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starsxblazing · 4 months

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You're Losing Me (Part Two)

A/N: Yet another piece that broke my heart and left me crying

Summary: The struggle of the aftermath of your death begins and leads you a new path in life

Warnings: talk of suicide, angst.

Azriel x Reader

Part 1 - Part 3

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Azriel was unable to move from his spot on your couch where Rhysand had forced him to move to. He was covered in your blood from where he had held your lifeless body and cried until there was nothing left to give. Through his haze, he noticed that Amren was the only one who seemed calm enough to handle all of the business at hand even though his brothers’ were trying to stay strong. Rhysand had ordered Feyre to return home when she came bursting through the door in a panic because he didn’t want her seeing the sight.

The image of you laying in a pool of your own blood, a knife on the floor beside you, was one that he would never be able to wash from his mind. His mind replayed every single argument that had happened between the two of you and it only made him feel even worse by the second. You had done everything in your power to save the relationship but he had pushed you to the side and taken you for granted.

It only led to you spiraling in your depression that he hadn’t had the decency to acknowledge. He was the reason that the entire family was hurting because he was the one that had led you to taking your own life. If he wasn’t such a spineless coward, he would have done the same already, the empty void, the emptiness of you, was the only thing that he could feel as he stared blankly at the wall across from him.

“You need to leave.” Rhys was squatting in front of him but Azriel could barely process what was saying, only noticing the stern and disapproving glare etched on the High Lord’s face. “We’ve got it from here.”

“I can’t just leave her-”

“There is no reason to care now.” Rhysand’s eyes narrowed in on him and it was then that he noticed the tears lining his eyes. “You said the Cauldron was wrong and I guess you were right. You’re free to fuck anyone you want now without repercussions.”

“I only want her! There has to be-”

“She took her own life, Azriel.” Hearing the words out loud had a broken whimper escaping him. “We’ve watched your neglect and your relationship falling apart. We are just as much to blame for not intervening but ultimately, you were the breaking point.”

Azriel had nothing to say to that since he knew it was true. There would be no comfort or reassurance from any of them and he would be left alone to deal with his betrayal on his own. Unable to take the scent of your blood paired with the emptiness of the bond, he did as his brother said and took to the skies.

“You’re lucky that they buried you as fast as they did.”

You glanced at Clarissa, your friend from Winter Court, as the two of you stood on the border that led into Autumn. Rubbing the back of your neck, you sighed while hoping that the brand would stop burning at some point. A part of you truly did want to die but a nagging in your gut told you that it was something that you shouldn’t do. Your faked death would allow you to escape to live in peace where you would no longer have to keep watching your mate love someone else.

“They’re probably glad to be rid of me,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes even though they started to fill with tears yet again. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead for real.”

“I hope you managed to make a plan after all of this because if they catch wind-”

“If I have any say in it, they won't. I'm perfectly happy to live in complete solitude at this point.”

They both knew that wandering into Autumn Court territory was a huge gamble but it was the only way to escape. You intended to escape all of the way into the far edges of the human lands so that you wouldn’t be found but the plan had failed just as soon as you crossed the border once Clarissa disappeared. You were instantly surrounded by mounted guards and froze while wondering if you were truly going to die this time. A tsk coming from behind the soldiers sounded before the heir of the Autumn Court strode forward.

“Word is that you’re dead,” Eris started, a mischievous smirk on his face. “But it seems as if that isn’t the case.”

“I would prefer if the information stayed that way.” You eyed the guards behind him. “But I guess you have every right to drag me straight to your father or back to Night Court.”

“They will not say a word about what they have seen,” he assured, turning towards them to look between all of them. “Leave us. You saw nothing.”

The guards nodded and did as told. Once they were out of sight, Eris began walking but stopped when you hadn’t moved. The look on his face told you enough that he was waiting somewhat patiently before you decided to take the chance.

“You leading me to my true death, Vanserra?” you asked in a somewhat mocking tone.

“Now is that any way to speak to the one that is helping you?” he asked with an amused chuckle.

“Well, where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere that no one knows about so you can explain what in the hell is going on.”

He chuckled again when you huffed. Your legs were tired and burning but you kept silent until a small cabin deep in the woods came into view. You couldn’t help your curiosity when you stepped inside of the small cottage that felt oddly homely. A fire started in the fireplace with a snap of his fingers as soon as you both crossed the threshold.

“Now, I can easily give you safe harbor here if that is what you need.” He crossed a leg over the other, a picture of true cockiness despite the somewhat gentle expression that he was giving you. “But I would first like an explanation why a member of the Night Court who is allegedly dead is now in mine.”

“That is no longer my court,” you scoffed while you took a seat in a chair across from him.

“Sources vary about your death. Some say it was a fight but a small handful of others say that you killed yourself but here you are. Alive and seemingly well.”

“I’m the furthest thing from ‘well.’”

You sighed when he did nothing but remain quiet, waiting patiently for a detailed explanation. Despite the warnings of being cautious around him, you let everything spill from your lips because you needed to release all of it along with your emotions. By the time that you were done, silent tears were rolling down your face.

The more I think about it now, the less I know

All I know is that you drove us off of the road

“So the shadowsinger is your mate and has been cheating on you for months.” Eris’s eyebrows scrunched as he thought more about it. “And a friend of yours branded you so you wouldn’t be able to die from your own hands and keeping your bond seemingly broken before glamouring it.”

“That’s the jist of it,” you muttered, feeling stupid as you heard the words coming from someone else. “Being a High Fae made it possible for the wound to begin to close and my friend’s spell kept my heart beating while also casting an illusion. So here I am.”

“If the High Lord didn’t tell you, my proposal still stands,” he replied with a smirk.

“I tell you that everyone that was supposed to be my family and kept all of this from me thinks that I’m dead and the second thing that you have to say is a marriage proposal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Your priorities are astonishing.”

“A male needs a beautiful female at his side when he becomes High Lord.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I also wouldn’t be opposed to making you my High Lady.”

“I’m supposed to be dead, Eris,” you huffed. “Besides, your father had my entire family killed after they helped me escape. He’ll probably remember me.”

“I will not allow him to hurt you,” he replied in a matter of fact tone, shrugging his shoulders in the process. “You are welcome to stay here for as long as you want. I will supply you with whatever it is that you need in the meantime.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise as he left without another word and you couldn’t help but wonder if he truly was good deep inside.

Had me in the palm of your hand

Then why’d you have to go and lock me out when I let you in

As promised, he returned every chance that he could with supplies and kept you company for as long as possible. You hadn’t been able to understand how Azriel had been able to fall in love with someone else but by the time you had been with the heir for six months, you had awoken one morning in his arms and realized that you had done the same.

“Are you ever going to accept my proposal?” he asked while running his fingers through your hair while he held you close. “I know I offered you as long as you needed here but after six months, I’m more than eager to have you by my side and show you off.”

“What would your father say?” You held his gaze while realizing that you wanted the same. “Wouldn’t you having a bride-to-be concern him since you are next in line?”

“He won’t have a choice,” he answered matter of factly.

Deciding to take the chance on finding a new happiness, you agreed before getting dressed. You followed Eris, hand in hand while trying to calm your nerves. Beron scared you with his cruelness but your new love did nothing but whisper his reassurances during the entire trip. The current High Lord scowled at you as soon as Eris all but dragged you into the throne room.

“I am here to announce that I have found a bride,” Eris started, watching his father closely.

“That thing?” Beron scoffed once he looked you up and down. “You have become as bad as your brother.”

“She is High Fae,” Eris replied coolly, keeping your hand in his while you forced yourself to keep your head high. “I see no issue.”

“You are not-”

“I am.” Eris continued to watch him with determination and caution. “There will be no changing my mind on the manner.”

“We’ll see.”

No sooner than the words left the High Lord, he was lunging at you with a speed that you couldn’t keep up with. There was a hand around your throat before you were slammed into a pillar behind you. You barely heard Eris yell your name while your windpipe began to collapse. Red clouded your vision and the grip on your throat was released. Gasping for breath with a hand over your heart, you looked down to see Eris’s sword through Beron’s back straight into his heart before you lost consciousness.

All you had to do was stay

Azriel was, surprisingly, allowed to be there for your burial the very next morning and all that he was able to do was cry silently. His heart was shattered and he didn’t know how he was going to live without you by his side. Regret ate at him every second of every day and he locked himself in his old room in the House. He refused to leave, to eat, to do anything except curl up in his bed while wishing you were beside him. Wishing that you were where you were supposed to be. A week went by in his broken stupor before there was finally a knock on his door.

“Hey, Az.” The healer that he had broken his mate for stood in the door, looking up at him hopefully. “I wanted to come check on you.”

“Go. Away,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at her as intimidating as he could. “And stay away from me.”

“But-”

“You can leave willingly or I will throw you off of the balcony myself.”

Her eyes widened in surprise before they filled with tears and she ran away. It didn’t bother him at all that he had made her cry, especially when he realized that he never did love her. His shadows stayed away from him the most that they could but when they were swirling around and covering him in darkness, they screamed at him.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Why? Why?

Your fault.

Miss her.

Love her.

It was the only thing that they whispered to him on repeat as if they wanted him to hurt as badly as he had hurt you. He had half of a mind to force them to strangle him but he knew that they would refuse so that he would suffer, especially since they had warned him constantly. The broken bond was the most disorienting and painful thing that he had ever endured. Everytime he thought about the emptiness, the harder he broke down with sobs, finally understanding why Feyre had fallen apart when Rhys had died.

Cassian forced him by dragging him out of his room roughly at the two week mark, forcing him to eat before telling him that he needed to leave. Nesta watched him with hardened features, looking as if she was ready to begin a verbal assault that he more than deserved. As if she knew, she remained silent because she wanted him to feel bad.

He was only able to manage a few spoonfuls of the food in front of him before his brother was forcing him out of the House and to the river house to where Rhys was waiting. Due to his lack of strength, it was hard to fly but he pushed through it. When he stepped through the door, he was met with the sight of a red eyed and angry Feyre while Rhysand simply watched him with a mix of fury and disappointment.

“I have work for you,” Rhys started, not bothering to take him to the office. “It starts immediately.”

Azriel listened half heartedly, nodding when the High Lord was finished and took to the skies yet again. Within three months, he managed to get injuries with every single mission that he was given. The physical pain was welcome because he had hoped that it would mend his shattered soul but it didn’t. Six months passed in the same way and loss of muscle mass and weight was beginning to affect him greatly. He was summoned to the river house where he was sure that he would be cursed for all that he was worth finally but was surprised to find everyone already in the office. A slight emotion akin to curiosity filled him by the many different expressions on the faces of the Inner Circle.

“It’s about time.” Rhysand looked him up and down with a hint of disgust before addressing the others. “I just received word from Eris that his father is dead.”

“The prick finally made a move?” Cassian asked with a noise that was mixed with a scoff and laugh. “It took him long enough. What happened?”

“A sword through his back into his heart,” Rhysand answered, stopping for a moment to think. “Reports are murky at best but most of them lead to a female being involved.”

“His mother?” Mor suggested.

“No.” Rhys shook his head, seemingly trying to figure it all out himself. “I hear that it wasn’t one that resides in the court.”

“Probably a female that he was interested in and Beron saw it as a threat,” Amren mused.

“Eris isn’t the type to be so protective of a female.”

The room fell silent at Feyre’s suggestion but he wasn’t able to keep focus on it. His shadows were taunting him nonstop, not giving him one moment of rest. There were dark bags under his eyes due to his lack of sleep. He didn’t even care enough about himself to worry while he contemplated his own death. It would be easy enough to get himself killed on a mission and he would finally be able to escape the emptiness and pain.

“That means we’re going to check it out?” Cassian’s question brought him back to the present. “Make sure he isn’t plotting anything?”

“Well, of course,” Rhys replied with a hardened expression. “We leave in an hour.”

All you had to do was stay

@crazylokonugget @piceous21 @hnyclover @cleverzonkwombatsludge @why4anne @fabulouslyflamboyant5

#azriel x you #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses

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eliemo · 3 years

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Silence Speaks

Summary: Virgil can't get out of bed. Days like this are nothing new, he just doesn't know how his new family will react to him being so pathetic.

TWs: Depression, depressive episode, brief death mention, self-hatred, temporary nonverbal episode

Notes: Found this fic in my drafts from a few months ago, so I cleaned it up to post since LB and Permafrost are taking a bit. Enjoy <3

Virgil knew it was going to be one of those days when the third hour passed with no change.

Everything was too much. His chest hurt, every breath was just too much work, all he wanted was to sink into the blankets and sleep the rest of his life away. He’d been staring blankly at the wall since he’d woken up, curled up on his side with tears pooling in his eyes. He couldn't get up, couldn’t get back to sleep, couldn’t even call out to ask for help.

It had been a while since he’d had a day like this, when just the thought of getting out of bed made him sick,

They’d used to be more frequent, back when Virgil was alone and shut out, hated and scorned by the people he just wanted to protect. The resentment took its toll, and sometimes he couldn’t find a reason to get out of bed.

It wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. He was supposed to be over this. He was supposed to be better.

He had everything he’d ever wanted. He had his family, Thomas listened to him, and he wasn’t just needed- he was wanted.

He was wanted. He knew he was. Sometimes it was just...hard to convince himself of that, despite the overwhelming amount of kindness he’d been given for months now, the reassurances and patient understanding that felt too good to be true.

But now here he was again, unmoving in the dark of his own room, closed off like the brooding villain he was trying so hard not to be anymore.

God, he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be anywhere. He didn’t want to be awake, he didn’t want to go back to sleep, and he didn’t want to get up and go downstairs.

He just...didn’t want to do this anymore.

Why couldn’t he just disappear?

Virgil thought he could hear voices downstairs, but nothing was really registering through the fog settling around his head. His room was pitch dark, the curtains pulled tightly shut, leaving it impossible to tell how much time had passed.

He thought it might have been a few hours by now, and he hoped everyone would just continue on with their day and leave him here forever, trapped in his own body with a brain stuck trying to sabotage his happiness. He’d fade away on his own, and they’d forget about him, never bothering to even question his absence.

Virgil knew better than to really believe that. A year ago he could have gotten away with it, he could lock himself up in the dark for days and nobody would care. They’d probably celebrate.

Now...now they would notice he wasn’t coming down for breakfast. He had a job to do, he had people who actually cared. Virgil couldn’t just lay here, pathetic and useless. He was letting himself waste away and fail everyone who had taken a chance on him. They’d given him so much. He couldn’t undo all that progress because he was feeling a little sad.

But he couldn’t get up. He couldn’t. It would be so much easier if he could just die.

Virgil still wasn’t sure how much time had passed, laying there wide awake without the energy to move a single inch, but suddenly a knock on the door sliced through the haze around his brain.

More tears gathered in his eyes, frustration and dread making his chest unbearably heavy. He didn’t want to be ridiculed and yelled at right now. He wasn’t ready to be forced out of bed, selfish as it was to want to stay here.

A few seconds passed before the door creaked open, light spilling in from the hall, the faint smell of coffee wafting into the room.

“Virgil?”

That was Logan, even though Virgil couldn’t bring himself to turn his head to look. The logical side’s voice was comforting and familiar, but he wasn’t sure he could handle his blunt judgment right now.

He’d think Virgil was ridiculous, his refusal to leave his room illogical and stupidly selfish. He’d made everyone worry for nothing. Anxiety was just being lazy again.

“Virgil, it’s almost eleven,” Logan said, and Virgil kind of wished he could just die right here and now. Death would get him out of being lectured. “You need to wake up and eat something. You missed breakfast.”

Virgil still couldn’t move, but his breath caught in his throat at the reminder. He knew he was being stupid, and he knew he was behind schedule, but the thought of food just made him feel nauseous.

He heard footsteps, carefully tracking Logan’s movements as he came closer and listened as he carefully set down what was probably a mug of coffee on the dresser.

“Virgil?” he called, and it was getting harder and harder to see as more tears built up. “Are you awake?”

Virgil still couldn’t bring himself to answer, even as Logan moved around to the side of the bed. Virgil didn’t glance up to his face, but there was no way Logan couldn’t tell that the anxious side’s eyes were open and aware.

He tensed, waiting for anger and judgment, or even just an annoyed huff. He waited to be told that it was easy to get out of bed and Virgil was just being difficult, that he needed to stop being so pathetic or they had no reason to keep showing him so much kindness.

He needed to be useful, or they wouldn’t want him around anymore.

But Logan was suddenly kneeling down to his level, eyes kind and worried behind his glasses.

“Are you alright?” he asked, frowning when Virgil just clenched his jaw in response. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Virgil couldn’t force words to form no matter how badly he wanted to, and to his dismay a few tears slipped free, trailing down his jaw and seeping into the pillow.

Logan’s expression softened, but the concern in his eyes only grew. He reached forward, slow and careful, and somehow Virgil managed to move just enough to latch desperately onto his hand.

He didn’t have the energy to choke out any apologies, although he was almost certain Logan was about to demand one.

“That is alright,” the logical side said instead. “You do not have to talk. Do you think you can manage a nod or headshake?”

Virgil forced himself to respond with the tiniest of movements, even though just reaching up to take Logan’s hand had felt like running a marathon.

“Alright,” he said gently. “Are you feeling ill?”

Virgil wished he was just sick. That would be so much easier to explain. Being sick was fixable, and it wouldn’t look like he was just making excuses to be lazy.

But he didn’t see the point in lying, and he certainly didn’t have the energy to deal with even more anger if he was found out. He managed a small shake of his head, even as Logan reached up with his free hand to carefully feel his forehead. He had to force himself not to lean into the touch.

“Are you in pain?”

Yes. Everything hurt so bad and he wanted it to stop. His chest felt like someone was sitting on it, his head felt like something was pounding at the back of his skull, and every bone in his body felt heavy and useless.

But he couldn’t say that, because he knew it was all in his head. It wasn’t real.

He shook his head again, choking on a small sob, and something like realization dawned in the other side’s eyes.

“I see,” Logan said. “Is this...just a bad day, then?”

Logan had finally figured it out, because of course he had. Virgil being stupid and useless probably wasn’t a difficult conclusion to come to, anyway.

He nodded, tense and staring at nothing as he waited for Logan to rip his hand away and demand Virgil grow up and stop wasting everyone’s time. Or maybe he’d just roll his eyes and leave, closing the door and locking Anxiety back in the dark where he belonged.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Logan said, and to Virgil’s surprise his hold only tightened. “Are you able to get out of bed?”

More tears welled up at the question, dread rising in his chest. Because he couldn’t imagine even standing up right now, but of course he couldn’t expect to be able to get away with that. Logan was being polite about it, but they had a schedule to stick to.

“It’s alright if the answer is no,” Logan continued. “I have no intention of forcing you. I only thought it might be easier to take care of you today if you’re set up on the couch.”

Wait...what? Take care of him?

Logan seemed to sense his confusion, and the hand that wasn’t currently being held hostage moved to run gently through his hair, smiling sadly at Virgil’s barely audible whimper.

“If you’re more comfortable here you can stay. But I know being left alone with your thoughts is not always...ideal. We can keep you company in the living room if you like. If you’re overstimulated, the lights will be kept dim, and the noise to a minimum.”

Virgil hesitated, trying to figure out if Logan was joking- or if this was some kind of cruel trick to teach him a lesson. They didn’t need to do anything. He didn’t deserve it. And he wasn’t sick, he was just being a baby.

Logan was suddenly cupping Virgil’s cheek, wiping tears away with his thumb. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Virgil. Would you like help sitting up?”

And Virgil felt ridiculous, because he had no real reason to feel so weighed down, but he gave another timid nod.

Logan didn’t even hesitate before moving to help, a steadying hand against Virgil’s back as he guided him up to lean against the headboard. He didn’t complain, didn’t lecture Virgil about how inconsiderate he was being, just silently assisted and pulled away when he was done.

Again Virgil wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck in his throat, buried deep beneath the fatigue.

“There is no need for an apology,” Logan said, and Virgil wondered when he’d become so predictable. “If you aren’t able to walk, I’m sure Roman would be more than happy to carry you to the couch. I only need your permission to inform him and Patton of what is happening.”

Virgil wasn’t sick or injured, he was competent enough to get himself out of bed and down the stairs. People were busy, and he was already being awful by forcing Logan to stay.

But just the thought of getting out of bed and walking out of his room was enough to make him want to bury himself under the covers and dissolve into sobs. He curled in on himself and eyed Logan warily, hoping that was enough of an answer.

“Alright,” Logan said, squeezing Virgil’s hand. “I’ll go get him, just wait here a moment.”

Logan squeezed Virgil’s hand, and he’d known the logical side long enough to know the smile he sent was nothing but genuine.

Virgil felt cold when Logan pulled his hand away and moved off the bed, but being unable to talk meant he couldn’t call him back as he disappeared through the door.

He let out a shaky breath and pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He squeezed teary eyes shut as he rested his chin on his knees.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before Virgil heard footsteps in the hallway, his bedroom door creaking open as the creative side cautiously stepped inside the doorway with a small frown.

Virgil tensed, because if anyone was going to make fun of him for this it would be Roman- well meaning but so brash and over the top at times- and he could already picture Roman’s mocking laughter, his exasperation as he tried to just drag Virgil out of bed, his—

“Hey there,” Roman called, softer than Virgil could ever remember him sounding. “Feeling under the weather today, Stormcloud?”

Virgil shrugged, hunching his shoulders and staring at his own hands. From the look in the Prince’s eyes, it was clear he understood.

“That’s ok,” he said, ducking his head to meet Virgil’s eyes as he smiled and made his way to the bed. “Bad days happen, Doom and Gloom. You just have to ask for help.”

Virgil let out a pitiful whine, the closest he could get to telling Roman that he couldn’t. Even if he could, he didn’t know how. He’d never been able to ask for help before. The Prince’s smile turned sad, and he slowly lowered himself on the bed beside Virgil.

“I know,” Roman said, and Virgil watched as he opened his arms in a quiet invitation, looking so ridiculously hopeful. “But we’re here now.”

Virgil broke. What little walls he’d still been holding up crumbling at the Prince’s simple words, and he choked on a sob, vision blurring with the tears he finally allowed to fall. He collapsed forward into Roman’s chest, shuddering when strong arms wrapped around and pulled him close.

Roman didn’t speak, and he didn't force Virgil to even try, just held him tight and rocked them both on the edge of the bed, the Prince’s chin hooked over Virgil’s head, almost cocooning him in safety.

Roman held him, strong but gentle all the same, letting Virgil cry into the Prince’s shirt as long as he needed, hushing him through violent sobs. He didn’t rush him, didn’t tease or berate him, just kept him close and safe.

“I’m here,” he said when Virgil had quieted down a bit. “Is it ok if I take you downstairs now? Logan and Pat are worried about you.”

Virgil nodded with his face still buried in Roman’s chest, breath catching in his throat when the Prince carefully maneuvered them both towards the end of the bed. He kept one arm wrapped firmly around Virgil’s back, the other hooking under his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered when Virgil clutched desperately at the back of his shirt, squeezing his eyes shut as Roman stood from the bed, Virgil secure in his hold. “We’ve all got you, Virge.”

Virgil kept his eyes closed, breaths coming out as nothing more than pitiful, hiccuping sobs. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to talk to anyone, look at anyone, or be seen by anyone. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to exist today.

But Roman’s embrace made him forget that for just a moment. The memory of Logan’s comfort and the promise of Patton’s care made it just a little more bearable.

It was all a blur, Virgil barely able to focus on the world around him, overwhelmed and so so exhausted. The curtains in the living room were drawn, keeping the room comfortably dim, and Patton and Logan moved quietly, keeping everything blissfully peaceful.

Roman set him down on the couch, letting Virgil curl up on his side and pull the nearest blanket over him, taking a moment to run his fingers through the anxious side’s hair.

Patton kneeled beside him, searching his watery eyes for silent permission before leaning in to kiss Virgil’s forehead with a soft smile.

“Hey kiddo,” he said, just as loving as Logan and Roman had been. “You want your old dad to make you some hot chocolate?”

Virgil blinked, not sure how to respond to that. It sounded nice, but...but he was already convincing them enough. They were all busy, and probably annoyed and—

“It’s not an issue, honey,” Patton assured, like he could sense Virgil’s internal panic. “We didn’t have much planned for today. You can relax.”

He had his suspicions that Logan had actually just changed their schedule in favor of keeping an eye on Virgil while he rested, but he wasn’t exactly in the place to ask questions, as panicked as the thought made him. He’d make it up to them tomorrow.

Virgil couldn’t quite look Patton in the eyes, but the parental side seemed so eager to help, and...hot chocolate didn’t sound terrible. He gave a hesitant nod, chest loosening a bit at the way Patton positively beamed.

Patton hurried into the kitchen, only to come back less than five minutes later with the biggest mug Virgil had ever seen, overflowing with marshmallows and whipped cream. Roman perched on the arm of the couch, close enough to keep running his fingers through Virgil’s hair.

“Just rest, Virgil,” Logan said, smiling when Virgil took his hot chocolate with unsteady hands. “We can put on a movie if you like. Or we can leave you alone if you’re overwhelmed.”

Virgil bit his lip, a few stray tears still running down his cheeks and dripping onto the couch. It was a bad day, not his first and definitely not his last but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. It was already getting a little better.

He took a steady breath, raising his head to meet Logan’s eyes, mustering what little energy he had to force his voice to work again, the words small, breathy and ragged, but clear all the same.

“Stay? Please?”

Logan smiled, Roman scooted closer, and Patton gave Virgil’s forehead another kiss. They gathered around him on the couch, similar to how they usually ended up after a bad panic attack.

Roman and Logan ended up on either side of him, while Patton let Virgil put down his mug for a second to wrap his arms around the moral side’s waist, relishing in the warmth of one of Patton’s hugs.

There had been more days like this than Virgil could count, everything weighing down on him until he just wanted to disappear. He’d never...had this before. He’d always been alone, locking himself away until he could face his own existence again.

This time his family was on all sides, Patton holding him tightly, Logan taking his hand, Roman still playing with his hair, reminding him that it would be ok soon. He had a reason to fight through it.

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to thank them, not out loud again, but he knew they understood.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #depression tw #nonverbal tw #crying tw #fanficiton #writing

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

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Scream Therapy

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x gender neutral!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: extremely vague allusions to mental illness, metaphors about wounds, angst with a relieving ending, let me know if i’ve missed something

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So you know those tiktoks where people go out into the woods and scream? Just like expel all the shit that’s been holding them down into an open field and let the earth reclaim all their dark, restless energy? Reveal the burdens that have been creaking in their joints and trapped in the prison of their ribs for the trees to swallow?

I’ve been thinking about that and Shigaraki a lot.

Like the rest of the league too, but mostly Shigs.

Just imagine:

It’s late, it always is when shit is going down at the hideout. The League of Villains is practically nocturnal at this point. Shigaraki’s mind is a loud place—lot’s of rabid, train tearing down the track lines of thought that clatter and roar and gush toxic coal smoke.

So as annoyed as he makes himself out to be, he doesn’t actually mind the din of the bar all that much. Twice and Toga chattering in the corner, random bits of too loud laughter and the clink of Kurogiri polishing glasses as he tells off Dabi for the umpteenth time about smoking inside—hell, even Compress rambling about the health benefits of high quality wine to nobody in particular is somewhat...comforting?

That’s not quite the right word, but their noise settles around him a bit like a thick quilt and dampens the rampage inside his head for a while.

He thinks about a lot of things.

Some good, most bad, all obsessive. He’ll get stuck in these loops sometimes, small questions evolve into bigger, more complicated webs, and suddenly it’s been four hours and he’s done nothing but stare at the same spot on the wall just left of his desktop monitor.

Sleep is a terrifying venture for much the same reason. Once he gets caught in that cycling it’s so hard to break out, and that’s when he’ll stumble down the stairs and sequester himself away at the end of the bar.

There he will sit and listen to the incessant white noise of his team—which is frustrating too but infinitely better than whatever anxiety coated sludge his brain will come up with if left to its own devices, so he bears it.

And then there’s you.

Who you are isn’t entirely important.

Maybe you’re just another member of the League, dedicated to helping your boss spread villainy across the city. Maybe you’re a morally ambiguous civilian who just stumbled in much like a stray cat into a depressed college student’s apartment and simply never left.

Whatever the circumstances, where you came from doesn’t matter.

To him, your contributions to the din are just another layer of insulation against the storm. He couldn’t really care less what you do, or where you go when you weren’t there. As long as your voice could offer a different type of grating against his ears than the silent throbbing of his head when he is alone, then your presence is justified.

Shigaraki only takes notice of you when you leave, when your voice is no longer adding to the uproar drowning out whatever new thought spiral he was trying to claw his way out of.

It’s very late then. That odd, in between time when it’s closer to the sunrise than to it’s setting but somehow also the darkest portion of the night. Of course, it’s never totally dark—not with all the light pollution laying an ever present, glowing haze across the horizon—but it’s as close as it gets out here to pitch black.

He catches the tail end of your coat, a glimpse of your shoe soles as you slip up the stairs and climb the wrought iron ladder that leads to the roof. Shigaraki often catches himself wondering how you figured out exactly how to avoid each board that creaked. He thinks sometimes it’s because you like going unnoticed, that too much attention makes you feel just as shaky as he gets when he’s been inside his head too long. Or possibly you just don’t want to wake anyone up in the rare moments that some League members are actually asleep.

