius, because life with a narcissist is exactly like that. Not convinced? Ok let’s take a look at this part. It’s no coincidence that his ex girlfriend Candice who he left for dead tracks him down, seeks revenge and to expose him but ended up dead for real because his new girlfriend, Love, who has co-dependency mental health issues of her own refuses to accept the truth.

Candice being left for dead wasn’t just in the literal sense. Narcissists are known for throwing those they have used up and hurt aside like garbage and mentally and emotionally leaving them for dead as they seek new targets. But y’all didn’t catch that.

Candice tracks him down under a fake name with blood in her eyes determined to make him pay for what he did. Immediately Joe began his smear campaign and planted seeds into Love’s mind about not trusting Candice. When faced with proof about being involved with Candice in the past he did what narcs always do “ok yeah it’s true but she’s crazy”.

Finally when Candice was ready to expose him she had the evidence and the proof, and yet Joe was still able to spin to Love everything she ever wanted to hear; finally finding with love with her so he can now be a good boy and she’s the heaven sent angel that saved him. Barf. It was the same trick he played on Beck, his last girlfriend who was about to expose him, just before he killed her.

Love knew accepting the truth would be a threat to her reality and the stability in life she had always sought. So the only way to deal with it was to shut it up. She killed Candice.

And in true narcissistic style just when it seems he has the woman, the home and the family he spent years fantasising about, all it took was hearing a giggle from his new neighbor for him to start his idealisation all over again.

It NEVER ends with a narcissist. It’s an infinite loop. It goes round and round in the same predictable ass circles until they die.

I’m now going to look into who the writers of You are and how they managed to get it so right. Catch you later.

Geddit?? Catch “You” later?? Ah nevermind. I’ll see myself out.

25 notes · View notes

not-a-space-alien · 5 years

Text

Into the Unknown, Part 14: No Refunds or Exchanges

Series masterpost

On AO3

Well, it’s all well and good to be hopeful. Hope is the first step to solving your problems. But unfortunately, the second step is usually some variation of actually doing something to solve your problem, avenues for which Crowley had precisely zero available.

Crowley spent a good amount of time slithering forward in search of a way out of the Pit. Then he had a good session of sniffing about and investigating, then a spate of time spent roving and wandering.

He had heat pits as a snake, of course, but they weren’t helpful. The entire place was hot, glowing in his UV vision like a blazing supernova. He had to turn it off after a while to avoid the sensory overload.

His tongue flicking out and tasting the air provided an overwhelming array of scents, all jumbled up on one another, an unread story with a thousand layers on top of one another like a hellish lasagna. He occasionally caught scent of someone nearby, sensing a shift in the air, the vibration of footsteps against his scaly belly, snaking towards it in a predatory way, but unable to reach anyone before they ran off. He called out for them to wait, always, but they never did. They moved at the edges of his periphery like the ghosts of timid rodents.

Crowley coiled up, considering changing back into his human form. The forked tongue was useful for now, and there was something comforting about being in his original shape.

The soft tmp tmp tmp of footsteps sounded in the pitch-black.

“Hello?” said Crowley, periscoping up. “Don’t run away! Please!”

There was suddenly a bright light, the light of the innermost layer of Hell. Crowley would have slammed his eyes shut had he had eyelids.

He felt a hand on him, clamping on his neck, and dragging him out.

The light of Hell’s throne room felt like the piercing brightness of Heaven after the darkness of the Pit; it took several moments for Crowley’s vision to adjust so he could see:

Satan was holding him, his coils looped around the length of her arm and squeezing as a panicked reflex. Behind her was the archdemon Vycra; her face bore a gnarly set of fresh talon marks, and she looked chastised and cowed.

Crowley stood statue-still like a panicked deer as Satan lifted him up to meet his eyes. “What’s so special about you?” she demanded.

He flicked his tongue out.

“You must know something,” said Satan. “Some information they need. Or some ability you’ve kept hidden from me. Whatever it is, they can’t want you for anything good.”

Crowley’s muscular coils slid along her arm, pulsing with enough force to crush lesser beings to death. He let out a hiss like a tea kettle.

“Maybe if you tell me, things will go a lot easier for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Crowley croaked.

“Someone wants you very, very badly,” she said. “And I can’t imagine why. But I intend to find out.”

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

The group dawdled and bickered about what their next step should be while they waited to be contacted again by Hell. Which finally happened about an hour later, a message to tell them to meet Satan in the same spot as before, at sunrise the next morning.

The delay was unnerving. Their precious time in this universe before having to return was burning up. Three days and two nights it had been, and at sunup when Satan wanted to meet they would begin eating into their third day. They were due back at 7PM, which meant that, if anything in this trade-off went wrong, they would only have about 12 hours to scrape up some alternate plan.

They sent down to Hell a very polite request to meet earlier, which was summarily and unambiguously rejected.

So they flocked together in the eaves of the church like bats huddled up, trying to get some anxious rest while they prepared themselves.

Uriel kept the Book of Life cradled in her wings. Aziraphale caught her in the middle of the night reading it; it was open to Lucifer’s page, and she caressed it gently, as though comforting a lost loved one.

The morning of the third and final day in this universe came soon enough.

They had decided Aziraphale should appear again, but the previous encounter with Vycra made them hesitant to risk Aziraphale’s physical safety in the same way, so at least one of the higher-ranking members of the group would go with him.

If they all stood there waiting for Satan to show up, they figured Satan would probably suspect (rightly) that it was a trap, get suspicious, and call it off. Seeing Uriel and Victoria would be a tip off that something very strange was happening and would probably shift the focus of the meeting towards the fact that their un-fallen doppelgangers somehow existed, and who knew how they would react to that?

Again, they were caught up in the unpredictability….They would have been able to have some kind of idea what to expect in their home universe, but this Satan was new, a different animal entirely. And they had to figure out how to outsmart her, to double-cross and walk away with both Crowley and the Book of Life, unless they wanted to let this universe burn down behind them when they left.

But how to finagle it so they had the upper hand? What if Satan brought four archdemons with her and matched their firepower? What if this meeting turned into a battle? What if she concocted up a way to thwart their attempts to keep both Crowley and the Book of Life, or worse, keep them both herself? What if she got wind it was a trap and slaughtered Crowley before they could get him?

That led Aziraphale to visions of his beloved being slain as a consequence of their attempts to play dirty, and it sent spikes of anxiety through him. He was tempted to actually give over the Book of Life and let this universe fall to ruin as long as it meant he would get Crowley back safely.

But the others wouldn’t let him, because they at least had some sense of propriety remaining, and he was shocked to discover that was probably the only thing holding him back from such a selfish action.

They eventually decided it had to be Maltha to stand by Aziraphale and assure his safety. It couldn’t be Victoria or Uriel, and Mykas would probably be troublesome as well. They decided the best course of action would be to mask Maltha’s aura with the angel dust spell. This would obscure her identity and make it difficult to tell if she was an angel or a demon. This would likely be better than being up-front about a demon and an angel working together, because that kind of thing was still scandalous and unheard of in this place, and the revelation would, again, draw an unpredictable response from Satan.

