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rebelcap · 3 years

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We are not just friends — Part 19

Chris Evans x bi!latina!character (Sofia is a people of color, she’s brown.)

Chris and Sofia meet when their best friends started dating, it all started at friends with loads of bumps on the road.

Warnings: drinking, smoking, drug use (weed), assault, Chris being Steve Rogers, commitment issues, my girl Sofia kinda messy.

This is slow burn at its best, at least emotionally.

Series masterlist

Sofía had definitely closed up, she became a recluse in her own apartment and the only thing she did was go to work and back. She felt mostly okay, she wasn't crying her eyes out or seeing a random photo of Chris and crying.

She was hurt, deeply hurt but all she did was avoid thinking about him. This wasn't like the first time they broke up, this felt different. Like, this was it.

She loses one of her most precious friends and gains another failed relationship, another ex that probably will end up resenting her because they couldn't reach her and when she opens up she gets shot down.

After Chris…

Sofia was sure that she was meant to be alone and she was mostly okay with it.

On the other hand, Christopher was devastated—he honestly thought she was the one, he felt it in his gut, his heart, his whole being made him feel that she was the one. She just kept pushing him away in all the ways that she could find and he took it, until he couldn't anymore and that alone made him feel like he was failing her, he didn't know how to help her and she won't let him.

They were so far away from each other—it was exhausting and the fact that he had just started talking with Jenny again made him feel insecure about his relationship.

But he love her with all his fucking heart that it hurt his whole body knowing that she might ever be able to love him back the way he does.

"I miss him," Sofia said, putting her eyeliner on. She was going out as Amanda was very pregnant to even move.

"He does too." She said rubbing her belly. "It's been, how much time now?,"

"Four months , so he's dating Jenny. That's what I heard…" Sofia tried not to get emotional about it but… Fuck.

"Yeah, Luke told me about it… but it's going anywhere and he knows. Not sure about her though."

"He always gets back with all his exes. Got us on rotation, fucking idiot. He wants to commit but he can't actually commit with anyone. Then in the one with commitment issues," Sofia shook her head and let out a groan. "I love him, I swear to you I love him, he's a good friend but he's a terrible boyfriend."

"Right back at you," Amanda laughed and Sofia had to, because she was absolutely right about her too.

"I don't go back with all my exes, though"

"Mostly don't, Chris it's the exception."

"Because I thought it was going to be okay for once." She made a face and began putting the make up back on her little make up bag. "I can't believe he's back with Jenny, she's funny and intelligent and great—but God, I don't fucking like her." Sofia said, throwing the make-up bag on her bag and pout. "I don't want to go out now. More because I know he's here in Boston and it's not leaving until next year and I'm seeing his brother today."

"You don't wanna run into him?,"

"Of course I wanna run into him, I miss him so much but I'm totally not over him yet." Sofia explained sitting on the toilet seat looking at Amanda that was leaning in the door frame. "I don't know if I'm ever going to be over Chris."

"I'm sad now, you're make me feel sad and my boy too—

"I'm sorry—

"Don't be, I'm feeling sad because I can't go out with you and drag Chris's name all over Boston even though he's great but he left you."

Sofia smiled looking down and felt Amanda's hand running through her hair and she sighed deeply.

Sofía was vibing or at least trying, the place was comfy and she knew almost all the people that were there—witch where all of fucking Christopher closest friends and some random girls that the guys bring from somewhere.

Apparently he wasn't coming, which Sofia didn't know if she was actually relieved or not.

"Jesus fucking christ." She murmured to herself tried of her own fucking mind noise. She stood up and walked to the little bar area and started pouring a drink, straight whiskey and downed it all and poured herself a second and then a third walking away with the drink on her hand.

He saw her first, saw her leaning on a wall, talking with some dude —younger than her, brunette and with a fucking man bun, he was built, lean and tall. She laughed, at whatever fucking thing he said she laughed and looked at him with the little fucking straw on her lips. Oh, boy he was mad.

Chris rubbed his face and went about to hang up with his friends and mingle a little bit. But he couldn't stop looking at their direction every fucking second.

"They sure look cozy," Luke said and Chris looked at him. "Did you talk to her yet?"

"I can't talk to her, man." Chris muttered and downed the warm beer on his hand and his friend handed him another. "What I'm supposed to say?, hey, long time remember when I dump you because I'm a fucking imbecile and i cant fucking wait." He said dropping sarcasm on every word.

"That's a good opening," Luke laughed and Chris just stared at him, murdering eyes directed at his very own best friend.

"Who the fuck is that?" he asked referring to the guy she was talking with.

"A friend of Ryan's cousin."

Chris made a face and rolled his eyes. "The fuck he doing here?"

"It's Ryan's house, dude," Luke said and was a little amazed at Chris, he definitely hasn't seen him like this in a really long long time. "Man. .." Luke said, kind of amazed. "You're still head over heels in love with her, don't you?"

"I wonder what gave it away," Chris said, drinking his beer and rubbing his face. "imma talk to her,"

"Ah—don't think it's-uh," Luke was looking at them and saw them share a kiss, it was quick and he kinda went for it.

"What?," Chris said turning around and saw them just breaking the kiss and that's the moment Sofia saw him.

And her stomach dropped, her whole ass body dropped—

"Oh, woow. Are you okay?," Alex, asked her when her knees buckled and he caught her.

"Ah, yeah, yes. Just," She smiled at him and looked at her empty glass. "Little drunk, imma get more—" Sofia made an attempt to leave but Alex, bless his fucking kind heart, offered her to get her those drinks and something to eat.

As soon he leaves that was a cue to Chris, who literally strutted to the wall she was leaning and Slfia just… started.

"Hi," He said, hands on his pockets as Sofia kept looking at him. "How-how are you?"

Sofoa kept quiet and simply walked away from him, ahe couldn't possibly do the whole small talk bullshit they alwaus did and it emeded up al fucking badly. Chris looked at her go and he was the one that stormed after her.

"Sofia, come on," Chris said and walked besides her. "Sof, it's going to be like this?"

"I can't talk with you Chris, like…" She sighed and sat down on a bench, they weren't completely away from the people and there were some girls sitting on a couch messing around with their phones and minding their business.

"Why not?," He asked, looking at her. He just wanted to reach out and hug her, he missed her.

Sofía finally looked up at him and asked him, "How's things with Jenny?," Chris looked away and rubbed his beard and stayed quiet at her question for a moment.

"We're not together anymore," He said and Sofia made a face and sigh. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you seeing someone?" He asked looking at the bar where the dude was talking with Ryan, probably giving him the talk.

"Look, Sofia is off limits."

"What?, why? She told me she's single." Alex asked and looked back at where she was supposed to be and found Chris looking back at him with that death stare he did when he was annoyed.

"Yes, she is. But it's also Chris ex and they still didn't figure it out and he's my friend, so kid. Off limits,"

"Do you care,?" She asked, sassy.

"If I didn't I wouldn't be asking, wouldn't I?," He asked right back at her, also sassy.

"Last time I tried that, it didn't go well," Sofia said, rolling her eyes at him. "And the one before that, worse." She said at their obvious relationship and Chris just grunted. But couldn't blame her, it was a mess…

"Yeah," He murmured and dug into his pockets and fished out a packet of cigarettes. "want one?" He offered her and she took it.

"Thanks, we should smoke outside though." Sofia said walking out to the backyard where the other guys were doing the grilling.

They waved at them but kept their distance, not Scott though because it was Scott.