Regardless, he watches you go and feels strangely...compelled to follow and because he rarely feels compelled to do anything unless it’s furthering the downfall of hero society, he does.

He takes an unsteady step, then another until the brisk, cusp-of-summer air is washing over him. It bites through his thin black top and the worn holes in his jeans, but the sting feel likes something.

And since he almost always feels nothing at all, it’s good.

You’re stood a few feet from the edge of the building, where the ledge has begun to crumble away from age and poor maintenance. The wind is strong enough that it makes your limp arms sway by your sides. Shigaraki is so thin now, he’s almost afraid for a moment it might blow him away. He’s found himself feeling so insubstantial as of late, it’s shocking when his feet don’t lift off from the roof entirely. He crosses the distance towards you slowly.

If you hear him approaching, you don’t show it.

Normally he wouldn’t start a conversation of his own volition but he did follow you up here and the silence is getting a bit deafening, even with the breeze.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

It’s simple, but it’s all he can think to say. Funny, with how many words that run through his head, he can never find the right ones when he wants them.

You turn then, and your face is...well it’s a face. He tends not to look at people’s faces much—doesn’t want to see their expressions when they look at him, but from what he can tell you aren’t upset that he’s here at least.

“I love the city at night.”

That’s all you offer in response and he knows somehow that you’ll keep talking even if he doesn’t answer. That you know how much he hates the quiet but can’t ever fill it himself.

“When you’re up high enough, you can pretend the streetlights are stars,” you divulge, as if it’s some sort of great, long kept secret.

Maybe it is.

Maybe you have a lot of secrets. You seem to him like the type of person who would. Who keeps life changing truths tucked under your tongue to drop suddenly over convenience store dinners and cheap beer.

He thinks that maybe he’d like to know them.

“It’s always so alive during the day, the streets I mean,” you continue, eyes trained out on the buildings below, tracing constellations from block to block. “But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s rotting too like….”

You trail off and don’t finish the thought, but you don’t have to. He knows what you mean: like the city is a wound that’s festering. That all the people and the heroes that corral them like cattle are just an infection waiting to spread.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, because he hasn’t been able to come up with anything else.

Your gaze flits over his face this time, and Shigaraki almost misses the small smile that plays at your lips. He’s close enough now that you could touch him, and you almost do, shoulders just inches away from brushing. But you don’t close the gap.

You touch the others, a lot actually, though he gets the sense you’re the type to ask first. And with his mind running on overdrive every waking second, he gets overstimulated easily. He should probably be thankful you aren’t as familiar with him. That you bother to notice the distance he keeps even when he rarely pays you any mind.

Maybe you’re thankful for that too.

“You know, scream therapy is a very effective and cheap alternative to professional intervention,” you say matter of factly in response.

He waits for you to continue and you do.

“There’s no one out this late but heroes on patrols and they won’t come to help us, so this is a perfect opportunity to give it a try.”

He can feel his brow knitting together and you raise your hand for a second as if to smooth your thumb over the wrinkled skin. Shigaraki doesn’t move, but watches your fingers pause in mid motion and drop back down.

There’s a strange charge in the air between you—a spark he distantly wishes would ignite if only so he could stop churning in his gut.

“How do you do it?”

He’s never asked so many questions of anyone in his life. But he finds he truly wants to know.

And you’re the one that can show him.

You breathe deeply beside him, letting your eyes drift shut and taking a step towards the ledge. With hands balled into righteous little fists, you bend a bit at the waist and you...scream.

Shigaraki isn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but for some reason it wasn’t that.

He’s heard shouts before, cries for help or out of fear, but nothing like this. The sound seems to bubble up from some deep, dank pit inside you and bursts forth from your mouth like a geyser spewing boiling water from the earth. It’s long and low and loudloudloud. It isn’t a sound he could ever imagine you making, but it rumbles in his chest as if it’s his own.

Just watching has a weight lifting from his shoulders.

You keep going even when he knows you should have run out of air. But you aren’t really making the noise, you’re just letting it escape. He’s not sure how he knows that but he does.

Your voice cracks and snaps and rages forth and you scream in a way he feels in his very bones. The garbled, awful sound is so clearly understandable despite the wind that carries it away.

It says: I am free and young and can feel none of it.

And then it’s words. Words that tumble from you in a torrent.

About your family, about what’s been done to you, what you’ve done to yourself.

About the lies and the injustice of it all.

You’re heaving by the end, deflated as though all the screams had left behind an empty space—an abscess drained and ready to heal over or fill back up.

“It’s your turn.”

Shigaraki stares at you, silhouetted by the dull, silver glow of the city and panting. You both look at each other for a moment, reveling in the odd connection that sometimes forms between strangers who know far too much about each other.

He doesn’t think he could top that, but the energy you’ve created is invigorating and he’s determined to ride the wave while he has it.

Taking a step, he joins you by the ledge again, and you back up as if allowing him into the spotlight. The wind will swallow whatever he says, it will eat the words like a starving behemoth and he finds himself ready to feed the beast.

He has to dig deep, scratch at old sores to make them bleed again, tear at scabs so he can let the contaminating thoughts leak out. Once he feels like he’s breached far enough, Shigaraki takes a breath.

And he screams.

His body doubles over with the strength of it, foot slamming down onto the roofing and four fingers fisted in the hem of his shirt.

It hurts coming out, rips at his vocal chords and has his throat raw to bleeding after just the first few seconds but he pushes past it.

He wonders if this is what a runner's high feels like, when you’ve pushed beyond the side stitches and knee aches and your blood finally rushes with all those elusive feel good chemicals he never has enough of.

Whatever it is, the feeling is addicting.

Shigaraki is dimly aware of you in his peripheral, encouraging the tsunami thoughts in his head to be thrust out into the uncaring arms of the city skyline.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have to search for the words. They simply come. All his frustrations, some he wasn’t even conscious of, spill fresh and steaming like blood. Physically, his body remains but somewhere in the depths of his mind he is younger and hurt and alone and trying desperately to scream.

“I destroy everything I touch!” he roars at the apathetic, grey sidewalk below.

After the last word leaves him, he feels the same weightlessness he’d seen in the sag of your shoulders. The same snapping of the coil slack in his spine.

And suddenly, with this glorious, awful sense of revelation, Shigaraki realizes that everything in his head has gone quiet.

He’s over taken by a silence that requires no filling, a peace that he’d imagined only existed at the bottom of abandoned wells, far away from any chubby child’s hands that may toss foolish wishes down them.

He thinks about kissing you then.

And he knows now that this thought has always been there, but it was drowned like a subway rat in the aftermath of the hurricane brewing in his brainstem. He has always noticed you no matter how hard you try to blend into the background. Your voice has always been a bit better at shutting out the unending, worthless choir in his head.

He wouldn’t have followed anyone else up here—not Dabi, not Spinner, not Compress or even Kurogiri.

He can see that now. In this new enlightened state, everything is so much clearer. Though he is quickly thrust back into the present, into his body once again, as another kind of soft weight settles on his shoulders. Your coat is skin warmed and smells like you and everything he’s ever loved in his own screwy little way. He realizes then that you’ve been trying to talk to him this whole time.

“Shigs,” you call again and tuck the coat tighter around his shoulders, “you were shaking.”

Shigaraki nods, feeling relief from the cold he hadn’t quite been aware of till now. He’s not sure if you’ve ever addressed him so informally before, but he decides he likes the nickname.

It feels a bit like a gift.

“Better, yeah?”

He’s not really sure if it’s better, but it is different and it’s been impossibly long since anything has been different, so he thinks it must be good.

“Yes,” he says.

It’s a general yes, both to your question and to you, whatever that might mean. He doesn’t say anything more because he’s done enough talking and you nod like you understand.

Neither of you moves to leave the roof, but you do inch closer to him this time, closing the gap and tucking him into your side. Your arm is slung gently across his shoulders and he finds the weight of it relieving.

That seems like it shouldn’t make since but it does—a paradox of sorts, weight being a comfort.

Then the sun begins to rise and it’s as if he’s seeing you in a new light.

Your profile outlined by the stark daybreak rays, so horribly strong despite the scream he knows is forming again under the surface.

And Shigaraki wonders if you see him that way too.

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #tomura shigaraki imagines #gender nuetral reader #slight manga spoilers #bee.writes

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peachyaone · 3 years

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5 Stages of Grief.

Pairings: Loki Laufeyson x reader.

Warning: Mentions of Loki’s death.

Y/N has the power to "see" through someone's eyes. It would only work if the person they're "seeing" is alive. Otherwise, all they would see is a blurred vision of what the person would see. They also have the power to manipulate energy to transform to any shape and form.

STAGE ONE STAGE TWO STAGE THREE STAGE FIVE

Stage Four: Depression.

Y/N turned on the shower, running it on cold. Somehow the cold comforted them, just like that time when Loki revealed his Jötunn form to them. It's already been five years now. But to Y/N it felt like millions. They had been living in haze, their mind seems to wander elsewhere while their body was moving by itself. Everytime one of the members tried their best to talk to them, they'd fail.

Time passed, and they were still in the shower. It was freezing now. Knocks cut through the sound of the shower running. "Y/N?" It was Natasha. No answer. she knocked again, still no answer. "Hey, you okay in there?" Natasha asked.

"Hey, I'm coming in- Y/N?" Natasha gasped. Y/N was on the ground, leaning against the glass wall. "Y/N...Y/N?!" Natasha shook their shoulder. Y/N's lips were slightly blue. "Shit." Natasha said, reached out to grab Y/N's arm and slung it over her shoulder. 'Hey, Y/N, can you hear me?" She asked. Y/N's eyes fluttered open. "L-Loki?" Y/N whispered, their eyes slowly closing.

“No, don’t sleep! Do you hear me? Wake up, Y/N, look at me.” Natasha said to them.

Y/N's POV

It was almost impossible to get your eyes open, every part of you was heavy. You couldn't remember what happened. All you remember was the feeling of him, his hands against your skin.

*Flashback*

"Loki?" You called out. You just got home from the facility, freshened up and went to visit Loki in his cell at Asgard. You requested to talk to him, in private. "Where is he ?" You thought. "Loki?" You called out again. You walked down the hall.

"Hello, darling." Loki said. You let out a noise of suprise. "You scared me, love." Y/N giggled. Loki chuckled. You look at him with a smile. "How are you holding up?" You asked. Loki gave you a smirk, "I'm doing great, how about you, dear?" He asked you. You knew something was wrong. "You can drop it, Loki." You said to him. Loki froze. "I-I don't know what you're talking about, Y/N" He said, nervously. "The illusion. Drop it." You said. The image of Loki in front of you starts to disappear. What was before you was Loki on the ground. Furniture were strewn around the cell. The ground was stained with what looks like....blood? "Oh god, you're bleeding!" You exclaimed. You tried to use your powers.

Whatever force that was keeping him in, was keeping you out too. Once your hands touches the forcefield, it zaps you with the force that send you back flying. Your back hits the stone wall. Loki tried to get to you but you stopped him. "No, it might do the same to you." You said, groaning. Walking back to the cell, you look at him with a sad look.

He looked ill, there were dark circles and eye bags underneath his eyes. His cheeks are slightly sunken in. Footsteps echoed down the hall, it was Thor. "Don't worry. I'll be back." You said. "Thor!" You shouted. The blonde turned to look at you. "Ah, Lady Y/N. Is there something wrong?" He asked. "Thor is there any way that I could get in Loki's cell? Please I need to help him." You pleaded. "If you're helping him escape then I can't he-" "No! It's not that. He's injured, please, Thor." You said. Thor saw the pleading look in your eye and sighed.

"I swear to my father, Y/N. If you're planning any schemes to let him escape, I'll hunt you down." Thor said to you. "I'm not, I promise." You said. "Fine, but only for an hour. Just let me get the guards, you stand in front his cell." Thor said. You nodded and thanked him. He patted you in the head and walked away. You ran back to Loki's cell. "What did you say to Thor?" Loki said, eyebrow arched. "I pleaded with him to let me in your cell." You said to him. "And?" "He said yes. And I stay in there only for an hour." You said.

Loki looked at you, surprised. "Why would you want to be in here?" He asked. "So I can clean your wound and to hold you." You said shyly."Always so nice to me, sweetheart." He smiled at you.

*Flashback ends*

After closing your eyes, you could see him… you just needed a minute. Just a few minutes of sleep. You want to see him again.

*3rd person*

“Don’t go to sleep,” Natasha said, forcing Y/N to look at her. “Stay awake, you need to get warm.” She said. Y/N was unresponsive. They were lying so still but with a small smile on their lips. Natasha placed them on the couch, covering them with blankets. She hurriedly called Steve.

"Hey Nat. What's up?"

"Would you mind picking up a heating pad on your way here today?

"I don't mind, may I ask why?"

"It's Y/N. They stayed in the cold shower for too long, hypothermia."

"On my way."

Natasha looked at Y/N, worried. Things had been going downhill for Y/N ever since the ambush. Thor left, leaving them no one to share their pain with. Natasha knew that none of them could help them. Y/N had been with Loki for so long, suddenly losing him like that surely destroyed them from inside. She sighed. "What am I gonna do to you, Y/N?" she said, sadly.

Y/N'S POV

*Dream*

It was no surprise that Loki was a very attentive partner. Some might even call him possessive. Though, you would say that he leaned more protective than possessive.

He knew you weren’t some weakling by any means, your powers and all. But with your sometimes soft and caring personality, most assume you to be, but he was quite popular man with many people looking for a way to hurt you in an attempt to get at him. You knew that, but it did scared you at all.

It was unusually warm in the little house which you live with Loki. Maybe it was because of the fact that your AC was busted and the mechanic in your town is unavailable. You got out of bed and padded over to your drawer and pulled out a tank top. The warm air embrace your skin as you wiped the sweat away from you face. You sighed and then walked out to the kitchen, Loki was there drinking his tea. "Morning, love" You said, kissed him on his forehead. You head to the fridge, pulled out a cold water bottle. You groaned in relief as the cold water went down your throat. You felt arms wrapping around your waist. "Hey, darling" Loki whispered. You took one of his hands and pressed it against your lips.

You could feel his skin getting a little colder. "Loki?" You said. He hummed in response. "Is the heat getting to my head, or you're getting colder?" You asked. His head was buried against your neck, you felt his hands slid under your top to run soothing circles on your stomach. "Loki?" you said, turning around. His skin was a pale blue, you cupped his cheeks. "Honey, are you okay?" you asked. "Love, I'm half Jötunn remember?" He reminded you. You eyes widened in realization as your cheeks flushed. "Oh." You said. Loki chuckled. You buried your face in his chest. "Did my lovie forget~?" He teased. "S-shut up" Your whined, muffled by his chest. He laughed and kissed you on your forehead. Loki lifted your chin with his finger, making you look at him.

His eyes were pale red and his marks starts to protrude from his skin. He was truly a sight to behold. Loki find the expression on your face adorable, Your lips were slightly parted, eyes filled with wonder and love. You were actually not scared of him. “You know I love you no matter what, right?” You said as you ran your fingers through his surprisingly soft hair in a comforting manner. He leaned into your touch. “I know you do.” His words were muffled into your neck. You felt him place a soft kiss on your neck and start trailing them up towards your face. Your eyes closed and he kissed your lips. You kissed him back, the kiss ended a moment later and before you could fully open your eyes, his presence was gone.

"I'll always love you, my dear." You heard him say.

"Loki, wait!"

He was gone.

*Dream end*

You shot awake, breathing heavily. You look around, hopeful that the last 5 years was a horrible nightmare and that Loki was here. But you saw Natasha and Steve, then the harsh, cold reality crashed unto you.

He's dead.

You felt like you were gonna throw up, you felt numb. You stared at your ring, but it wasn't on your finger. You panicked, you look around you. "Where was it?" You thought. Natasha saw that you were awake, and rushed towards you. "Hey, calm down Y/N." She said. "Where is it? Where's my ring?" You asked her. "Don't worry I have it." She gave you the ring. "Thank you." You whispered. Steve kneeled beside you, he looked very concerned. "Hey, Y/N" He said. "Hi, Steve." You mumbled. "Y/N. This is not healthy." He said. Ouch. It was straight to the point. “What am I without him, Steve? Nothing.” You said, looking at him. Your eyes was dull, as if the life has been sucked out of them. "You are something. You're family." He said. You laughed bitterly. "Family, really? Look at us, Steve. Look at me." You said. "Where is everyone, Steve? Family are supposed to be together, LOOK AT EVERYONE! They're gone, Steve. Gone." You said, looking at your ring. You laughed again. "How can you handle all this bullshit? We were supposed to prevent this, but we failed." You said.

He went silent.

You fell back to the couch. Tears started to fall, what's the point of living? You lost everything. Your partner, your friends, people that you barely knew. You couldn't live knowing that you've failed the one thing you were meant to do, saving people. You failed him.

Why should you go on at all?

#loki laufeyson #loki #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x nonbinary! reader #avengers #mcu #tom hiddleston #5 stages of grief #eli writes #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction

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dercolaris · 3 years

Text

The Tower

Fandom: Batman Arkham Verse

Characters: Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane

Relationship: Edward Nygma & Jonathan Crane (Lovers)

Genre: Angst, Drama

Word length: 2140

Warnings: Religious content

Status: Complete

Short summary: The Riddler is visiting Scarecrow in his study and catches a glimpse into his lovers mind.

Enjoy!

The small brushes of the paintbrush timidly touched the barely visible details on the meeple, giving the imposing armour some individual highlights with the silver paint. Edward pushed the bulky magnifying glasses over his forehead and carefully turned the plastic around, studying each side with sceptical eyes. It didn't seem like there really was much work left to do. The tinkerer looked up from the figure and stared a little lost at his almost finished masterpiece in front of him. For the past two months he had dealt almost non-stop with the role-play game, eagerly learned the rules by heart and bought all the necessary add-on sets in order to be able to experience the adventure visually. The Riddler stroked his tangled hair. It had been a hell of a job painting all the small little objects himself. The black-haired man put his work on the table and stretched slightly, then rose from his stool. It was time for a well deserved break. The paint had to dry first anyway. Edward shook his hands out to relax them a bit and glanced at the clock in his workshop. Almost midnight. Time always flew by when he was absorbed in his work and not distracted by unnecessary disturbances every two minutes. The younger yawned heartily. A coffee would surely work wonders on him now. The tinkerer didn't bother to be quiet walking around the old house. He had no doubt that his partner would still be awake. Understanding Jonathan Crane's daily rhythm was an almost impossible task. Edward had tried often enough to memorize certain key points in the older man's daily life, but the longer he lived with the dark professor, the more the initial logic eluded his observations. Whenever the Riddler woke up from nightmares during the night, Jonathan was wide awake too. The inventor rarely saw his partner actually sleep or eat.

This only raised further questions. Questions, Edward hadn't yet had a plausible answer to. Anyway, there were a number of other things that puzzled him in dealing with the former psychiatrist and preoccupied him more than he wanted to admit. They had been living together in the old mansion for three months and every day brought out a new, interesting detail about the older man, which at the same time literally begged for further explanations about it. Already the first week in the own four walls was enough to show the black-haired man painfully that he actually knew next to nothing about his lover – despite one whole year of a stable relationship. The Master of Fear evaded a meaningful categorization and seemed to want to hold on to it, much to the displeasure of his curious partner. The tinkerer grumbled quietly as he washed his beloved coffee mug thoroughly in the sink. The formerly bronze gears, which served as a special handle, slowly faded to a matt grey. To his astonishment, the coffee machine had just finished running and was still full of hot, well smelling coffee. The Riddler poured himself some of the black gold, then hesitated a little. He stared at his distorted reflection in the cloudy liquid. For a moment, the inventor had the feeling that he was being dragged deeper into the broth and was facing an unknown abyss. Strange. The younger one broke away from this thought and left the kitchen with the mug, sipping the coffee lightly from time to time. Should he visit Jonathan for a moment? Mostly, the older one was busy day and night perfecting his fear toxin. The black-haired man shrugged his shoulders slightly and made his way to his partner's small study. When moving into the house, the former psychiatrist only insisted on being able to work as far away from his workshop as possible so as not to be suddenly interrupted by noise during complicated calculations.

The tinkerer took another sip of his coffee. In general, the Master of Fear was the definition of the word calmness itself, clearly enjoying the silence around them. Edward knocked on the sturdy study door, then waited a few seconds. He would probably have to wait an eternity for an answer or invitation, but the inventor respected the dark professor's privacy and gave him time to prepare for an unexpected visitor. After a while the younger entered slowly. The air in the study was unnaturally difficult to breathe. Even if Jonathan hadn't handled chemicals today, there was a constant, almost odourless haze in the air. The subdued light in the room also had visible difficulties penetrating the small particles. This didn't seem to bother the elderly in the least. The Riddler looked at his partner, who was probably brooding over a complicated text. The pitted forehead was furrowed and the bony fingers fidgeted restlessly on the yellow page of the book. Before the black-haired man could say anything, the former psychiatrist anticipated him coolly: "Can I help you with something, Edward?"

The person addressed winced slightly. Why did he still feel not welcome in this room? Despite the uncomfortable feeling, the inventor pushed the second chair at the table back slightly and sat down on it, then cast a cautious look at the text. The letters didn't look familiar to him in any way. The low voice of the Master of Fear rang out quietly next to him: “Please don't bother trying. The book is written in Hebrew.” The Riddler frowned. His partner placed a bookmark in the book and slowly closed it, revealing the cover. This was in a simple blue tone, but the gold letters seemed to be in Hebrew as well. Unreadable for the inventor. Jonathan sighed cautiously and said calmly: "The word Tanach is a name for the Hebrew Bible." The Riddler had to hold back a laugh. That had to be a really bad joke from his partner. Edward smiled a little and replied, slightly amused: “Why in the world are you reading the Bible, John? I thought you were a passionate scientist. Don't waste your time on theological nonsense.” The thin man literally froze into a pillar of salt. His eyes were half closed and fixed the letters on the simple cover. An unbearable silence returned between them. The tinkerer felt that something had suddenly changed in the room. Something started raging and reaching for them. Jonathan's body in total still didn't move, but the sinister professor spoke in his scratchy voice: "Your words in connection with this book can stir restless spirits, Edward." His heart was suddenly beating louder in his chest. What was going on here? Had the brown-haired man poisoned him again? The Master of Fear picked up a second book on the table and opened it, turning slowly to the desired page. A monstrous structure could be seen on it. The former psychiatrist stroked the picture and went on almost in a whisper: “The Tower of Babel. A presumed plan of mankind to reach the heaven of God without his help, which forced the almighty Being to confuse the peoples with different languages. They couldn't longer communicate with each other and were scattered all around the world in anger and hate about their failure. An impressive story of pure arrogance.”

Edward looked at the structure and gave a slight shudder. He still didn't understand what his partner wanted to point out. After a while the sinister professor asked without any emotion: “Aren't we all prisoners of this deceptive arrogance in the end?” The Riddler slightly scratched his three-day beard and replied insecurely: “Why do you call the behaviour arrogant, John? If people were able to build the tower successfully back then, weren't they entitled to be proud of it or what?” Scarecrow sank deeper into his thoughts. His fingers grasped the pencil with which he slowly drew his own building on the paper. After a while he said quietly: “Should we really be proud of it just because we supposedly can do things like the Tower of Babel? Isn't it more the case that we humans dare to tackle projects that sooner or later grow over our heads and throw us back when they ultimately fail? The construct of humanity is fragile. Way too fragile to even come close to doing justice to the word God.” The inventor thought hard about what had been said. He finally shook his head and hesitantly replied: “Why all these weird questions right now? They make me depressed just listening to them.” The sinister professor snorted in amusement. He took the mug next to him and took a sip of the coffee, warming himself on the porcelain. The Master of Fear ran his free hand through his straw hair, replied in a whisper: "I am only thinking critically about whether I am not creeping up on the same arrogance of the people of Babylon in my research and whether this arrogance will bring me down at some point, if I don't stop striving for senseless perfection in life."

Another minute of silence came between them. That was clearly a way too difficult topic for a harmonious evening. Edward looked almost concerned at the older man's petrified face. Pride. Arrogance. Perfection. These topics were not unknown to him either. The Riddler looked down at the picture again and replied meekly: “I don't think so, John. You're not trying to reach God or even be God. Or are you trying to do that?” The person addressed began to laugh softly. Again something in this room seemed to want to reach for those present. The former psychiatrist tapped the building on the paper a few times with the pencil and mumbled, barely understandable: “Who decides who is God and who is not? In the end, a god is only a supernatural being in the simple definition, who has a great and not scientifically describable transcendent power. For my victims, this may apply to me at a certain moment also, so we are faced with an insoluble dilemma.” The inventor gradually got a headache. He massaged his temples lightly and closed his eyes for a moment. These in-depth conversations with the former psychiatrist made him absolutely fearful. Jonathan loved to deal with his own impermanence and at the same time to consciously question others – in fact, he did not show any consideration for the poor souls he met on those days. The younger one sighed lightly, tried hard to put words together in a meaningful way. The gaunt man suddenly opened a drawer on his desk and took out a small box, carefully lifted the lid. There were innumerable pieces of broken glass in the box in different shapes and colours. The Master of Fear began carefully to pile the pieces on top of each other. He said calmly: “I often have to remind myself that I am only human, Edward. My existence alone serves no higher purpose and any interpretation is a disastrous mistake. Also in my body there is only a weak heart that will stop beating at some point. My shell is ruled by a cold soul and an irrepressible spirit that is looking for more in this bleak life. For years I have been hungry for knowledge without knowing what I actually want to know and every search ended in an unsatisfactory compromise of the all-encompassing ignorance of human existence when no answer can be found."

The tower grew taller and taller with every word spoken. The black-haired man remained silent even after this explanation. Only rarely did the elder give insights into his thinking and his motives. He appreciated it all the more when Jonathan volunteered to tell him what was going on in his mind. This didn't make the thoughts any less terrifying or disturbing. The next words, however, caught the younger one completely unprepared: “The Bible helps me to recognize my own humanity and to accept it grudgingly. The scriptures show where we come to our limits with our intelligence and where conjecture finds its place, no matter how confused and tumultuous it may be. Everyone has the right to believe what they want and scientists also have the right to believe, whether in current laws of physic or long-outdated theories. So it is not my right to stand over it in my inadmissible arrogance.” The tinkerer nodded slightly and stroked his beard again. It all made sense somehow, even if the choice of words bothered him a lot. He still had a question on the tip of his tongue: “I understand somehow what you want to tell me, John, but why do you know how to read Hebrew? Where the hell did you learn that?” The sinister professor smiled mysteriously and closed the book with the illustration. He put another mosaic on the erected tower and replied calmly: "Some questions don't always have to be answered immediately, Edward."

#DC #Batman #Riddler #Scarecrow #Edward Nygma #Jonathan Crane #Scirddler #Riddlecrow #Tower of Babel #Religious #Meaning #Deep stuff

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sevenstarsinning · 4 years

Text

Invasion Ch.10

Description: A planet conquering race of Saiyans invaded Earth and deemed it worthy of habitation. After bringing the humans to their heels, they set up a new society where humans had one role, to serve. You found yourself in the unlucky faction of being bought and sold as a human pet. With absolutely no interest in owning a human but no way out of having one, Kakarot made a bid on you at the urging of his brother. It was only a matter of time before you were either killed or forced into obedience.

Warnings: TW: self-harm

You can find previous chapters in this link: Ch.9 or you can read it here on my AO3

______________________________________________

Forced into a situation you didn’t want to be in, thrown out of your element and shoved into a life that wasn’t your own. You’d been pushed and pulled in different directions and when you finally felt like you found some semblance of peace, it was jerked out from beneath you.

“Hey,” Bulma’s voice was soft as she stepped into the room, “I brought you some food. It’s been a few days and you’ve barely eaten anything.”

You remained curled into yourself, staring at the wall form the large bed that seemed to engulf you and feel empty at the same time, “thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

Bulma let out a sigh as she walked around to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, “I know it’s hard, but you can’t just give up.”

“Why not? What’s the point? I tried what you said before, to just lean into the chaos and everything would work out. Well, look how it turned out for me.” You weren’t mad at her and she knew that, but you were frustrated.

“It’s none of my business, and you don’t have to tell me, but do you- did you fall in love with him?”

You stared off for a moment, feeling the heaviness in your chest as you prepared to speak the truth that you’d been denying, “I didn’t mean to.”

She reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it lightly, “I know. It happens all at once without notice.”

You let her comfort you, or at least think she was comforting you. The truth was that there was no comforting you at the moment. Your chest ached and your body felt like it weighed a ton. Your limbs were heavy, and every movement felt exhausting. You just wanted to go back, back to the week before when everything was an ignorant blissful haze.

“Get up, woman.” Vegeta interrupted without warning.

Bulma immediately turned back to the door to see the prince standing there, “Vegeta, I’m not-“

“I’m not talking to you. Get up.” He stared through her and directly at you.

“She’s not in the mood for one of your lectures right now.” Bulma defended you.

Vegeta was next to the bed in an instant and pulling you out of the bed without hesitation. You struggled for a moment but realized you were too weak to really do anything, and it wasn’t like you’d win anyways.