All they had to do was get Crowley close enough that they could grab him. Aziraphale would have the Book of Life, and Maltha would be next to him. They would say whatever outlandish thing they had to in order to get Crowley within snatching distance. Aziraphale would drop the Book, grab Crowley, and Maltha would fend off any resistance until Mykas, Victoria, Uriel, and Ramial arrived for backup.

They would, they assumed, be able to overpower Satan and whoever she brought as backup. That was a big assumption. And they only had to grab Crowley and the Book and then run away; they didn’t have to win the battle, just hold their own. It might, just might work.

Creating the angel dust for Maltha unfortunately required quite a good deal of feathers, which were taken from Aziraphale, Ramial, Victoria, and Uriel. Maltha healed the poor plucked sods because they had taken so many feathers it was doubtful they would be able to fly, but it was still a quite unpleasant experience.

They didn’t have all the ingredients they would need to make the drinkable version of the spell, so they hastily put together the dust version and sprinkled it on her. They ended up needing to go back and make more, and even then it just barely covered her entirely. The sun was rising by the time they finished and got into position.

The dead grass crunched under their feet as they took up position, the exact same place Aziraphale had stood last time. The others were far enough away to not be felt, to preserve the element of surprise, and it unnerved Aziraphale that their backup was so far away.

But he had seen how fast Mykas was capable of moving. And he had Maltha by his side now, and frankly, Aziraphale had been pretty thoroughly convinced by now of Maltha’s ability to get away with pretty much whatever she wanted, even moreso than him. Aziraphale and Maltha both had flare guns, which they would set off to let the others know to rush over.

So there Aziraphale stood, the hefty Book of Life in his arms, with Maltha and her masked aura hovering behind his shoulder. He didn’t dare pray; he didn’t know what might happen.

A towering inferno of flames and billowing white smoke erupted in the distance, and winged figures could be seen in the flames.

“Here we go,” said Maltha.

Leading the way was Vycra, bearing fresh wounds on her face, likely the result of talking back earlier. Behind her, snuffling across the dry bracken was this universe’s version of the archdemon Mykas, a bearish figure crisscrossed with scars and looking incapable of more than the most bestial instincts. A chain around his neck led to the hand of—

Satan. She had a skeletal frame and awful, terrible wings full of eyes. And in the other hand she held a sack, which writhed faintly.

Aziraphale eyed the sack hungrily, desperate. He knew what was in it. Despite the circumstances, he managed a small laugh. “They just brought him in a pillow case.”

Satan stopped within shouting distance, Mykas on her right, Vycra to her left. Satan, and two archdemons. They might be able to win, if the others could get here quickly enough. A sneer crossed Satan’s face. “And who exactly might this be, principality?”

“An escort to ensure you play fair,” said Aziraphale darkly. “Considering what you tried to pull last time.”

Satan’s faced crunched into hatred. “What kind of angel is this? What’s wrong with her aura?”

“Don’t worry about her,” said Aziraphale. “Do you have him?”

Satan reached into the bag and pulled out a black and red snake, hand firmly behind his jaw and out of biting distance. She dropped the sack and held him up, his thick body coiling around her arm.

The panic in his eyes and frantic movements of his serpentine body broke Aziraphale’s heart. Crowley writhed and made eye contact with Aziraphale. Still, he trembled.

Aziraphale thought that he needed a way to signal to Crowley that this was his Aziraphale, not the other one who had tried to kill him. So he very subtly spread his fingers, lifting his ring-finger up slightly to draw Crowley’s attention to the golden band there.

Crowley’s eyes wheeled about in his head, and he snapped at Satan, trying to bite her hand. It was unfortunately a futile gesture, but the renewed attempts at escape made Aziraphale think Crowley had gotten the message.

“This creature is what you want, isn’t it?” said Satan.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “Let him go.”

“Not yet,” said Satan. Crowley’s sides heaved, expelling a fearsome hiss. “First, I demand an explanation. Something very strange is going on. Who is this ‘archangel’ next to you, and for what purpose do you demand this demon, that you would trade Heaven’s most holy artifact for him?”

Maltha’s hand grabbed the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt, and it was only then that he realised he had started forward to pummel Satan’s face in. “Patience,” Maltha hissed.

“That is none of your concern,” Aziraphale yelled. “You agreed to the trade, now let’s trade.”

All she had to do was put Crowley down, Aziraphale thought. Just put him down, and he could slither far enough away for them to reach him before Satan could retrieve him. As it was, she had a death grip on him, and there was no way to snatch him without risking retaliation.

Just put him down.

“Put him down,” Aziraphale said. “And we’ll get on with it.”

Satan narrowed her eyes at him.

Vycra drew her sword, laying it across Crowley’s neck. “Let me rephrase this,” said Satan. “This demon must be of some considerable value to you, and I stand to lose nothing. So if you wish to re—”

She was interrupted by an ear-splitting blast from a horn, and all heads looked up to see the sky parting, Heavenly warriors pouring out, led by Kris.

Maltha hissed. From Satan’s side, Mykas barked and snarled viciously.

“Villain!” Kris’s voice boomed. “I knew you were up to no good. You intend to hand the Book of Life over to the Adversary.”

“I knew this was a trap,” Satan shrieked. “Vycra, take him back down. They won’t trick us out of our leverage so easily.”

This was the point at which Aziraphale dropped the Book of Life, which landed with an Earth-shaking thud to the gasps of all present, and sprinted with all his force to bridge the gap between them. He had killed Satan once, and he was prepared to do it again, and now that he had Crowley in his sight he wouldn’t let him out of it again for anything.

The sky disgorged an impressive amount of angels. Maltha set off the signal for their reinforcements to come and snatched the Book of Life of the ground. Satan dropped Mykas’s chain, releasing him. Aziraphale pumped his wings and rocketed at Satan, who was handing Crowley to Vycra.

Aziraphale drew his sword.

Vycra also drew hers.

Aziraphale’s lunge at Satan was easily deflected with a sneer and a wave of her arm, sending him careening into Vycra and landing heavily at her feet.

Vycra lifted her sword to ram Aziraphale through.

This diverted her attention away from the serpent in her hand, briefly, just long enough for him to twist and spit venom in her face.

It splattered on her cheek and hit her left eye. She recoiled, screaming, but she dropped her sword instead of Crowley. Whatever damnable reflex was responsible for it, she dropped her sword instead of him, holding onto him like her life depended on it.

Aziraphale stood to try and wrestle Crowley off of her, but she kicked him square in the chest and flung him back. Crowley erupted into a stream of hisses, flicking venom everywhere, but she had pointed him away from her face by this point.

“I told you to take him and go,” Satan growled.

Vycra’s gaze—one good eye, one swamped with black, crawling venom—went from Satan to Aziraphale, then she turned and spread her wings.

“No!” Aziraphale shouted.

Vycra kicked off into the air, Crowley still coiled around her arm, zigzagging around the descending heavenly forces and veering out of their path. Aziraphale leapt up to follow, unsuccessfully trying to grab onto her ankles before she got out of reach.

Vycra was a much stronger flier than he was, and it was obvious from the moment she took off he wouldn’t be able to catch up to her, but that didn’t stop him from trying. She rocketed up into a cloud bank out of sight, and Aziraphale followed, breaking through the mist. The sounds of the freshly started battle below faded with distance.