"So…" He said walking up to them and putting a hand on each shoulder. "You two are actually talking,"

"Not really," Sofia rolled her eyes and Chris grunted again.

"Sof," He said, putting those little blue eyes to work on him and it worked, of course it will work.

"Okay, okay…" She agreed and lit up the cigarette giving Chris a look. Thinking that the moment she found him unattractive was when she stopped looking at men all together and dedicated herself to pussy forever.

He was so fucking attractive, jesus fuck.

"Either way, is there a point here?," She asked looking at both of them. "We're good, I guess," She shrugged.

"Are we really good?," Chris asked.

"I don't know, you left me." Sofia took a drag and Scott made a face.

"And that's my cue to leave, I love you both." He said and Sofia laughed.

"And I do too." She wink at him and Chris was staring at her, waiting for Scott to leave.

"I shouldn't have done that—

"Chris, don't." She waves a hand at him. "You seriously need a new woman on your life, this thing about getting back with all your exes ia getting old as fuck."

"Ouch," He said and actually smile and so did she. "I do miss you, you know that."

"I miss you too, come on. We were really good friends for a moment there,"

"Yeah," He smiled and bit his bottom lip, shaking his head. "We fucked up, don't we?"

"Yeah, and I told you so."

"You did. Guess I didn't listen,"

"You never listen, stubborn Gemini man." She said punching him on the arm.

"Yeah, you're right but I don't regret it though."

"Me neither," She smiled and sigh, just thinking for a moment. "So, there's a wedding coming?"

"You mean ours?," He joked and Sofia barked a laugh.

"I mean our better halves, idiot. Besides, we will be divorced in the first four months."

"What?, come on I gave us at least… a year," Chris saif and Sofia made a face, disagreeing.

"Six months, tops." She said and put her hand on his month. "The thought of me being a wife, ew."

Chris laughed out loud. "You look pretty in white,"

"I look pretty in everything because I'm pretty," She rolled her eyes with a smile. "But, jokes aside. Do you see yourself married?"

"I like the idea of marriage but… Honestly, I don't know."

"I preferred to have a kid before marriage, it's just a fucking paper in the end. You can divorce, I think I'll know when I have a kid, if I have a kid."

"We never had this talk before," Chris said and pointed at a little bench for them to sit. "About us,"

"Did you think about it?" Sofia asked as she sat down beside him. Chris was holding his beer between his legs and looking forward.

"Yeah, I mean…" He looked at her. "I have never been this in love with someone like I am with you, so yeah. I did, a couple of times actually."

Sofia was dumbfounded at what he said, and she did toyed with the idea a couple of times…

"I almost propose to you, actually…" He laughed and Sofias head snapped so hard to look at him. "After you met my mom, I bought that ring you liked. I thought that maybe someday…" He shrugged and Sofia's eyes watered up and just stared forward.

"Chris, I…" She whispered and he looked at her.

"What's wrong?," He asked, frowning.

"What's wrong!?," She said, wiping her tears. "Dude, are you hearing what you are saying to me?."

Chris realized it at that moment, what he did. Bomb after bomb he just dropped on her.

"Sorry, I got carried away." He muttered slouching on the bench and drank the rest of his beer.

"You'll find someone, Chris…" Sofia said in a small voice.

"Already found her," He muttered and stood up and walked away.

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x latina!#chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x you #chris evans angst #Chris Evans x reader #chris evans imagine

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comicbooksidecharacter · 3 years

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Hiraeth [Part 27]

Bucky Barnes X OC (Amelia Stone)

Hiraeth: (n.) “longing or deep yearning for a place, time, feeling or person long gone; or that never was.”

Summary: Things have changed for those who opposed the Sokovian accords. They spend a Christmas together.

*very tiny chapter I wrote to make ground for more fluff*

She didn't know how long it would take to get used to the mildew of their new apartment. It was a fairly decent establishment, but the rain always dampened the wall; that combined with the fact that the landlord was always doing weed.

She was still struggling a lot with her pain, some days more than others. Now that she had also left the facility, there was no way to keep a close eye on the wound. It used to burn every once in while, particularly when she had those recurring nightmares, now vivid, of being tortured, at the hands of HYDRA, and Bucky. She could remember how she got some of her cuts, that had left a mark on her skin. She couldn't really remember how she hurt her chest.

Maybe it was why Bucky was avoiding her. Somewhere in his mind, he was relating Tony's anger to her forgiveness, doubting if her forgiveness would turn on him the moment he made another mistake. It made him very aware of everyone's presence, and he seemed keen to stay in the shadows, and not interact with them so much. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was like that. Brooding, proud, antisocial and a recluse.

Christmas arrived, it was bittersweet, because the team celebrated it together, at least once during the 25 days. To keep up with the festivities, they all decided to have a Secret Santa. It was a beautiful evening on the 24th. The warmth was just right, it made the house feel like a safe haven from the bone-chilling winter outside. The world had gone to a deep slumber under the blanket of fresh snow. The smell of cinnamon and apple had muffled that of the mildew she always complained about. Steve was telling stories of his childhood; Sam was astonished that Steve was indeed a grandpa. Natasha was drinking wine, Bucky too, sitting in the chair and smiling as Steve recounted shared memories.

Ellie had just left the room a minute earlier, and came back holding her phone. Steve and Natasha were to notice.

"Ellie", Steve began, "Come on. Not today. It's Christmas."

"Just one minute Steve."

"He said he'll come, so he will. And if he doesn't, well.. we see that later."

The cryptic nature of their conversation caught Bucky's attention, whose eyes suddenly landed on Ellie and her phone.

"True", she replied, "Ugh.... I am just so nervous."

"Didn't you set the time with him?", Sam asked too.

"Well, he said around Christmas, that too in a mall or something", she replied. "He apparently has a thing for festivities and lights." Ellie closed her phone and put it away.

"Are you sure you want to meet him?", Sam asked, "I mean, you've not really done this kinda stuff before."

"It's ok. Exploring new horizons", she replied. "The world has changed."

"And yet somehow it's still the same", Natasha continued. She put her glass away and straightened the ruffles of her beautiful green dress. "So, let's do the gift thing and get this over with."

Ellie put her phone away and settled on the beanbag next to the fireplace. The gifts were brought and they began to unwrap them.

It began with Steve. It was a small rectangular box, no longer than his hand, wrapped in blue and silver paper, with a red bow on it. He chuckled at the color scheme and unwrapped it. Silence followed.

"Geez", he could manage to say, but his eyes were wide.

"What is it?", Natasha asked.

"It's a Swiss army knife", he said, tracing the sides with his finger. "1939. Belonged to one of my friends in the regiment."

They all looked at the name carved on the side of the knife. "L. R. Anthony."

"We shared a tent during one of our missions. Really, a gem of a man. Had a wife, Margie and.. 4 children I think. A pair of girls and boys. Kentucky.. Man..." Ellie took a moment to steal a glance at Bucky who, as usual, felt indecipherable.

There was silence in the room. All they could hear was the fire.

Sam opened his gift and found paper inside.

"What's this?", he read the card inside. It had two tickets to the quarter finals of a football match. "WHO BALLIN?" he announced, smiling enthusiastically.

Natasha was next to open her gift. Someone had gifted her tickets to Disneyland and an invitation to a fancy restaurant. She could definitely use a break. They all could.

Ellie had a small packet in her hand, looked like a letter envelope. She opened the flaps and two things. One was a really delicate chain, made of silver probably. It had the most delicate pendant on it, a rose. There was one more thing, a small plastic bag, with small bead-like things.