“What are you doing?” Bulma furrowed her brow at him.

“Be in my chambers in twenty minutes, woman. I’ll be back.” He basically dragged you along with him without an explanation to either of you.

You looked back at Bulma as she stood there in complete shock and confusion. Vegeta didn’t say a word as he walked and you didn’t really feel like going through the rounds of asking questions and him not answering them. It had to be a saiyan thing to avoid answering questions. He continued down the corridor before stepping out one of the doors to the side.

“Hold on.” He said coldly as he picked you up and took off into the sky.

You fought the familiar urge to tuck your head into his chest as you’d done with Kakarot, not wanting to give him the impression that you wanted his comfort or embrace. He descended outside of one of the ships they’d originally invaded in. You knew they kept a few around for certain things like the medical pods. He released you and grabbed your arm harshly, dragging you along with him.

“Keep your mouth shut.” He said in a low voice as he approached tow guards that stood on the outside of the ship.

“Prince Vegeta.” One of them nodded.

“I don’t have time for pleasantries. She belongs to the traitor and I need to complete the sale.” He spoke quickly and shortly.

“The orders were to not let anyone-“

“Do I look like I’m just anyone? If you won’t let me in, then I’ll leave her for you two to deal with and you can pay me back for her full worth.” Vegeta glared at them.

“No, sir. Sorry. Go right in.” They stepped aside and opened the door.

Vegeta continued to drag you inside with him and released your arm the second the door closed. You followed him down the sleek corridor in silence, wondering what exactly was happening.

“You have ten minutes. Make it quick.” He stopped in front of a large metal door, using his handprint to open it.

The room was small, with a forcefield sectioning off half of it. In the floor sat Kakarot, hands cuffed in front of him, tattered clothing adorning his body and dried blood on his face and hands.

“Kakarot?” You tried to hide the panic in your voice as you approached.

He looked up at you and then to the prince in the doorway, giving a slight now to him before the door closed.

“What happened?” You stood a few inches from the forcefield.

“Turles made good on his promise.” He coughed and struggled to stand.

It was hard to see him like this, injured and broken. The last time he looked this way was when he returned from his mission, but you didn’t really care what happened to him then.

“Why did you come here?” He asked, voice gruff and low.

“I-I didn’t really know I was coming here. Vegeta just brought me here.” You moved a little closer, wishing you could reach him.

“He shouldn’t have.” He limped towards you.

He didn’t seem like himself, something was off about the way he spoke to you, “are you not happy to see me?”

Kakarot leaned against the wall next to the forcefield, “I’m not sure what you want from me. I didn’t ask for you to come here.”

You furrowed your brow, growing more confused by the second, “I-I don’t want anything from you. I’ve been worried about you.”

“What happens to me is none of your concern, just like what happens to you is none of mine.” He barely made eye contact with you and winced as he shifted against the wall.

“I-I don’t understand. I thought-“

“You thought what? That this was a relationship? That you weren’t just a distraction before I meet my scheduled demise?” He snapped, making you jump slightly.

“Kakarot, what-“

“I really don’t get how you can be this dense. You mean nothing to me, you meant nothing to me. Anything you felt or assumed, was all in your head. The sooner you come to terms with that the better for both of us.”

You were caught off guard by the things he said and felt so confused on whether or not he meant them. He was cold and callous towards you, completely different from how he’d been before. In the matter of a few days, everything had changed, leaving you questioning the things you felt with him. The tears started welling in your eyes and a heaviness built in your chest, but you refused to cry in front of him. You wanted to ask more questions, but Vegeta stepped in and reminded you of his presence.

“It’s time.” Vegeta said, keeping his voice low.

You glanced back to Kakarot who had returned to looking away from you, “I guess I’ll see you at the trial.”

He remained silent, offering nothing else to you as you turned and headed towards Vegeta. The entire trip back to the palace was quiet, nothing to be said between you. You held back the tears until he left you in the main hall. It took everything you had to made it back to your room without completely breaking down in the hallway.

A full sob finally escaped the second you opened your door and closed it behind you. You leaned back against the wall as you slunk down in the floor, tears flowing and an ache settling in your chest. You loved him, against your better judgement, you fell in love with the man who bought you. You fought it for so long, but you gave in and it all came crashing down just as quickly as it began. Your mind was racing as you began to question each and every interaction you had with him, searching for any indication that he was just using you, besides the obvious one that he had bought and paid for you.

Over the next few days, your sadness turned into a deep depression, which then turned into anger, followed by disdain for your life in general. You had stopped eating, barely slept, and showering wasn’t even on the agenda anymore. Each passing second felt like you were waiting for death to just come and pluck you from existence. Bulma came to check on you every day, trying to make you eat or at least leave your room, but you refused each time.

“Today’s lunch is vegetable soup.” Bulma said as she opened the door and approached the bed.

“Just sit it on the table.” You genuinely felt bad since she was going through all of the effort to bring you food, but you had no appetite.

“You need to eat.” She sat on the edge of the bed after placing the bowl on the table next to you.

“Thanks, but I’m just not hungry.” You offered her a weak smile.

She was silent for a moment before speaking again, “Vegeta wants to talk with you today.”

“About?”

“He didn’t say. I can only assume it’s about purchasing you from Kakarot.”

You looked over at her, “is he expecting me to fuck him?”

“Today? Probably not, but soon. It’s not ideal, I know, but it’s how things are now.” She shrugged with an apologetic expression.

You forced yourself up, “that’s what I’ve been told. Where is he?” You felt a little dizzy from sitting up so suddenly, wondering if you actually should eat before taking on this venture.

“Last I saw him he was in the gym sparring. Do you want me to come with you?” She offered.

“No, I think I can handle it. If not, maybe he’ll just kill me.” You gave her another weak smile as you slid out of the bed.

There was no denying you were weak from not eating, especially as you shuffled down the hall towards the main gym. Your legs felt like jelly with each step and it was tempting to use the wall for support. Bulma could have easily come with you, it’s not like you could stop her, but she knew you didn’t want her there. It hurt you to keep pushing her away, but you weren’t readily excited by the idea of letting someone get close again. You took a deep breath before opening the door and heading inside.

The second you stepped inside, your eyes immediately fell on a shirtless, very aggressive looking Vegeta fighting his way through three other saiyans. They moved quickly, launching their attacks at him, but narrowly missing their target. Within minutes he had them all subdued and set his intense gaze on you as you stood timidly by the door.

“She says you’re not eating.” He spoke before he even got close to you, leaving the other saiyans to gather themselves up.

“I’m not hungry.” You explained, taking a step back as he continued.

“If you’re trying to kill yourself, there are better ways to do it.” He wiped the sweat from his brow.

“I’m not-“ You shook your head, denying it.

He stood a few feet away from you now, “lie to her, not me. I asked you here because the King will be arriving soon and there are certain expectations of you.”

“Why not have both of us here for this then?”

“Because she already knows how to behave. I can only assume Kakarot let you run wild with him, that won’t happen here. You’ve had your time to adjust, now you’ll fulfill your role.”

You couldn’t say you were surprised, you expected this to happen a lot sooner, “and what exactly is my role?”

“Aside from the obvious, you’re to be seen, not heard. I don’t care what you do to fill the days, find a hobby like the woman has, but I still expect you to cook for me, as you promised.”

“Just so we’re clear, what is the obvious part?”

“I didn’t buy you from Kakarot just so you could lounge around the palace, but I’m sure you know that already. You’ll be expected to mate with me.” He said plainly as if there was nothing wrong with his statement.

“And if I refuse?” You challenged.

“You won’t.”

The last time you mated with a saiyan, you were at least complicit in the decision, “if I wanted to be used as an incubator for an alien baby then I’d take my chances at the breeding house.”

“Prove you have another use.” He gave you no indication of what your use would be and didn’t wait for you to ask questions as he pushed passed you.

You stormed back to your room, feeling your anger building. Bought, sold. Mating, breeding. Proving your usefulness. You couldn’t shake the frustration with everything. You had no choices and even when you did have the illusion of a choice, both options were fucking terrible. You all but stomped back to your room, slamming the door behind you as you stepped inside. Just when you thought you found happiness for once in this fucked situation, it was jerked out from under you. All of it a lie. And now you were being forced to birth a slew of alien babies without any choice in the matter other than proving you can do something else. As the rage and frustration built, you felt your chest getting tight as you paced around the room. Everything was crumbling around you and you felt like you had no way out, no escape from any of it.

“Fucking saiyans. Bullshit.” You muttered to yourself before punching the wall beside the door.

Pain radiated through your hand as you cried out, “fuck!” You immediately held it against your chest.

Your hand was throbbing but there was something behind the pain, a moment of peace you felt as everything else in your mind went quiet. You looked down at your hand and the redness that had set in over your knuckles already. You touched them lightly and the thought of repeating the action went through your mind. Before you could act, the door opened and Bulma walked in, glancing at your hand and back to you.

“Did Vegeta- did he do this?” She was grabbing your hand to examine it further without a hitch.

“No, no. I just- it was an accident. I closed the door on it. Just clumsy.” You lied, hoping she bought it.

“It probably has something to do with the lack of nutrients going into your body.” She seemed to relax once she knew it wasn’t Vegeta’s doing.

Bulma went on about wanting you to eat and then the upcoming trial. She was obviously worried about everything happening in the next few days and needed to vent, but you couldn’t focus as you pressed down on each individual knuckle, letting the dull pain distract you.

Without your full awareness or even knowledge, a pattern began quickly that you couldn’t shake. Pain had become your new coping mechanism and each day your need for more grew. Bulma was too busy to notice the bruising on your knuckles, the broken skin. You knew she’d notice eventually, but honestly this was the only thing that seemed to minimize the heaviness that sat in your chest.

You snuck out of the palace each day and headed past the garden into a small clearing. You knew it was far enough to have some privacy, but not too far that anyone would question if they saw you coming from that way. You first began hitting nearby trees, slamming your fists into them until you exhausted yourself or your hands began to bleed. Each time you struck the rough surface, you gained a brief moment of clarity, seconds of peace in your mind, and it was heaven.

“You’ll break your fingers doing that.” A familiar voice startled you.

You turned to see Gine standing behind you, arms crossed as she watched. You couldn’t be sure how long she’d been there.

“So?” You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

“If this is going to be your outlet, you need a better target.”

#lynn #invasion fic #kakarot x reader #kakarot #vegeta #bulma #gine #tw:self harm

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shutupandshipit · 4 years

Text

Little Life - Ch.7

Summary: A baby could ruin his career before it had even started. If anyone found out, he would be kicked out of the Hero Course at the very least and UA at the very worst. Even then, how was he supposed to care for a baby once it arrived? He was a fucking seventeen-year-old boy, not a twenty-nine-year-old omega with their shit at least somewhat together.

…..

Or where Katsuki get pregnant, but is determined to make it to graduation. No matter what it takes.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (just for language mostly)

Chapter: 7/16

Previous <- Chapter 6

Chapter 8 -> Next

Master Post

Chapter 7: 5 Months

Katsuki groaned salaciously, melting into his nest with the roll and push of Deku's hot, hot, hot hands against his skin. "Oh yeah, right there, you perfect, prefect alpha. Oh my god~"

Above him, Izuku laughed warmly, bending to nuzzle into the back of Katsuki's neck. "You really weren't kidding. You're so tense. I don't know how you were even moving. You must have been in a lot of pain."

"Do you think I'd have be bitching if I were kidding?" Katsuki asked, but his voice lacked the usual bite, drunk on bliss. He purred loudly, and his back bowed up, chasing the feel of Izuku's hands.

"You're so responsive today. It's kind of nice." Izuku moved down his body, kneading away every knot and tense muscle. His hands and lips spent an exorbitant amount of time on his ass, but Katsuki couldn't find it in him to protest.

Instead of starting something like Katsuki assumed he would, he continued down his thighs and calves, spending time gently rubbing his feet and flexing every toe before coaxing him into his back and working his way back up. He paused at his hands until Katsuki nearly drifted off, pressing his thumbs into calloused flesh and nuzzling at the cups of his palms. His attention was nearly reverential.

It was only when he was straddling Katsuki's hips again, working his arms and chest, that he spoke. His voice dragged Katsuki out of a literal endorphin and pheromone induced haze, gentle and curious. "I didn't really notice before, but your nipples have changed color." He idly ran the soft pads of his thumbs over Katsuki's nipples. They immediately hardened, and Katsuki shivered involuntarily. "Yeah, they're like a brownish-red instead of their usual soft greyish-pink." He repeated the motion, and Katsuki's body responded in kind.

He wanted to snap Izuku's fingers off for the almost clinical way he was inspecting him, but Katsuki's omega had other ideas.

Izuku's expression was alight with fascination. "Does that feel good, Kacchan? Your nipples have never been very sensitive, but they're really sensitive now. I wonder why."

'I'm pregnant, you absolute lovable dolt,' Katsuki thought, 'Figure it out already!'

Instead of saying that, he bucked his hips to flip Izuku onto his back, following to slot between his spread knees. He pressed their hips flush. "Less talking, more kissing," he demanded, and Izuku surged up to meet his lips enthusiastically. Katsuki had never once imagined how good kissing felt before, but since he'd had Izuku's lips for his own, he could never quite get enough.

Afterwards, when they were both properly exhausted and Izuku was lovingly running his fingers through his hair, he whispered, "I really love that you're my mate, Kacchan, and I'm happy that we can be together in the open now. I'm the luckiest alpha in the world."

The enormity of his secret loomed over him again as it so often did these days, souring his mood. He didn't let the mood take hold, and turned his nose into Izuku's neck in response. Words were still hard. He'd always had to show his emotions through action.

As the emotion receded back into its sealed box, he couldn't help but think, 'You might not feel that way after you find out what I've been hiding.' He shoved that thought into his chest of secrets as well, locking everything away to hold close.

.....

Fear reared its head when Aizawa called him into his office after class one day. He had to consciously repress the anxiety in his scent as he gingerly sat on the couch that took up too much space in the tiny room that was connected to the rest of his rooms. He felt enclosed, captured, like the walls were bearing down over him and would at any moment clamp down on top of him.

The anxiety only built when Aizawa didn't say anything, only continued to sip at whatever was in his mug. Katsuki hoped it was vodka to make him less perceptive, but he knew he wasn't that lucky. He just hoped he was lucky enough to make it through this meeting with secrets and faculties fully intact.

"How are you doing in classes and with training?"

Katsuki startled, narrowing his eyes at the unexpected question.

Aizawa sighed tiredly and leaned back in his seat, crossing an ankle over his knee. "Calm down, Bakugou, you're not in trouble. This conversation would have started very differently if you were."

As Katsuki unfortunately knew first hand. "I am calm, sir."

Leveling an unimpressed look at him, Aizawa said, "I can smell your anxiety from here as much as you're trying to hide it, trouble kid. Like I said, you're not in trouble."

That really didn't make him feel any better, but he tried to slow the tripping rhythm of his heart. "You know how I'm doing. You're my teacher."

"Analytically, yes. On paper, I can see how you're doing; how much progress your making, what shortcomings you're working through, your grades. Paper can't tell me how you're emotionally holding up. You and your classmates haven't had an easy two years here, and it's my job to make sure you graduate at your full potential, or at least as close to it as I can get you." Aizawa took another sip before setting the mug down and crossing his arms. "I've been seeing some strange behavior from you since the start of the year. A de-evolution of your devotional training schedule and dietary habits. The exhaustion I've observed from you during training and class would be normal for everyone else with how hard you push, but not for you specifically. And as barely sociable as you were before, you've almost completely isolated yourself from everyone except for Midoriya and Kirishima it seems. While I don't think this is the case, I am obligated as your teacher and mentor to make sure you are still in good mental health.

"So, I'm going to ask you a question that will make you extremely uncomfortable. Are you harboring any suicidal ideas and/or have you ever or considered intentionally harming yourself?"

Katsuki's brain completely shut down for the duration of an entire minute as he tried to internalize the literal insanity of that question.

Finally, he sputtered, "N-n-no! What the fuck?"

"Everything I just talked about can be symptoms of depression and suicidal thoughts. You wouldn't be the first student I've intercepted before doing something stupid. You wouldn't be the first student to feel like that if you do. You can see how I'd be concerned about you, especially in an individual like yourself whose habits have not changed in two years."

"I'm not suicidal!" Katsuki shouted indignantly.

"Then do you still want to be a hero?"

"What the fuck kind of questions are these? Of course I still want to be a hero! I'm not going to let that damn nerd be Number one! Who do you think I am?"

Aizawa sighed grudgingly. "Someone with a lot of drive, but also a teenager under a lot of stress. You're scent has changed, did you notice?"

"So?"

Aizawa stared back silently.

"I am not suicidal!" Katsuki reiterated. How selfish would he be to be considering suicide with a helpless life growing inside him that hadn't gotten a say in the matter?

"Then what? Scents don't just change. Is it the stress? Depression? Anxiety? Something else I'm not aware of?"

He was just not going to let up, and Katsuki swallowed as heat flooded his cheeks. "I- Izu- D-Deku and I are... mated. At the beginning of the year." He wanted to combust and crawl his way down to hell.

"Ah." Aizawa leaned his head back on the edge of his chair, closing his eyes.

"Ah?!"

"Yes, well, the sexual education system is extraordinarily lacking in terms of how a mating bond changes you, and that explains it. It also gives me more insight into your personal relationships that I am, frankly, uncomfortable with." He raised his head again, grimacing as he did. "Well, now I'm obligated to have a different discussion that I was not prepared for. I'm going to take the benefit of the doubt and assume you're being careful. Despite the low probability, you know what will happen to your career if you get pregnant while at school?"

Katsuki's face was hot for several different reasons now, and he worked desperately to reel in his scent. "I'm not stupid," he grit out even though he definitely absolutely was. He was possibly the stupidest person on the face of the planet.

But his teacher didn't have to know that.

"Good. I advise you stop by the nurse's office to get on a course of birth control. Use protection if you decide to get physical. You can go now."

Katsuki was out of his seat like someone had set him on fire, and all but sprinted from the room and out to the grass behind the dorms. He inhaled the cooling air until he'd calmed down enough to stop pulling at his hair.

Sitting on the steps, he stared up at the tree tops where the sun was quickly burning the sky away. There was a flutter, a turn in his stomach, and he stared down at his own body in wonder.

He knew that at some point he'd be able to feel the baby moving, but he hadn't expected it. Even less he'd been expecting the rush of love and excitement that flushed away the vestiges of his discussion with Aizawa.

He placed a tentative hand over his stomach, and there was the flutter again, as if they were responding to his touch. The tears came in a torrent, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "God-fucking-dammit," he whispered miserably.

"Bakugou?"

"Oh, fucking kill me now," he growled before peaking over at Izuku's best friend. Why couldn't he just have one moment where someone didn't catch him crying? "What do your want, Round Face?"

She smiled gently before tilting her head back towards the dorms. "Let's talk. I have something I want to talk to you about."

"Jesus," he bit out, but more out of obligation to his mate than actual want to talk to the only other omega in their class, he dried his face and followed her inside.

.....

Katsuki was not expecting an honest to god 'shovel talk' when he followed the small brunette into her room. He really wasn't expecting it when she set a cup of peppermint tea in front of him and curled her legs beneath her on her bed, a steaming cup in her own hands. It was uncomfortably familiar to how Aizawa had started everything, and the fluttering in his stomach became nausea rather than his baby moving.

"What do you want, Round Face? I'm not really in the mood for a chat," he muttered gloomily, staring down at the cup. He was intensely aware that she'd seen him crying, and he hated the thought. Only Izuku, Kirishima and All Might had ever seen him cry save for the singular time his parents had when he'd presented. He was severely off balance from the thought.

Ochako pursed her lips for a long moment before saying, "I'm going to put this very simply and bluntly, Bakugou. If you ever hurt Deku, I will kill you and make it look like an accident. I'll rip out your throat and bury you so deep that by the time you're found again, the term will have gone from 'grave robbing' to 'archaeology', and mark my words, you will not have a grave. You'll drift from memory as the 'hero that never was'. Do you understand?" Her voice was calm, almost cordial, but the look in her eyes... She'd definitely learned that from Izuku.

Katsuki laughed without humor, bracing a hand on his forehead as heat pressed in at his eyes again. "Why do you assume I'm going to hurt him?"

"Well, you have a notoriously bad track record for being nice to him. You've hurt him more than you will ever know, and he's working really hard to get over everything you put him through. Honestly, I think this whole thing is just a disgusting form of Stolkholm Syndrome. I'm not going to let you hurt him like that again."

Another hollow laugh. "You don't have to tell me. I know well enough. I don't need your meddling, nosy ass to tell me. But we're mates. It's different now."

"Is it?" The tone in her voice had changed, becoming hard and harsh. Flat like he'd never heard her voice go before. "Then why haven't you told Deku that you're pregnant?"

Katsuki's head snapped up, and the tears escaped before he could stop them. 'No. No. Nonononononononono! Fuck!' And underneath the shock was anger.

Ochako huffed, setting her cup down on her beside table. "Don't look so surprised. I'm not an idiot. One plus one equals two, Bakugou. One being the frankly weird shit you've been doing and the other being stuff from Deku. Before you get mad, it was just him honestly gushing about your relationship."

Actually, the anger had been thinking Kirishima had outed him for reasons he couldn't father. It was more than a relief to know that his best friend still knew how to keep his mouth shut.

"I'm not stupid, and neither is anyone else, but as a fellow omega and a woman, I know my fair share about pregnancy because I made the effort to learn about my body. That, and well, a stint as a kid where pregnancy fascinated me. My point still stands. If I figured it out, there may be more people suspecting..." She trailed off, eyes tracking over his face. "Then again, probably not since no one else is an omega. They probably think you're acting weird because of the 'new' mate bond."

Katsuki didn't answer, and reached for the cup as he felt the burn of bile at the back of his throat.

Ochako sighed, and the hard expression she sported dropped into her more usual soft expression. She grabbed her own cup. They drank in silence until Katsuki couldn't take it anymore.

Slowly, he bent until his forehead pressed to his knees and choked out, "You can't tell him. Please."

"Don't hurt yourself there, Bakugou," she said, voice light.

He snapped back up, anger boiling in his stomach. "Don't take this so lightly, Round Face! I'm being-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Serious, yes, I am taking this seriously. I'm an omega, Bakugou, and a woman, like I said before. I know what this means for the both of you if the wrong person finds out. I'm not stupid, and I'm not heartless. I want to see all of us become heroes." She smiled softly before her smile fell away, becoming serious again. "But you've been reckless. You need to be more careful with your body."

"I'm being as careful as I can, but I can't back down too much or I'll get caught."

She sighed. "Fair enough." Pressing her fingers together, she pursed her lips. "You're going to have to tell him eventually, especially before the birth. He literally has to be there. You know the success rate otherwise."

"Yeah, I've done my fucking research, Ochako. I'm not a goddamn imbecile," he growled.

"Honestly, you could have fooled me."

Katsuki snarled in reply.

"But for the sake of my best friend and his career and for the baffling love he has for you, I'll support you as much as I can. That way you'll give birth to a strong healthy baby! The fact that that baby is going to make him literally the happiest person in the world is the only reason I'm being nice here."

"Jesus, between you and Shitty Hair, I'll be getting enough paternal pheromones that Deku won't need to be in the picture," he groused, but that was a lie. No one could ever replace Izuku.

"Dirty lies," Ochako chirped.

Katsuki thought that would be the last of it, but one talk turned into Katsuki teaching her how to sew and knit which ultimately turned into long quiet hours of putting together onsie after onsie.

He wanted to hate it, he really did, but the feeling of growing his tiny little pack of soon to be five was intoxicating. So, he indulged. Izuku being excited about him making friends with Ochako was only an added bonus.

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #omegaverse #omega!katsuki #alpha!izuku #my writing #multi-chapter #little life

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sareyen · 4 years

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Das Haus am See: The Lake House Cherik AU (Part 3/3)

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A Lake House Cherik AU: Charles and Erik both lived in the lake house, Charles in 2017, and Erik in 2019. By magic or fate, the two find out that the house’s letter box is able to send letters through time - and, in doing so, the two fall in love despite living in two different years. They vow to meet in the future, but fate is fickle, and time waits for no one.

Chapter 3

Charles stared at the screen of his computer, page blank. There was a half-drained bottle of scotch resting beside him, and pages of crumpled and torn note paper was strewn across his desk and oak floors – papers covered with desperate apologies that Charles had only just stopped sending to Erik through the letter box.

A week had passed, and the letter box was full to bursting with the numerous letters Charles left there, hoping that Erik would read them – any of them. Each day, Charles wrote handfuls of apologies, pleas and wishes, praying that he could hear the familiar phantom scrape of the letter box’s red flag and see the letters disappear two years into the future.

But Erik had been true to his word – he hadn’t come back to the lake house again.

When Charles saw the pile of forgotten letters through the haze of his hopeless gaze, he felt his blue eyes grow wet again, slamming down the screen of his computer before dropping his face into his hands. He pressed hard against his eyes with the palms of his hands, trying to will the tears to stop, as if he were applying pressure over a stab wound.

Erik’s final letter had felt like a stab wound, in the end, and had left Charles bleeding.

Charles had spent the majority of the week drinking his sorrows away and berating a version of himself that didn’t even exist yet. Charles had laughed bitterly, never hating himself more than he had in that moment. Charles hated the him living two years in the future, a version of himself that was as much a stranger to him as the nameless people he passed on the street.

Hours passed until Charles opened his laptop again, steeling himself as he tried to write – to finish Max and Wesley’s story.

Charles Wesley clung to the letters from Erik Max like they were his tether to everything that was real – because, to Wesley, there was nothing more real to him than Max. Max’s mind was a beacon, a light house saving Wesley from crashing onto the rocks. Before Max, Wesley had been floating aimlessly, adrift and lost.

It was when Wesley met the man beyond time that everything seemed to make sense, that Wesley began to find his purpose. With Max, Wesley finally felt like he wasn’t alone.

But, Max was not a man who believed in love so easily. Unlike Wesley, who was optimistic and filled to the brim with unadulterated hope, Max was a pragmatist, a realist and cynical in nature. Max was not one to easily believe that Wesley’s affections were strong enough to stand against time, even if Wesley himself knew the true magnitude of his longing, his pining – of his love.

Wesley did not know how to make Max hear his voice. With the seemingly insurmountable wall of two years between them, Wesley could scream and scream, but Max could not hear him, his head and his heart blocked by barriers of impenetrable steel.

How could Charles get Erik to hear him?

Charles looked at the clock on his desk, and it was well past midnight now. The lake outside was still and quiet, so silent it was almost eerie. The sound of cicadas punctuated the silence outside, alongside the occasional creak of the rafters as wind tugged at the walls of the lake house.

Getting up from his desk, his laptop left open to his novel without an ending, Charles walked outside with the bottle of scotch and planted himself by the edge of the lake. The night was crisp, but Charles warmed himself up with the burning slide of liquid amber down his throat.

Charles wondered if Erik ever sat by the lakeside like this, looking out over the expanse of water from the same vantage point as Charles did now. Have they ever appreciated the same view? If they have, Charles could begin to pretend that Erik was sitting beside him, looking in the same direction.

“Why did I abandon you?” Charles whispered to no one, his question responded to by cicadas and the wind. “I don’t understand… I would never abandon you, Erik.”

Charles drained the rest of the scotch, feeling light headed and heavy at the same time, and let himself fall back onto the plush grass. As Charles stared up at the stars, they stared right back at him, judging and questioning.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Charles grumbled at Cassiopeia, the constellation seeming to roll her eyes back at him. “I’m not lying. I’d never leave Erik like that. Never.”

Soon, Charles’s vision began to swim, the alcohol and his fatigue overtaking him.

‘Yes, I’d never leave you like that, Erik.’

‘I’ll find you.’

***

“You don’t look too good, Sugar.”

Erik didn’t even bother to lift his head from where he was staring into his now-cold coffee in the break room, sensing Emma slide into her usual seat across the table from him, white tailored suit filling Erik’s periphery.

“Not in the mood, Emma,” Erik grunted, finally taking a sip of his coffee.

“No, you’re definitely not. Your mood is terrible, it’s making all the new interns consider dropping out because you terrifying them,” Emma said, Erik looking up at her with weary eyes rimmed with dark circles. Emma just raised a brow as her cool eyes flicked up and down her co-worker, before letting out an irritating, all-knowing hum as if she could read Erik like a book.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Erik said, Emma smiling.

“Of course you don’t. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Come on, Erik. Sometimes it helps to get things off your chest, instead of bottling in all of those feelings you so abhor,” Emma pushed, Erik glaring at her. Emma was undeterred, leaning forwards a little in her seat. “Erik, we’re friends – at least, I consider us friends. Talk to me, I’m worried. Frankly, you haven’t been like this since… you know.”

Emma waved her hands around vaguely, but her insinuations were more than vague, the unspoken word divorce lingering in the air.

“I really don’t want to talk about him, Emma,” Erik said, Emma snapping her finger.

“Ah, so it’s about a him? I see.”

“Emma.”