Aziraphale exited the cloud into an empty sky, panting and wheeling around to try and find them. There. He spotted the archdemon diving towards the ground, where a portal to the underworld had opened up to admit her.

“No you don’t!” said Aziraphale. He tucked in his wings and dived. He could faintly see the serpentine figure in Vycra’s grasp writhing and struggling as they plummeted.

The portal swallowed Vycra up.

Please, Aziraphale thought, stay open just two seconds longer.

It had begun to close by the time Aziraphale reached it, but he was able to tuck and roll to fit through it.

He hit something hard and felt his nose break, his vision filled with white blurs as he tumbled over. He finally lay motionless on the ground for a moment, his head ringing, then sat up as quickly as he could, vision spinning.

He had made it through the portal, all right, into the infernal dimension, but he hadn’t made it past the gate. In front of him loomed a massive white stone door patterned with an eye set into a cave wall, firmly closed. The blood smear on it told Aziraphale he had collided face-first into it.

He wiped the blood with his sleeve, springing to his feet. Vycra must have gone inside already, somehow. Aziraphale marched around, but the little antechamber was empty, and there was nowhere they could be hiding.

Aziraphale’s heart sank as his brain began to process the fact that he had failed. He jogged around, looking vainly for some sign that he was wrong, but the only logical conclusion was that Vycra had gone in and someone had managed to close the gate with impeccable timing to lock him out.

He marched up to the door, huffing, and knocked on it. The eye on the door shifted to look at him.

“Let me in!” he demanded.

The eye blinked.

“I demand you let me in.”

“No,” said a voice, and the eye closed.

Aziraphale beat at the gate and yelled till he was hoarse. Then, he sunk dejectedly down into a siting position with his back against the gate.

Now this was a predicament, wasn’t it? What was there left to do? They were basically back to square one. Aziraphale’s instinct was to march in and resort to force….but he couldn’t very well do that alone. Could he?

Tears sprung to his eyes.

No, he couldn’t even get past the gates. He had failed. He was a failure.

Wait a minute. Crowley was still in danger, and Aziraphale was sitting around crying? When had that ever accomplished anything? There would be time to feel miserable later. For now, he had to put his anger aside and act smartly…something he hadn’t traditionally been very good at.

The first step would be to regroup…Except he had left the rest of his party in the middle of a huge battle with Heaven. His mouth felt dry thinking about it. Maybe there wouldn’t be anyone else to help him when he got back.

Surely they all had good enough survival instincts to get out of there alive?

Yes. He had to trust them. Now he just had to regroup with them.

Except…

This Hell did not have a static exit like the Hell in their home universe had. The antechamber he found himself in was just a smooth unbroken cave. The only exit was the stone door behind him, which remained firmly shut.

“Oh bugger,” he said.

The only way to leave must be through the same kind of magic used to access it in the first place. Aziraphale patted his pockets, trying to gauge whether or not he had the spell ingredients necessary to concoct such a ritual.

He thought again about the Heavenly armies pouring down onto Satan’s head. No way Hell would win that fight. Satan would probably be retreating soon, so he’d better hurry before she showed up.

Unless…? Maybe he could hide and then when the gates opened, sneak in? That seemed incredibly dangerous, and very foolish. Maltha, or Mykas, or even Uriel would probably be able to figure out a way to get through the gates; the opportunity to get in wasn’t so rare he needed to risk going in alone.

He got out a piece of chalk and started drawing a circle he supposed might get him back up to Earth. He laid out the ingredients in his pockets and frowned as he noticed he was short on the prerequisite amount of sulfur needed. Best to try it anyway.

Aziraphale mixed everything together and laid it out, lighting the candles and saying the incantation. The candles fizzled out, but nothing happened.

“Hmm,” said Aziraphale.

A portal zoomed open in the wall.

“Ah, there we go,” said Aziraphale, paying no mind to the fact that it decidedly hadn’t come from his spell.

Maltha’s head peeked in. She had a volley of fresh claw marks scored down her face and leading into her neck. “Aziraphale,” she hissed. “Get out here. Satan is coming.”

“Is everyone else here too?” said Aziraphale. “They must’ve gotten not too far, I was thinking we could—”

“She called for reinforcements,” Maltha said tightly. “You will die. Get the fuck out here.”

Aziraphale, chastised, stepped out without further argument.

Maltha grabbed his belt to haul him out faster. He found himself on the roof of the church they had convened at earlier. The portal to Hell closed behind him.

In the distance, where the sky had been rent to produce Heaven’s armies, the two forces could be seen retreating to their respective strongholds. Satan’s escort had swelled to include an arm of cavalry mounted on Hellhorses, and Azirpahale could sense the presence of at least three archdemons that definitely hadn’t been there before. The fiery hooves of the horses and the miscellaneous flames on the infantry glowed faintly in the darkness of the black gate swallowing them up.

Maltha was right, Aziraphale would have been trampled. He tugged at his collar, sweating. He looked to Maltha, who had plopped herself down tiredly on the roof shingles. Besides the injury on her face, it looked like most of the feathers on her right wing had been torn off, as well as a few injuries to her arms and torso that had been partially healed.

He looked around. Mykas was lying out, whining faintly under a crisscross of lacerations from holy weapons on his snout and all over his body. Victoria had lost her left arm, which had been lopped off just above the elbow and cauterised with infernal fire, by the looks of it. Poor Ramial was sitting on a pipe with a leg injury that looked like it would make her unable to stand.

Only Uriel, sitting on the edge of the roof with the Book of Life on her lap, was uninjured.

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked.

“They weren’t quite sure what to make of us,” said Victoria with a pained smile. “So we got attacked by both sides.”

Aziraphale sat down heavily, his head in his hands.

“I don’t suppose you managed to catch up to Vycra?” said Uriel.

“No, of course I didn’t,” Aziraphale snapped. “Don’t be stupid.”

Uriel turned red.

“I see you managed to get away with your precious Book, though,” Aziraphale fumed. “For all the good it does us.”

“Aziraphale, I gave the Book of Life to Uriel and told her to run to keep Heaven from getting it again,” said Maltha. “It’s our best leverage over Satan right now. She still clearly wants it.”

She was right, but that didn’t mean Aziraphale had to be polite. He glowered without apologising.

“All right,” said Victoria, still breathing heavily. “So that was a failure. But we all made it out alive, and we’ve still got the Book, and there’s still time. We’ve got…” She struggled to count on her fingers with only one hand. “…eight hours left.”

“Eight hours…” ��Aziraphale grappled with a hard dilemma: if the time came and went, would he go back home and try to think of an alternate plan? …Or would he stay here in this universe, even if it meant being trapped, to try and get Crowley back?

Maltha exhaustedly leaned onto a gargoyle for support, running her hands up and down her injuries. “All right. There’s no way around it. I was really hoping there was, but there isn’t. The time for clever plans and bargaining is over. We have to stop pissing around.”

“Full-frontal assault,” said Mykas.

Victoria nodded. “Then let’s go.”

#good omens #my good omens fanfic #my writing

7 notes · View notes

yoyo-inspace · 5 years

Note

13, 27, 33

EDIT: tried to post these before but apparently I drafted it instead. Whoops. Sorry @bounding-heart!

Saving 13 for last because then I can put it behind a Read More for spoiler reasons!