"Are these seeds?", she asked, examining them closely. The paper at the bottom of the box said so. It was geranium and carnation seeds. She looked so happy, always having an interest in horticulture. Her silence though, made everyone curious.

“Something wrong?”

"No. I just... I love it!", she said, smiling faintly.

Bucky was last, awkwardly fidgeting with the box in his hand, it was a brown box, wrapped in a plain black string with a tiny plastic pine cone in place of a bow. He opened the box carefully and found two things inside, a nice woolen sweater and an empty journal. On top lay a note which said, "To new memories..."

Announcing that they were going to be late for dinner, Natasha put the gifts away. While everyone was putting their things away, Bucky was wearing the warm brown sweater he found in his gift.

“It’s a perfect fit”, Steve commented, passing him by to get the keys.

“It is”, Bucky replied, making final adjustments to the hem. He had been estranged for so long, the feeling of a home made him feel awkward. If he could, he would have tried to liken this Christmas to all of his past ones, good ones, but memory wouldn’t serve him that well. It was outside the house his mind was trapped in, and the guard was too strong.

Ellie stood right next to him, looking at herself in the giant hallway mirror. She was wearing a lovely black dress, with a thigh high slit and perfect stockings to match. Her hair were open and flowing beautifully down.

“Can you help me?”, she asked, awkwardly, holding the chain in her hand. “I might as well wear this too.”

“It matches..”

Bucky clipped the chain, the tiny gold rose pendant twinkling under the light. It looked perfect. She looked at his sweater and smiled.

“Looks nice”, she said, walking away.

“Yes it does”, he replied, in a low voice, looking at himself again, “Thanks Amy.”

----------------------------

Sorry it got hella long. I wanted to make some sense of the timeline and also, Bucky related fluff angst had to be there lol. Also... Is the series too long? Should I be cutting it short? I just like details a little too much.

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This champ

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onebloodsoakedlion · 4 years

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Abandoned!Conquest Ryoma in Fodlan - Part 2

The Black Eagles were a real enigma. The house was quite diverse in personality. And having a leader with rather strange ideals was just the cherry on top.

But one thing Ryoma noticed was that the Black Eagles had one less student than everyone else. While the Golden Deer and Blue Lions had eight students, the Black Eagles only had seven. Ryoma decided to query Edelgard on this matter. “Well, yes, we do have eight students. It’s just that one of them is too timid to show her face.” “Well, who is this elusive student?” “A small, purple-haired girl by the name of Bernadetta,” Edelgard replied, “But she’s such a recluse, I don’t think she wants to see you. She’d rather be left alone.” “Like hell, Edelgard,” Ryoma laughed back, “How do you know she’s not scared of me? Even the most skittish cats can find a human that they can warm up to.” “Okay then, if you insist, Ryoma,” Edelgard replied, pulling out a map, “This is Bernadetta’s room, where you’re most likely to find him. Good. Luck.”

Bernadetta, of course, was hiding in her bedroom, quietly writing. A loud, hard knock sent an electric shock through the poor girl, causing her to accidently mark the page. She turned to the door and let out a nervous “Who is it?” “It’s... um... well... someone from another world,” Ryoma struggled to get out, “If you’d been there when I first came here, you’d know all about me.” “What are you doing here,” Bernadetta exclaimed, “Have you come to kill me!?” “What!? No,” Ryoma replied, rather shocked, “Why would I do that? I’ve just come to your room because you were the missing Black Eagle. I wanted to see you too.” “Okay, well you’ve met me, now please leave,” Bernadetta replied. At this point Ryoma would’ve respected Bernadetta’s request and left. But he had seen her SOUL, scanned her variables... Her SOUL trait was Creativity, nothing new, But it was cracked, moreso than Dimitri’s. Ryoma had seen her Bio, and her “Dislikes” were pretty alarming. Speaking to people, imposing figures and overbearing fathers. Overbearing fathers!? Was she abused? Ryoma HAD to find out. “Oh I don’t think so,” Ryoma chuckled, “I’d like to really see you. To really get to know you. Just as I’ve been able to see and know everyone else.” “No, please,” Bernadetta cried out, rushing to lock the door, “You can’t do this! You can’t invade my room like this! Leave me alone!” Suddenly, the door seemed to unlocked itself. It swung open, to reveal Ryoma, who wiggled his index finger in front of her, which seemed to have a beast’s claw attached to it. “I see you’ve noticed my little claw. These tiny daggers are useful for so many different things, especially lockpicking. They even make decent weapons, but I don’t feel like using them on you...” Bernadetta couldn’t even scream at the Hoshidan King. She shook like a leaf, sweating and pale, “Please don’t hurt me...” she barely manage to squeak out before falling to the floor. “Oh shit...” Ryoma sighed to himself, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat faint in fear like that before...”

Bernadetta found herself lying on her bed. But something wasn’t quite right. She felt... something... pressing up and down on her abdomen. She looked up to find a rather large cat, covered in red fur and with a mane of brown hair not to dissimilar to Ryoma’s, purring loudly whilst kneading her belly. She nervously reached out to pat the feline on the head. He responded by looking up at her and saying “Oh, you’re awake.” “What,” Bernadetta screamed, “You’re sound like that man... who came into my room.” “I am him,” Ryoma replied, “You fainted when I was talking about my claws, so I put you on your bed and turned into a cat so I could calm you down. Turns out it was a good idea since you like animals so much.” “Why are you here,” Bernadetta groaned. “At first,” Ryoma replied, “I just wanted to know you. But now, after witnessing how timid you are, I think you need some help. Emotional help. I’ve never seen a human, or even a cat, this timid before. What you need, is someone to hang around and keep you safe, like a guardian of sorts. And what better guardian for you than a cat that rubs himself against your legs and purrs in the most insistent manner?” He burrowed his head into the girl’s chest and continued to purr. Bernadetta could only continue to pat the polymorphic creature. His fur was oddly soft...

“Hello there, Bernadetta,” Hubert said in his usual, monotone voice. “AAAAH,” Bernadetta screamed, “OH GODS! THERE’S A MONSTER! IT’S COME TO KILL ME!” Ryoma pushed himself inbetween Bernadetta and the creepy Hubert, arched his back, puffed out his tail and let out a loud, sharp hiss. “The hell is WRONG with you,” Ryoma yowled, “Bernadetta has a problem! Don’t sneak up on her like some sort of shadow monster!” “Ryoma, is that you,” Hubert replied with a chuckle, “What happened to you.” Ryoma’s tail swished from side to side, “I turned myself into a cat. So what? Give Bernadetta some space.” He turned around and rubbed against the girl’s legs and brushed her hand with his tail. He turned to the creepy man of little childrens’ nightmares, “Look, I don’t know why she’s like this, but I’m gonna have to get to the bottom of it. Now leave her be.” Shocked, Hubert had no choice but to back off.

Ryoma would accompany Bernadetta in feline form whenever she had to leave her room. It got so time-consuming that Ryoma had to time travel in order to meet any of the others. But within weeks he could sense improvement within the girl. Sometimes, when Ryoma was parked up in her room, he would hear her talking to herself about her father. In fact, Ryoma had read one of her stories about her father while she was asleep. The one Ryoma found was a horror story about a little girl whose father was secretly an ancient demon, who, after giving birth to her, wanted to warp and twist her soul, so that when she was married off, she would curse her husband, take his soul, and give it to the demon. Ryoma was so disgusted, he decided something had to be done.