“Erik,” Emma countered, rolling her eyes and tugging up her white sleeves. “I’ve seen you. You were always a workaholic, and I’m going to be blunt, but that’s part of what made things fall apart with Magda. Of course, there were other things, but let’s not pretend that your work wasn’t a part of it. But lately, over the past month, you’ve always been leaving the office on time on Fridays, and that Wednesday the other week. You never leave work early, and especially not when Shaw has given you so much to do. It’s obvious that you met someone, and I was honestly glad for you. You’ve seemed… happier, as of late, Sugar. And we both know you haven’t been happy in a long time.”

Erik stared at his co-worker – his friend – who was just giving him a look which told Erik that it was pointless to argue. Emma, as always, was right – and far too observant for Erik’s liking.

“If you know so much already, Emma, then you know better than to ask me anything else,” Erik responded with a grimace, sinking into his chair. Emma just sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I wouldn’t ask anything else if you didn’t look so depressed, Erik. Ever since last weekend, you’ve looked like a kicked puppy. Did things fall through with your new guy?”

What could fall through, when nothing ever started?

“There was nothing there to begin with,” Erik grumbled, shrugging. “We… We had only met once.” And I didn’t even remember it.

Emma blinked.

“Sugar, you met this guy once and he’s got you moping around like this? Damn, I want to meet this guy who managed to do this to the great Erik Lehnsherr.”

“It’s… complicated,” Erik said, biting his lip. “We… we talked. Through letters. We wrote letters to each other, and met once – a coincidence, really. At least, I think it was, on my part at least.”

“When did you meet him? Is that why you look like a kicked puppy now? The real thing didn’t match up to the person in the letters? And… letters? Really, Erik? How antiquated.”

“The letters were… I’m not even going to bother explaining it to you. And no, he-” didn’t show up. He abandoned me. “No, we met two years ago, right before Magda and I… I didn’t really remember, but we started talking through letters about a month ago and… Ugh. Anyway, it’s complicated, and long story short, we made plans and he didn’t show up. So that’s that,” Erik said, Emma sighing.

“Ah, so you got stood up. That must hurt, Sugar,” Emma said, before pausing. “But wait, so you met two years ago, but only now started talking again? You said you forgot him – he must have remembered you, though? To start talking to you again?”

Erik snorted at that – of course Charles remembered, he had just lived it, while it was two years in the past for the lawyer. Charles was still in 2017, and as much as he promised Erik he would weather time for him, he hadn’t.

“It’s too complicated to explain, but it’s over now. I ended it, and… and it’s for the better. He has his life, I have mine,” Erik said, Emma tilting her head to the side, scrutinising him before getting up from her chair to pat Erik’s shoulder once. The action reminded Erik of the balcony and Charles, how the once-stranger had comforted Erik in a similar manner.

Erik’s heart ached.

“Love is complicated, Sugar,” Emma said, giving Erik a small smile. “But, does this letter-writing ex-man of yours have a name?”

“Why do you want to know?” Erik asked, eyes narrowed. Emma just smiled, laughing a little.

“I did say that we were friends, did I not? I’d like to know the name of the person who stood you up in case I ever run into him. With my car,” Emma said, Erik letting out a snort at her ridiculous notion, but giving her a grateful look for her (potentially ill-directed) support.

“I don’t want him to be hurt, Emma. He… Charles had his reasons,” Erik said, Emma humming.

“Charles. Sounds like a pretentious prick,” Emma said, Erik barking out a laugh at that.

“I thought so too, at first. I mean, ‘Charles Xavier’ – I really shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that he has a posh English accent,” Erik said, Emma freezing.

“What did you say, Erik?” Emma asked, voice still.

“What?”

“Xavier? You said his name is Charles Xavier?”

“Yeah?” Erik said, frowning now, confused by Emma’s odd reaction. The woman rarely looked thrown, but right now she was gazing at Erik with a foreign look. “What is it, Emma?”

“No, it’s probably just a very scary coincidence. I mean, Charles is a common enough name, and I could have heard wrong, and it wouldn’t be surprising if there was more than one Charles Xavier in New York…” Emma said, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“Emma, I don’t get what you’re trying to say,” Erik said, standing from his seat now to level himself with Emma.

“No, it’s just that, you know the case Shaw is working right now?”

“The Francis Graymalkin one, of course I know. Shaw hasn’t shut up about it for the past few weeks,” Erik responded, Emma nodding.

“Yes, well Francis Graymalkin was just the man’s pen name, a pseudonym,” Emma said, and Erik let out a grunt of knowing.

“I know. The man’s sister is the one who hired Shaw, right? Because their step-father and brother are trying to weasel their way into Francis Graymalkin’s inheritance. Her name was something Darkholme, so I figured Francis Graymalkin was a pseudonym – he’s probably called Francis Darkholme, or something of the like,” Erik said, Emma shaking her head.

“See, that’s the thing. Erik, Francis Graymalkin’s real name is Charles Xavier.”

***

Charles woke up the day after with a headache and a chill in his bones – falling asleep on the grass outside had made Charles awaken with a scratch in his throat and lungs that felt two sizes too big for his chest.

Still, Charles remembered the dream he had that night – of driving to NYC, of banging on Erik’s door, his pregnant wife be damned. In his dream, Charles had been selfish, pulling Erik into a molten kiss that sent his heart into spasms, his toes curling in his shoes. In his dreams, Erik hadn’t tasted of cigarettes but of scotch, heady and warm.

The Erik in his dreams had murmured a sigh against Charles’s lips, saying “Gott, Charles. What took you so long?” before tilting his head to slot his lips closer to Charles, devouring him in body and spirit.

People were always bolder in dreams; maybe it was a subconscious understanding that dreams couldn’t hurt you, and that they weren’t real. Dreams weren’t real, but they reflected Charles’s innermost desires. He wanted Erik, and he knew he wanted him, more than he has wanted anything before in his life.

Erik had said in his final letter that, since Charles hadn’t shown up to any of their planned meetings, that he clearly didn’t want Erik. That Charles couldn’t wait two years. Charles hadn’t believed him, but Erik knew the future better than Charles.

So, if it was true, and for some reason Charles couldn’t wait, why did he have to?

Erik said that he had to live his life, and maybe Charles should do the same. He should find Erik, talk to him like he did at the wedding. Yes, Erik had a wife that was with child, but Charles knew how that would turn out. Charles abhorred his own selfish and distasteful thoughts, but he couldn’t help them – Charles never wished such tragedy and misfortune upon any one, least of all Erik, but he couldn’t help but want a man who was taken.

At least, in 2017.

But oh, Erik. Erik. Charles couldn’t give up on Erik like that. Not Erik, who inspired Charles, who made him feel and live and want to live.

Charles rallied his determination, and peeled himself off the grass. Charles showered and shaved, and tamed his slightly over-grown mop of chestnut hair as much as he could. He brushed his teeth and ironed his clothes, pulling on his most comforting cardigan that he wore like armour.

Then, Charles picked up the keys to his rust-bucket car and gingerly tucked Erik’s The Once and Future King under his arm, thumb rubbing against the worn paperback.

As he walked to his car, Charles checked the letter box like he did every day, and found that it was still empty.

‘I’ll find you, Erik. Here and now,’ Charles vowed silently, getting into his car with Erik’s book in the passenger seat.

‘I’ll return your book to you, in person. I vow to you that I won’t break this promise, unlike the me of the future, which broke them all.’

***

‘Francis Graymalkin’s real name is Charles Xavier.’

The words echoed around the empty darkness in Erik’s head.

Coincidence?

Fate?

“But, since the man has been dead for two years, it’s obviously just a scary coincidence that he shares the same name as your pen pal,” Emma said, Erik barely registering her words over the repeated chant in his head of ‘Francis Graymalkin’s real name is Charles Xavier’.

Logically, it had to be a coincidence. But, there was nothing logical about any of this – about Charles, about the letter box, about everything.

Erik didn’t say a word as he pushed past Emma and out of the break room, his numb legs taking him straight to Shaw’s office. Bursting in, Erik was glad to see that the man was not there.

Erik wasted no time, not hesitating for a moment, striding over to the files splayed out on Shaw’s desk. Francis Graymalkin’s – Charles Xavier’s – poorly-written will was on top. Legal documents from some people surnamed Marko, notes regarding Charles Xavier’s properties and financials were scattered across the mahogany tabletop.

Properties.

Erik sifted through the papers, seeing some documents of ownership for a house in England, a holiday home in Cuba and a sprawling estate just outside of New York. Among them was a document of ownership for an idyllic lake house made of red-brick and a roof topped with blue tiles.

Erik felt like his heart was in his throat as he picked up the document, eyes flitting down towards the signature at the bottom – an elegant scribble with wide, confident loops sat under a printed name, in hand-writing that Erik had seen time and time before.

Charles Xavier.

The name had the same swooping ‘C’, the same looped ‘l’, and the same curled ‘r’. Charles Xavier was written in the exact same way that Erik’s Charles signed his letters, letters that Erik had unwittingly engraved in his memory and heart. Erik would never mistake that handwriting.

Erik’s Charles was Charles Xavier, and Charles Xavier was Francis Graymalkin.

And Francis Graymalkin was dead.

Erik felt bile begin to rise up his throat.

Francis Graymalkin died two years ago.

That meant that Charles, Erik’s Charles, died two years ago too.

“Oh, Gott,” Erik choked out, hands dropping the stack of property papers in his hand as his heart plummeted, everything going blank.

Erik now knew why Charles hadn’t picked up the phone that day. Why Charles hadn’t surprised him in Central Park in person. Why Charles didn’t show up for dinner at Genosha last weekend.

How could he, when he was already dead?

Erik remembered everything – Charles had been so sure that he would never break his promise to Erik. He had been adamant that he could wait, that he was a patient and faithful man. Charles, who knew who Erik was on the balcony but didn’t give in to his own selfish notions, because Erik had a pregnant wife. Charles, who begged and pleaded for Erik to give him another chance. Charles, who loved Erik. The man never said it aloud in words, but screamed it between every line in each of his letters. Erik knew that Charles loved him, that he loved him enough to be willing to wait for two years.

The plaque on Erik’s bench in Central Park had asked Erik to wait for Charles to catch up.

But, Charles had always been the one waiting for Erik. Charles, who loved a man that hadn’t yet known that he existed, that hadn’t had the chance to fall in love with him just yet, because Erik hadn’t lived at the lake house until later, because he hadn’t received that first letter until after Charles was already buried beneath the ground.

And what had Erik said to him, in his last letter? He said that he couldn’t wait for Charles, that Charles didn’t feel as much as Erik did. That Charles couldn’t keep his promise, to meet Erik two years in the future.

While Charles had always whispered his love between the lines, Erik had accused him of abandoning him in the same spaces.

But Charles hadn’t abandoned him – hadn’t even been given a chance to choose to abandon Erik. No, Erik had abandoned Charles, and Charles had died.

Charles died thinking that Erik hated him. That Erik didn’t love him.

Erik never told Charles that he loved him.

Oh, Gott. Fuck. CharlesCharlesCharles. No.

Suddenly, the door to Shaw’s office opened, revealing the man and a slightly familiar woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Shaw asked, voice snapping. Erik didn’t even care that his boss was staring him down, absolutely livid once he noticed the messy papers on his desk that Erik had obviously rifled through. Erik was too busy staring at the blonde woman, who was just looking at Erik curiously, a large book bag hanging from her slender shoulders.

“Did you know Charles?” Erik asked the young woman dumbly, voice cracking. The girl frowned, but nodded.

“Yeah, he was my brother,” she said slowly, Erik’s heart cracking.

Was.

Erik suddenly lost all words, as well as his breath. The woman – Raven Darkholme – stared at Erik questioningly.

“Did you know my brot-”

“Erik, I said, what are you doing in my office?” Shaw said, cutting the woman off. Raven’s large eyes flashed with something akin to recognition.

“Erik? Your name is Erik?” Raven asked, stepping past Shaw towards the man of that name.

“Yeah,” Erik coughed out, Raven biting her lower lip. “Yeah, I’m… I’m Erik. And I know… knew… shit. I knew your brother. Charles. How did you… Did he tell you? About me?”

“He only mentioned you once, on the day he…” Raven said, suddenly swallowing, like she had a boulder in her throat. Coughing a little, the young woman continued.

“What happened?” Erik whispered, Raven blinking to get rid of the tears. It had been two years, but Charles’s death still hurt her – he was her only family, even if not by blood.

“He told me about you, how he had… met someone. He said he – you – were a lawyer, who lived in New York. And… And that he was going to see you, and said that he had to, even if you didn’t want to see him or even know him – I never understood that part – but then there was a car accident. It was raining, and Charles… Charles was tired and sick, feverish, and… and… a truck… The paramedics, they said that he was calling out ‘Erik’ when he…”

Charles was going to see Erik.

Charles died because he was going to see Erik.

Erik swayed on his feet a little, but did not collapse, even if it felt like his head was ringing.

“When?” Erik asked, voice stretched thin, simmering with panic. “When did Charles… die?”

“Wednesday, March 15, 2017, at 7:39pm. Two years ago today,” Raven said quickly, like she was reading from a book.

Francis Graymalkin died two years ago, on Wednesday the 15th of March, 2017.

That meant that Charles, Erik’s Charles, died that day too.

Today was Friday the 15th of March, 2019.

That meant that two years ago, Charles would die today.

“No,” Erik breathed out, rushing out of Shaw’s office. Shaw yelled at his retreating figure, Raven stared at him in confusion, and Emma’s eyes followed Erik’s form with disguised concern.

Erik was barely registering what his body was doing, and soon he found himself in his car and driving down the highway out of the city.

Like his body was being controlled by an outside presence, Erik drove to the lake house, where he had to tell Charles not to find him. To tell Charles that he would die if he did, to tell Charles that he should wait a little longer.

Wait for Erik a little longer, because Erik loved him.

Erik had to tell Charles that he loved him.

***

Charles’s cold took a turn for the worst about five hours into the drive. He pulled over for a short break, refuelling his car, using the restroom and buying himself a coffee to warm his throat and shivering body. It didn’t take long for Charles to get back on the road, headache building and throat churning out harsh, shoulder-wracking coughs.

Charles smiled sourly to himself – of course, the day he chooses to see Erik, he had to have a cold. Even if he had showered and blow-dried his hair and picked out clean and crisp clothes, his effort went out the window the moment he got sick – his cheeks were feverishly flushed and dark eye bags prominent. His nose was dribbling and his lips chapped, and he was hardly attractive in such a ragged state.

Still, Charles wasn’t banking on anything happening – it was 2017, and Erik was still married, and his wife still pregnant. Charles wasn’t going to push anything, not now. But, Charles could be there for the man, get to know him in person. They could become friends, and maybe, two years in the future, when Erik was no longer married and knew who Charles was, the author could tell him that he loved him, and Erik could, maybe, say it back.

It was a nice dream, a dream that was shattered when a large freight truck slammed into the side of Charles’s car without warning, sending his rust bucket rolling across the highway. Charles couldn’t even scream, because he didn’t even know what was going on – one moment, he was fiddling with the radio that kept dropping out, and the next he was hanging upside down by his seatbelt, glass falling like snow over his face and something wet and warm dribbling down his forehead.

Strangely, Charles didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t move his legs. In fact, he couldn’t really move anything at all.

Images flashed before his blue eyes, which were slipping in and out of lucidity. Charles heard voices, so many voices, but he couldn’t understand a thing. Soon, there were flashing lights in pretty shades of red and blue, and then Charles was finally moving, even if he couldn’t really feel it.

Paramedics kept asking Charles questions, but the man couldn’t answer – his chest gurgled with blood, and he heard the paramedics curse, which made him try to laugh. God, why did laughing hurt?

Laughing should never hurt.

Things drifted in and out for Charles, but strangely, Erik was there; when Charles was awake, he saw Erik resting beside him, wearing the suit he had at Angel’s wedding, with his copy of The Once and Future King in his large hands.

‘Oh, I must have returned it to you,’ Charles thought, the Erik sitting in the ambulance with him smiling with all of his teeth.

When Charles fell unconscious briefly, Erik was still there – this time, Charles saw him sitting in front of a familiar letter box, small smile on his face as he read a letter covered with Charles’s cursive scrawl.

When Charles woke up again, Erik had disappeared, but a paramedic was hovering over him and yelling for him to stay awake.

“Erik…” Charles gurgled out, the paramedic leaning in to try and hear him over the sounds of his lungs collapsing.

“Erik? Is your name Erik?” the paramedic asked, trying to keep Charles’s focus on him. “Come on, stay awake for me!”

Charles tried to speak again, but everything was red, so he just thought instead.

‘I’m coming, Erik,’ Charles thought into the screaming silence, the ambulance pulling up to the emergency wing of the hospital.

The paramedics wheeled Charles out of the chair, blue eyes beginning to lose their lustre.

‘Erik, wait for me.’

“He’s crashing!” a doctor yelled out, wheels rolling across the concrete leading up to the hospital, rain beginning to drizzle down.

‘Erik, where are you?’

“We’re losing him!”

Charles’s blue eyes flittered here and there, losing their hold on everything real.

Well, everything except for the man standing outside of the hospital, brown-copper hair a little damp with rain, glowing embers of a cigarette dangling from his fingers. When Charles was wheeled past the man, time seemed to slow, if only for a moment.

The man’s face looked distraught, which was understandable considering he was at the hospital because his wife had miscarried for the third time and he had come outside to try and clear his head. When the man looked up into the sky, he wondered how much longer it would take for him to stop feeling so lost.

In a final flash of clarity, Charles recognised the man as the person he has been looking for this whole time.

Erik.

‘Oh, there you are, Erik. See?’ Charles thought, blood-splattered mouth curling upwards with eerie tranquillity.

‘I found you. I didn’t abandon you.’

***

Erik was sure that he would get a speeding fine, but he didn’t care. All he could think about as he drove like a madman, the route to get to the lake house second nature by now, was that Charles is going to die.

Erik’s car clock said that it was just past ten in the morning and Erik had been driving for an hour already, having bolted from work barely an hour in. Erik had always been good at numbers, and if it took Erik six hours to get to the lake house, he would get there around 3pm.

Charles died at 7:39pm, but he had been on the road at the time.

How long had Charles been driving for? Was this the stretch of road Charles died on?

‘Please, please let Charles still be at the lake house. Please, don’t let him leave, not before I tell him that I love him, not before I beg him not to look for me.’

When Erik reached the unfixed bottle neck that Charles had found frustrating two years ago, Erik screamed in the suffocating confines of his car – Erik willed the cars around him to move, because he had to get to Charles, and he was already two years too late.

When Erik finally pulled up to the front of the lake house, parking haphazardly on the lawn, he didn’t even bother to turn the engine off before fumbling to find some paper and a pen from the glovebox of his car. Erik ran to the letter box, scribbling frantically and wildly, breath lodged in his throat and heart threatening to burst open at its stitched seams.

Charles, I know why you didn’t answer your phone, why you weren’t at the park, why you didn’t show up for dinner. It wasn’t your fault, Charles. You didn’t abandon me.

I know who you are now, I know that you’re Francis Graymalkin. You were trying to find me that day – today. Charles, you died that day, trying to find me.

So please, don’t go.

Just wait, please.

Don’t look for me, don’t try to find me. I need you to live, Charles.

I love you.

It’s taken me all this time to say it, but ich liebe dich, Charles.

I told you in my last letter that I couldn’t wait for you, but I was wrong. I’ll wait for you forever. Professor X waited for Magneto for decades. For you, I’d wait centuries, because I want a life with you, Charles. I want you by my side.

We want the same thing.

So please, wait for me once again. Wait with me.

Just wait.

Wait.

Wait two years, Charles.

Then come to the lake house. Come home.

I’m here.

Erik’s hands were shaking as he shoved the letter into the mail box, slamming the flag down. Erik took a hasty step back, like giving the letter box space for it to work its magic would help.

Erik’s breaths were thin and shaky, steel-grey eyes staring at the unmoving letter box without blinking.

‘Please, please, please, Charles. Check the letter box. Please, don’t let me be too late. Please, I love you, bitte. Gott, please, not Charles. Please, please.’

A sob clawed its way out from Erik’s throat when the letter box didn’t move, sending Erik crumpling to his knees. Erik crawled forwards to grip the letter box, shaking it before dropping his forehead against its still surface.

For the first time in a long time, Erik cried.

“Please, Charles, bitte,” Erik whispered, shaking. The letter box remained still, stagnant. “Gott, please. Not now, not after all this. Please.”

Erik held on to the letter box like he wanted to hold onto Charles, to tether him to this world, to keep him by his side, but it remained unmoving, and all Erik could think was:

‘Oh Gott, it’s too late. I’m toolatetoolatetoola-”

Thunk.

Erik’s tremors ceased at the sound, the familiar scrape and clunk of the metal flag tickling his ears.

‘Wait for me.’

Slowly, Erik looked up through wet eyes, a sprig of hope emerging from beneath the cold.

Then, the letter box shook, the flag leaping.

Erik let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, opening the letter box with careful hands.

Inside was a single red carnation atop a small folded piece of paper, a single sentence written upon it.

Turn around, Erik.

Erik pulled himself to his feet, shuffling around like he was compelled to follow the written words. As he did, he saw a slightly beat-up car begin rattling across the street before stilling by the curb of the lake house. Erik’s breath caught, his feet beginning to walk, one step at a time, across the lawn.

The driver stepped out of the car, wrapped up in a light lilac sweater and grey tweed coat. Full head of dark brown hair, flushed red cheeks and even redder lips, bright blue eyes that were so alive.

Erik’s mouth parted slightly in awe, relief and hope as he walked towards the man – Charles – who began moving towards Erik as well.

The two met, almost toe-to-toe, in the middle of the lawn in front of the lake house. Erik held the three-word note and carnation, while in Charles’s hands was a very worn letter – the one that had been in Erik’s hands only moments ago. The one that told Charles that Erik loved him.

Erik stared into Charles’s eyes, and Erik into his, like they couldn’t quite believe what was happening. They both seemed to be waiting, waiting like they always did, so Erik had to speak.

“You waited,” Erik breathed out, and that was all it took for Charles to immediately surge into Erik’s space. Charles cupped Erik’s cheeks desperately, fingers careful but firm, and kissed Erik with two years’ worth of longing. Erik almost whimpered into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Charles’s frame and pulling him close, crushing him against his chest and deepening the kiss, wanting to feel Charles, to confirm that yes, he’s alive, he’s here, he’s with me, he waited.

The two pulled back for a brief moment, only when they remembered that they needed to breathe.

“Sorry for the wait, darling,” Charles murmured, kissing Erik’s mouth again, and again, and again.

“What took you so long?” Erik asked teasingly, nipping at Charles’s mouth, which curled up in a wide smile that made his eyes crinkle in the corners, a small peal of laughter lighting a fire in Erik’s heart.

“Mm, sorry. Traffic was horrendous. You’d think they’d have fixed that blasted bottle neck by now,” Charles said, shooting Erik a small smile before leaning in close to bury his face into Erik’s neck, breathing him in. Erik held him tightly, deciding that he’d never let go again.

“Let’s go home,” Erik murmured against Charles’s hair, the shorter man humming in agreement, Erik taking his hand as they walked towards the lake house that had been the beginning of everything.

When Charles and Erik stepped through the threshold of the lake house, the red brick and blue-roofed house seemed to sigh – it had been waiting for this moment too.

***

Erik’s hands traced abstract patterns atop the map of freckles on Charles’s back, the author letting out a blissful sigh. It was late at night, and the two men lay in bed, tangled in each other’s limbs.

“Your sister owns this house now?” Erik asked, Charles nodding from where he rested his head on Erik’s chest.

“Mm. I gave it to her two years ago. I… knew I couldn’t live there, not when you were supposed to move in. You changed the future – my future – Erik. This… This wasn’t the plan, and I thought that if I tried to force it to change, to meet you prematurely like I tried to before…”

Erik knew what Charles was skirting around – the last time Charles had tried to upend Erik’s past, he had paid the price with his life. The two men didn’t understand the fabric of time travel, they didn’t know of the rules that fate and lady time had laid down. All they knew was that they were meant to meet, but only at a certain time. Charles had tried too early the first time, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

He hadn’t made the same mistake again.

“I don’t think we were meant to meet until now,” Charles then whispered, pressing a kiss to Erik’s collarbone.

“We met at Angel’s wedding,” Erik reminded Charles, as if it were yesterday. Charles chuckled, a little wistful.

“Yes, but I didn’t try to change anything when I met you then. Meeting me didn’t change the course of your life between 2017 and now. I mean, Erik, you didn’t even remember me,” Charles said, chuckling in jest as he kissed away the frown building on Erik’s face. “But, the day I… died, I wanted to… well. Let’s just say that the world didn’t want me to change your past.”

“But it let you change my future?” Erik mused, Charles propping himself up to look at Erik, reaching out to smooth some of Erik’s sex-mussed hair from his eyes, gaze fond.

“I don’t know how this works, Erik, but, I wrote a theory about it, in my novel.”

“Your incomplete one?” Erik asked, raising a brow. Charles grinned.

“Well, considering I didn’t die, I had two years to finish writing it, darling. My theory is that the past can’t be unwritten. I couldn’t change your past, as in, anything that would have a lasting impact on your life before 2019. And you couldn’t have changed what would be considered my past, either,” Charles said, Erik’s mind whirling.

“But, I did change your past. I… You died before, Charles. But now you’re here, and…” Erik felt his tumultuous emotions begin to surface again, and before he completely lost it there and then in their bed, Erik kissed Charles. Charles indulged him, sighing into the lawyer’s touch, before pulling back with a serene smile on his face.

“Yes, I’m here, darling. And I don’t plan on leaving. But, like I was saying, you can’t change my past. Erik, I was living in 2017, so even though everything that happened that year for me was the past for you, it was still my future. You simply changed my future, Erik.”

“But still, what about all the other effects? The ripples that change caused. I still remember everything that would have happened – your step family contesting your will, your sister hiring Shaw. None of that would’ve happened if you died…”

“Ah, yes, well, that’s what has me in a bit of a rut. You seem to remember the events of your past timeline, but what I remember is different. It’s a funny thing, really – I ended up re-writing my will when I was… reminded of my mortality. There are no more loopholes, and my step father and brother lay no claim to anything I own. As for my sister, she still ended up hiring Shaw, just not about my will. Something about a secret trust fund that was hidden from her, courtesy of our lovely step-father,” Charles said, rolling his eyes. “So, in the end, not a whole lot changed – I’d wager that these minor ripples didn’t bother fate herself too much.”

“And you’re saying that you escaping death was only a ‘minor ripple’ as well?” Erik said, scoffing.

“Well, in my book I do say that fate had made an error in her original time line and sought to correct it,” Charles said, eyes softening. “You see, I’m inclined to think that we were destined to meet earlier.”

Erik’s mouth twitched at Charles’s words, instinctively drawing the man closer.

“Go on,” Erik said, bumping his forehead against Charles’s. “Tell me about this theory of yours.”

“Mm, demanding. But yes, I believe that we were supposed to meet sooner, but fate and time cocked up and we missed each other – so, they had to try and fix their mistake without undoing all of their other work. That’s why they linked us through the letter box, so we could meet and… well. The rest is history, isn’t it?”

“You really are a fiction writer, aren’t you, Francis?” Erik said, Charles laughing and swatting his lover’s chest.

“Oh, please! I know you’re a fan of my work, you’ve told me before. I have the letters to prove it!” Charles said, before suddenly sitting up like he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Or an epiphany.

Erik was surprised when Charles suddenly wrenched the blankets off their naked bodies and jumped off the bed, tugging Erik’s arm. “Come on.”

“Charles, what are you doing?” Erik huffed, wanting nothing more than to have Charles’s weight pressed against him in bed, his thoughts apparently written all over his face when Charles laughed, kissing Erik’s lips briefly.

“I promise we’ll go back to bed soon. Just… humour me, for a moment, I almost forgot,” Charles said, squeezing Erik’s hand. Erik wasn’t going to protest, not now. Charles could probably ask him to do anything, and he wouldn’t think twice about doing it.

The two men didn’t bother putting their clothes back on, just wrapping some blankets around their shoulders as Charles nudged Erik down the upstairs hallway and to the drop-down ladder leading to the attic.

“The attic?” Erik asked, Charles nodding.

“Yes. Remember your first letter to me? The one you addressed to the new tenant?”

Erik did, Charles having brought Erik all of the letters he had saved, the two of them reading them together curled up by the fireplace.

“You mentioned the burn in the kitchen, courtesy of my poor cooking skills,” Charles said, giggling at his self-deprecating remark, which Erik found endlessly endearing. “But, you also mentioned the box in the attic. You obviously didn’t think too much of it back then.”

“No, I only glanced inside when I moved in, but it was just… full of stuff,” Erik said, Charles laughing.

“Full of my stuff,” Charles corrected, climbing up and tugging a dusty, slightly humidity-damp box, sneezing as a flurry of dust swirled in the air. Opening it up, Charles rummaged through the random knick-knacks that Erik had disregarded when he had moved in, before procuring something hidden beneath all of the irrelevant bits and pieces.

“What’s that?” Erik asked, Charles giving Erik a small smile, pressing it into Erik’s hand. And oh, Erik knew what this was.

“I believe I promised you that I’d return this to you, in person,” Charles said, leaning forward to lay his hand atop Erik’s, which caressed the book in his hand.

‘The Once and Future King.’

It had been here all along, simply waiting for Charles and Erik to unearth it, together.