27. Top 5 brotps

These were the first ones that came to mind and I’m kinda sad there aren’t any female friendship BrOTPs on the list, but I’m tired and I can’t be bothered to wrack my head for any more.

1. Donna & Ten (Doctor Who) They have to this day remained one of my favourite TARDIS teams. They’re an absolute joy to watch together, even in episodes I don’t like that much. I’ll forever be sad about how it all ended - somewhere out there I’m sure there’s a timeline where they really did end up traveling together forever. Also, Catherine Tate and David Tennant together anywhere are an absolute powerhouse.

2. Teal’c & Jack O’Neill (Stargate SG-1) I think one of Stargate’s strongest suits have always been how they truly managed to build believable relationships and specifically friendships (and found family) over the course of the show. And the relationship between Jack and Teal’c is definitely evidence of that. They’re just so good together, and they care so much about each other. The moment Teal’c proves where his loyalties are and O’Neill is immediately going to stand by him through everything, because that’s the kind of person Jack is. And likewise for Teal’c, he’d do anything for O’Neill. They have such a unique understanding of each other, and I honestly think it’s one of the strongest relationships in the show.

3. Greed & Ling (Fullmetal Alchemist)This is one of those relationships where I kind of read it multiple ways depending on what mood I’m in, but for now, let’s come at it from the BrOTP angle. A lot of the best relationships that I love are about people who improve each other in different ways, and compliment each other, especially in BrOTPs. These two certainly do. They’re also surprisingly similar in many ways, and they push each other to be the best versions of themselves (which takes a bit longer for Greed than it does for Ling, but he gets there in the end).

4. Sam & Daniel (Stargate SG-1) I did say Stargate has some strong friendships, didn’t I? So they get TWO entries on this list. I know, a little unfair, but it’s my list, so my rules. Sam and Daniel are like, almost literally siblings in my eyes. They bicker like siblings, take care of each other like siblings and they support each other like it as well. I wish the show had shown their friendship even more honestly, but it’s one of my favourites to explore in fanfics and such. Also, I will forever be bitter about the fact that Sam is the only one who didn’t get a visit from Ascended Daniel. #Rude

5. Lee and Iorek (His Dark Materials)Sometimes, a family is a man, a hare and a bear in a balloon, alright? Look, we don’t get much of these in the original book, though even the little we get always point out how much they care about each other. And then we got an entire book ONLY DEDICATED TO THEIR AWESOME FRIENDSHIP. Considering how difficult it is to win a bear’s trust, imagine how hard it is to gain a bear’s friendship and loyalty. Lee’s special like that. Even if Iorek has his own special way of honouring it.

33. Top 5 episodes

Of everything ever?! Well, that’s not difficult or anything. Here I actually gave myself the rule of one episode per show. Because otherwise it’s IMPOSSIBLE.

1. Black Sails 4x09Yes, the Black Sails finale is amazing, and nearly took this spot. But in many ways its the epilogue to what actually culminates in this penultimate episode. Everything happens in, constantly. It does not let you rest, because even when things are still, you’re worried about the character. It’s a masterfully written, directed and acted episode, across the board, and one of the strongest episodes the show has - though it of course has the benefit of building on everything that came before it.

2. Heaven Sent - Doctor WhoI knew this was going to be on the list. My absolute favourite episode from one of my absolute favourite shows. Like the episode above, it’s brilliantly written, directed and acted - except the acting is done by a single person. And yes, this is one of those episodes I can watch over and over again and still enjoy it just as much if not more than the first time. As Rachel Talalay said - it’s poetry in the form of an episode, and I think that goes for all three of those aspects (acting, writing, directing). The music is also incredible. It has it all - as well as for me one of the most compelling emotional hooks in Doctor Who.

3. Hard Times - Good OmensThis might only be on here for recency reasons, but bear with me. I thought I knew just what to expect from the Good Omens TV show. This episode certainly threw me for a loop in the best possible way. While I can’t really speak quality wise, it’s definitely my favourite episode of the show, and no, not only because I’m a massive shipper, though that’s certainly a part of it. I just also love creative story telling and television making, and this episode does both. Having the intro halfway into the episode? Brilliant, love it. Juxtaposing their growing friendship with the break-up at the end? Great. Also period costumes. Period costumes everywhere.

4. Meridian - Stargate SG-1It’s certainly not the best episodes of Stargate, and I don’t even know if I can say it’s my absolute favourite at any given time, but it’s definitely an episode that had and has a huge emotional impact on me, and one I keep returning to even when it breaks my heart. I do think the acting in it is superb, and it’s a wonderful closure for a character (which also opens up to new possibilities). But how it makes me cry.

5. Sakura and the Final Judgment - Cardcaptor SakuraI knew I wanted some kind of anime in here, but it’s difficult. Anime have shorter episodes, their storyline endings or build-ups usually play out over multiple episode. I couldn’t pick just one FMAB episode, I’d have to pick ten if I wanted to represent a full part of the story. But I wanted to have one, and so I took another one that had a huge impact on me. That is the season finale of s2 of Cardcaptor Sakura, and really, the ‘end’ of that part of the story. Sakura cheering herself on in the face of failure, herself coming to support her, her using her ‘spell’ of simply saying that everything will be alright, because of how much she believes that. Let’s just say this one hits home a lot, and it encapsulates so many of the reasons why CCS has meant so much to me.

Honorable mention: Probably something from the upcoming HBO show, I can already say that with confidence.

ALRIGHT, TOP 5 DEAD CHARACTERS COMING UP. Will contain spoilers for: Harry Potter, xxxHolic, Fullmetal Alchemist, The Book Thief.

13. Top 5 dead characters

1. Albus Dumbledore - Harry PotterNo matter what people might think of Dumbledore, fact remains that I have never cried as much or as long for the death of a fictional character. I do love him, flaws and all, and when he died, I was literally inconsolable for the entire evening. My dad read that chapter to me and had to sit and like hug me for an hour or something. I was bawling. I know we’re not ranking top death scenes or anything, but I think not even I was prepared for how strongly I was going to react to it, but it does indicate how much that character meant, and still means to me.

2. Van Hohenheim - Fullmetal Alchemist While on the subject of Problematic Father Figures, here’s one more. God, Hohenheim makes me cry. Just. Everything about him. He tries so hard where it really matters and still he can’t quite seem to get there. He was, in so many ways, a tragic victim of circumstance, who never thought he’d learn to love again. I have so many headcanons about him and Trisha, but honestly, what we get from them is absolutely phenomenal on its own. And in the end, he could be there for his boys, even if he couldn’t keep his promise to Trisha. I have a soft spot for immortal characters who end up finding the will to live again through fleeting human lives, alright? (Also, Hohenheim suffers from glasses flare syndrome, where even if he’s crying or happy, no one will know because of his impenetrable anime glare).

3. Severus Snape - Harry PotterYes, yes, I know, problematic character, yadda yadda. Don’t want to hear it right now, alright? Tired of having to dedicate an entire paragraph defending my reasonings for putting Snape in just about anything. To sum it down, it’s a character that means a lot to me, he’s dead, and that’s why he’s on this list.