It was now the school holidays, and by now Bernadetta had warmed up to Ryoma enough for him to remain in human form, which had made her look up to him as a guardian angel of sorts. Ryoma had decided that today was the best day to sort things out. “I feel like taking us on an adventure,” Ryoma blurted out, trying to think, “I wanna let you see the things that you’ve missed out on, cooped up in your room like that.” “A-Are you sure that’s a good idea,” Bernadetta stammered, “I’ve never been outside the monastery for a while, outside of the occasional battle...” “I’ll protect you,” Ryoma reassured the child, “You should know that by now. And we’re not just gonna walk there, we’ll teleport!”

Ryoma took Bernadetta through numerous areas of Fodlan, and even out of Fodlan, including Nohr and Hoshido in his own timeline. Bernadetta was quite frightened by the unfamilliar sights at first, but eventually came to enjoy the experience. Ryoma was hoping that this would prepare her mentally for the confrontation that lay ahead.

“Wow, I can’t believe that all this exists! I need to go outside more often!” “Well yes,” Ryoma replied, “And we have just one more place to visit! You ready?” “Okay,” Bernadetta affirmed as Ryoma opened the portal. And she got quite a shock, as she stood in front of an all too familiar mansion. “Oh no. Why did you bring me here! WHY HERE!?” “Bernadetta, I’ve heard some... stories... about your father. You know how I said I would protect you? Well, I wanna do something to help you in the long run. And that means giving your worst nightmare a real talking-to.” Bernadetta cowered and backed off, “Well you do that then! I’m staying right here!” Ryoma grabbed her hand, carefully but firmly, “Don’t you want to see me slay the beast? What if you have something to say to it? Some last words to your nightmares before they are finally dispelled?” Bernadetta reluctantly agreed. Ryoma knocked on the doors, while Bernadetta hid in his mane. A middle-aged man appeared, with purple hair similar to his daughter, with an odd resembelance to one of the most evil people in the Puppeteers’ world, one who was rumoured to have killed many people - most of whom were from a group referred to as the “Jews”. And despite Ryoma being a whole head taller than this man, he seemed to be looking down on the Hoshidan King. “Who are you and what do you want?” “I am a member of the Garreg Mach staff,” Ryoma took a breath and calmly replied, “I have come to discuss a few matters regarding your daughter.” Count Varley was rather suspicious, but let Ryoma in anyway, completely unaware of the second person he had brought with him.

“What concerns do you have with my daughter” the man asked in a stone-cold voice. Ryoma’s sharp, feline ears picked up his muttering, “That good-for-nothing bitch...” “Excuse me,” Ryoma asked, barely able to believe even his powerful ears. He hoped his mind was playing tricks on him. “I said, what concerns do you have with my daughter,” the Count asked again, slightly irritated. “Well,” Ryoma began, “We’ve heard... some rumours going around, that you have abused your daughter. Is that true?” “Why I would never,” he angrily exclaimed, “Bernadetta must be telling lies! She’s always trying to get me into trouble, that naughty, impudend, unmarriageable wretch!” Bernadetta began to sob from behind Ryoma’s mane, catching Varley’s attention. “You... brought her with you?” Ryoma, coming up with another idea, drew the Rajinto, pulled Bernadetta out, and held her at katana-point, “Yes, I did. Now tell me the truth! Or she dies.” Bernadetta felt so utterly betrayed, she started sobbing. But Count Varley stood his ground, “You stupid buffoon! You’re just trying to bring down my good name!” And with that, Ryoma thrust his sword... into his left hand, “What!? You’d rather let your own daughter die than admit to hurting her!? What sort of heartless man are you!?” The blood from his hand did not fall to the ground, but instead bled into the blade of Rajinto, which reacted by delivering a small electrical pulse to the bleeding palm, cauterising the wound shut. And with that, the samurai released Bernadetta and sheathed his sword, before putting a hand on Bernadetta’s shoulder and whispering “Just kidding” into her ear, before lunging on the man and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “You have already proven to me, within five minutes, how much of an asshole you are, Count Varely,” Ryoma roared, “If you were TRULY innocent, you would be falsely confessing to abusing her and begging me to leave her alone! But no, you’d rather let her die to preserve your own name. How selfish of you. So... I have an offer you can’t refuse - confess to everything you’ve done to your daughter Bernadetta and tell me why. If you do, I’ll convince Lady Rhea to offer you special protection... If you don’t, I’ll beat you to death with my own bare hands, trash your legacy and smear your good name. And I WILL know if you lie to me... I can see it in your SOUL.” “Okay, fine,” the Count sighed, “Ever since I discovered that Bernadetta had a Crest... I decided that she would make a good wife for a rich husband, so I decided to train her from a young age with chores and whatnot.” “Bullshit,” Ryoma growled, tightening his grip around the Count’s neck and delivering an electrical shock down his spine.

Despite Ryoma’s methods of interrogation, Count Varley continued to hide the details. Ryoma could tell he was hiding something and in response, got more harsh in his threats. He threatened torture, he even dealt a blow or two until Count Varley finally realised that resistance was pointless. He confessed to everything, how he only saw Bernadetta as bait for a rich husband, how he tied her to a chair for hours to get her to be quiet. How he prevented her from having any friends, especially with commoners, how he scorned and mocked her when he felt she wasn’t good enough, how he even paid someone to beat the shit out of a little boy who Bernadetta had befriended, and that above all, his hopes were for Bernadetta to marry a filthy rich man so that HE would get some of the money. It was enough. Ryoma had heard everything. And he was pissed. “My GODS,” Ryoma exclaimed, “You tortured your daughter, all this time, JUST SO YOU COULD GET MONEY!?” He saw a vision of Shura, from a Birthright timeline. He had attacked the army of this timeline’s Corrin, Jozlyn, and tried to still Ryoma’s sword so he could sell it. He saw himself being incredibly pissed at Shura, saying he wanted to bury the pathetic little fucker in coin until he suffocated from all the gold. Though thankfully, Shura only wanted to survive and rebuild his town, and would’ve used the infinite money to do so, if it had been given to him. Shura knew his stuff - money would buy builders and building materials, and that would rebuild his homeland. But Count Varley was none of that. He didn’t have much need for money. He was already well-off, with a rather decent mansion that was well-dressed with luxurious-lookinh furniture and in near-pristine condition. Nothing said that Count Varley had some charitable cause or worthwhile project that needed any monetary funds. “Gods-fucking-damn,” Ryoma growled, shaking the man, “You are the most fucking selfish excuse for a person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. You remember that deal I made? Well I take that back, because you are such a fucking asshole. I know what you’re feeling. You’re just sorry for youself. You don’t even want to make up for what you’ve done. You are beyond redemption.” Ryoma seemed to slap the bastard’s dumb face. It seemed like a weak move at first, until bright red lines appeared on the Count’s face mere seconds later. With claws unsheathed, tail puffed up and ears back, Ryoma let loose on Bernadetta’s abusive asshole of a father with a piercing yowl, using fists and claws interchangeably. A moment later, he suddenly stopped, letting the Count go, who ended up on his hands and knees, looking in fear at Ryoma. Who turned his head towards Bernadetta. “Would you like to... join in?” Bernadetta shook her head, too scared to move. “I promise you, it will be very satisfying.” Bernadetta looked at Ryoma, then at her “father”. “I wonder, does it feel better taking down your worst enemy yourself... or having someone else do it for you? Would you like to help me answer that question.” It was encouragement enough. Bernadetta reluctantly stepped forward, glaring at her father, then laid into him. She seemed weak at first, throwing meek little punches, which seemed like such a joke that the man slapped her in the face. The pain in her cheek and the spiteful glare in his face seemed to spark some resolve in Bernadetta. She tried again, this time, harder and with deliberate effort. She punched him in the nose, emitting a loud crackle as blood sprayed out. As he held his face in pain, she lowered herself to his level before delivering a sharp blow to the ribs, with a tight fist that had the middle finger slightly out. He was struggling to breathe and fell to his side, only to get a sharp kick in the stomach, and then the groin. He groaned in pain and rolled onto his back as she put her hands together and drove her elbow into his chest, before releasing a flurry of kicks to his side, making him roll over once again, onto his stomach, trying to shield himself from her furious kicks. He looked up at her just in time to see her holding her right fist in the air above her head with her left hand, before bringing it down upon his stupid, selfish head. He fell to his side. “Bernadetta - ” was all he managed to get out, before she kicked him once again in the stomach, forcing him onto his back, before kneeling down on him and releasing one final flurry of punches, as hard and fast as she could, until his brains spewed from his skull and his face was no longer recognisable.