“I love you,” Erik said, the words not quite able to convey just how deep Erik’s love ran. But, Charles seemed to understand, like he could hear it pouring directly from Erik’s heart.

“I love you too, Erik. Let me show you just how much,” Charles said, Erik letting out a breathless laugh as Charles kissed him.

Charles did show him. In the span of a kiss, Charles showed Erik two years’ worth of love.

And they both thought, for a moment, that yes, the wait was worth it.

Every single second.

#cherik #Charles Xavier #Erik Lehnsherr #X-men #x-men fic #xmen #the lake house #ao3 #AO3 fanfic #james mcavoy #Michael Fassbender

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the-headbop-wraith · 3 years

Text

2_24 Abandon Destination

Soft sheets of fuchsia tinge rolled up and down the walls from the only source of light mingled around Lewis’ dark hand. The sleeve of his jacket was rolled back to prevent the heat from taking to the leather, and Vivi found she couldn’t take her eyes off the shimmering light. It made the shadows around them cower, drawing forth the true nature of their surroundings into depressing aspect.

“When’d you learn to do that?” Vivi asks. Though her voice was below a whisper, in the vacant air it felt like she shouted. A million questions bubbled inside her, but she wasn’t about to assault Lewis with the twenty-twenty. Not while he was comfortable enough to reveal a slice of his spooky nature to her.

Lewis pondered the flame at his hand as he walked, flexing his fingers and brightening the flames intensity at his palm in the same motion. “I could always do this,” explained the ghost. “Control is something I’ve been trying to get a handle on.”

“Nice pun.” Vivi sniggered into his collar. She caught the flash of his eyes as he glanced back.

“Oops. Pretend you didn’t hear that.” Lewis lowered the blaze of the fire at his hand, revealing bits of shattered glass and leaves scattered out from the room beside them. His other arm was looped behind his back to provide Vivi with a seat while she piggybacked. The hall came to an end and he paused studying their surroundings and listened. The wind picked up and whistled through the boards in one of the windows along the decayed corridor, and he couldn’t help but twitter along. Vivi pointed out their course and Lewis moved on that heading, near silent as a timid draft.

The flame wasn’t for his guidance, it was to give Vivi perception of their space. In a way the bright glow did haunt him, but how could Lewis fear his own fire? It had kept him company through a long and lonely time.

“There’s the steps,” Vivi announced. She leaned up to the best of her ability on Lewis back and directed a finger to the steps nearly missed in the selective highlights of the magenta smolder. A rusted shopping cart was left tipped along the first step, tattered grocery bags lay strewn over the downward staircase. Lewis moved carefully, slipping through the solid masses gently to prevent them from catching hold of his boots. “Now, if only Arthur didn’t roam up to the second floor.”

“That’s almost too much to hope for,” Lewis said. He stepped down the steps, always cautious of the ruble outdated equipment, and other broken parts that had been scattered around over the years. Hovering might’ve been easier on him but it could also be disorienting moving downward, and Vivi could easily lose her grip. Though she might find that exciting at first, he wouldn’t risk it. “Where are we now?” he posed, once they were on the bottom floor. An ancient pair of corroded gates stood beside the staircase with a large cutout rectangle in the side, with wires sticking out. One of the earliest versions of an elevator in a hospital.

Without comment Vivi indicated one hall to the left, through a gaping doorway. Lewis held his flickering arm in that direction and followed the vibrant glow of the light creeping down and up the walls. It was another series of rooms filled with broken, iron saturated reek, and a long corridor; before Lewis stopped in his tracks. Vivi was about to ask, when she too gathered the faint echo in the distance. Voices.

“I’ll take a look,” Lewis said. He knelt down and let Vivi climb off his back.

“Wait. Wait.” Vivi snatched Lewis’s sleeve before he could douse the fire in his palm. As he stood by and waited, Vivi dug through her backpack and pulled out one of the candles. Lewis pinched the wick as if to extinguish the flame, but instead a soft magenta flame flashed under his fingers as he withdrew his hand. “Be careful,” she urged. Lewis gave a short nod, then spun away.

With a flick of his hand the flame scattered out into the dark surroundings in a sputter of sparks, and Lewis melted into the shadows. Vivi slung the open backpack with her as she slipped aside, behind a crusty and broken cart left leaning over a desk. Windows lined the lower wall, but many remained boarded up with plywood chunks, and somehow the teasing light that managed through the cracks only seemed to enhance the dark shade that thrived in the neglect. She could pick out voices. A dog yapped, that was Mystery, he didn’t sound alarmed. There came a pause in the faint chatter and a light flashed across the room.

“Vi,” Lewis said, as he returned. Vivi could see his sunglasses glimmer in the candlelight as he moved near her range of light. “Art found someone hanging out here.”

“Huh?” She was caught completely off guard. It wasn’t unheard of to stumble across people sheltering in old abandoned buildings, but the rule was to avoid them and call a night of exploration to an end. “Are you sure? A living person?”

Lewis reached over the cart she crouched behind and helped Vivi up to her feet. “As far as I can tell?” Lewis says. He guides Vivi towards the light of Arthur’s torch, but she’s careful to check the revealing dome of the candles haze for wreckage underfoot. “He might be a runaway,” Lewis continued. “They’ve been talking for a while.”

This side of the hospital seemed the most out of repair, and despite the strong light intermingling she was having trouble finding safe space for her feet. And there was a runaway? Here? “How old is he?” Vivi pressed, with a small note of alarm.

“Dunno,” Lewis admits. Whatever the previous conversation consisted of, it was on hold as the group gathered. Arthur had himself seated on the fallen side of some electric box or machine with Mystery draped across his lap. The Runaway in question had elected to keep himself secluded in an open closet, where he must’ve settled earlier as his shelter. Beside the closets doorframe stood a wooded chair that worked as a side table, with a flashlight left on the seat of the chair and aimed towards Arthur a few yards away. “This is Vivi,” Lewis introduced.

“Hey,” the boy said. He made no other motion to greet, and his voice was toneless. The light barely cast colors onto his face and he seemed small and pale in his small seclusion.

There came a short hitch, where the collective group was unsure of where to renew or begin a new conversation. At a loss Lewis glanced Arthur’s way, Arthur only shrugged; Vivi met Lewis gaze and frowned, she turned back to the boy. “And your name is?” Vivi began.

It was Arthur who answered, “He’s Dimitri.” Arthur tried to suppress a sneeze but failed, and his recoil caused Mystery to gurgle irritably. “He’s got complications.”

Vivi pulled the candle closer to her front, revealing more of her face to the figure huddled in a nest of dark folds – sheets or blankets, it could be curtains. The ruin of a hospital was no place for the living, it barely stood against the harsh elements and sheltered the insects within its walls. “Are you from around here?” she tried. In the dull light of Dimitri’s amber torch was the scarcely discernable shake of his head. “Far?”

“Probably,” Dimitri admitted. He shifts in the old sleeping bag he was curled up on, and prodded the sides for a warm spot. Dimitri was positive that at the first indication of hostile intent he could get up and running, and get lost in the shadows before they knew it. What weirded him out the most about the group was the guy wearing sunglasses. That was just dumb. “Bet you never heard about me.”

Given that the Mystery Skulls were constantly on the move when they could manage, it was unlikely. But he was a runaway. “How about a last name?” Vivi gently prodded.

The boy studied the intruders with listless eyes, and trembled despite the ratty denim coat he wore; it did nothing to hold out the greasy, chilled air. He hadn‘t gotten much from the blond on why they were here - explorers, investigators - they weren‘t looking for him. No one was looking for him. “I’m not giving it,” Dimitri muttered.

Vivi exhaled and looked to Arthur. No wonder Mystery was napping. “Okay. Time out,” she says, gesturing with her hand. She turns and begins shooing Lewis and Arthur away. “Time out. Let’s go. Mystery, keep an eye on him. Hey, wake up.”

It took some rough shaking from Arthur before the dogs head snapped up. Mystery gave a long stretch along with a loud yawn across Arthur’s lap, before he sprang down onto the cluttered and dust riddled floor.

Dimitri stared at the dog now seated, watching him. “You’re kidding, right?” He sniggered.

“Nope,” Vivi called back. “We’re not going far, just hang tight.”

The last to catch up was Arthur. He handed his flashlight over to Mystery, and trailed after the glimmering candlelight Vivi carried. He was nervous over the distance he had fallen behind and began to trip over some ancient electric cord strewn between dismantled metal frames of beds or equipment. “I had the lighter, right?” Arthur’s voice reached a high pitch at the end of his sentence, when he nearly ran into Vivi. Lewis managed to catch his vest collar and pull the shorter figure out of his stumble. “I didn’t even carry candles. Wait, I don’t think I have a lighter.” Arthur was digging through his pockets but had found nothing to produce.

“I might’ve hidden them from you,” Vivi muttered, and withdrew from Arthur. “What’s he told you so far?”

The twisted expression that had been a wounded Arthur reset, and became soft, doubtful. He glanced back to the visible light clashing with the gloom and whispered, though he was sure they were far enough away that their voices couldn’t carry. “It’s not typical,” Arthur began. “The way he explained it, he didn’t run from his home, he ran from his town.”

“His town?” Lewis echoed. “Was he bullied?”

Arthur managed a thin grin. He didn’t want to think what Lewis might do NOW with the prospect of bullies lurking. In life Lewis was all bark and no bite, unless someone just really had to get on his bad side (the rare lunatic); but vengeful spirit of the flames, who knew what he might be capable of now.

“No,” Arthur assured, his voice a bit garbled from the musty air. He cleared his throat and went on. “Unless he’s lying, which I took into account. It’s more feasible. But it bothers me a kid like him would come to here to escape… something.” He folded his arms under the edges of his vest and shuffled a little closer beside Vivi, and the pleasant glow of the candle.

The way it was explained, Dimitri lived in some obscure town with his family and his lifestyle was just so-so regular. Enough was shared, though Dimitri didn’t want to go into too much detail about his personal life, in case his parents were looking for him.

This was the point in the conversation where Dimitri became nebulous. It might’ve been his fatigue and the cold, but he was rickety over the notion that his parents would be missing him. He didn’t think they wouldn’t care, but they might have… forgotten. That was a good way to put it, though it made them seem callous. They weren’t callous, there was just something wrong. Dimitri didn’t know how to explain it, didn’t even try to figure it out. He didn’t want to be a hero and crack the code. You couldn’t be the hero once you ceased to exist.

The teachers were the first to indicate something was amiss. They talk about these important things when they think the students were busy or out of ear shot. Like the group and their dog, thinking he wasn’t paying attention. Actually, he didn’t care. Another meaningless day gone, the end of a week, one more week and another month gone by. He wondered who it was this time.

The dog ‘arfed’ around the flashlight in his mouth, getting his attention, or warning him that he was being watched.

“Yeh, I got you,” Dimitri grumbled. He pulled the sleeping bag over his side and propped himself up on one elbow, and tried not to nod off again. No, he didn’t think they were dangerous people. He couldn’t tell that just by looking at them, even if the light was better, but they could as easily be unhelpful people and drag him off to the police station for identification.

Alerts were sent out for all the other kids but no one ever looked, not really. For a while there would be a curfew, another school program about stranger danger, then everything went back to ‘normal.’ Like some kind of quota to fill, to say they tried to buy back their own lives. Teachers, police, even the parents support groups. And what happened if you returned? He didn’t know.

“Don’t freak out,” Arthur hailed. “We’re comin’ back over.” Dimitri shook himself and sat up a bit to see the light bob around in the dark. The candle guiding the group back from their powwow wasn’t hard to miss, with blue girl behind it and Arthur close to the bright bubble. “Are you asleep?”

“No,” Dimitri answered. “I’m not about to anyway. Anyway.” He shoved the sleeping bag away, and winced. The harsh cold stabbed through the denim coat and onto his skin, causing a violet shiver to wrack his muscles. He watched the magenta light approach and could make out the two, but where’d the tall dude go? He must be somewhere around, probably on hand if Dimitri decided to run.

Vivi was inching closer, past Mystery and his flashlight. Dimitri didn’t seem distracted, but she wasn’t getting too close. “We talked it over,” she says, and catches the boy’s attention instantly. Vivi stopped a few feet from Dimitri and stood right in the path of his flashlights dingy orange beam. “We don’t want to leave you here like this, but we’d prefer if you came with us under your own consent. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Dimitri hesitates. He glanced Arthur’s way and judged the lanky figure could catch up to him, if Dimitri decided to bolt, but the blonde had a higher chance of falling first. “You… can?” He knew what was coming, but there was still the missing third member.

Vivi found a clear space on the floor beside the chair so she wouldn’t be boxing Dimitri in, and lowered down to her knees. Candlewax was spilt on the floor to adhere the candle, and Vivi brought her hands to her lap. Dimitri watched the mild tremble of the flame for a moment.

“It wouldn’t be right to leave you here,” Vivi went on. “Do you see where that puts us?”

“Who’s ‘us’?” Dimitri ventured. This brought about a brief explanation of Mystery Skulls, Paranormal Investigators, a group of friends curious of the unexplained. “Do you sometimes find kids hanging out in the places you explore?”

Vivi shrugged. “Kids don’t usually hang out in spooky, haunted places.” The colors of the outdated flashlight and the pristine shimmer of the flame clash over Vivi’s blue sweater, as she leaned towards Dimitri. “Have you ever considered that something unexplained has happened to your hometown?”

Dimitri stares at her, unfocused and uncomprehending. “What?” he yelped. “No! Maybe some kind of government cover-up, and they’re paying off all the adults involved. Y’know, buying human cargo. Have you ever watched Coma?”

Vivi blinked. “Uh… yeah.” She leans back from Dimitri and snatched a brief glimpse of Arthur, now knelt beside Mystery. “The government thing sounds possible…?” Arthur twirled a finger beside his head.

“You actually believe me?” Dimitri scoffed. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Adults didn’t usually believe in kids, that was some violation of a rule or something stupid. “Are you serious?”

Vivi sighed and classed her hands together in her lap. “What should I not believe? Which story are you fabricating? You’re ‘runaway’ story,” she quotes with her fingers, “or this government thing. Are kids not going missing in your hometown? I’m trying to be helpful, being a smartass with me is not helping.”

And adults usually didn’t curse in front of kids. Dimitri was wide eyed and stunned. It wasn’t like he never shouted profanity before, but it was unexpected. “Okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “I promise I’m not lying. I don’t have any proof, but this stuff is really happening and I got… I didn’t want to wind up like the others. I don’t know if that government thing might be real or not – we made up all these stupid stories for fun, me and my friends. While it was… fun.” He averted his gaze. They were so stupid. Idiots.

Vivi gave Dimitri the time to collect himself. “Did your friends go missing?”

Dimitri shook his head. “No. I’m not sure. I don’t want to talk about it.” That’s why they weren’t allowed to talk about it. Something about entering the story, making it real if the danger was attributed. Stupid stories. Dimitri raised his eyes as the candlelight moved. The girl plucked it off the floor and raised it beside her glasses, causing the vibrant colors to glimmer like twin sets of eyes. She held out a hand.

“I promise we’ll help you,” Vivi spoke, hand extended. “It doesn’t matter if it supernatural, government conspiracy… some kind of cult thing. We believe you, and we’ll help you.”

Dimitri looked at her hand, then her eyes. “Does this mean… I have to go home?”

Vivi nods so faintly, he nearly missed it. “But you miss your family?” she adds. “Don’t you?”

A flash of pain crosses Dimitri’s face, but it might’ve been the sudden wobble of the flame when he reached out to take Vivi’s hand. “I do. Yes,” he groans, and hung his head forward.

“I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed with your return,” Vivi insists. “And who knows, going back might do something. Wake them up. You never know.” Dimitri nods but refuses to look up. “Can you stand?” He nods, and Vivi pulls on his hand as she moves to rise, always careful of the candle still held in her hand. “Gather up whatever you need, we’ll carry it. Is the sleeping bag yours?”

Dimitri took his flashlight from the chairs seat and turned his back on her. “No,” he says. “I got it from a donation bin.”

“There’ll be blankets,” Vivi says, as she steps away. “Take your time, there’s no rush.”

It took Dimitri only a few minutes to gather up the few possessions he’d picked up while traveling on his own. Most of his clothing was being worn in preparation for the night, with no heat source, and the nights getting colder and colder. He managed to get some control over himself before he turned to the group. They had moved further across the room beside one of the dark windows, but the dog maintained his usual post with the flashlight still held in his mouth. The dog stood up as he neared and waited, but Dimitri dithered to approach them. He was only familiar with one and suddenly, he couldn’t recall the name. The third member had rejoined sometime while Dimitri was busy, and he and the blonde seemed to be arguing? This shouldn’t come as a surprise.

“This is a bad idea,” Arthur hissed. He was hunched over the candle Vivi held amongst their circle, with his arms plastered to his ribs. “Aside from the obvious,” he nudged his head toward Lewis’ way, “if we get found with this kid, there won’t be bail. We’ll be over. Done.”

“Chill Art,” Lewis cut in. “If we get pestered, Dimitri can just explain we’re on escort. You just got to breath, and don’t panic. Panic bad. Especially when it calls for fleeing from lost, confused kid.”

Arthur groaned, exasperated. “I was startled! Mystery, tell him!”

Mystery sniffles as he picked his way over to them. How long was he to hold the flashlight? He barked announcing Dimitri’s return, the dreary orange beam of the boys flashlight lagged behind the dog.

Another rasped tangent threatened to spill from Arthur, if Vivi hadn’t gripped his lower face between her fingers and squeezed his lips into a tight pucker. “You wouldn’t abandon Galaham in a creepy old, mold infest hospital, right?” Arthur nods, but begins to shake his head under Vivi’s persuasion. “We don’t leave kids alone, unsupervised, in spooky, haunted places.” Arthur shook his head – no, they didn’t. “You’d want us to adopt little Arthur if he ever got left in the scariest place in the world.”

“Indle Erfur?”

“Am I going to be a problem for you?” Dimitri blurted out. The girl released Arthur’s face and the taller member of the group flinched back. “I don’t know if I said it yet, but I can live without ever going back. You get what I’m saying?”

“You’re far from being a problem,” Vivi replies. “You want us to carry something?”

Dimitri clutched the duffel bag to his chest. “It’s all I have, and I’ll hold it.”

Vivi let the matter go. She looks to Mystery, still with that flashlight. “Which way did we come in?”

If someone will take this torch. Mystery tapped over to Arthur and shoved the light into his thigh, until Arthur relented on his warm, safe bubble and uncoils one arm to take the flashlight. “You did us a great service,” Arthur mock gushed, as Mystery led the way back through the room and the fallen electrical boxes. “Even if you did nearly short out the thing with your drool.”

Mystery yapped at him. You’re over-exaggerating.

“Does this old place not scare you a little bit?” Vivi asked. Dimitri’s flashlight was old and the light barely covered enough of the floor to reveal the broken wood panels, or the crushed and folded pieces of metal. She kept the candle lowered between her and Dimitri.

Dimitri shakes his head. “It’s creepy,” he says. “But there’s nothing that could hurt me. I haven’t been here that long, anyway.” He tries not to notice the taller figure to his side, not right beside him and boxing him in, but just there. He was tall.

Light conversation was exchanged as they passed through the dark cluttered halls, and vacant moon splashed rooms. Dimitri admitted he never really explored the hospital at night, and his discomfort toward the eerie mutation of scenery was not missed. Vivi talked to him, she avoided questions and just told him stories she’d read about some of the places they’d visited. At times Dimitri would reciprocate and talk about some of the towns he’d breezed through, though his focus then had been getting enough food. As a kid it was easy to get some money, but keeping a low profile was harder. That was before Fall hit. Arthur sympathized with Dimitri’s disdain for the ‘intrusive’ cold.

When they reached the Patients entrance, Lewis pried the warped piece of plywood back for Mystery and Arthur to exit first

“I would feel so much better if we could contact your parents,” Vivi said, as Dimitri slipped under the small opening and out into the fresh air of the night; the task was made difficult due to Dimitri’s reluctance to release his bag. “Just to let them know where you are, and that you’re coming home.” She took Arthur’s hand when he held it out, and he steadied her as she slipped under the thin opening with the candle.

Dimitri visibly stiffened at the harmless comment. He stood away from the group and watched Vivi join them, and never took his eyes off her. For a moment Vivi thought he was going to run for it. “No,” Dimitri murmured. “I’ll go back, but I don’t want anyone of them to realize I ever left.”

Vivi lowered the candle and let its fuchsia light settle thickly over the gritty brick floor. A cryptic fear lingered in Dimitri, perhaps a child’s fear but it was no less worthy of empathy. It made her reevaluate Dimitri’s explanation over the cycle of missing children. Forgotten, but not missed. Vivi was jarred from her musing when Arthur started choking. The torch clattered to the floor under him, the light sparked and dimmed but didn’t go out. Arthur clutched at his chest as he wobbled away from Lewis, standing near him.

“Crud, are you okay?” Vivi yelped. Mystery darted out of the way when Vivi rushed to Arthur, and took him by the shoulder. She handed Lewis the candle and hit Arthur on the back a few times. “What’d you— Did you swallow your gum?”

“I think something startled him,” Lewis mumbled. The torches bulb pulsed faintly as he reached down to pick it up, and directed the light at their feet.

“Yeah,” Arthur gagged, and coughed harder. Vivi gave him another pat on his back, and his voice cracked as he cleared his throat. “I’m okay now. I’m fine. Don’t hit me again.” He snagged Vivi’s arm, and moved the crook of his other arm over his mouth as he continued to wheeze. Vivi pulled her hand away, but held onto his shoulder a little longer and waited, until she realized which arm she was holding. She withdrew her hands completely.

“Be more careful,” she said, with nothing much else to offer. She led Arthur to the mingling light of the torch and candle Lewis held. He was already at the back of the van with Dimitri, talking about the van and why the side of it was scratched up horrendously. The lights ducked around the side as Lewis wandered off.

Vivi set her backpack down on the vans back bumper and was going through the interior pockets. “We kind of needed the light,” she called, as Lewis went on explaining:

“We’re good drivers, but that semi came out of nowhere.” Lewis’ voice perked up as he rounded the bright amber corner. “Sorry. I panicked.” He winced when Vivi snatched the candle from his hand. “I’ll just… keep an eye on him… then.” Lewis darted away, the yellow haze of the torch flashed out in his soundless withdraw.

Arthur looked aside to Mystery, as the dog strolled out of the gloom cast by the eve of the tall arch. “I get startled,” Arthur said. He knelt down and pet Mystery’s head. “That’ll never change.” He looked up at Vivi when the audible rummage through her bag ceased. She held the candle flame up, letting the fuchsia glimmer coat his face and shoulders. Through this exchange, Arthur could see the doubt in her eyes. “We’re trying,” he whispers, voice strained. “Trust me.”

Vivi turned her eyes from Arthur, and reached into her bag to pull out the spare key. She unlocked the doors, wincing as they groaned across the cool stillness of the night. “Get in. Take it easy,” she urged, and handed Arthur the key. “Wait.” Vivi pulled him back by his vests edge and wrapped her arms around him. “You’re strong, even when you forget you are. You get stronger when you remember that. Okay, go take it easy now.”

Arthur wobbled out of the embrace, and flopped over into the back of the van as he tried to crawl up inside. Mystery followed, tiptoeing around Arthur’s ankles.

“Lew,” Vivi called. She poked around one side of the van, then hurried around the other opposite corner in haste to find the two. When she reached them, Lewis was describing some house they had explored in one adventure she didn’t recall. She dismissed the lapse, and waved the candle their way. “You wanna get Dimitri out of the chill?”

The expression Lewis gave was part sheepish and fear. “Are you cold?” he asked, as he reached over to try the passenger side door. “Why didn’t you say something?” A click came when Arthur unlocked it, and Lewis hauled the door open for Dimitri.

“It always seemed a lot colder in that building,” Dimitri mumbled.

Vivi left them to return to the vans back. Mystery was revealed in the candlelight, alone, as she climbed in and began going through the cuvees for supplies. She half listened to Arthur and Lewis as they spoke to Dimitri, preoccupied with the unusualness of a guest. Mystery watched, chin on his paws, as Vivi elected a few sticks of incense – she counted three - she retrieved a box of juice from the cooler box and one hostess cake, outside she selected a few lost bricks to assemble these items on. She lit the incense with the candle and set it beside the unwrapped cake and the juice box, with the bendy straw set in it. It was not the first time that she wondered whose idea was it to buy juice boxes; she suspected Lewis.

The display was not elaborate and not necessary, but it was customary. She stood up and bowed to the doors. “Thank you for safe passage through your grounds. Please accept our tribute, and find fulfillment when you are ready.”

They had a motel room and that was where they were headed. Dimitri struggled to keep his eyes open as the lights flashed hypnotically through the windshield. It must’ve been very late, there was hardly any traffic out and he saw far more police cruisers than civilian cars. He hugged his duffle bag tighter to his chest and wedged into the passenger door more.

The one called Vivi hovered over the center seat watching through the windshield, and sometimes made quiet conversation with the blond driving. He wasn’t listening. At one point she looked Dimitri’s way, and said, “You need to get a good night’s rest, and think about what you feel we should know before you tell us anymore.” Followed by: “Are you hungry?”

Dimitri ate two large crates of fries. He still clung to his duffle bag to him as he chewed away diligently. “Can the dog have fries?” he asked. Mystery was lying on the middle seat between him and Arthur, the back paws were sprawled out over Arthur’s lap, while Mystery’s front paws reached over to Dimitri’s thigh. The dog was weirdly calm and hardly ever looked at him.

“He likes fries,” Arthur answered. “You done with them?”

“No.” Dimitri held one of his fries to Mystery’s nose. “Why does he wear glasses?” Mystery looked at the offered food item, then at Dimitri and slanted his dog eyebrows.

“His insurance wouldn’t pay for contacts,” Arthur muttered. He turned the van into the motels parking lot. “Plus, they look cool.”

Mystery took the fry and ate it.

The thick grumble of the motor cut off when Arthur cut the engine. He held onto the keys as he spun around to face Vivi in the back. “Sorry Mystery. I didn’t tell you to put them there.” The dog yapped when Arthur twisted in his seat, upsetting his legs perch. “Are we just going up to get our stuff?”

“Yep. The rooms a mess.” Vivi motioned her arms around as she shuffled to the bench seat. “It won’t take us long. But for the night, the room’s yours. You can make a pillow fort if you want, there’s that complimentary soap; you can have a bath bomb.” Vivi pointed over the seat to Dimitri’s face. “But don’t wreck the place. Can you handle all that?”

Dimitri stares over his duffle bag at Vivi. “Uh… yeah.”

Arthur was already climbing out the driver side door, and Mystery scooted out after him. “Awesome,” Vivi praised. She hopped the seat, and jerked her thumb back over shoulder as she bounced out. “Wait her and keep an eye on Lewis. He’s still grounded.” She was gone, and Lewis poked his head over the bench seat to give a dubious glance the way Vivi had skipped off, before turning to face Dimitri.

“You guys are so weird,” Dimitri sighed. He fumbled at the lid of one of the fry cartons he held, the over sat on the dashboard where Arthur had stuffed it.

“Heh, you noticed?” Lewis quipped. “Do you feel safe with us, though? Be honest.”

The boy blinked under his untidy hair and thought it over. That question was kind of scary and he wasn’t sure if he could answer it, or if he understood his answer. He didn’t know these people, he didn’t want to go home, but he didn’t want to keep running. He never wanted to leave in the first place, but going back now?

“The police would help you,” Lewis elaborates, and flicks his hand up above the backseats headrest as if shooing away the first question. “But I know for a kid, sometimes the police… aren’t the best option. What I’m saying, you have choices. Tell us what you feel better with why don’t you. You’re smart, but maybe misguided? We’ll listen.” It wasn’t noticeable before but Lewis had an accent, and it came through heavy as he spoke.

“Why do you care?” Dimitri asked. He set aside the empty carton of fries and took the next one from the dashboard. “Kids go missing every day, and no one cares.”

Lewis folded his arms around the headrest and set his chin down on his arms and stared out the windshield. He thought a moment, the parking-lot lamp above glittered odd colors over the lenses of his sunglasses, mixing the yellows and purples. “It’ll make a difference to you, won’t it?”

Dimitri stopped chewing on the fries and stared at them. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I want it to. It should. It has to.” He shut his eyes and pressed his face into the duffle bag. By the way Dimitri’s shoulders shook, Lewis expected him to cry. But Dimitri didn’t make a sound, and eventually pulled his face up and looked at him. “You believe me? Don’t you?” His voice was an edge from pleading, nearly insistent. It didn’t suit a child so afraid of the home he had fled.

“Kid,” Lewis hummed. “I don’t know what you’ve seen, but we believe you. And we’ll do whatever we can to help. I— ” He winced, and cut off the words to follow. The vans radio chirped briefly and flashed, its sudden noise startled Dimitri and Lewis gave the dash a sharp glare. “The van’s kind of old.”

“Oh.” Dimitri fell silent after that, and contemplated the remainder of his fries. “I’m not hungry anymore,” he mumbled.