4. Yuuko Ichihara - xxxHolicThe Space-Time Witch herself. Isn’t it awkward when you die and then your boyfriend just happens to be so powerful that even when he just, humanly enough, wishes for a moment that you’d still be alive, he accidentally brings you back to life, and then you both have to spend the rest of your lives trying to pay for that mistake and all the lives it affected because it kind of fucked up the space time continuum? And at the same time you manage to be an absolute powerhouse of a character? Because she is. Yuuko might not be alive, but she lives life to its fullest even when she’s not.

5. Rudy Steiner - The Book ThiefI mean, I did say earlier that Dumbledore is the character who’s death I’ve cried the most for, and that’s true. But this book is definitely the BOOK where I’ve cried the most. I can just open a random page and start bawling. Every character who dies in that book could technically make it on to this list. I did almost put Hans on, but honestly? Rudy is part of the heart and soul of that book, and his death feels so much more of a robbery of life. I love him, that little boy with the lemon-coloured hair. “How about a kiss, Saumensch?”

#bounding-heart #thanks for asking this was so much fun!!#not going to tag all the fandoms #there's a lot of them

4 notes · View notes

thejackmeister-mongolhistory · 5 years

Text

Ogedai's Edict to the Koreans, 1232

The most famous Mongol diplomatic missives of the 13th century are, of course, the demands for submission sent to many a rule across Eurasia. Below, we'll share one of the less commonly seen letters of this time, sent from Ogedai Khaan to the Koreans in 1232, while Mongols armies had surrounded their capital Songdo (modern Kaesong). This letter was originally a very stilted and grammatically poor Chinese: likely, it was copied down hastily directly from someone translating Ogedai's dictated orders out of Mongolian. This particular letter was preserved in the Koryo-sa, a dynastic history printed in the 1450s (but initially compiled in the 1390s before extensive editing and formatting).

EDICT FROM OGEDEI QA’AN TO KORYO

“Strength of Heaven! Words spoken from Heaven: [1] those people we get who do not braid their hair [2] will have their eyes blinded, their hands removed, their legs crippled!

Edict.

We send off the army of Sarta the Quiver-Bearer to ask whether you are awaiting submission or awaiting battle.

In the year of the Rat,[1216] when the Black Khitan [3] raided your state of Kao-li, you were not able properly to get rid of them. We sent the two people, Jala and Qačin [4]. They came leading the army, took the Black Khitan and killed them all. You they did not kill. We came, for if we had not dealt with the Black Khitan, you would not have been soon [in doing it]. Isn’t it so?

You did not give a salute to the envoy… isn’t it so? [corruption in text?]

When you submitted, we sent the envoy Ja’uyu [5]. He did not administer beatings among you. Isn’t it so?

Ja’uyu disappeared. An envoy came searching for Ja’uyu. You used bow and arrow, shot the man who came searing, and chased him back. For that reason, we are sure it was you who took Ja’uyu and killed him.

We have now come to search and inquire into this business. The edict of the Qa’an says: If you are awaiting battle, we are in one action to kill you, one after the other, to the end. If, on the other hand, you want to submit, you are to go and submit all at once, as before. If you have love for your people, come and submit all at once, as before.

You are quickly to have the envoy who has been sent down sent back.

If you want to do battle, you shall know this: in the great nation of the Qa’an, we Tatars have gathered all of the nations surrounding us in the four directions. We have also gathered in the nations which did not submit.

If you do not heed this, we will administer beatings to all of those who have gone into submission. If you do not heed this, we will rob and plunder your residences and will soon pacify them.

Listen! Bring the King of Kao-li with you. Those among your people who have submitted will remain in their residences as of old. People who do not submit will be killed.

In the Year of the Tiger [1218], you submitted. We together were no less than one house. Isn’t it so?

The envoy who has been sent is Ortu.”

From Ledyard, Gari. “Two Mongol Documents from the Koryo sa.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 83 no. 2 (1963): pg 228.

[1] a rare shorting of the more famous "by the will of Eternal Blue Heaven," which normally opened Mongol demands.

[2] braided hair was associated with Mongols and Turkic peoples: for the Mongols, this is of course their famous hair cut wherein the top of the head is shaved, leaving the sides to grow long and be braided into loops behind the ears. The Chinese (and to my understanding, the Koreans, but I could be wrong and welcome correction) were quite the opposite, leaving the hair uncut and putting it into buns or knots. The Chines associated braids and long unkempt hair with 'barbarians.'

[3] ‘Black Khitan,’ seemingly how the Mongols distinguished between ethnic Khitans (calling them Black Khitans) and northern Chinese (calling them just Khitans). The likely origin of Khitai → Cathay → China in English. In 1216 this Khitan army fled Mongol rule into Korea, where the Koreans were unable to expel them for two years.

[4] Jala and Qacin lead the army in 1218 to defeat the Khitans in Korea. Upon entering Korea in 1218, the Mongols considered Korea to have submitted to them

[5] Ja’uyu was the Mongol envoy to Korea 1220-1225. His ‘disappearance’ in 1225 served as pretext for the Mongol invasion in 1231.

Ultimately, Sangdo submitted, but the harsh treatment by Sarta Qorci and the difficultly in meeting his demands led a revolt a few months later, moving the capital from Sangdo to Kanghwa Island. There, the Korean court ruled in near exile for 27 years after the Mongols invaded and raided the Korean peninsula. Final submission only occurred in 1259, and further onerous demands to supply the invasions of Japan in the following decades.

#ogedai #ogedei #mongol empire #korea #khan #history #china #sangdo #demand

1 note · View note

kazytka · 5 years

Text

A demon Selaphiel fanfiction p1

And old decrepit human figure sat in a rocking hair by the fire, staring whit her green tinted ayes at the bed in the far corner of the room. The roaring flame behind her illuminated the straw cot and the figure resting on it. An odd visitor to this remote land. Odd'e one in dead, when she first saw a failing star crashing in to the sea side moors she went there merely to get the fire for her dying fireplace, this flame would be a god sent and undoubtedly would keep her old bones warm for years. Granny did however find a creature of somewhat human proportions wiggling in the soft boggy ground, skinless and in pain from the sea water. Had she not Sean the worn and fleshless wings shed thin its a creature of the earth that had the misfortune of coming up just to be blasted by the comet. The woman would let it be, it was unwise to go against the natural order. This thing however seamed to be new so it was fair game. Cleaning the mud and she bound the beasts in all the linens she had and allowed it to rest on a bed that was rather to short for it, sync its legs den-geld over the side. The wind on the moors blew hard , and the mismatched cottage made of piled on flat stones , already somewhat bent to the side seamed to not notice it. Wind spirits played whit the thick black smoke coming out of the chimney. As in the quiet of the night the information of this new wanderer spreed on to all creatures in the vicinity.

Selaphiel woke the next day, but responded to inquiries only after a week. The old lady didn't seam to mind her unusual quiet companion. But by virtue of listening self found out that the mummified husk of a young spring calf by the fire is named Olga, as the woman often spoke to it, 'Olga' was also the name of the also mummified head stored in a flower pot by the window, it was covered by small yellow filled flowers. And to every query given to the cow , the head would respond. Even do its lips never open. There was a multitude of shapes in the shadows , scouring a round beyond the reach of the light. Some turn our to be mice and one was a cat but there was a great deal of thowes that looked like neither. A big Black cat often came to her nudging her face whit a paw to be let in under the covers , one time she cud swear he brought her a half eaten pair of small legs . Sel relay prefers to not think of it as she petted the purring fanged animal. A carnivorousness small monster with nothing but pride in its accomplishments.