Bernadatta pulled herself to her feet, staring at the body of her “father”, panting hard. “You done yet,” Ryoma asked. She nodded, and they walked out. She took one look behind her, and then stared at her bloodied hands. “Look, I dunno whether what we did was right,” Ryoma sighed, realising how much he had let his anger get to him, “But all I know is that pile of shit had it coming...” he looked at Bernadetta, “...and you’re free now. You no longer have to worry about him. He cannot hurt you anymore. You have displayed great courage by letting me help you confront him, and if anyone tries to hurt you, or your friends, you can do to them what you did to him.”

Bernadetta was still rather skittish, but she had been outside her room a lot more, and was definitely making attempts to interact with others. Ryoma had confessed to killing Count Varley, but was able to explain the truth using SOUL data as evidence. He ended up being slapped hard in the face for not letting Bernadetta have her revenge, only for it to be taken back when he admitted her part in the killing. But what satisfied Ryoma the most was seeing Bernadetta make an effort to move on and be the girl she would’ve been if not for the abuse she’d suffered. And Ryoma had realised... He had fixed someone. Not physically, but mentally, just as his sister and therapist FrostFire had done for him. And that was far more satisfying than killing Count Varely.

#Fire Emblem Fates #Abandoned Conquest #Fire Emblem Crossover #Ryoma #Bernadetta #Count Varley #mature #violence #gorewarning #violencewarning #Ryoma got to turn into a cat!#Fodlan #Werecat #child abuse #Bernadetta's dad needed to die change my mind

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valeriianz · 5 years

Text

Based on @masao-micchi‘s GLORIOUS witch AU. I really want to write more of this verse, so please let me know! I’ve uploaded this to Ao3 as well for any future installments :)

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Many witches and warlocks grow into their power naturally, usually through their family, genetically. It was very common to learn by yourself, witches weren’t independent, but it was expected to take matters into your own hands; inherit the powers passed down to you. Some families were famous for their impressive genealogy, though some infamous by marrying their brothers, sisters, cousins… keeping the bloodline pure.

Some went to the Academy of Magick to hone their powers and rise to power more quickly… if you had money and happened to live close enough to attend the only magical school in the world.

Aziraphale wouldn’t know what that was like… he was very unique in the village he grew up. Always running about by himself, carrying his books and papers like an eager delivery man instead of keeping a bag to hold his belongings like a sane person. And he kept to himself… always in his cottage, passed down to him from his family, or so the villagers suspected. Though he wasn’t a recluse. Indeed, Aziraphale was always up for a conversation when approached and kept an air of positivity and pure joy that was almost tangible wherever he went.

Which was curious because… Aziraphale was always alone. He didn’t have parents, or any noticeable family. His neighbors, if asked, would tell you that they honestly couldn’t remember when Aziraphale had come to their small town, only that one day, decades ago, he had arrived.

They watched him now, leaving out his front door and, with a wave of his hand, locked the door behind him.

Or, attempted to. As Aziraphale walked down the steps, behind him the doorknob fell off and rolled around the porch, unbeknownst to the spry warlock who was now creating distance between himself and the very much, broken door.

His neighbor sighed, taking out his wand and casually lifting the bronze handle and reattaching it to the old wooden door… again.

Aziraphale made his way to the woods, the only tools with him being his wand, a worn notebook, and his potions, held safely in the brown leather belt securing around his tunic, which was an off-white cotton, impossibly soft, from years of use. He hummed to himself, looking around him, taking everything in as he explored deeper into the trees.

His hands came out, gently touching leaves and underbrush as he went, stooping down occasionally to inspect some berries or a curious rock, and as he got closer to water, moss.

Aziraphale began filling the empty pouches in his belt with the moss, settling down at the edge of the stream and taking out his notebook to scribble in while the sounds of bubbling water settled around him, relaxing him.

“Oh, lavender, how lovely!”

Aziraphale got up, dusting off his backside and wandered over to a small patch of wild lavender, sinking carefully to his knees and plucking some up, sniffing, and carefully depositing them into another pocket.

A small hiss made his ear twitch.

“Hm?” Aziraphale looked around, his wide brimmed hat flopping with the effort.

Aziraphale heard the hiss again and looked down, brows furling in determination as he slowly parted the long grass and purple flowers, searching, following the sound of the hissing. His hands stuttered, faltering when he came across the snake, before parting the grass with more confidence.

“Oh, dear. You’re hurt.” Aziraphale spoke softly, reaching a tentative hand out and gently gliding his finger down the black scales. The snake lifted it head curiously, as if taking in Aziraphale, who stopped before his fingers grazed the open wound that stretched almost down to it’s tail.

Aziraphale bit his lip and nodded, scooping up the large snake without warning, not that the serpent could do much to fight him off except coil lazily around Aziraphale’s arm in a warning without any pressure.

“Now don’t fuss,” Aziraphale chided softly, keeping the wound up and away from his palm. “I can patch you up in a jiffy, just need to get you home first. I know I have a remedy, somewhere…”

If snakes could glare, this one did it’s best impression, doing it’s best to keep his head high and watch Aziraphale as he made his way back home.

___________________

“Now I know it’s here, somewhere…”

The snake seemed to watch in trepidation or curiosity, maybe both, as the young warlock riffled through his belongings. Glass bottles clinked loudly and loose leaf pages fluttered angrily to the floor.

The snake observed from the desk he had been placed on, curled up in a ball of shiny black and red, and not just from the wound, Aziraphale had noted. The gorgeous serpent also had a red belly, like a thick stripe from tail to head, all 40ish inches of him, Aziraphale guessed.

Who returned to the snake triumphantly, holding a couple small bottles of different liquids, and a handful of herbs.

The snake recoiled as Aziraphale dumped his loot haphazardly on the flat surface next to it.

“So sorry, dear boy. Didn’t mean to startle you. At least… I think you’re a boy, yes?”

The snake pulled it’s thick tail underneath him, as if in defiance. Azirphale chuckled softly.

“It’s like you can understand me! Okay so, please stay still my dear…”

The snake obliged warily, keeping his ever watchful eyes on Aziraphale the entire time as he worked on the wound.

Aziraphale finished up by wrapping the herbs tight against the open wound with a clean cloth, securing it with a dissolvable tape.