Lewis drummed his fingers on the seat back briefly. If he leaned forward he could see the night sky through the windshield, but in the heart of the city under the glaze of lamps he couldn’t see the stars. The sky was black, oily, and had all the contours of a moldy mop head prodding into the edges of roof eves and tree tops. “You think you’ll be okay on your own tonight?” he asked. Dimitri raised his shoulders in a meager shrug.

Voices twittered through the open driver side door. Lewis leaned back as Vivi shoved her overnight bag onto the seat. Behind her, Arthur was catching up and complaining about something, if Lewis was listening right.

“You okay?” Vivi climbed onto the seat and set a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “Hey.”

“I’m just thinking,” he answered. “And tired.” He clasped the fry cartoon between his hands.

“Lew, do you know where the walkie-talkies are?” Vivi turned back to Dimitri and held out one of the plastic card keys. “Mystery will stay with you tonight. He’s a good listener.”

“Oh… er, thanks.” Dimitri took the card key and stared at it. “Thanks.”

“Lewis,” Arthur hissed, through the vans side. It was a comical tone, it was Arthur being playful. “Open the back doors. Pleaasssse.”

“What’s the password,” Lewis whispered. He appeared beside Vivi and handed over the walkie-talkie. She was trying not to smile.

“Is it alpacas?” Arthur said. “It had better be alpacas, I warn you.”

“Or what?” Lewis rattled.

Dimitri looked up at Vivi when she handed him the walkie-talkie. “What’s an alpaca?”

Vivi smirked. “It’s like a llama, but cuter.” She sniggered. It was the idea of alpacas and Lewis slipping through her thoughts. She could hear Arthur mutter something as Lewis wretched the doors open. “I’m sorry,” Vivi muttered. “You ready to retire for the night?”

“I guess.” Dimitri tried the passenger door, and found it would unlock automatically if he pulled the handle. “Where’s the room?” On the other side of the door was Mystery meandering around the pavement. He looked up as Dimitri slipped out.

“One-One-four. Mystery will show you, if that’s fine by you.” Vivi perched on the passenger seat as Dimitri stared at Mystery, and Mystery stared back, his tail wagging. “Unless you—”

“Okay,” Dimitri interrupted, and he began walking off. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dimitri adjusted his arms full of duffle bag, fry carton, card key and walktie-talkie, and followed as the hound led the way. The two walked up on the cement path beside the many dull tan doors of the motel rooms, and Vivi sat where she was until the two rounded the corner and were out of sight.

Lewis slipped up beside Vivi and watched the way she was staring. “I think there’s something on his mind he’s not telling us,” he judged. “It’s hard not to ask though.” He removed the sunglasses and held them beside his arm. In the back, Arthur was being noisy poking around or putting their gear away. Vivi hadn’t looked.

“I’ll do some research before we bed down,” she said. She handed Lewis her overnight bag and climbed over the bench seat. “If I can find something out about mass disappearances in one area, it might give us a clue of what we’re looking into. I’m almost afraid to research it, though.”

“This doesn’t feel right,” Arthur muttered. He leaned forward as he paced to the vans front and hopped seats. The van creaked with his rash movement, and the doors cracked shut as he pulled them closed. “We deal with mysteries, spookies, cults, maybe a low level creature feature – but this is a bad gig. You feel me on this, right? I’m not being irrational.” He flopped his arms over the seat and stared into the back. It was Lewis who met his gaze; Vivi had turned away to dig around in her night bag.

“I never call you irrational,” Lewis grumbled. He crossed his arms, and Arthur could see his brow knit over his bright eyes.

“You think it, don’t you?” Arthur pressed. “Admit it.”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” Vivi snapped. She put her arms out between Arthur and Lewis and looked between the two. “Never irrational. Right Lewis?” She looked to the ghost as he tilts back from her hand, and the scowl she gave him.

“Never. Art.” He made a point to look past Vivi and Arthur his attention.

Vivi looked to Arthur and dropped her hands. “Completely rational, and I see what you’re talking about,” she said, and took a large gulp of air. “Dimitri’s a runaway, people are probably looking for him. He doubts that, for some reason – they don’t care about kids that go missing.” She paused and waited, as Arthur opened his mouth as if to say something, but he withdrew and settled to lean more on the bench seats middle headrest. “But you can’t deny that something has him troubled. Art?”

Arthur nods. “It freaked me out, when I realized he was just some kid,” he said. “He’s been here for a few days, keeps moving. I don’t think he would’ve survived the winter.”

Vivi sat down and pulled the laptop onto her lap. “That’s not a kid being stubborn. That’s a kid that’s hit desperation. He’s willing to go home, we’ll take him as far as we can. That’s the most we can offer.”

Arthur watched Lewis move soundlessly to the back of the van and settle himself on the bumper. “You want me to change the radio, Lew?” Lewis’ head jerked up from the jacket collar and Arthur almost expected the skull to take place, but Lewis held it together.

“Yeah, that… it would be good.” Lewis withdrew again, and distracted himself with the scarce car on the distant thoroughfare.

Vivi had just booted up the computer, the chime rang out and the bright luminous of the screen brushed across her sweater. She swung her gaze from Lewis hunched shoulders and met Arthur eyes, an expression of loss projected from her to him. Or distress. Or something – she didn’t remember, and it was painfully obvious to Arthur. The only consolation Arthur could give was a slight motion of his hand, while tugging his lips back into a kind of grimace. Vivi raised her eyebrows and opened her hands out from beside her, a questioning. Arthur motioned his hand, Vivi needed to just let it go for now.

“Damn… cheap internet,” Vivi hissed. She pecks away at the keys, probably harder than necessary. After some searching and clicking, she stood up and approached Lewis’ mopey shade. “Scoot over.” She wriggled down beside him and held the laptop out for him to see. “Look at this. I think you need this cute alpaca vid.” Lewis said nothing, and while Arthur watched the two, there was no visible change in the ghost’s demeanor. Just the sounds of some kind of bleating, probably alpacas, and people talking, probably about alpacas. Then, a sharp shriek:

“Oh no,” Lewis squealed. “They’re too cute!”

#msa #mystery skulls animated #mystery skulls fanfic #msa fanfic #msa fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfiction #fanfiction #msa lewis #msa arthur #msa mystery #msa vivi

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i-hate-everyone--equal · 4 years

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After having a very rough life that makes her want to risk it all at the age of 12. Elaina receives a call from her older brother begging for help with his new born daughter. After watching the fiasco Ari and Aaliyah, her little sisters started in Crenshaw and knowing they needed to lay low for a long time. They head to a Freeridge California and meet a little beat up boy named Cesar. After awhile they start to rebuild the never put together family that she's always wanted but what happens when his older brother finally gets out of jail?

Show some love if you like it! I do not own on my block or any of its characters. I only own my own ocs. I also dont own the pictures. If you don't like the book don't read it and I'm always welcome to nice criticism but if your an ass you will be removed. I also dont speak spanish so I'm gonna do the best I can.

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Driving to get to my new house in Freeridge was tiring as hell with my mija in the car. Dont get me wrong I know this is the first time we've got to spend time together in awhile but, I also know the girls hyped her up on candy and soda from the way she practically vibrating and jumping in her purple and black car seat. Fortunately she crashed from her sugar high about 40 minutes back and I would be able to carry her big head into the house.

Tapping my hand in the steering wheel, I pull through tagged up streets until I arrive at my new house in Freeridge, California. There were little trees and bushes blocking all edges of the house at the end of the street giving it a very good privacy setting. Its walls a off white concrete with beige tiles on the roof. There was a big yard big enough to store some of the cars Juju and I like to work on, a small garage and a doggie house for my dog Cerberus. As my eyes roam the house I let out the sigh that seems to have been on the tip of my tongue since I left my old home in Crenshaw.

I notice there were no lights on in the house and that I will have to get black out curtains, considering the amount of windows there were. It wont be good when I have to drink my self to sleep only to be woken up by the sun wanting to show how much holier it is than I. The houses off white cemented walls shined in the fading sunlight the light reflecting off the windows giving it a warm and cozy look thankfully along with the sun going down so is the famous unforgivable heat.

Stepping out of the car was a little more challenging than I thought it was going to be considering how my skin wanted to mend into the car seat. So, after I finally was able to surgically remove myself I was able to start walking up to the reinforced door one of the first things I noticed.

'That was probably one of Vin's ideas.' A bitter smile came at the thought....missing mi familia. I honestly don't even know where he is right now. 'I'll find you when it's safe again.' Already knowing the words were lies before they even left his mouth.

The second thing I notice was the cameras discreetly pointing at every angle surronding my house. So if a lizard crossed my yard I would know about it. I opened the door and propped it open with one of door stopper that was right next to it. Not even bothering to look further inside Going back to the car and I pull out mi hija without waking her while also grabbing whatever else we needed to spend one night in an empty house.

Quickly grabbing my silver .9mm from the glove department, I place it in my waist band of my black yoga shorts and start walking in the house and once fully inside, I put Nena and the bags down in the living room on the deep brown wooden floors before rubbing her hair. Glancing at her mixed cream skin with crazy black curly hair I secretly admire her beauty. 'She deserves this fresh start more than any of us. ' I quietly think to myself continuing to take in her peaceful sleeping face that looked so much like her fathers.

She has such an innocent face but, that's just what lures you in about her. She has such a devilish smile when you get past her angelic eyes.

Rubbing her hair once more I walk out and grab a few more bags before placing those bags around her as well. I go back and lock the door before going through her night bag and pulling out her pajamas.

Picking her up to wake her only causes her to start groaning and whining as she lazily opens her eyes and gives me a sweet soft kiss.

"We have to change your clothes before you go back to sleep Nena." I say quietly to the 3 year old.

"Tía" she said with her quiet rarely used voice it coming out soft and toddlerish. Her tired eyes trying to close despite my best efforts. God this girl could try to sleep through anything!

"You cant call me that anymore mija." I said to her softly with my soothing voice while looking into her deep amber eyes. My mother always said that I had the voice capable of putting anyone to sleep. I remember when I was 4 she told me one night that she wanted me to sing for her every night to chase away the nightmares. Unfortunately the next morning I found her overdosed in the tub covered in urine and throw up.

"Yes mama." She said starting to get a little excited but still in her sleep haze.

"I love you mama." Nena said burying her head into my shoulder. Secretly trying to go back to sleep from what I could tell by the way she started to slump into my arms.

"I love you too Nena. We have to get you changed before you go back to sleep plum."I said chuckling to the half asleep toddler before looking away and turning to my phone when I hear the gun shot notification. Clicking my phone on. I see a blaring picture of Nena and *Bang!!* another new text message. This one from the moving company. [ We will arrive Tomorrow at 7 am] Alright. Not that bad and there's really nothing I could do about that right now.

Scrolling to my other messages I see one from Abuela.

[ We are 30 minutes out. She is in a mood driving us all loco.] Chuckling when I finished reading.

'She just lost her sister, nana.' I thought to myself. Before shaking my head to get rid of the thoughts of her. Putting down Nena on the floor unconsciously bringing up old unwanted memories of before the beginning of all of this bullshit.

*Flashback 2 years ago*

Sitting here with my hands bruised, slashed, and bleeding all over the place from the street fights I've had that past week. The dark purple and yellow bruises seeming to do a puzzle the way they fit on top of each other.

Kissing my teeth and looking far out of space while throwing my head back, and letting out a small scream while standing up to let out my frustrations. Today was not a good day, but it seems like bad days are the only days I'm allowed to have anymore honestly. Turning my head around to fully take in my shitty surronding of an abandoned apartment building with dried blood on the walls, broken glass bottles everywhere, and dirty couches and mattresses. The whole place stunk of mold, anemone, and shit. A scoff escapes me.

'What am I even doing here?' I think to myself but in reality I already know why I was not home..... trying to get too fucked up to remember anything. This is not where I am supposed to be doing that though. I pry through the existing migraine to get to the depressing things I'm forced to call my thoughts. While pulling out my phone to check to see if I have recieved any messages, nope but it is 02:30.

'I should probably go home.' Although, as soon as that thought went though my head it was already gone. My mind being too filled with the existing numbness and static to absorb anymore thoughts of home.

Not now.... 'Theres no one there to return to anymore.'

Walking though the trashed old and moldy apartment building somewhere in NY blood territory if the tagged up place was anything to go by I stepped out side. Looking around I notice the tagged up neighborhood and my 2014 purple and black Dodge Charger. Stepping in the car with a groan I start the car and look at my phone again to connect the bluetooth and start playing Leroyce -Forever before I take off toward a destination not really caring where as long as it's not here.

Opening my glove department I pull out a blunt and light it before coming to a stop. 'Got to get off the road soon dont want to get pulled over again.' I sigh, even though I look older than it I am still only 10. One that really is tired of this worlds sandeces 'I really dont want to call Vin to tell the officer to let me go if I get caught.' I add another sigh to my day as I pull into a parking space and turning off the car. I continue to smoke my blunt while listening to the music letting it vibe though me. 'I haven't eaten in 3 days' I think with, yeah you guessed it another sigh not particularly having an appetite or craving anything to eat.

Putting out the roach that was left while also making sure my silver glock is by my side, I get out of the car and walk to the nearest store. Walking up to the 711 I open the door and notice there were three young chicos in the candy isle and an Arabian at the register. Going to the bakery isle I grab two banana nut muffins before going to grab a beer and some chips.

"Can I get a black and mild wood tip?" I asked as I walked up to the Arabian girl at the register. Her big brown eyes first going to my holstered gun before looking into my hazel green eyes. Looking like she was having a debate with herself on whether or not to ask for an armored mixed girls Id. Flipping her fake blonde hair it seems like she made the decision that she doesnt care about my life.

"That will be 9.34."

Placing a 10 on the counter I walk away leaving the change. Going straight back to my car rolling another one and, staring off into space letting my mind wonder into the depths that would only bring and leave more scars. The only thing that brings me back is the sound of my ringer going off. Looking at the screen I see a picture of my hermano Vin and I on the screen. My long curly black hair pushed to the side my eyes closed and a bright smile on my full lips showing off my pearly whites. Vins tattoed arms wrapped around his hermanita as tight as possible knowing that would be the last time we would see each other for awhile.... and it's already been 8 months. "Qué?" I demanded. As soon as I picked up the phone.

"Elaina."

"Hm?"

"Te necesito." His deep voice says hesitantly over the phone.'Really....now you need me?'

"Por qué?"

"We can't speak about it on the phone. I need you to come to me." His gravely deep voice demanded on the phone. Not really giving me a choice in the matter in my head.

But now, what could be so important that you cant tell me over the phone. Well the only way I was going to find out was by going to him.

"I'm in New York right now, get my location and set it to the nearest airport. Make sure you keep the cops from my route I dont want any problems. Order me a private jet and set it to where ever you are."

" Thank you Elaina."

Humming, then ending the conversation. I recieve the route not even a minute later. Taking care of my family is a full time job that I didnt even sign up for....but without them I would have given up a long time ago. I sighed pulling out of the parking lot finally lightin the blunt.

'This finna be some bullshit.Well at least I get to go to London.'

*Present*

Hearing a truck pull up outside the house. Walking to the door I peek out the bullet proof window to see Abuela's black truck outside. The short mexican lady is cursing my hermanitas the hell out I notice with a small smile. Knowing them they probably deserve it. Shaking my head I start making my way to the door unlocking the door and stepping onto the second brick step.

"THATS YOUR MOTHERFUCKING EXCUSE FOR GETTING ALL THAT SHIT ON MY SEATS!?" oooh car problems...... Walking right back inside grabbing Nena who found her toy bag and was currently sleeping on a stuffed animal. But she was already dressed in her pajamas so imma just count it as a win-win situation. I already did what I needed to do which was open the door.

"Sissy save us!!!!" I hear both my other twin sisters yell. No. You fucked up her truck. You did this to a crazy Mob grandma.

"Let's go find somewhere to sleep Nena." Walking off not listening to the distressing calls of "Sissy!" from all three my sisters now.

I end up picking the empty master bedroom mentally cursing my brother for not having furniture arrive before his family did. 'Pendejo.'

Laying down on the carpet floor while putting white headphones in my ears and using a giant panda stuff animal as a pillow I pull an already asleep Nena over me and, put her head on my chest before closing my eyes.

I stayed like that for hours my insomnia not letting me sleep and my mind never truly letting me rest. I sit, wait, and listen to my sisters and grandma put away the little things they had before going to sleep. Well at least two of them do.

Looking up to my door as I hear the door click open. My younger sister Juju is there with a burning blunt and bottle of Hennessy...... our sleep medicine.

She's wearing a faded purple spaghetti strap crop top and black pajamas shorts. Most of her tattoos being shown off due to the lack of clothes. Pushing a deeply asleep toddler off of me and onto the panda. I watched her wrap her arms around the toy before turning and grabbing my phone.

After making sure my bebé was still fully asleep, something I honestly dont know why I even questioned, I stand up.

Following my younger sister outside to the back yard we hop on the concrete railing facing opposite of each other with the bottle between us and pop it open. Taking out my phone I start to play Say yes by Floetry. Before I really start to look around the back yard. Cerberus was going to have the time of his life fucking shit up back here. He will be arriving tomorrow along with the furniture, he doesn't do well with long road trips at all so we decided to just drug him and put him on a plane along with the rest of the stuff.

"I thought Vin said he would be here?" Her raspy tired voice said drawing me out of my thoughts and making me turn towards her. Big puppy dog hazel eyes that had dark circles from lack of sleep and brown curly hair made her look like a sun goddess. Her light carmel skin basically glowing in the moon and pool light. Out of all of my siblings I connected with sisters the most. Maybe because I went through a lot of bull shit with them? Maybe because they shared the womb at the same time with me? Either way I'm happy for it considering how much the world seems to hates my guts its good to have sisters that actually care if I die or not.

"You know why he can't come here." I said hitting the blunt. Knowingly about to start an unwanted argument.

"Wouldn't you say to protect his girls he would actually be here with us?Not there trying to get himself killed?!"She asked irritated and worried.

"Hm." Taking the bottle she chugs down the liquor with no regrets. Before handing it to me when she is done, I do the same thing until I feel somewhat alright.

"What school are we going to go to? Will you do football?" Now why would I be thinking about doing football? This ain't my home.

"We will be going to sign up for school soon I guess and no I'm not doing football."

" You might be able to start a new life, have friends, find love." She continued. Her mind filled with nothing but romance, roses, and bullets. She already knew that we shouldnt really get attached to anyone out here. It was far to dangerous to get anyone evolved in our lives but right now on this railing she can dream.

"Are you listing out Liyah's to-do list or mine?" I said laughing and fully feeling the effects of the alcohol. Not wanting to be the one to state the facts.

"All of ours fool!" She says laughing. Her smile showing off her small dimples. The smile slowly going away putting her head on my shoulder before shaking it.

"After everything that's been going on we deserve it.........How did we get here hermana?" Sighing I dont answer, knowing that question was more towards the Angels than to me.

"This isn't fair, for him to send us to one place while hes halfway around the world." She continues with a slight whimper in her voice. Taking another sip out of the bottle before passing it and lighting a black and mild.

"He's trying his best." Those soft spoken words could've been yelled at the poor girl with how quickly she quieted down.

Looking over at her down casted head.

"Yeah he is trying his best....but, his best could be with us there to help." She said damn near sobbing. The medicine is working.

"You know why we cant do that Juju. Come on." I said picking her up from the railing and stumbling back into the room after I placed her next to Nena before turning around and locking the door. Poor girl was already asleep when I turned back around.

What could I expect though after everything that's been going on. Quickly checking my phone for the time to see 02:45. I finally lay down next to them and let the alcohol in my system drag me into Morpheus's arms.

#oscar diaz #on my block #sad eyes #cesar diaz #netflix #gangs #love #freeridge #spooky #santos #prophets #Spotify

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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ACITW AU - “Julian and Sebastian’s Big Secret” (Rated NC17)

So, this was a pivotal plot point that everyone was curious about, and which I had included in the last post I posted, but I didn’t like how I left it. That was just the skeleton of what this scene was meant to be in many ways, and that’s been bothering me. So, for anyone who wants to read it the way it was supposed to play out, here it is. It starts when Kurt and Sebastian have to go hunt down Julian who, having been ghosted by Cooper, up and disappears. (1968 words)

Thank you :)

“I even called the house,” Julian says, staring ahead of him with blank eyes, talking sotto voce, as if the two of them aren't standing there beside him, listening to every word. “Emily says he just … he just left. He didn’t pack a bag, didn’t tell anyone where he was going ... just pfft. Gone.”

“Julian, I'm ... I’m so sorry,” Kurt says sincerely, his heart sinking when that light that always lingers in Julian's eyes, the one that blazes hot behind the ice blue of his irises, starts to burn low, threatening to go out.

“So many secrets …” Julian shakes his head, looking down at his phone clutched in his hand as if any moment it might spring to life with a call or a text. “We’re so good at keeping secrets, aren’t we, Sebby?”

Kurt feels Sebastian go rigid beside him.

“Julian …”

Kurt has heard Sebastian say his brother’s name dozens of times, and as many different ways.

He’s said it jokingly.

He’s said it seriously.

He’s spat it like a curse.

He’s said it with affection.

But this was a plea.

He was begging Julian to stop.

“We keep secrets from mom and dad," Julian continues, again to himself as if they aren't there, "secrets from Liv. Hell, the two of you kept the biggest secret of all. You even had me duped, though, apparently that isn't as hard as I thought.”

Julian laughs, sad and hollow, until it becomes a cough.

“Julian …” Sebastian repeats his plea softer, subconsciously searching for and taking Kurt's hand. He squeezes it tight, and Kurt can't help noticing how it shakes.

Julian looks at his brother with a wry smirk, lifting the shot glass in his fist in an unspoken toast and downing it in a single gulp. He slams it down on the bar, the glass bottom hitting the wood with a poignant thunk.

“Now why haven’t you told him yet, Sebby?” he asks, mockingly upbeat the way depressed drunks sound when the liquor finally hits. This Julian is such a departure from the one Kurt normally sees – the suave and sophisticated sexy man whose every word speaks to Kurt’s artistic soul – that he might as well be a complete stranger. Someone who looks so much like Julian that from a distance on a cloudy day he could be mistaken for him, but turns out to not be him.

This transformation frightens Kurt, but Sebastian’s reaction to it concerns him more.

Sebastian squeezes Kurt’s hand a little harder, coming to a conclusion that Kurt has yet to come to.

“Tell me … tell me what?” Kurt asks. He at Julian, then to Sebastian. He would rather hear from Sebastian, but Julian gets to him first.

“Why it is that he went away,” Julian replies, talking to the wood grain in the bar, the bottom of his glass – everything but them. “You know it wasn’t your fault, Sebby. At least, if you tell him, he’ll know exactly how much of a bastard I really am, and you’ll never have to worry about losing him again. Not to me, anyway.”

That last part was meant as a joke, but to Kurt, it feels more like a jab. Not at Kurt, and not at Sebastian. At himself. He’s skewering himself on his own metaphoric sword, one he’s been carrying around with him ever since whatever happened happened.

Whatever he’s about to say, he doesn’t expect Kurt to forgive him, or to speak to him ever again.

Kurt’s eyes meet Sebastian’s, but Sebastian isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at some insignificant spot on the bar. He looks frozen. Numb.

“Come on, Sebby,” Julian says, tears burning in his eyes that Kurt can hear in his voice. “You love him. He loves you. He should know, dontcha think?”

Sebastian still can’t seem to answer. He’s paralyzed, mouth agape, unable to breathe a single word. Kurt has never seen Sebastian like this. Whatever Sebastian hasn’t told Kurt yet, whatever this pain is that the two of them hold on to, that the two of them share, Julian is getting ready to spill it. Kurt won't deny that he wants to know - he wants to help - but this is not how Kurt wants to find out. Not like this.

“Julian, no,” Kurt says, even though he’s sure what he’s saying no to is the one thing he’s wanted to know all summer. “You can’t do this. You can’t hurt your brother like this. It’s not right.”

“No, Kurt! It’s my story, too.” Julian sniffs. “And I … I need you to hear it, to try and forgive me because what I did made this …” He flicks a finger between Kurt and Sebastian “… so much harder for you. And you don’t deserve that.”

Julian had mentioned early on that Sebastian would never want to look weak or vulnerable. Kurt suspects they have that in common. Kurt wonders when the last time Sebastian saw his brother like this was. A while, he assumes, if the way Sebastian’s eyes widen are any indication.

“It’s … it’s fine.” Kurt’s voice is thick, on the verge of panic. He feels like he’s standing in the path of a runaway train with nowhere to run, no way to escape. “Really. Forget about it. I … I forgive you. It’s …”

Julian shakes his head. “Don’t, Kurt. You don’t understand. You can’t even conceive of how bad I hurt him …”

“Julian …” Kurt speaks firmly, putting his free hand on Julian’s knee and squeezing, trying to break through his haze of whiskey and self-pity “… please, stop. I don’t need to know.”

“Yes,” Sebastian agrees behind him. Kurt turns to look at his boyfriend, expecting him to be looking away, off in the distance like Julian, or maybe down at his shoes, but he’s looking right at Kurt instead. “Yes, you do.”

Kurt slowly shakes his head.

This time, it's Kurt's turn to plead.

"Sebastian ..."

“That’s the spirit, baby brother,” Julian cuts in with a fake laugh and a halfhearted version of his trademark salute, which has been conspicuously missing the past week since he’s been brooding over Cooper. He takes his next shot off the bar and passes it to Sebastian. Kurt watches Sebastian sadly put the glass to his lips, snap his head back, and down the drink, a single tear racing down his cheek and getting lost in his hair. “Let’s tell our story together.”

Julian knocks on the bar as the bartender walks by and the man fills their glasses. He sets one out for Kurt without asking and fills that one, too. Kurt is so stunned he doesn’t have the wherewithal to wave the man away. On his end, the bartender doesn’t seem to mind that Kurt and Sebastian don’t look anywhere close to 21. He looks about as done with life as they all feel right now, or like the bouncer at Scandals when Kurt and Blaine first went, which would be a funny comparison any other time but now. Kurt wishes he could bring it up, break the tension, get a smile out of Sebastian, steer this conversation in a different direction.

But that would be beneath them.

“There was this … guy,” Julian begins, landing on that word as if the crux of their problems is always some guy.” Seb fell so hard for him, so fast. He called my brother all sorts of cutesy nicknames. They were so adorable together. Frankly, it made me kind of sick. But, in the spirit of brotherly love, I wanted to help Sebby land this boy, because back then, he had no game to speak of. I got them some fake IDs, and I took them out drinking.” Another shot appears. Julian downs it, and just as quickly, it’s refilled. Kurt has lost count at this point. “It might have been love. Was it?” Julian squints up at Sebastian for an answer. Sebastian stares but says nothing. Julian shrugs. “I don’t know. It could have been. But right before we went out, I got into a fight with Cooper, and I turned into an asshole. I got them both drunk, and then I seduced this poor boy of Seb’s. Man, I pulled out all the stops for that kid! I mean, I really went overboard. And he fell for it – hook, line, and sinker.” Another shot goes down Julian’s throat. “Sebby, he got mad, sulked in a corner, had one too many to drink. He got real sick and went to the bathroom, and while he was in there, there was … there was this man ...” Julian hiccups.

Warning bells sound off in Kurt’s head, coursing through his body, carrying adrenaline with them, and now his hands begin to shake. “Don’t. Stop. I don’t think I should hear …”

“No,” Sebastian whispers. “Let him … let him finish.”

“When I got to them …” Julian squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking from the sides “… he had Sebastian pinned between the sinks, had his pants unzipped and his hand down them.” Julian’s voice shudders, gaze glues to his glass as if he can see the memory there playing before his eyes. It probably is, Kurt thinks. It probably plays back for him over and over when he shuts his eyes, when he drinks too much … every day that Sebastian was overseas … “He was trying to kiss him, k-kept saying …” Julian clears his throat so violently Kurt can feel his own throat go raw “… kept saying that he wanted to t-taste himself on Seb’s lips.”

And that’s the moment.

The moment when those alarms in Kurt’s head, and all that coursing adrenaline, build in his chest, and explode.

With those words, Kurt’s entire body folds in on itself and freezes solid from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It creeps underneath his hair, makes his follicles itch as if bugs have been nesting there and are now clawing to get out. A sudden picture of Sebastian pinned against a bathroom wall like Kurt was with Max back in that bar in Columbus fills Kurt’s brain. The man pinning Sebastian there, Kurt fills in with the vilest human being his mind can come up with. And now that that image is there, Kurt knows it’ll never leave him.

Like Sebastian and Julian, he’ll never be free of it.

But back in Columbus, when Max tried to assault Kurt, Sebastian was there. Sebastian saved him. Even though that memory enrages Kurt, it doesn’t paralyze him with fear.

A second later, he feels the phantom of Dave Karofsky’s mouth on his, and his knees almost buckle beneath him.

“So … so, that man … he …”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says with the last bit of voice he has left. “Big brother charged to the rescue about a minute too late.”

“Oh … oh God. Sebastian …” Kurt turns to his boyfriend, to reach out and hold him, but the hand that’s been latched on to his since this saga began slips away. By the time Kurt spots him, he’s nowhere within reach, weeding his way through the crowd to get outside, get some air. “That’s what happened between the two of you?” Kurt says, staring at his boyfriend’s back, fighting between running after him and giving him a minute to pull himself together. “That’s why Sebastian went to Paris? That’s why he stayed away for so long?”