There first true conversation whit the old woman was a rather pleasant if uneventful one. Yes she found out she was on earth, a part of ye ol Ireland to be exact. When asked if the old woman was a witch or a demon she was told.

-Blanket terms all of them, I’m to old to use a name, at my age you either know who you are or you move on to the next skin to find out.- Selaphiel was silent after that. Once they got better enough to sit and move, they aimed to help the fragile old mortal whit her tasks, conversations whit the dead bovine turned out to be even entertaining. Compered to 'granny' it was far more contemporary and easier to understand in its patterns. It told her bout rules of the outside, claiming the hag as its sister to be most agreeable and hard to offend, unlike the hosh-posh dwellers of the woods and the moors itself. Do she did make amends stating the moors were like a cesspool of constantly drunk individuals that were not allowed to set foot in the tree line. Compered to that drunk band of layers and begawontes the woodland dwellers had a set of rules and they were bound by honor to obey it.

Rule 1 was Never to give out ones true name.

Rule 2 was Never to lie, under not circumstances.

Rule3 – answer all the question given albeit never forget to be polite.

Rule 4- never answer any question.

Rule 5- if you must trawlers the forest, never get off the patch.

Rule 6- never turn back on the path, to go back, keep moving forward.

Rule 7- never say the same word 3 times during one conversation, list the word become a binding contract.

And tows were the rules they cud make seance off . Relay Sel cud haw left then and there but...she didn't fell like it, all it took to deswaye them from finding other siblings, was her burned black complexion reflected in the cottages dirty grey window. How to explain it? When even her own mind couldn't grasp it all. That and the perspective of going to HELL was...quite frankly upsetting if not terrifying. Eventually besides milling round the old house she was coaxed to go outside. It was a calm gray day , you cud feel the rain in the air, but the birds were still singing pointing out it was still far away before it begins. Puling a trawling cloak a round her, Sel made way towards the tree line. Her new legs felt odd and tender. The cold air creased the scars and ruffled her now outgrowing main. Maybe a walk would help clear ones mind and make some sort of decision. And if not? The smell of sea air and treas was pleasant enough

The moors and the surrounding forest were...odd to say the list. They reminded Sel of years long passed for earth and humanity. But odder still. Walking the sandy path showed to her it was far from the forests of old. Witnessing whit her own aye's two sycamores arguing over who shod fall over. They were rather disturbed there was somebody to hear them. Apparently the sound of a tree failing over is...an embarrassing occurrence. also there was talk of looking up someones roots to witch a sharp protest was given. She was weary politely yet firmly asked to GO . Selaphiel didn't protest. Thru the thin branches of young birch she saw a filled full of burning skeletons hawing a ball. Unperturbed by there dead state and even more so by the burning. She on the other hand was quite bothered by the smell of chard bone. Before Sel cud leave the vicinity do, her path was blocked by a thing. She stiffens a bit remembering the rules of the forest. ‘keep to the path, don't give your name, don't lie, and never repeat a word three times in one conversation’

-Hello my lady , fine day is it not?

-The wind is...warm -She inclined her head towards the burning filed. It was unvis to answer any questions directly.

-Indeed it is -The creature looked towards the field, there was a sharp discrepancy between the body and head of this person. Its body was thin well muscled but defined human while the head was a black shaggy face resembling a dear, but whit long thin horns covered whit sharp thorny protrusions and jet black soul full ayes that seamed to consume light. They were hard to let go of

- Might I ask your name? I fear I cant recall mine beyond the fact...i tasted somewhat sour.

-Would a Pooka give there name?- She deflected politely . The creature inclined its head from side to side looking at her quite intrigued. Then it bursed out laughing.

-Forgive me , I had not recognize a sister in arms. It will be a shame for me and my children that I forgot one so lovely as you.

-I am a sister to somebody- She nods , every proper and polite response seams to bring a new gleam in to the stranger ayes . He seamed to be truly happy he found somebody to take part in this game, somebody that by accident knows how to play. And isn't an easy win. Question is...what was there at stake? They bantered back and forth for a bit. A nonsensical discussion from the outside. But in reality more of a battle of whits. The forest dweller was immensely polite and seamed truly captivated by her fur and horns. Funny enough most denseness of the forest didn't seam to recognize a demon when they saw it, they identified anything not human as ‘part of the forest’ and thus familiar even if unknown . odd to be in the center of someones attention like that.

- Shall we? -The man steeped to her side and inclined his arm gesturing for her to take it and walk whit him. Captivated by his black ayes she raised a hand whit out thinking to intertwined there arms. But at the last minute snapped back and straightens herself , bowing slightly she proceed forward.

- I shall.- She responded. Perhaps slightly disappointed the creature lowers its hands and she cud hear it walking along side of her on the path. They botch keep there silence. The trip thru the forest was so long and twisted that Selaphiel had truly doubted the rule a bout not turning back. How cud they end up back where they started constantly moving forward? Was the forest path a gentle curve forcing her to make a big circle? Or maybe like Hell and Heaven this was a dimension all in its own right? Probably the second one. Walking stubbornly forward she was relay happy to see the opening to the moors at some point. So happy intact she nearly steeped of the twisting patch to take a short cut. What tipped them off was the sudden silence, like the forest was anticipating it. Even her silent companion placed a head on her shoulder like a dog waiting for that decision. Sel slowly withdrew her extended leg and all baited unhappy took the slight detoured rout set by the path. Maybe it was a mistake but once she made it to the wind seeped plain she gave out a sigh of pure joi and once again considered spinning a round on the path to say ‘good bay’ to the person flowing her but stooped. Forcing her to twist her head shape shifting a bit. It was a loop hole right? She wasn't turning back on the patch, just turning her head. The black headed creature was far closer to her back then she believed it to be. Almost whit its shiny black nose on her neck. She teasingly blew on it and as the man recoiled covering his snout, she smiled.

-Thank you for the company. The creature ayes her top to bottom and bowed deeply to that. Selapiel turned a round and walked off towards the shabby little home. Almost at the doorstep she turned back to see if the strange thing was standing at the entrance to the forest. Whit one blink it was, just a dot of black by the treeline. But as she blinked the second time, he was there before her, just shy of the stone step to the house. Twitching Sel puled the metal door knob whit a smile and slammed the door , gently giving the new comer a hint.

- You looked back at him, once you were out of the tree line?-Olga moaned from her place on the window sill.

-Is that one of the rules?

- Not per say, but it granted him the ability to followed you Outside of the forest. -the head moaned. - Don’t invite him inside the home do, its hard to get that TYPE to leave.

-I wont, don’t worry. Wheres Granny?

-Out and a bout. Shes using the fact your presence distract everyone to get some stuff done. I offered to help her but...-The head started giggling even before finishing the joke.

TBC...

#fanfiction #lil lucifer au #Demon Selaphiel

18 notes · View notes

scoundrels-in-love · 6 years

Note

For the OC ask game: 3, 10, 11, 18, 21, 36, 42 and 45. You can answer about any OC, but you know I love my boy Awan.