“The bandage is merely a precaution, I know you’ll be able to shimmy out of it, but I’d like to keep the chamomile in place to take away any discomfort you might feel. Oh, how do you feel, pretty snake?”

The snake looked away, around the room, taking in the mess of books, bottles, jars, ink and so on, and back to Aziraphale. He slithered toward his elbow, perched on the desk and curled around it, flicking his tongue out.

Aziraphale’s eyes drooped in content, watching the snake with fondness creeping into his chest.

“I must admit I’ve never cared for a snake before, or any living creature, really…” He trailed off, looking out the window. “But I’m already growing very attached to you. Would you like to stay here with me? You don’t have to, of course.” Aziraphale babbled on, laughing at himself.

“I have a garden, maybe you’d like it? You could keep away the rodents for me!”

The snake made a face, if possible, that may have mirrored disgust at the thought of eating mice, but Aziraphale figured he was just imagining it.

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Later that evening, Aziraphale was seated in his favorite chair, reading, when he felt the tell-tale sensation of being watched. He looked up and noticed the large snake curled on the rug in front of the fire mantel, his head poking out of the bundle he had coiled himself into, and watching Aziraphale with eyes that flickered golden, not unlike the fire crackling behind him.

Azirphale smiled lightly to himself, feeling a tad unnervered but also comfortable, protected somehow. Like the snake was watching over him. He looked back down to his book, content in the silence.

After a long moment, Aziraphale nearly halfway through his book, he looked up again, and the snake was still watching. He took note of his page and set the book aside, drawing his legs up and tucking his bare feet underneath him.

“I’m a warlock, if you couldn’t tell already.” He started softly. A part of him felt a little silly, talking to a snake, but something told him his new house guest was anything but an ordinary serpent. Said serpent's head lifted slightly, as if listening. Aziraphale hesitated, looking down at his clasped hands, fiddling with his pinky ring, before continuing.

“You seem very clever, have I gotten your attention?” He looked up again. The snake bowed it's head, body twisting slowly to unravel himself a bit, relaxing.

Night had fallen outside, the only light in the room was the flickering fire and the small table lamp next to Aziraphale. He always liked the dark, it was quiet and everywhere and always present, even during the day. Aziraphale was fascinated and elated that the snake had stuck around all day into the late night. The warlock had left him alone after healing him, allowing the snake to explore around the cottage, keeping a eye out as the snake meandered through his texts and dusty bookshelves, only managing to knock a few things over.

He never did go outside, the snake. Aziraphale caught him, more than once, looking at the books, really looking at them, as if reading the words, studying the runes and symbols scribbled onto the parchment. Aziraphale briefly wondered if he brought an evil spirit into his home, but upon further inspection, concentrating on the snake's aura, Aziraphale found the snake... complicated to read. But at least he wasn't evil.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Aziraphale asked the snake, not expecting an answer, but it was nice to talk to someone.

The snake tucked it's head underneath it's tail, and didn't reemerge. Aziraphale laughed softly.

"Very well, I'll let you be." He finished, picking up his book again and starting from where he left off.

After a few minutes, the snake's head popped back up, looking at the warlock again, and felt himself drifting to sleep.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #gowitchau #this is my first time writing a witch au so #please correct me if i get anything wrong #I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS MASAO!#THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME WRITE YOUR ADORABLE AU #my writing

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itsmalachitenow · 4 years

Text

Start of Darkness

From the testament of Jonathan Crane, regarding former student Wren Starling:

...she didn’t flinch when I fired the gun.

That was the first thing I noticed. It didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of the gun. Oh, far from it--from the moment I took it out for my lecture on fear, her eyes were wide and her body language tense. Almost as if she’d expected the worst from the very start. Like a coiled spring, ready to snap...

Nothing else of note occurred for the rest of that lesson; every time I looked up from my lecture, she was bent down low over her notebook, scribbling feverishly. I must say, I was pleased the message had resonated so clearly with her.

No, it wasn’t until after that lesson that I noticed anything wrong.

Every professor in every subject gets a few ‘rotten apples’ every semester--young men and women who couldn’t give a tinker’s damn about your lessons or your teaching plans, who are only there for ‘easy credits’. For that course, it was a group of girls sitting in the back who seemed to think I wouldn’t notice them tapping away on their phones instead of paying attention.

Gum-popping, ‘popular’ girls, giggling behind their hands whenever I said something ‘funny’. You know the type. I admit, I was pleased to see them jump when I shot the blank. They were paying attention then, I promise you that.

Hm? Ah. I digress. I bring them up only because they are relevant to Wren.

When I finished the lesson for the day, I was putting my things in order, when I noticed something quite unusual. They had gathered around Wren and were talking brightly, to her and to one another. I hadn’t associated the two groups with one another--if they were friends, they would have sat together, surely.

...but when I noticed her posture and the malicious glint in their eyes, it all became quite clear to me. Wren was as tense in the middle of those girls as she was when she thought I had a loaded gun.

It doesn’t take a doctorate to know bullying when I see it.

I won’t bother you with the details of what they said to her. But believe me when I say it was all vulgar, foul-mouthed, rotten--

...oh. Forgive me. I seem to have shattered my glass of water. No, I’m not hurt--but could you get me another?

Thank you.

Needless to say, I put a stop to it immediately. I made it very clear that I would not tolerate that sort of behavior in my classroom, no matter how rich Mommy or Daddy might be. I think seeing me waving a gun around put the fear of God into them--they were quick to leave.

Wren wasn’t crying. There was a weariness to her that suggested this had been going on for years, if not decades. She didn’t say anything about it, though. She just looked up at me with those dark brown eyes and stroked her chin. Thoughtful. The word eluded me at the time, but I would even say ‘calculating.’

“Professor,” she asked me, “The survey we filled out before class started. What did Katie put down for her biggest fear?”

I hesitated. That survey wasn’t really meant to be public information, it was more for me than anything--I wanted to incorporate some of the more common phobias into my lessons and go into the reasons people are afraid of those things. ...but I didn’t see any harm in sharing it. Arachnophobia, I told her. The fear of spiders.

She smiled like I’d just given her a plate of peach cobbler. “I see,” was all she said. Then she wished me a pleasant evening and went on her way.

When I saw her a few days later in my next class, she had a drawing of a spider on her shirt. Very graphic, with venom drooling down its oversized fangs as it lunged at the viewer. I noticed she made a habit of saying a bright hello to the group of girls who had terrorized her previously--much to the horror of the leader, who I deduced was Katie.

Katie didn’t stick around after class that time. The other girls tried half-heartedly, but Wren was smiling and chatting back like they weren’t trying to hurt her.

It amazed me at the time--and it still does. Wren found a weakness in her opponent’s, and she weaponized it. She weaponized that girl’s fear and used it against her, wearing spider shirts and accessories to class and making sure Katie saw them. It was a beautiful self-defense, one poor Katie couldn’t stand against.

...of course...it didn’t stop there.

Wren began sitting next to Katie. Actively talking to her about spiders, about what interesting facts she learned that week about the deadliest spiders known to man before I began the day’s class. What began as self-defense turned into psychological warfare. Once, the poor girl looked to me, as if I might save her from the spidery Hell she’d brought upon herself, but I did nothing. It was all so fascinating.

....yes. Yes, I know I could have stopped it. If I’d wanted to. But my class was centered around fears, after all. What better than a hands-on lesson?

“Heartless??”