“Yup.” Julian downs his next shot. Kurt’s and Sebastian’s, too, with such effortless fluidity, those glasses might as well be full of water. “That’s the story of how big bad Julian Smythe let his brother down, lost his trust … and broke his heart.”

#ACITW #acitw au #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe

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hollandroos · 5 years

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Everything that left with you | Tom Holland series, chapter 1

Summary: When you lose someone, it can feel like you lose yourself too and while you may not want it, sometimes you need someone who understands to bring you back.

Written with the wonderful @neptuneparker

Words: 2746

Warnings (IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ): this fic focuses around a homicide support group and deals with things such as murder, kidnappings (in flashbacks and mentioned throughout) and mental illness and trauma. PLEASE do not read if this will trigger you in any way. it is a little darker then what is usually posted on here so please BE AWARE.

Disclaimer: This is NOT a romance fic and there will be no romance between Tom and the reader.

Once again, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ THIS SERIES!

The circle was more full than normal, Y/N noted as she sat in the rickety folding chair with a bland cup of lukewarm coffee. There was a new face sitting two chairs away from her, he looked shy and sullen and no one made a move to talk to him– but then again, not many people spoke here.

Wendy was the leader of the group, she was spunky and had never lost someone the way everyone else did. Y/N had envied her, she seemed happy, she hated seeing people happy and even more, she hated opening up to people that could never experience the level of pain she felt on a day to day basis. She’d utter a few words about how she felt on that day and Wendy would give her a small smile, telling her that she was improving when in reality, improvement had halted long ago.

“Who would like to start us off today?” Wendy asked, rubbing her hands together as people sat in the circle. It was silent, people never wanted to speak first at these meetings, they all knew what the other was thinking without even having to speak. It wasn’t that hard to.

“I will.” Y/N spoke, it was the first time she had talked to the majority of these individuals, she was typically silent at the meetings, fingers tapping against a flask of cold coffee as others spoke but never her. She cleared her throat and began her cynical telling. “I’m Y/N, twenty-three, and when I was fifteen a man broke into my house and killed my older brother while I hid in the closet. You’ve all been waiting to hear that one right?” She spoke curtly, her face void of emotion as the rest of the group stayed silent.

The new man two seats over watched her with a haze in his eyes, one that never seemed to leave. It was rare that he ever showed any emotion since that incident and the only time he ever did it was pure sadness- and guilt, definitely guilt. The circle is still silent and Y/N lets out a breath, waiting for someone else to speak as her words linger seamlessly in the air.

It wasn’t that they were shocked by her experience because they each had their own, rather chilling story to tell. Each horrifically different. Y/N’s was just one more thrown into a void of plenty. At least that’s what she felt.

He gives the girl a side glance, coughing as he leans forward in his seat. “I’m Tom, twenty-eight. My six-year-old daughter was taken from her bedroom and the police found her body facedown in the woods three weeks later.”

He ignored the restriction in his arms as the jacket he wore hugged his biceps when he leaned forward, prefering to stare at the ground for an awkward moment.

There was a hush over the small group of people, they all looked to the ground, except for her. Y/N looked straight into Tom’s eyes, recognizing the same feeling she had deep inside of her, noticing the guilt laying underneath the sheen of tears.

“We went to the park that day. The police said that’s likely where he chose her. Chose her, like she was a toy or a pair of fucking jeans.” He hated talking about it, he could never keep his anger inside, the anger he had for the world for not being able to find the person who took away his pride and joy.

She listened to every harsh word with crossed arms and a stone cold face but she felt them, she really did. Because she wouldn’t forget the sight of her own brother coated in his blood—the crimson red sticking to the walls and running across the carpet. It was an experience she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. “He was older than me, seventeen at the time and we were watching Christmas movies when the other guy burst into the house.” She mutters. “It hurts a lot, and it never stops. It never fucking stops hurting, right?”

Tom had never witnessed anyone who felt his pain before, never had he met another who could compare to what he felt that day and everyday after. Nobody had experienced their heart being forcibly removed from their chest at the arms of another, someone else’s choices to take their loved one from this life. He clenched his jaw, seeing the slight pain on her face as she spoke about her encounter, it was hidden, but it was there.

And while he sat in a room full of people that likely felt every ounce of pain that he experienced from losing his little girl, he still felt lonely. So fucking lonely– but for a moment he had her. The girl with the darkest eyes– not physically but he could see so much pain hidden behind them, and the dark circles that could run for miles.

“I hid in the closet and watched and the man took my mother’s jewellery and left.” She paused, looking down at her fingers. “I wish he opened the closet door to find me.”

“Y/N, Tom.” The leader coughed awkwardly, welcoming her newest. It wasn’t Y/N of course, she’d been coming here for years but Tom was new—despite the accident occurring years ago. “I’m glad you’re... bonding.” Y/N shook her head sarcastically and Tom noticed, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m glad to be here.”

It was sarcasm, nothing more. Because if his daughter wasn’t killed then he wouldn’t have to be here in the first place and if her brother hadn’t been murdered, then she’d be at home right now, decorating for Christmas. Now she hated Christmas.

If he hadn’t taken that life, the life of her loved one then she wouldn’t be up at all hours of the night because every time she closed her eyes she was back in that closet, a hand place securely over her mouth as warm tears ran down her scolding cheeks. She wouldn’t hear those piercing screams and then utter silence then the boots– the heavy thudding that possessed her nightmares as he stepped around the closet. Her eyes held many sleepless nights and if you looked really closely, you could see every memory suppressed.

And if this daughter hadn’t been torn from his grasp at such a young, ripe age then he would still be able to put even the slightest bit of trust into people. He wouldn’t have to watch the barista that he used to talk to daily make his coffee with piercing eyes and one hand over the counter, maybe he’d still help the little old lady next door bring her groceries into the house every Sunday. Tom used to trust way too fucking hard and it cost him more then he had ever expected.

And now, now every time he closed his fucking eyes he thinks about how scared his little girl must have been, what her screams might have been like, the look in her eyes when he took her, and the numerous calls out for Tom that were never answered.

They were all damaged, utterly fucked and riddled with guilt and nightmares and the inability to trust and simply want to give love.

Wendy plastered an over joyful smile on her face and glances towards one of the other support group members– Billy, a thirty-something year old that talked a little more then he should’ve if he was invited to.

“Shall we carry on then?”

“Tomorrow will be the eighth year since my mom…” The stories of the other members faded to the background as Y/N stared toward the sullen father. She could tell that there was something he wasn’t talking about, there was resentment behind his story, and more anguish than most she had encountered.

Tom didn’t look at the rest of the group, he stared at the brown and black carpet, a ringing present in his ears, it was just like that day they found Paisley. The carpet was as dark as the soil he walked over, his boot indenting the rich earth. It had just rained and Tom couldn’t help but wonder if she got to see it before her life was taken from her.

“See you all next week. There are more coffee and cookies over at the tables. Stay safe.” Wendy said, interrupting Tom’s intrusive thoughts. The circle dispersed and most of the individuals walked out of the recreation center’s doors, not wanting to be surrounded by the cloud of depression and self-pity that they had to endure week after week. Tom didn’t want to be alone, though, he wanted to be around people like him, who understood him, for as long as possible.

Tom stirred cream into his coffee, the dark liquid flowering lighter than before, Paisley loved watching that. The coffee was cold, but he didn’t care, he wasn’t even going to drink it, he just wanted to hold it to make it seem like he had some reason, some purpose for staying back longer with the rest of them.

“That was one hell of a story.” Y/N commented, picking at the few cookies left on the purple plastic platter.

“You too.” He said softly, looking up at her for a second before looking back down at his constantly stirring coffee. “Sorry about your brother.”

She shrugged at his comment, letting out a breathy chuckle before breaking off a piece of a cookie. “You don’t have to be. You didn’t kill him.”

“I still can be, I’m human.” Tom said back to her, looking down at his feet. They were pointing toward the door, eager to leave and be home by himself, wallowing in his own self-pity like he did every other day.

She looked up at him for one of the first times since the meeting ended. His curls hung in front of his forehead, he looked like he hadn’t had a haircut in months—and he hadn’t. Tom barely took care of himself since he found his daughter.

“Could’a fooled me.” She joked, unable to be vulnerable for too long. This was the first time that she was able to talk about what happened that night, she never wanted to mention it to anyone. She didn’t want people telling her that they were sorry for her, it was her biggest pet peeve.

Both of them held little emotions. This was probably the hardest day of the week for both of them. It was where you’d have to open up, actually reach out and talk about things that you preferred to keep hidden in the darkest parts of your mind.

Tom didn’t want to forget Paisley and her little pink gumboots or her adoration for hot chocolate with marshmallows overflowing the top of the mug and Max and Ruby. He didn’t want to forget the way her giggles bounced off of the walls or the sound of her feet pandering down the hallway at half past eleven at night. He never wanted to forget the way she ran around without clothes on after her bath when she was just a baby, babbles leaving her mouth as he ran after her.

But he wanted to forget what it felt like to walk into her room that day– to find books and toys turned upside down and the window wide open, rain and wind smashing against the blinds. To this day he could still feel his heart pounding in his chest as he looked around the room, he hadn’t even heard anything from the kitchen.

“Paisley! Sweetheart? Where are you?” He yelled, his own voice sounded foreign to him as it rang in his own ears and through the empty room. Normally her giggle would erupt from the closet or from under the bed but it was silent. “Fuck oh fuck..” he spoke softly, seeing her rain boots by the window, one knocked over on its side. He knew she would have put her boots on if she left, but she wouldn’t have left without telling him, even if he had yelled at her just before that—she knew he loved her, right? Tom was short of breath, his hands shaking before the mug of hot chocolate slipped from his hand, shattering on the ground—marshmallows rolling on the hardwood floors, the brown liquid bleeding through the open Berenstain Bears books on the floor, her favorites.

The thoughts filled his mind constantly, never once did he stop thinking about her. He hadn’t spoken to anyone outside of his family in the last seven months, for the last person to speak to him was the funerary director when giving him the bill for burying his six-year-old. The pain of outliving your own child is indescribable, so why talk about it?

“You gonna come here every week?” Y/N asked, pulling Tom away from his spiraling thoughts. He gulped, shrugging his shoulders. Tom knew it was good to come back, his mother begged him week after week to just try it—she couldn’t stand to see her son like this any longer once he stopped seeing his therapist.

She had described him of a shell of the man he used to be and while his mother had been supportive, by his side through everything, Tom no longer appreciated her attempts to heal him.

He hated that word- Heal. Tom believed that he would never heal and refused to give himself false hope.

The older women had lived with him for a few months after Paisleys passing but she didn’t need to live with him anymore to know that he was refusing to sleep, living straight on coffee and canned soup and if he did sleep on the odd day- it was after crying himself to sleep and torturing himself with thoughts of the child before her taking.

“Gonna try.” He spoke curtly, not wanting to be any more vulnerable than he already had that day. “I suck at keeping to routines though, they just don’t seem to stick. I’m more of a spur of the moment kinda guy.” Tom finishes.

Paisley hated that about her father. He sucked with routines and they often made him late to pick her up from dance or school. It meant that they would sometimes have dinner at four pm and sometimes at eight. Still, she’d have herself in bed by at least eight thirty pm exactly every single night.

“Well if you do decide to come every week at least you’ve got a friend here.” Y/N secretly hoped that the stranger would come back. She hadn’t seemed to click with any of the others yet and while she hadn’t clicked with Tom, she wanted to at least make an effort with this one. His story broke her heart but he didn’t search for pity.

Tom glances at the girl, seeing a small but barely there smile tug at her lips. The lukewarm support group coffee left a film on his teeth, it felt as he did, there was an extra layer between his teeth and the air—an extra layer between him and the rest of the world. His mother joked once that coffee was just as bitter as him. But before Paisley had died, Tom prefered his coffee sweet with extra sugar. Every sip would make him smile but now every sip of his coffee, bitter as could be made him screw his face up. He felt that it was all he deserved.

“I’ll think about it.” He decides, mind already caught up on other things.

Positive posters lined the walls, decorated with quotes and sayings he deemed bullshit. You had chuckled at them once too, drawing a mustache on one of the men that spoke lies about putting yourself first and all that crap. What did that even mean? Maybe putting herself first was shoving herself in that closet.

But maybe that was all bullshit, maybe this whole support group was all bullshit, a way for people to feel like they’re being heard when nothing about their stories mattered to anyone else. Maybe, just maybe she’d realize the lies she’s been fed for years after attending these meetings but she kept showing up for someone to come who understood her. Someone who understood that no, not everything is going to be okay, and as she watched Tom walk out of the recreation center building, she knew it was him.

Please remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me what you thought of this - it took us months to get right and we would appreciate some thoughts :-)

Everything tags: @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @smexylemony @thewiseandfree @zendayacolemen @dej-okay @hollandsletters @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @liz-gayllen @marvelismylifffe @lovelyh0lland @tomhollandandmarvelsworld @woah-jess @southsidefandoms @justannothermonday @its-claire-louise @sophiatomlinson23 @mockingjaygirl1221 @joyfullyjenny @damnhisfaceisliketheskyatnight @bride-of-loki-odinson @in-the-corner-coffee-please @futuremrsb-r-main @spideyyypeter @saturn-aka-six @c0prolalia @buckykinz @ashtonsbandannas @dennasaur @amyyleblanc1999 @fnosidam @randomfangirl1701@maybeandperhaps @acciorinn @marvel-language @micki-smiles @justmesadgirl @converseskyline @niall2017 @gavemylifetotomholland @tomuchmarvel @leslieandjensen @painted-soulss @practicallylivesonline @mischiefmanaged49 @its-the-unknownspidey @holyrose96 @for-my-mind @mlxbm @erindillon11 @captainbuckyy @shawnandhisroses @converseskyline @smitten0-0kitten @parkeroos @whileinparis @unicornio-vomita-mierdas @draqcnheartstrinq @rainyboo-posts @mikalaka @petxrpxrker @tony-starks-ego @thedaydreamingwriter @peter-quackson @kateelyse96 @lesbian-jesus-jr @wheresmyquill @elyshugh @hollanderheart @tomshufflepuff @marvelismylifffe @tomsh0lland @obsessed-fandoms @girl-in-the-chair @trashqueenbitch @dramatic-and-young @honey-honey-5644 @parkerluvs @chingonaconcha @captainbuckyy @jes-sica1 @tomsfireheart @Rainbow-marvel @spideysimpossiblegirl @spideys-gurl @thomasstanley-holland @mlxbm @ixchel-9275 @parkerssweb @peter-parkersbb @tom-hollands-eyelash @starlightfound @vldlvj @paradoxparker @lustfulcry @mlxbm @musiclover1263 @justatheatredork @peterparkerscamera @fandomnerdsarecool @thequeensardine @cutesy-angst @httplayer @mischiefmanaged49 @loca-lola @softboyparkerr @desir-ae @dangerousluv1 @t-hotland @laucontrerasv @peter-parkersbb @whatdafricklefrackle @thatblondebelgiangirl @fairydustparker @they-call-me-le @jamiemac26 @nephalem67 @underoos-tom @quaxon-holland @lovelyspidey @no-shxt-sherl @xlatinaaxx @starlightfound @mikexpeter @moonandstars-xo @httpmcrvel @evelyn120700 @fromheroestodust @hollandfieldblurbs @ghostlypandacolorpersona @spazclaiire @curlyhairedparker @josierosie @unicornio-vomita-mierdas @icondy @euphoricholland @desir-ae @lovelyspidey @thelazypangolin @ameeravioli @ramen-tically @mellifluous-tom @mrs-webslinger @krazykiara @scottyisthatyou @@s0cial-retard @sithskywalkers

#tom holland #tom holland au #tom holland series #Tom Holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #Tom Holland imagines #tom holland imagine #Tom Holland x reader #Tom Holland angst #Tom Holland Oneshot #dad!tom #dad!tom holland #everything that left with you fic

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kinkerush · 5 years

Text

Penny’s Little Pet (Pennywise Fanfic)

Warnings: 18+, degradation, rape fantasy

The weather was dreary that lazy Sunday afternoon, a dense fog refusing to lift as the day went on. The constant drizzle was enough to keep even the most avid outdoorsman miserably cooped inside and idle. As I gazed out the window, I had to wonder - when was the last time I allowed myself to free my child like, curious spirit and allow myself a little stroll in the rain. After all, there was little more to do on a day such as this. I had spent too much of my life lately keeping myself isolated and had become increasingly depressed and cynical as a result. Fearing the unknown was something I had spent far too much time on.

I threw on a pair of cotton shorts, a light tank, a windbreaker, and a pair of flip flops to get the full effect of my impromptu frolic in the rain. As I headed out the door, I briefly considered leashing the pup to join me, but upon second thought, decided I wanted this moment all to myself. It’s an opportunity that didn’t arise often.

The early autumn air was cool but comfortable still, and laden with moisture, the clouds seemingly dancing on the ground. The neighborhood was almost eerily quiet and still, no passing traffic. For a few brief seconds, I considered turning back. Something felt...sinister almost..a intuitive feeling I couldn’t ignore. I brushed it off, best as possible, convincing myself I was being silly and paranoid, something my mother was great at instilling in me.

As I continued on, I attempted to enjoy myself. I watched as the sparrows playfully danced in the puddles, embraced the soothing sound of the light drizzle on the changing, colorful leaves, the feel of the cool rain between my toes, and the sight of the fog dancing over the distant hills like elusive ghosts. I was able to mostly forget about the nagging, incessant paranoia that had began plaguing me only minutes into my walk.

By the time I neared the end of the street, I was completely lost in thought, losing some awareness of my surroundings. I was startled to break out of my trance like train of thought when I heard what sounded like a light whisper, but somehow...inhuman..evil, even. As my paranoia returned full force, I felt the prickles of fear on the back of my neck, and the flutter of my heart as it began to pound, so much that I could feel it in my head and ears. I had involuntary stopped in front of an abandoned house, littered with graffiti and rot. Fear paralyzed me. Something wasn’t right. I wanted nothing more than to run like hell back to the warmth and safety of my home, but the intense fear had frozen me dead in my tracks.

As I stood locked in my tracks, something else caught my attention. This time, I was certain I heard a child whimpering. This wasn’t happening, I told myself. My mind was playing tricks on me..or maybe it was the sound of the light wind circling the many trees alongside the long abandoned and unkempt property. Either way, it was time for me to head back home.

I wasn’t sure whether to walk or run as fast as I was fucking able, but fear still gripped me regardless. As I began to back away from the looming, dark, crumbling house, I prepared myself to break into a sprint and get the hell out of there, back to the safety of my home. However, there it was again..the whimper. A child. The whimper was escalating to light, muffled sobs, progressively getting louder and more intense. “Is there a child injured, in distress?” I asked myself. I groped the pockets of my shorts, desperately hoping I had remembered my phone. Surely the police could find out what’s going on. Not there. Shit. I couldn’t, in good conscience, allow myself to walk away. What if this child was gravely injured? Perhaps he/she had been abducted and was being held here? What kind of person would it make me to simply walk away when perhaps time was of the essence? Fear had me in it’s ugly clutches but despite that, I found myself opening the badly rusted, creaking gate to investigate further.

As I slowly crept up the weeded, muddy path towards the house, the sobbing intensified briefly, then ceased. I wanted to keep telling myself this was all a figment of my over active imagination. My mind was running away from me..what if I was losing it? What the hell was I doing? Another screeching cry snapped me back to reality, this time horribly loud and tortured. I had to do something. I crept onto the porch, trying to peer into the windows. The view was mostly obscured with years of dust, dirt, and cobwebs. The door stood ajar. I tried my best to peek inside without calling attention to myself. I had no idea what I might walk into. The darkness beyond the door and into the house, intensified by this dreary day, was horribly intimidating and again I felt my knees utterly weak with fear, as if they might literally collapse beneath me. I slowly pushed the door open, hesitating before I took a step inside. Silence now. Eerie, deafening silence, like nothing I had ever experienced. Until suddenly, the door slammed with the force of inhuman strength behind me. I was sure I was about to pass out from the fear that had shaken me to my core. I was screaming inside yet couldn’t make a sound. My heart was pounding right out of my chest and into my throat. Just as suddenly as the door as slammed, my knees gave away and blackness enveloped me as the world faded.

Drip. Drip. Drip. I regained consciousness insidiously, my vision blurry, my mind disoriented and painfully clouded. As my memory recollected itself, I started to convince myself that this had all been a terrible nightmare, the worst of my life. Drip, drip, drip. What IS that? Isn’t this nightmare over? My consciousness was returning, ever so slowly but surely, and with it, an unpleasant awareness of a putrid, rotten scent of...decay...mildew...? I felt the oh so familiar intense fear beginning to embrace me again. This was no nightmare. Drip, drip, drip. I blinked several times, trying to clear my still blurry vision, in an attempt to familiarize myself with my surroundings. All was again eerily quiet besides the dripping noise. No longer any child like sobbing, no screams...silence. I began to get the feeling that I had been duped.

As I attempted to stand, my vision still obscured by the sleepy haze, the the muscles in my legs quivered and ached. Just how long had I been out? After a few feebled attempts, I got to my feet to assess my surroundings - dim, cold, wet, and...wait, what was that? The eerie sound radiating from the shadowed corner caused a fresh, intense wave of terror to wash over me. I wasn’t alone. First, a light shuffle, at the realization I was finally awake, no doubt, and then, a subdued, but steady growl. I was gripped, once again, by an unwavering terror so intense, I was sure I’d pass right out again. My will to survive allowed me to regain my composure, and I attempted to adjust my eyes to darkness that seem to envelop the corner emitting the source of the worst terror I had ever experienced. I couldn’t decide whether to run (but to where?) or stay still, quiet, and unprovoking. There was no time to ponder this, as again, I heard the shuffle of movement and a step in my direction, the throaty, intimidating growl intensifying. I squeezed my eyes closed tightly, a single tear dropping from my left eye and splattering onto my knee, as I had now backed into the dead end of the cold, wet, abrasive wall of my new, personal hell, or whatever this place may be, and crouched in an attempt to shield myself. The heavy, deliberate steps continued towards me slowly as my crouched legs quivlered and ached to the point of collapse. My eyes remained closed tightly, refusing to accept the fate that likely awaited me. The sinister presence became overwhelming, so much that I felt obligated to accept my fate. I would die in this dark, dirty, and cold unknown, and my compassion and naivety were to blame. I was only trying to help. The tears were fresh and hot now, my sobs drowning out the fact that the growling had ceased, but the presence was still looming, so close that I could feel the heat between us. At that moment, all was eerily silent except for my waning sobs and the drip, drip, drip that had become somewhat of a constant..a comfort. I braced for the worst, my body tensed and quaking with uncontrollable tremors.

My hair. A gentle tug and tousle. More curious than sinister. That was the initial tension breaker. The first touch. My guard was still up, my body remained tense. Do I dare take a peek and witness what stands before me, playfully tousling my hair in wonderment and curiosity? Still crouched and trembling, I dared to crack an eye open.

As if hit by a wave, my eyes flew open involuntarily after that first initial peek. My emotions quickly oscillated between horror, amazement, wonder, terror, and...curiosity.

What stood hovering above me, my crouched body tiny in comparison, was a..clown? Seriously? A man in a clown suit maybe? Something else entirely? It glared down at me, eyes glowing such a hot, bright yellow that I felt it my very soul being set on fire as I stared back up at it. <Not human> I couldn’t look away, no matter how desperately I wanted to. A brand new kind of terror washed over me. This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible at all. I squeezed my eyes shut again as my mind grappled for some kind of explanation, anything to comprehend the madness standing before me. Nothing. Reality, as unsettling as it may be at this very moment, was at the forefront. I collapsed into a heap on the dirty, stone cold floor, accepting whatever fate may be thrown my way.

I was snapped back into reality by the tugging of my hair again, although not the gentle tousle this time. He grabbed a handful of my wavy brown loose curls, now moist with the sweat from pure adrenaline and the dampness of this...place, and pulled me to my knees. He stooped down to me, maintaining his stronghold on my hair, pulling downward until I was looking up at him, while tangling and intertwining his gloved hand and razor sharp black claws into my long hair. With his other hand, he used a single claw to trace the side of my face downward, leaving a burning hot scratch along the right side of my flushed face, stopping under my chin. I was now face to face with what just might be my worst nightmare...or was it? His glowing eyes once again seared into mine. His white face revealed rather gentle, but equally terrifying features. His red hair was wild and feral, his stature intimidating. My trembles were now quaking my body with such ferocity that I was sure I would once again collapse. I lowered my gaze to his red, full lips, the only calm within this raging storm overtaking me. He pressed the tip of his sharp claw under my chin, urging me to stand, reluctantly releasing the iron grip on my hair. Now standing, my arms crossed and cradling myself for comfort,still unsure of whether to run or stay put, he stepped back to assess me fully. My damp, tangled hair, my face, droplets of blood seeping from the scratch, and my dirty, tattered shirt and shorts. As he did so, I became well aware that the low, menacing growl had returned, and droplets of drool began to drip slowly from his rather beautiful mouth. His lips curled back slightly to reveal razor sharp teeth, glistening despite the dim surroundings. He was hungry. He was ravenous, and I was fucked.

A scream attempted to escape my throat, but couldn’t quite reach the surface. I stood frozen in fear. I was about to be eaten alive, and no one would know what happened to me. He walked rather slowly towards me, but the eagerness in his eyes was apparent. Despite the fear that gripped me, I couldn’t help but notice his full stature was indeed impressive. So tall, I cowered below him. My arms remained crossed defensively across my body as I backed away from him, straight into the cold (and mossy?) wall behind me. There was no where left to go. This was it. As my heart raced right out of my chest, he lunged towards me with a frightening quickness, pinning me against the wall by my shoulders. My arms fell and I dug my nails into the wall behind me, bracing myself for the inevitable. He once again stared at me with such blinding intensity, looking almost..lustful. Was it lust?! The drool dripped from his mouth and made his sharp teeth again gleam and glisten, which was rather fascinating. He was now so close, it dripped onto my cleavage peeking out from my tank, leaving trail marks settling into tiny puddles. He released the grip on my shoulders and grabbed my hair again, weaving and intertwining his long gloved fingers tightly into the hair at the nape of my neck. I could feel his sharp claws brushing the back of my neck, which simultaneously frightened me AND sent pleasurable chills down my spine. He yanked downward forcefully, pulling my head back and exposing my bare neck, the blood pulsing beneath the skin with painfully obvious vigor. My fear began to escalate even further, and the deep growl rising from his throat told me everything I needed to know. My fear was fueling him, making him crazy with desire. For what part of me, I wasn’t yet certain. At the sight of this, the deafening silence that followed the throaty growl was broken by a sinister grin followed by maniacal, shrieking laughter. I jumped, startled and cried out in pain when his grip tightened in my hair, extending my neck back even further until I was looking straight up into the dark abyss of this cold and damp lair of horror. Not sure what to expect next, I felt him release my hair with one hand, still gripping tightly with the other. A clawed finger lightly traced the pulsing vein in my neck, continuing downward into my cleavage.

With one swift swipe, even too quick to be startling, he tore right through the front of my tank top and bra, exposing my bare breasts and midriff. The cool, damp air caused my nipples to harden immediately and that, along with the droplets of blood oozing from scratches on my breasts inadvertently made in the process, seemed excite him beyond comprehension. His throaty growls turned into almost a deep moan, and although he still had one hand in my hair forcing my head upward, I felt what must have been his tongue, warm and pleasant, tracing the area around my nipple. Sampling me. Tasting me. His drool continually dripped onto my midriff, causing the muscles to quiver..not only with fright now, but oddly enough, with excitement and anticipation. The confusion regarding the conflicting feeling and emotion made my head swim, but what could I do besides roll with it? There was no fighting him, no resisting. His inhuman strength made damn sure of that. His long, slippery tongue continued to circle my hard nipples, his sharp teeth grazing them as he moved upwards towards my neck. As his tongue and sharp claw, one followed by the other, traced the veins, the area of blood flow on my neck, I was horrified to feel the first twinges. THOSE twinges. The budding heat and moist spread of pleasure in just the right spot. My first urge was to fight it, it felt like the right thing to do, but my body was surrendering quicker than my mind could catch up.

He released the powerful grip on my hair, lowering my head to meet his vivid, hypnotizing gaze. His tongue continued upward, tracing the corners of my mouth as my own lips quivered, trying hard to hide the fact that I was beginning to actually enjoy his dirty indiscretions. His wild tongue forcefully parted my lips, running it along the inside of my mouth, savoring my warmth..my flavor. I could feel his sharp teeth piercing my bottom lip, more of a turn on than terrifying at this point. I tried hard to fight the feelings of shame and lasciviousness brought on by my newfound and overwhelming lust. As he brought his huge gloved hand up (oh such long fingers) and wrapped it around my neck, the claws digging into the nape while still exploring my mouth with his, a feeling a warmth rushed through my body, settling at my now damp crotch. So many conflicting emotions flooding over me - desire, terror, lust, longing, confusion. My head was spinning with the overwhelming chaos. He tightened his grip around my neck, removed his mouth from mine, and stared at me, a menacing, mocking grin spreading across his face. How was he so fucking beautiful, yet so hideously terrifying? Confusion and a daunting sense of delirium clouded my mind once more as he began to laugh..a shrill, terrifying noise that pierced the dark depths of this...place.