This only took me like a week or more. I’m so sorry. I am going to answer this for your boy Awan + Another OC in shorter way, if I have someone that this question applies to vividly.

Under cut cause long af.

Ask me OC asks 1 or 2? (But specify which one, if you do? :D)

3. What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?Awan has no complaints, really. His parents were busy and out of house, even village, for most of the time, providing for him and his siblings, but when they were home, they’d always listen to him and find time for him, the best they could. Even if they couldn’t quite believe his incredulous stories of things he has seen or experienced on his small adventures. But no adult really did. His father taught him a lot about fishing, the ocean, general survival and encouraged him to pursue what he wanted, sensibly. Even after Awan left with the lions, he’d return from time to time, always to be greeted warmly and sent off with loving, encouraging worry. His father is long gone now and Awan holds nostalgic warmth for him and his childhood, for the most part.

Leila adored and idolized her parents, really. With all her child’s heart. Losing them really did a number on her, psychologically. Over time, she grew to temporarily resent them, father in particular, and in some ways she still has not made up with him in her mind. She might, she might not. Even if she does, she realizes he was far from flawless and eternally wise (or kind) as she pictured in her early years.

10. Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?Awan used to love to run around part undressed, playing on the ocean shore. Even when he would have to dress more warmly due to weather or little expeditions into the woods or the mountains, he’d love to stay barefoot. That is one thing that hasn’t changed - he really loves walking barefooted in nature, to dig his toes in the sand and feel little waves lap at his feet. But overall, he is definitely more on the ‘let’s bundle up’ type now. Good part because being around the lions is constant drain on his energy and he is more prone to feeling cold.

I8a feels fine either way. She does not feel cold or hot easily, regulating her body temperature and the fabrics of her clothes work similarly as well. She is more about how things look and feel. Patterns, design, fabrics. She could go all out in huge dress or skintight bodysuit with cleavage for days. Or bikini. The concept of more skin/showing off curves = sexy does not register with her, because ‘sexiness’ does not mean anything to her, other than a criteria that humans use. This has sent the wrong signals and gotten the wrong attention and later on, she knows how to ‘control’ her appearance to suit missions, but it’s just a purposely learned behavior.

11. In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

This is a good question for Awan. I’ve actually not considered this. I feel like his biggest fear moment is yet to come, but in the past? Possibly ending up in a small rockslide when he was 7 or 8 in the mountains. He got really lucky then, getting only broken ankle and whole lot of bruises and scratches, but the fear was great, so was impact of his parents’ worries and he has become a lot more observant/cautious about his surroundings since then. Even known ones, because you never know what small change has transpired to change everything.

For Ryan, I think it was the moment he realized he’s probably going to legit lose his arm and eventually life. He was stuck in apathy and depression loop for a long time, he’s still not out of it (in some ways it has even worsened), but the pain was getting way too much and survival instincts kicked in... Except there wasn’t much of anywhere to turn to help. So he went to some place that turned him into a test bunny in ways that weren’t comforting or fear-soothing in itself. He was rightfully afraid for his life, also at their hands. And in some ways, that fear and hate hasn’t gone away and he’s always internally snarling and baring teeth at them like a dog backed in corner. Looking for a way out that would hopefully also give him a way to tear a chunk out of their shins.

18. Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

Awan would definitely pick wisdom. Ambition without wisdom can be borderline greed - because if you don’t pick what you want wisely, it can be quite dangerous. And so can be the ways you go for it. Ambition is good, but it can’t be the sole thing driving you, it can’t ride on itself alone.

Awkward moment when all characters I’ve spoken more about would more or less agree with this viewpoint. I mean, both Leila and Elinor would strongly be like, sometimes you gotta just drive forward and Elinor might appreciate wisely guided ambition but she is definitely impulsive as heck. So, yes, this was sort of meta question for me, lol.

21. If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

Awan definitely feels like he has caused it in some way. With great power comes great responsibility and feeling like you could’ve prevented it. You had to foresee. In fact, he may end up feeling guilty for things that weren’t even connected to him at times, especially in the initial period of living with the lions. Time has dulled this, he can outweigh what was in his control, what was his responsibility, and what was not. But the mindset is there.

Elinor is a mix of two. Honestly, deep down she’s definitely ‘I’m guilty for everything’ type, but it’s not in her nature to reveal that to many people, if any at all. Not to the very bitter dredges, anyway. So, she can and will blame other people, often rightfully, call them out on their bullshit and what they did wrong. She can be petty and bitter and downright cruel and then deal with original guilt + guilt that stems from issues she caused with this reaction via drink (tho this is more of her pirate!self method) or putting herself in harm’s way, starting bar fight’s etc. Being generally reckless, bordering physically abusive to her own body.

36. How does your character behave around people they dislike?

Awan... is reserved with his emotions. For the most part. But just as you will know that he is warming up to you, you will probably feel the cold shoulder, the stare that goes deep into you, trying to sort you out, the absence of laughter sparkle or smile. Serious Awan to the max, not inclined to do any favors to you/help you specifically. Not going to get a card reading from him, for sure.

And, well, if Awan doesn’t like you, you will probably have one very grumpy black lion showing his dislike in every way, from petty things like tripping you to downright slowly tearing down you as a person and all that you love. Though, unless you’re truly a villain (and even then), Awan will try to rein that in.

If Elinor doesn’t like you, you’ll know. She’s snarky, argumentative and at times, down right rude to people as is, and if you have earned her dislike from her, she will not be afraid to fight you, physically even. Especially if you’re forced to interact. Otherwise, she might resort to just ignoring you and rebuking you with some snark. Now, there’s the fact that some people that she does treasure get pretty similar treatment, since they do irritate her as well... But they can tell the difference. Or so they say and she just rolls her eyes.

42. Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

I would say the lions, but it is more a sibling dynamic with Awan, especially with Achan. Meira can be sort of kind but overbearing mother, but she also listens to him deeply, so, again perhaps more of older sister that wants to mother him, but understand he’s an adult with important insight. Other important familial figures also fall into the vein of sibling, instead of parents.

Leila did have someone, but she was abusive and cruel (while having best intentions for Leila) and died at the girl’s hands. It was the natural order of things, though, just the ‘madame’ did not expect the day to come so soon. Leila bears many physical and mental scars that still ache, given by this person. And lives in mild fear that if she was ever in position of being parental figure to anyone, she would hand this side of her experience down more than the fading memory of her biological parent’s love. (Mostly groundless fear, but that is what I know.)

45. What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

Awan knows with certainty that you do not cease to exist when your physical body dies, that there is spirit and soul and the concept of heaven and hell the Outside World has is very tilted and not true. He knows some come back and cycle through lives, but also that not all do or wish to. He is at peace with what will happen to him after he dies. He is, however, not at peace with thought of the chaos his death will bring to the world, or idea of leaving something or someone hurt/unaccomplished.

In fact, most characters I’ve spoken of, again, fall in this same vein. No matter if they believe in something after they die or not, they’re okay with the concept of it and their bigger fear is failing to do something in their lives. Such as Elek. I8a knows she will join a higher consciousness, essentially. Ryan doesn’t think there’s anything and that’s essentially sort of relief just as much shitty feeling as this entire existence is. Genie believes death is just transformation, an inevitable part of nature. A change. And so on.