I see nothing wrong with letting a poor, frightened girl finally put a stop to the person tormenting her. I see nothing wrong with letting her strike back for what I can only assume were years of being driven into the dirt. There is so little the faculty can do to stop bullying when they see it--it was refreshing to see Wren find her wings, so to speak.

Anyway.

Katie dropped out after a month. I thought that was the end of it, I really did. Wren seemed much happier, participating more and answering all my questions when I posed them to the class. I won’t lie that I’d taken quite a shine to her. We’d speak often after classes were finished. She’d even help me put my things away. She was flourishing under my tutelage, even if none of the others were nearly so enthusiastic.

It wasn’t until finals week that I learned what she’d been doing outside of my classroom.

Her thesis was on how exposure to fear over a long period of time could drastically change someone’s personality. She went into great detail about how one could, ‘hypothetically’, find reminders of your greatest fear all over the place. Your mailbox, for example. Your backpack.

Your bed.

She had continued her crusade even after Katie had dropped out--going to the girl’s house and leaving rubber spiders in places. Then real ones. She never called Katie by name in her paper, but she did in her case notes, detailing the mental decline of a once chatty and catty woman into a terrified, ha, recluse. She got an A on that paper. I believe I still have it somewhere. It was the only A+ I’d ever given anyone, did you know that?

I’d never felt such a perverse sense of pride before. Wren took in everything I’d taught and understood it perfectly. If I’d continued teaching, I’m sure she would have attended every course.

...unfortunately, I was ‘let go’. I don’t think I ever saw her more distraught or emotional when I told her after our final class. The thank-you she gave me....it was so sincere, so heart-felt, I won’t deny it brought tears to my eyes.

She only asked me for one thing before I left. She wanted the rest of the fear surveys I’d taken from the class at the very beginning of the year.

Now...I admit, I probably shouldn’t have given them to her. Not after seeing what she did with the first one. But I did, and I would do it again.

So I understand why you would think I’d be terrorizing my old class. But I’m here in Arkham, yes? I have no say in what happens out there.

Wren Starling...clever, clever girl.

I always knew she’d accomplish great things.

#batman #scarecrow #jonathan crane #fang's OCs #wren starling #WHOSE START OF DARKNESS IS IT?#well. wren's. it's how she started on her path to becoming the raven.#still!#the raven #my writing

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whatsupitsthatkai · 5 years

Text

Art in Motion

Finally finished the first installment to this story!! It all started with talking about Pride and Prejudice, and then (predictably) my brain said “WOLFSTAR” and it spiraled from there. It is a story set in the late 1800s early 1900s centered around Sirius and Remus (but with appearances from many of your favorite marauders era characters) I’m not sure how long it will be yet and I’m not putting pressure on myself to write it quickly so I’m not sure when the next installment will be out but I hope you enjoy it!

His collar was itchy.

That was the only thing Sirius could focus on as they stepped out of the carriage and prepared to enter the large manor before them.

“Remind me again why I allowed you to drag me out to this event?” He asked, tugging at his cuffs, wishing he could remove his coat and push the sleeves to his elbow. It’s not that he hated dressing up- on the contrary- he quite liked getting good and fancy now and then. But some days, some days it brought up too many memories.

“You allowed me to drag you to this event because you would have otherwise spent the evening moping around the house in your dressing gown with a bottle of my father’s best whiskey.”

Sirius snorted as they ascended the stairs. “Sounds far more pleasant than being trapped in dress clothes, tied to societies niceties and proper manners all evening.”

“Oh, lighten up, I heard a rumor that there was going to be a special performance tonight.” James said, lightly clapping his friend on the back. “Besides, we’re eligible young bachelors! We can’t spend all our time out on the estate.”

“Well, maybe you can’t, but I would be most content to live out my days as a recluse.”

“That’s a bold faced lie, you love attention far too much. What happened to Miss McKinnon? I thought you two were getting on well.”

“We were, and then we weren’t. Still on good terms, as friends.”

James nodded. “I see. Well, all the better that you’re here then.”

“Ah yes, so that I may bear witness to yet another rejection from the lovely Miss Evans when you ask to court her.” Sirius laughed at the indignant look that James shot at him as he handed the attendant his coat. The merriment and shedding of his coat allowed him to feel a bit more free. Alcohol would help make the evening even more bearable.

“She’s warming to me, you know.” James said confidently. “In fact, just the other day she said good morning to me, without a wry comment I might add.”

Sirius snagged a champagne flute from a tray as a servant walked past, taking a long sip before replying. “Well, I shall start to prepare my best man speech right away.”

James rolled his eyes. “Spare me, you’ve had one written for years.”

Sirius grinned. “That I have, and it is brilliant if I do say so myself.” He took another drink and then spotted a familiar face moving toward them through the crowd. “Peter! How have you been?”

The young man beamed and shook both of their hands heartily. “James! Sirius! How wonderful it is to see you! I’ve just got back from my travels in Wales.”

“Ah, that’s right, you were off to research was it? How did that go?” James inquired.

As Peter and James discussed his trip and the research Peter had done, Sirius finished his first glass of champagne and promptly snagged another, allowing his eyes to roam over the crowd.

He spotted a few familiar faces, not unusual to see considering they all ran in the same social circles for the most part, especially considering who their host this evening was. Speaking of, there she was now.

“Mr. Black, a pleasant surprise to see you here this evening.”

Sirius smiled and lightly kissed the back of her knuckles in greeting. “How was I to refuse an invitation from such a charming host as yourself, Miss Evans?”

She glanced at James knowingly. “And I’m sure Mr. Potter’s insistent nature had nothing to do with your presence here this evening?”

“You know us too well I fear, alas I have been caught. Forgive me?”

Smiling, she nodded her head. “Of course. It is good to see you out, considering the state of things recently.”

Ah, yes, there was the inevitable return of the dark cloud that shrouded him, refusing to let even a sliver of light or color last for more than an instant. Such was his life.

“Yes, well, distractions at Elkwood are limited and you know I can’t resist the promise of free food and champagne.”

“Indeed, that I do.” She leaned closer to him conspiratorially as she continued in a hushed tone, “And if you venture to the other end of the room, you’ll find there are drinks of a stronger variety, if you grow tired of the champagne of course.” She added with a knowing wink.

Sirius placed a hand over his heart. “James may have to disown me as well, for I fear I have suddenly fallen in love with you.”

Her laugh was light and musical, auburn curls swishing over her shoulders as she shook her head. “Mr. Black, you are a delight as always. Please enjoy the party, I must greet some more guests.”

He nodded his head as she moved on, setting aside his second flute of champagne before venturing to the other end of the large room in search of the stronger alcohol he had been promised. Finding the bar with little trouble, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and sipped, relishing the fire it burned down his throat and into his stomach.

“Sirius, why am I not surprised to find you next to the whiskey?”

He looked up at the comment, smirking a little at the elegant blonde standing to his left. “Miss McKinnon, you look lovely this evening.”

She smiled, brushing a hand over her skirts. “I know, but thank you for noticing. Pour me a drink?”

He obliged, handing her the glass and lightly clinking it with his own before taking another sip. “How have you been?”

She shrugged her shoulder, lightly toying with the diamonds at her neck. “Bored almost to tears, Dorcas has gone on holiday and left me alone with no one to gossip with.”

Sirius smiled. “Next time you want gossip, stop by Elkwood, James and I will put some tea on and we’ll discuss the most recent scandals.”

Her fingertip tapped lightly on her glass, an anxious tick Sirius knew all too well.