I quickly snapped back to my senses when he abruptly ceased his laughter and, in another single, swift movement, swept his hand downward, tearing off my remaining clothing - my shorts and underwear. As I instinctively raised my hands to shield my now naked body, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them against the wall. While this should have been intimidating, I felt the excitement once again quiver deep down in my loins, and I, involuntary almost, bucked my hips towards him to meet his towering body. As if some kind of cue, a harsh growl escaped his full red lips as he suddenly reached behind me, grabbing my ass with both hands and lifting me upwards, pushing me against the wall forcefully. His claws dug deep into the soft skin, puncturing, the contrast of the hot blood and cold, damp wall causing my excitement to rise to a whole new level. I was unsure of what would happen next, but without a second to think about it, or even HOW it happened so quickly, he lifted me up even higher and pressed against me with brute force, entering my now dripping, eager pussy with something that wasn’t entirely..human. My breath hitched, harsh and ragged, and the ensuing moans that escaped me were almost as inhuman as the beautiful creature now savagely and lusciously ravaging my now willing body. His forceful and bruising thrusts sent waves of sheer ecstasy and sensual electricity throughout my body, my uncontrollable moans echoing throughout this dark and damp lair. Each moan seemed to excite him more and more, his claws digging further into the flesh of my ample ass with each thrust, his drool puddling on my bare breasts as his glistening teeth appeared to sharpen and lengthen even further. With each raging, jarring, and wildly gratifying thrust, his length thickened and hardened inside of me, filling me up completely and causing my body to tremble head to toe with unearthly pleasure I never imagined was possible. I was on the brink now, headed full speed into an oblivious nirvana. My moans were now wild, uninhibited..animalistic. My body belonged to him. His, all his. At the sight of my sweet, luscious surrender, another mischievous grin spread across his face, exposing every single one of his razor sharp teeth. As he thrust into me full force this time, he simultaneously put his face to my shoulder and sunk his teeth deep into my skin. A searing, white hot pain coursed through my body, followed by waves and waves of ecstasy so intense and overwhelming, I thought I might faint. My orgasm was unrelenting, my moans frantic, my legs quivering like jello until I could barely stand. He released my shoulder from the grip of his wicked, jagged mouth, as blood and drool streamed down into my breasts and continued down the curve of my body. He pulled out of me as his pointed, serpentine tongue traced the path of blood down my naked curves, causing me to gasp once again. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand. I could have melted into a puddle at that very moment..but he wasn’t done. No, not yet. Now, it was his turn.

I was panting and trembling in the aftermath of my ravaging, the bliss consuming me, when he spun me around to face the wall. I steadied myself with my palms against the stone wall, regaining some semblance of balance and support for my now useless legs. With zero time to think about what might be next, he slammed into me from behind, cupping my breasts in his massive hands. Once again, his claws sank into my skin, blood seeping onto my already slippery, blood covered breasts. He pinched my hard nipples, circling them occasionally with my blood, as he fucked my already exhausted body until I was sure I couldn’t take much more. His deep, rumbling growls and moans intensified as I felt him growing more and more firm, his sizable, slithering erection threatening to tear me wide open. I began to pant and moan again, his growls, moans, and the fullness were utterly intoxicating. I backed up into him, his hands moving down to my waist for a secure grip. He pushed deep into me, tickling my G spot and pushing me over the edge, into my own personal heaven, once more. As I moaned loudly and uncontrollably, he began to thrust faster, his erection rock hard to the point of painful, his cries becoming consistently more wild and feral. He grabbed a handful of my hair with one hand, twisting and pulling, his claws entangling into the damp mess. His other hand circled around to my face, another claw teasing my lips to open, pushing his finger into my mouth for me to suck on. His claw gently scraped the surface of my tongue and circled around my slick mouth, willing me to suck. As I did, I backed further into his erection that was adequately filling every little bit of my sore, swollen satisfied cunt. His thrusting became erratic, his inhuman cries, growls, and moans reaching a roaring fever pitch, as I suddenly felt him pulsing and exploding inside of me. His claws tore down my back as I winced, leaving deep, bloody gashes, as he continued to pump his thick juices into me, overwhelming me with another warm sense of pleasure. His hands trailed back up to my shoulders, pushing himself deep inside of me one last time, us both savoring the moment.

At last he pulled out of me, I attempted to stand up straight, my legs still terribly weak. I could feel the heat of his thick juices trickling out of me and down my leg in a slow, steady stream. I turned to face him, and immediately noticed his eyes were burning a vivid blue this time, piercing right into my soul. He stared at me a long moment, cocking his head, observing my bloody body, scratched and bitten, looking somewhat concerned, but mostly amused..and oh so blatantly proud. Slowly, he lifted a single finger to his mouth, his white gloves and claws caked in blood, in an apparent “shush” gesture, as if to say this was “our little secret”. He turned away, walking towards the darkness, disappearing, leaving me to ponder...was this a dream, or possibly (hopefully) reality?

#pennywise #it clownkink #pennywise smut #bill skarsgard #pennywise the dancing clown #clown daddy #it #clownfuckers #clown kink #pennywise fandom #pennywise fanfiction #pennywise imagine #pennywise x reader #pennywise x you

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xxkellsvixen19xx · 5 years

Text

I Am Not Living, I Am Surviving Hug Me Michael x Reader

Warnings: this theme deals with depression and thoughts of suicide which could be triggering for some.

A/N: as someone that deals with depression I felt compelled to post this. Michael helps Y/N during her depressive episode, the reader (much like me tends to shut people out especially when things get difficult so I feel this on a personal level). Hope you guys take the time to read this as it is kinda personal for me, thanks guys and please let me know what you think. Note the lyrics used are from Britta Phillips version of the song Drive

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//who's gonna tell you when

it's too late

who's gonna tell you things

aren't so great

you can't go on

thinking nothing's wrong

who's gonna drive you home tonight//

I was not alone, that there was someone somewhere who was able to articulate the seething, jumbled, brutal, pre-linguistic, thrashing, writhing, hazing, dulling pounding in my head. It wasn't just me. That single thought was the most important thing in the world to me, sometimes the one thing that kept me alive – a single false note of optimism would have shattered it all for me, left me thinking yes, it really is just me – the words people offer me really are just that, words, the hope they contain utterly irrelevant because they relate to an experience that is not mine.

‘I put on a brave front' it had been so easy to hide how I truly felt, laugh, joke act like I was completely fine. But truth was I knew deep down inside I wasn't masking it would only work for so long. I was rapidly sliding deeper and deeper into a very dark space. My symptoms got worse and soon I found it too difficult to even get up and out of bed in the morning.

‘You feel nothing. You shut down completely. There is no happiness, no sadness, nothing. You feel zero.’ Depression is not something that can be brushed away with a smile, or shooed away with a pat on the back. It’s something more deeper and profound. There’s no gadget to test which person is suffering from what type of depression, and there’s no instrument to measure the extent of depression.

Statistics say that as many as 1 in 4 of us will experience a mental health problem at some point in our lives. That means you know someone—probably several someones—with depression, anxiety, an eating disorder or something else. Isolation can have a crushing effect on a lot of people. Some people thrive on it, but humans on the whole are a social bunch and need to interact with others. When that isn’t possible, it’s easy to feel that the walls are closing in. But honestly all I was good at doing is pushing people away, I am afraid if they get to close if they see really see what I am going through that they might abandon me because it may end up being way too much for them.

I kept a diary somehow it felt safer to write down my thoughts, the one person I should be honest with is Michael but I honestly couldn't bring myself to do it. Would he be hurt? Would he hate me? So many thoughts in the back of my mind I pushed them away. I scribbled furiously in the journal and tossing it aside. Normally I hid it under a loose floorboard in our bedroom but on this night not giving it so much as a second thought I feel asleep journal wide open. Y/N didn't hear Michael when he walked in, he looked at you you were fast asleep. He noticed the leather bound book that laid open by your sleeping form. He didn't want to invade your privacy but something alerted him that something was on deed wrong. He looked at the small paragraph scrawled on the page, his face froze in fear at the words before him.

Dear Michael.

I've been thinking about ending my life. I don't know why I can't talk to you in person, so I bought this Diary in the case that I do end up killing myself you will know why I did what I did and that you cannot blame yourself. Michael you are the reason I am still here. for now. But the voices in my head are so strong and the pain that it is inflicting on me everyday, one more thing and I feel like I won't be able to hold on, but I will for you Michael I will try my best for you.

Yours Truly,

Y/F/N Y/L/N

Depression is a hole and I'm slowly falling in trying to claw out and everyone I love is just standing there watching. Honestly I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep 'acting’ like I was ok when deep down inside I wanted to end it, quiet the voices leave the pain behind that quite frankly I felt like I was drowning in.

I opened my eyes I don't know how long I had been asleep or even what time it was. I looked to see Michael's concerned expression his piercing blue eyes felt like they had penetrated my soul. There my journal sat in his lap, Michael let out a breath attempting to steady himself. “Why won't you talk to me Y/N, tell me that something was wrong?” I couldn't even open up my mouth to speak it was like I lost all nerve to even respond. My first instinct was to bolt, I sat up quickly turning my body away from him. I wasn't able to even make it to the edge of the bed, Michael grabbed my arm “Y/N please talk to me don't shut me out!”

Michael's breathing started to get heavier as his eyes started to well up. Y/N looked at Michael, saying nothing. He wondered what she was thinking. Finally, after a few moments, she started sobbing, and she leaned into him. Michael immediately pulled her into his arms, letting her cry on his shoulder, and struggling not to cry himself. ‘I was tired of feeling helpless. I had to do something, anything.’ ‘I remember that exact moment as the one where I started to feel good about myself again, I just wish it could've lasted longer…

There was another moment of silence, this one longer than the last, "I tried to tell myself that you'd get better, that you would get back to normal but the truth is I didn't know that. I didn't know if you'd get better, you can't keep doing this to yourself Y/N, what if I never see you again! And the thought of everyone else just going on with their lives made me sick! So yeah,I am angry, and I am scared… I didn't know what the fuck I am supposed to do!" Michael's voice finally broke as tears streamed down his face. Y/N, with tears in her own eyes, finally stood up. She pressed her forehead against Michael's and placed her hands on the sides of his head. ‘But most of all, I knew, come what may, I had at least one safe harbor.’ I looked up at Michael the look was unmistakable.

‘I'll never forget what I saw at that moment, looking into Michael's eyes.’

‘He loved me. This sweet, perfect man… loved me.’

After staring at him for another moment that seemed to last forever, she finally leaned in and kissed him. He quickly began kissing her back. The two of them continued this until it started to grow more heated, with the two of them running their hands over each other, and Michael kissing along the side of her neck.

He pulled back after a minute and looked at her.

"Are you… are you sure this is okay?" he asked, breathing heavily.

Y/N gave Michael a smile.

"I'm sure," I said.

‘That wasn't entirely true. I wasn't sure, or rather I wasn't sure if I was sure.but I didn't know if that made a difference. I knew I wanted it to be okay this time.’

The two of them resumed, even more passionately this time. They began removing clothes and letting their hands roam over more of more of each other…

‘More than anything, I wanted it to be okay this time. I remember thinking, please, please, let it be okay this time.’

Michael continued kissing Y/N, who leaned her head back as the feelings came over her…

‘But it wasn't okay’

I inhaled sharply…

‘It was perfect.’

2 weeks later…

"How is Y/N?" Gallant ask, suddenly looking at Michael with concern on his face.

Michael hesitated. He came here to help Gallant with an issue with his salon , not unload his own worries onto him. Still, lying to him didn't feel right either.

"I don't know, really," Michael finally said. "She just doesn't seem to want to open up. I know she's been having a really hard time." Michael gave Gallant a slight smile. “I think it's just going to take time.” Gallant responded softly.

‘The day were getting... bearable.’

‘So were the days after that, and the next after that.’

‘Michael found me a new doctor. A bit further away, but worth the trip. I was able to open up to her a little.’

‘Still, I couldn't shake this feeling that there was something I was supposed to do, but at first, I couldn't figure out what it was.’

‘But gradually I started to notice something…’

‘...something I couldn't shake once I noticed them.,

‘The signs.’

‘The ones most people didn't see. The ones no one saw in me until it was almost too late.’

Michael wiped one last tear rolling down his face and closed his eyes.

“Please live for me Y/N," he said, softly. “Stay with me, I love you."

Y/N sighed in relief.

‘All I could do after that was live.’

Michael pulled me close to him tightly I could hear his heartbeat, a steady reminder to live

//Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.//

Mahatma Gandhi

#ahs #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #cody fern #fan fiction

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noxus-the-venomous-blog · 5 years

Text

Part 3.02 Where is your head?

“This is a joke right?! I literally just came from the Science Division,” Ed said in frustration.

“And they sent you here? They radioed us saying they sent the load to engineering but needed something else taken that way.”

“WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!”

“Calm down poison puff,” the rank two grumbled with little patience left, “it means you need to head back to Science and get the new load, should look like a clipboard, then take that to Engineering who will give you the package for Science as well as the new keycard you’re going to need.”

“Wait… Isn't this Engineering?” Ed felt a slight twitch in his eye. His heart was beating like a war drum.

“Nooooo this is S Division. It's like a legal department.”

“So I have to walk all the way back to the first cave elevator?” he sighed admitting his defeat. When he had signed up to infiltrate this place he expected an exciting game of psychological cat and mouse, instead of a ridgid trip to the proverbial villainous version of the DMV. Or was this the cat and mouse game?

“Don't go all the way back to the elevator, that's the long way. Follow the signs for H Division up around P Division. It takes you the back way. When you get to H, turn around by the smoke fountain and head down the corridor between the mess hall and the lazertag center.”

“Wait there's….nevermind. Ok I’m on it.”

“Also, gimme five bucks” the rank two said with a serious set of eyes peering over the respirator.

“Is… This a robbery?”

“Nah man. I forgot my lunch and I totally just spent like 10 minutes helping you. Gimme five bucks.”

“Ok fine,” Ed handed him the money requested, still completely sure this was just a robbery. Then off he walked, following the directions given by the rank 2 from the Subversion Division.

The place was entirely too complicated. He made his way as far as he could go following colored lines on the ground but each of them led to buckets of paint, where apparently someone had forgotten what they were doing and walked away. He then checked a map posted on the mall. After studying it for a few moments he realized it wouldn't help him. It was a map of the eastern New York area. Why? He was ready to give up until he saw someone with a full face mask. Ed knew little about the complicated rank system but the rule of thumb was the more mask the more rank. Hopefully.

“Um, hello?”

“Yes,” the masked rank 3 said to him.

“Yes what?” Ed stammered.

“Just looking on the bright side! So where is your brain thinking it's going?”

Insane… “Science?”

“That's by the elevator. Just go past the poison mushroom field, and cut by…”

“The weird corner with the jugglers and crap that's what i thought but someone said going around the smoke fountain is faster” Ed insisted. He wondered if his tone was bad for speaking to a superior but at this point he was grinding his teeth into calcium powder.

“The jugglers aren't weird… Anyway why would you walk away from science and think its a shortcut?” the woman said, tilting her head as if the helmet was heavy.

“I just…. Basically paid five bucks for wrong directions i guess”

“People make mistakes when they’re hungry, come with me lost little lamb” she insisted, dragging his arm to the cafeteria. The day was about to become a lot longer. She slowly introduced him to each member of the food prep staff, a dull looking bunch who seemed eager for the two of them to grab a tray and leave. She then gathered him and a few other new rank ones and made them each say something positive about themselves, but the rank 3 kept getting distracted and instead doubling back to the same two after repeatedly complimenting their hair. She then dragged him to the entertainment corner where she taught him to juggle. This was the most surprising part of the day since he actually picked up on it quickly, and despite his deep frustrations, realized he made a competent juggler. The joy of this was vacuumed out when she saw a cloud of gas and made Ed chase it, claiming this was a stamina building, motivational exercise. He couldn't see the supposedly running cloud of gas she referred to so what actually occurred was him running in circles while the Rank 3 woman laughed at him and shouted directions. She was in the middle of telling him to use a stranglehold to subdue it when Ed noticed a familiar face. James ran up to the two of them.

“Division leader Haze,” he said panting, “forgive my interruption! You are needed in the laser tag room right away!”

“Oh no what is it?”

“Someone looked absolutely depressed. They kept talking about being hungry and not sure if they should love or believe in themselves.”

“GASP!!!” haze said instead of actually gasping “IM ON IT! You’re on your own for now little lamb. But before i go.” she held her hand to out in front of eds face, “look at this interesting glove,

He stared at it for a moment, having a hard time focusing with it being so close to his face. The moment he saw the small distinguishment on the palm, a tiny hole, it was too late, as a little puff of mist shot forward and into his face and eyes. The toxic effect of the mist muffled the noise and lights around him. She leaned in “Edward… Where is your head?” She then did a hundred and eighty degree twirl and began skipping away.

He turned around slowly. The steady rhythm of ambient noise around him began to go off beat. Sounds of people talking in the distance melted into a blur the footsteps all around him seemed to multiply into a dark applause. He was nearly in a panic until an arm on his shoulder jolted him out of it.

“Hey she won't be distracted long, get to wherever you need to go.”

“Yeah… I have… Who is she?” Ed mumbled.

“That was Haze. She's not so bad once you get to know her, just very….. supportive. You doing ok? Im guessing you didn't expected to get sprayed your first day.”

He steadied himself against the wall. “I feel like i'm going to fall over.”

“It wears off quick,” James added, “you likely just got a little dose of what they call the happy spray. After a while you learn to love it, like a morning cup of coffee. Although it was Haze, so small chance she used the clown spray. No one enjoys the clown spray….”

“Clown spray??” Ed said gasping. He was just thinking he was ready to tap out but if there was any doubt in it, any question of whether or not he was in over his head, it was just clarified in two words. Clown spray.

“If it was i imagine you would have noticed by now. Anyway you said you were headed to Science so get over there before she comes back. “

Ed began stumbling away, had he said he was going to Science? Had any of that conversation even happened? He can remember the conversation but with each step he took it seemed more like he made it up in his head. He made his way backtracking the way he came, wondering if he had passed the jugglers or not. But why? Why was he thinking about them. Why does he know how to juggle? Where was he going again? That's right, to the Science room. Hadn't he just come from there? He kept walking hoping someone would run into him. Hoping someone would hit him to the ground and stand over him and explain who he is. He nearly got his wish when he was knocked to the floor by running into a rank two who he hadn't noticed had stopped walking in front of him.

The decently sized man leaned out a hand to help Ed up. “Thanks i jus…” Ed was cut off by holding a finger up to silence him. He then pointed at one of the nearby tv monitors. The image on the screen was a thick swirl of moving green smoke. It all slowly faded revealing Noxious leaning forward in a dark room. Ed had seen this person many times when being briefed for his mission but the descriptions seemed outdated based on what he was seeing now. The masked figure leaned into the camera and began to speak.

“What is fear? We all have things in our life worth being afraid. I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of letting many people down. This is why i try harder. In each step of my life i was afraid of how id make the next one. This is what guided me cautiously through a dangerous world. Fear and concern can aid us, but when insecurity is present then our fear loses its beneficial nature. Insecurity makes us hesitant. Insecurity makes us doubt. Insecurity drives us to more dangerous roads as we seek to run away from the causes. What causes insecurity? Violence, despair, needless aggression, needless hostility. A world where people shout. A world where people take for themselves and give to no one. A world where a fair chance is a contaminated concept.” Ed looked around the wide open courtyard to see that everyone had stopped and this entire little underground city had halted to give attention to the various scattered monitors bearing their overlord’s face. If evil was a feeling he sensed enough of it around himself to grow sick with it.

“What makes people so selfish? What makes human beings so hostile? It's not our broken souls, or a broken culture. It's a broken brain. Can't it be said that the people who prevail in such aggression are just doing so out of their own insecurities? If you have depression people encourage you to get treated right? Well i have seen this world and diagnosed it with aggression. Lets help it. Lets get it on a proper medication cycle. Let's cure this flawed world so it can't hurt us any longer. Breathe deeply friends...” The monitors shut off one by one.

“I'm new here what was that?” he asked the large man he had accompanied in watching it. The man said nothing, merely offering a thumbs up and walked away. Was this one of the so called “quiet soldiers” he was warned about? He still felt trapped in his thoughts from that spray but at least the weird brainwashing tv message had him distracted long enough for some of the side effects to wear off. It was time to get serious about why he was here, and so off he rushed to the Science department.

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

“No.” the mousy rank 2 said, not even glancing up from her keyboard.

“I don't know what that means,” Ed said in frustration.

“You don't know what no means? That's a terrifying thought.”

“No i don't know why you’re telling me no. i was just sent here from Science, to S Division and then back again.”

“That's your problem. The so called ‘S Division’ isn't around to give you the good directions. You were here this morning and we told you in detail to go to Engineering. If you took advice for others along the way that's your problem.”

“Is there anyway i can just speak to someone in charge?”

“This isn't a department store puff. You can't just… You know what. Nevermind your timing is great. We have three division leaders right over their and i'm sure they have all the answers you need,” she said slyly, gesturing her hand to wave him off. He went passed the reception desk and towards the back room she referenced. Half way down the hallway he felt a wrenching in his stomach, lingering effects he assumed of the toxic spray. It drained his energy and made it feel impossible to think or even stand. He fell to his knees and puked on the sterile white flooring.

“You’re lost little girl,” a woman told him. He could only see her boots.

“I'm not a girl...” ed stammered.

“It's a metaphor,” the woman corrected.

“Lynn that's not a metaphor.” A second set of boots joined. He still only had the strength to look at the floor he had sullied.

“Actually CT, Its a reference so technically it falls under symbolic language” a third voice insisted, again accompanied by another set of boots. This time the voice sounded male.

“Thanks DD, although i think were crowding this poor little puff,” the one called Lynn said. They all then took a step back in a unified manner that Ed found to be robotic and unsettling. With the extra space he took a deep breath and stood up. Before him were the three division leaders. From dossiers he could put together who was who. The one known as Lynn was recognizable from the propaganda videos. The other female was an easy puzzle to solve since he was in the Science Division and the division leader used the monicor ChemTrails. CT. The male however was a coin flip. The Dossier had multiple names on file for the three known male division heads. This DD one must be one of them. Still though, a bit of prodding would come off as curiosity not investigation so he decided to prod.

“Who are you guys?”

“Guys and girls. Or so i can tell,” DD chimed.

“‘Guys’ can be gender neutral nowadays,” Lynn said adjusting a valve on her suit.

“Objectively it cannot.”

“But contextually it can. It’s a word devolved into sland,” CT added, “also none of you are answering the poor puff’s question. I'm ChemTrails, of the Science Division. That place you seem to have spent all day trying to walk back to. This is Evo-Lynn of Propaganda, and The Diabolical Mr Dave of Engineering.”

“A pleasure to meet you… um… Ed?” DD smiled, his mask hanging from his neck gave him a more laid back and inviting look then the rest of them. He had a charming smile but Ed couldn't help but feel like he was being played.

“How did you know my name?”

“You’re damn near famous today. The video is going around of you sitting on Haze’s shoulders juggling like a pro.”

“Oh right…” Ed had no memory of this. “Wait why do they call you Diabolical Dave or whatever?”

“The Diabolical Mr Dave, you have to say the whole thing to really get the effect. It was a college nickname and with my current line of work i figured it was appropriate enough to keep.” Dave said, further unsettling Eds now fragile sense of what was even happening.

“This is all a lovely chat by the water cooler but before we regail ourselves with any more wonderment, Ed, do you have the part my people gave you to give Engineering?” CT asked, “Since DD is right here we can skip the walk,”

What was she talking about. Was he given a part? In all the chaos of the day he had forgotten exactly why he was ever sent to engineering. Is this why there are so many unfinished lines painted on the ground? Are the fumes of this place so mentally infesting that everyone here is doomed to just wander aimlessly from one task to another? Is this the paradise the Noxious Agenda promises? A world so sedated it can't war but neither can it function? And if this is the WAIT WHAT’S IN HIS HAND? ITS MACHINERY AND ITS HEAVY HAD HE BEEN CARRYING THIS THE ENTIRE TIME AND NOT NOTICING? WHAT IS THIS PLACE??

“Yeah this. Thanks champ” DD said with a warm smile. He took the large part and brought it over to a desk. CT followed and Ed saw this as his chance to leave until Lynn grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to the table as well. Their DD added components to the device one by one as it started to take shape.

DD leaned in, placing each part carefully on. “The attachments are magnetic and self bolting. The magnet holds the legs and establishes a current. Once the legs feel that current they rotate the small bolts, holding it in securly. With a press of a button it can remove all of the legs and dismantle itself. The legs can pop off in seconds and be replaced with tracks or even gyros for flight!” Ed was fascinated by this small machine. He had seen drones before but this man DD described it with such childish glee that he couldn't help but look at it with the same excitement.

“What controls it?” Lynn questioned.

“Artificial intelligence,” the proud Engineer said. He noticed a worried look on Eds face so he reassured, “not likely what you’re picturing rank one. It’s AI in the way that i programed algorithms and it finds its own data. Much like a popular online search engine. I collect data from the personalities of people randomly found around the lair and then let it manifest into a code for the drone to follow. Watch,” he leaned over and flicked a small switch.

The robot stood up and a gritty simulated voice began to speak, “NOXIOUS AGENDA! GAS THE SHOUT IN A WORLD THAT PEOPLE!”

They all stared with wide eyes. DD reassured, “this is expected. It uses the words people here use most. It seems weird but as the code refines it will be less eccentric”

“RANK ONE DETECTED! SUCK IT PUFF! CURSE YOU NEWB!” the robot then shouted at Ed as a small cannon emerged, a small flame sparked from it and then much larger jet of fire shot out, scorching the Eds clothing. In a split second CTs mask began to move and swish, then a small liquid tendril protruded out the side and across the room, grabbing the fire extinguisher and returning it to Chems hands as she put out the burning spy.

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!!!” Ed screamed from the floor.

“Just a flaw in the coding… It is a prototype” DD confirmed.

“No no no… Did an arm just crawl out of that mask??”

CT leaned down in front above Ed “Sometimes you don't want to be on a short list of people who know certain things. Especially if people in the future ever want to make that list shorter.”

“I told you you’re lost little girl,” Lynn said. Ed made his way out as the three of them giggled and spoke about the potential of the robot. This was surely valuable enemy data but he was having no more of the three of them. He made his way to a quiet alley between cave walls and a dark building. His daily objectives were a complete failure. He never bugged the servers, never checked out the exits and never made visual confirmation of this cult’s boss, unless a vague image on the screen counted. Did it? Likely not. He can only assume he’s been too intoxicated for any of his report to carry validity. None of the challenges in this hellish place were predicted and thus none of the challenges met. He was ready to start crying at the anguish he had felt when he heard encouraging words.

“Jeez Eddie why the long face?” A man said next to him. He hadn't noticed anyone sit down but at this point company wasn't the worst thing he could have.

“Today's my first day and all i'm doing is messing up. This is all just too much i feel like i can't breathe.”

“That sounds like anxiety, friend. That's normal for a first day. Do you know what causes anxiety?”

“Yeah all these OH MY GOD YOUR A CLOWN!!!” he shouted, nearly falling out of his chair at the sight.

“Now that's not very nice Eddie. Anxiety can be one of two things, a chemical imbalance or an effect of over stressing circumstances. Do you feel overstressed friend?”

“I… Yes i do.”

The clown leaned in and put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you feel like you spent the whole day not doing what you planned to?”

“Yes exactly. I can't get my thoughts straight. I feel like such an idiot.”

The clown leaned in further. “Whose side are you really on…”

“Wh...what?”

The clown leaned back, relaxed. “You can't call yourself an idiot like that. You might be venting but your brain will always take it serious. Don’t be against yourself. You had some setbacks but you learned from ‘em right? Tomorrow will be another day”

“You know for a clown you got some pretty good advice,” ed sighed.

“Why do you keep calling me a… Oh right, clown spray. Let me fix you up” the clown then reached into his massive gag pockets and pulled out three small colored vials and a tiny machine. He examined each vial then put them in the small device. He punched in some numbers on the side of it and the machine began to vibrate, mixing them together. He leaned the machine towards Eds face an a small gas release came out of it. The instant he inhaled a portion of it his head felt like it was on fire. He lost control of his muscles and his head fell into his palms, doing everything he can to not fall of the bench he was sitting on.

“Breath Deeply Ed, this will fix you,” the former clown said, his voice now more raspy and muffled. Ed summoned what strength he could to raise his head to the man, but the clown was gone, and replaced with something much worse. The modified gloves, the glowing mask, the shoulder vents. This was Noxious. “You'll be ok Eddie. Just keep doing your best here and who knows, maybe we will grow on you?” The boss said before getting up to walk away.

SUPERSECRETSPECIALOVAENDING

DD “how long do we have to keep being mean to the rank 1s?”

CT “wait were we being mean to all of them? i thought it was just those two new ones”

Tranq “its just the one called Ed. we are attempting to draw them out.”

DD “oh.... i have a lot of crispy rank one’s to apologize too.....

#original content #original character #original fiction #original story #Noxus

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