Now, Elinor.... Is an outlier, because she is someone from religious background, but was also forced to act out against the very basis of it, from early childhood and has grown to feel both like sinner and beast that somehow god has permitted to be. This has steeped her in resentment, for god, for herself. Over the years, she’s learned of great many other religions and basically goes like ‘Oh, so there’s all these conflicting concepts? Well then who can fucking knows which one is true and I guess I will find out after. Don’t plan on dying soon anyway.’ But, deep down, a certain unease remains, for sure. She does feel like she will be judged, for who she is and what she has done, just as she is in this life, just tells herself she won’t give a damn, just as she does not now. (She does, though, but shhh.)

#ask games answered #FINALLY #my ocs #awan #leila #ryan #elinor #i8a #ended up favoring some but for others the answers were.... a bit too much alike to Awan's #gffgthjh #overall they're ofc different but #bienchanter #sent on a cloud

3 notes · View notes

alliswell21 · 6 years

Text

The Christmas Box (part 2)

March, 1994

It had been three painful months since Peeta Mellark had the awful experience of watching his Granny’s coffin be lowered into the hard ground.

His heart was slowly mending, but sometimes he still got very sad, to the point of big, fat tears.

He walked into the back door of the bakery, feeling a little blue, he knew Granny was in heaven with Jesus, but he still missed her hugs and her sweet voice. He missed being able to share with her about his day, or hearing her delighted comments on a sketch he’d made for her, but most all, he missed going with her to the homeless shelters to help in anyway they could.

He was still too young to be around Downtown on his own, his mother wouldn’t allow it, and she wouldn’t accompany him either, so he was stuck depending on a person who didn’t share his charitable callings.

“Hi Peeta.” Said his father poking the dough that was proofing on the counter. “How was school, son?” He asked while sprinkling flour on the prepping table and dumping the dough on it.

Peeta shrugged, “It was fine I guess. Coach Thread announced tryouts for the wrestling team are next week.” He said knowing his father would be pleased about the news, the Mellarks had a long line of wrestling champions in the family, both his brothers were wrestlers, just like their dad used to be, and his dad before him, and so on.

“Hmm…” father made a curious noise at the back of his throat, causing Peeta’s eyes to lift up in his direction. “Are sure you want to try for it?” The question was unexpected but not unkind. “You know if you want to just do art with Mr. Cinna’s class that’s okay too. You don’t have to wrestle because is a legacy. You can choose your own thing.”

This took Peeta aback. He was good at painting and even sculpting, but he never thought of taking art over wrestling as extracurricular. Peeta was built for wrestling, just like every other Mellark. He was strong and knew many of the moves from years of rough-housing with his brothers. He peered at his father for any sign of disappointment or anger, but, he saw nothing of the sort.

“By the way,” father said, “you got mail. A letter. Over there on my desk. Grab a snack, and after you’re done reading it, come back to do the dishes. There’s also a whole tray of sugar cookies that needs to be frosted.” Father winked real quick, signaling it was time to go get his snack before work.

He sat on his father’s chair at his office desk, sandwich on a napkin- because he didn’t want extra plates to wash- and some water in a paper cup, because although father told him he didn’t have to become a wrestler to fulfill anyone’s traditions, he still wanted to try for himself, and he knew they were going to put him on a diet anyway.

He found a pile of envelopes waiting to be sorted, he made stacks for bills, junk and personal mail, and found the one addressed to him:

Mr. Peeta Mellark

12 Merchant St.

Panem, NC 01213

USA

He recognized the church’s stationary, he turned the envelope over, looking for a sender, but he found nothing else. Shrugging again, he started tearing it open. He’d find out who sent it soon enough.

Inside was a folded notebook page, with a sticky note attached to it. He frowned and pulled the post-it off to read:

Dear Peeta,

Somebody gave this to me for you. It’s a letter from the child who received your Christmas box, they wanted to thank you, but had no idea how to contact you.

Your grandma would’ve been proud.

See you Sunday!

Love,

Mags Shackleford (9th grade Sunday School Teacher)

Peeta’s eyebrows arched in surprise at the note, the Christmas box was the last thing he and his grandmother worked on together before her passing. He stuck the slip of paper on the surface of the desk and unfolded the notebook page.

He was welcomed by beautiful penmanship. The words were written in cursive with delicate loops and neat lines. There were no hesitation marks to show a mistake corrected by an eraser either. He was impressed!

He smoothed the page down, took a bite of his sandwich as far away from the letter, as to not drop any condiments on it, and read.

Hi Peeta Mellark! my name is Katniss Everdeen, I’m 11 years of age, I live in Manila with my mother and sister. My papa died five weeks before Christmas, and we were all so sad, but your beautiful present was just what we needed!

Thank you for the food, I think lamb stew with plums will forever be my favorite from now on, the bread was a little hard, but dipped in the stew was perfect! My mother and sister enjoyed it too! By the way, mama is American like you, she has golden hair and blue eyes and so does my sister, you look more like them than I do, but that’s fine, I look like papa, and I like being able to see him in the mirror when I look at myself. :)

Thank you again for the delicious Christmas feast you sent us. It was the best of presents. Please write me back if you can!

Your friend,

Katniss.

PS: I hope you like my picture.

He sat the letter down and looked into the envelope but it was empty. He wondered where could her picture have gone to. He reckoned he could ask Mrs Mags on Sunday to look for it. He read the letter again, wondering where exactly was Manila, he had never heard of it. He was also curious about her line about her mom being American like him. Did she meant that people in Manila weren’t white? Maybe a trip to the public library was in order.

He thought curious the most, that she only thanked him for the food. He had filled that box to the brim with everything and anything he could think of that was both funny and entertaining. He wasn’t sure who was gonna get it or where it was going to end up, so he covered all the bases, according to what he’d liked.

He took the last sip of water and closed his eyes to picture every item he had placed in that box.

There were a few toys, a yo-yo and some stickers, pencils, sharpeners, crayons, a sketchbook, glue sticks, socks, shoelaces, a book with nursery prayers, a tin of cookies, another tin with a Christmas bread, dense and hearty, filled with nuts and berries, the kind that’ll keep you going for a while just by itself, and at the last minute, he shoved in, two cans of his Granny’s favorite: lamb stew with plums, just because he missed her terribly and he thought she’d approve.

Lastly, he placed a picture of himself in the box. He had gotten his school portraits that week, and he had one less person to give a picture to that Christmas. He wrote on the back his name, age, grade and the words “Merry Christmas Friend!”

He sat back, staring at the letter in front of him, and decided losing a parent was even worse than losing a Granny, no matter how much you loved her.

He thought of his own father, just outside the door, baking bread. He’d be miserable if he’d lost his father. He thought of losing his mother, and even though she wasn’t as kind as his father, or loving as his Granny, he knew he’d be beyond sad if he were to lose her too.

He lifted a little prayer on behalf of all orphans, especially this Katniss Everdeen girl. She sounded like she could use the prayer too, and then he folded the letter back and placed it neatly in its envelope for safekeeping, before returning to the kitchen, to start on his chores.

#winterinpanem #everlark fanfiction #christmas #to be continued

41 notes · View notes