“You’re wanting to say that the current topic of choice is my recent tragedy and inheritance, am I right?”

“Well you aren’t wrong. But I wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.” She fiddled with her diamonds again. “How are you faring?”

Sirius lifted his glass of whiskey. “Like I always do.”

Her expression softened, a vulnerability reserved only for her closest friends showing. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

He nodded. “I will. Thank you, Marlene.”

“Of course. Run along, now, I believe Mr. Potter and Mr. Pettigrew are looking for you.”

Saluting lazily, he smiled. “Yes ma’am.” It didn’t take him long to find James and Peter again, they were close to where he had left them, just a little closer to where the musicians were playing.

“There you are! Found something a bit stronger to drink I see.” James said goodnaturedly.

“That I did, have you talked with Miss Evans yet?”

Jame’s eyes lit up. “Yes! She graced us with her presence not five minutes ago, looking radiant as always.”

Peter smiled. “James was a proper gentleman, hardly stumbled over his tongue at all.”

Sirius laughed and offered James a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Proud of you, sir.”

“Very funny, changing topics, Peter was telling me all about-” Before James could continue, a clinking could be heard and the room fell silent, as if a blanket had been laid over the crowd.

Miss Lily Evans was standing in front of the musicians, her figure blocking that of a new one crouching behind her, fiddling with a small black case on the floor.

“Ladies and Gentleman, thank you so much for attending my winter solstice ball, the festivities have merely started, but before we enjoy the champagne too much, I would ask you to turn your attention to a very special guest performance. Enjoy.”

As she stepped aside, the person she had been blocking stood up, figure tall and slim like an aspen tree. Golden brown curls brushed against his collar as he turned to face the crowd.

Sirius felt his breath catch in his chest, not by the scars scattered across the young man’s face, but by the pair of deep amber eyes that gazed over the heads of the crowd as if he was looking beyond the walls of the room.

He wore no coat, merely a vest and dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. The reason for this becoming clear as he lifted a violin to his shoulder. His arms in position to play, displayed before him, showed that the scars not only traced his face and neck, but along his arms as well.

There were some faint murmurings in the crowd, no doubt speculating as to what could have happened to him to leave him so marked.

He didn’t seem to notice as he placed bow to string, and began to play.

Sirius was transfixed. The music breathtaking, unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was light and playful, like wind running through a field of grass, then low and deep as a river carving through stone. It was nights spent nursing wounds alone in the dark and days trying to forget. There was so much raw power and emotion behind each note, quite literally striking a chord deep in Sirius’ heart.

But it wasn’t just the music, the mysterious young man was himself the music. He swayed and tensed, every fiber of his being was playing the song, his soul poured out for strangers in such a selfless and beautiful way.

Sirius had never felt so full, and so utterly broken at the same time. It was as if the song had picked him apart, note by note, until all that was left were the pieces of himself that he kept hidden away, all the shards and bruises, the scared and the weak, the angry, the bitter, all of the ugliest parts of himself laid bare. But he didn’t feel exposed, or vulnerable. He felt...safe. He felt whole.

Too soon the last notes of the song were hovering in the air, the young musician lowering his instrument and opening his eyes to finally sweep the crowd. He met Sirius’ gaze for a brief moment, stealing the breath from his lungs for a second time that night before moving on.

Dimly, the sounds of the room came back to Sirius, his ears still ringing with the mystery man’s song. Applause, yes. Right. Applaude. He shook himself out of his daze and clapped along with the crowd, eyes remaining locked on the stranger as he bowed slightly, then turned to return his violin to its case.

“Splendid! Where on earth did you find him again, Peter?”

Sirius’ attention was drawn to his companions as Peter replied to James’ question.

“I knew him back when we were schoolboys! You remember my father sent me to go study in Wales for a year? Mr. Lupin was my dear friend, we’d lost touch a bit over the years but I just had to see him when I went to visit for my research.”

Sirius chanced another look at this Mr. Lupin, he was engaged in conversation with a few guests, rolling his sleeves down and fastening the cuffs as he nodded and responded politely. He answered all their questions, engaging with the conversation but in a somewhat distant fashion. Where was his mind at...

“-and he was always a brilliant musician you know, naturally gifted. He writes all of his own pieces and has started to play at parties and events.”

Tuning back in to the conversation, Sirius sipped his whiskey distractedly.

“Of course once I learned that I just had to convince him to come and visit, there are so many more opportunity in London than there are in the city he’s from, you see. I wrote to Miss Evans at once and she immediately agreed to hire him to come play for her ball, and well, here we are.”

James shook his head slightly. “He certainly is talented. Do you know how long he plans to stay in London? I’d love to have him out to Elkwood.”

Sirius’ eyebrows rose at that, the prospect of the young man coming round to his current place of residence was both an intriguing and intimidating prospect.

“I’m not certain, he’s staying with me at the moment, and I’ve given him leave to stay as long as he would like. You feeling alright, Sirius? It’s not like you to be this quiet.”

He looked up from his glass at the question, forcing a small smile. “Ah, I suppose you haven’t had a chance to hear yet. My uncle passed away last week.”

Peter’s eyes were instantly sympathetic, and he reached forward to place a hand comfortingly on Sirius’ shoulder. “I am so sorry to hear that, I know how close you two had gotten these past few years.”

Sirius nodded. “Close enough for him to leave me his estate and all of his earthly wealth. I am now officially a proper member of society again.” He added the last bit with a raise of his glass and a sarcastic smirk before downing the rest of the whiskey hiding at the bottom.

“Come on, Pads, we were going to keep the drama at home tonight, remember?” James said playfully, clearly trying to keep his friend in good spirits.

Peter chuckled a little and scratched at his chin. “I haven’t heard you call Sirius ‘Pads’ in a long time.” Breaking from his reminiscing, Peter brightened up suddenly. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Lupin! I’m sure Remus would love to meet you, I’ve talked quite a lot about you two you know.”

Sirius felt a rush of heat about his ears, embarrassment? Excitement? Perhaps both. He followed James and Peter as the latter led them through the crowd and over to where the violinist was standing.

“Remus!”

Mr. Lupin turned, his expression brightening when he spotted Peter’s familiar face. Up close, his eyes were even more mesmerizing, a soft golden brown that grew deeper at the edges.

“Peter, I had thought you’d run off and left me.”

“Never! Allow me to introduce you to my dear friends, Mr. James Potter, of the Elkwood estate.”

James bowed his head in greeting, straightening quickly and commenting enthusiastically. “An honor, sir! You play remarkably well.”

Remus ducked his head slightly at the compliment. “I am glad you enjoyed my playing. And the honor is all mine, Peter speaks very highly of you.”

A wave of unease suddenly washed over Sirius, and he found himself slipping away while James and Remus were being introduced.

The room felt stuffy, the crowd too tightly packed into the space, the noise and the lights assaulted his senses, driving the beat of his heart into a frenzy. He mumbled apologies and pardons as he pushed through the crowd, desperately trying to remember his way as his mind flooded with noise.

Finally breaking free, he found himself in a dark hallway, the sudden silence almost deafening. Taking a moment to catch his bearings, he turned right and opened a glass door, stepping out into the night.

Breathe.

The air was crisp, whisperings of frost were in the wind as it brushed a few stray locks of hair across his forehead.

Pathetic.

He wasn’t a child anymore. A twenty-year-old man should not be afraid of a crowded room.

Don’t close your eyes. Just focus on now.

Turning his head to the sky, he began to pick out constellations among the stars, it was something he had been doing for years, even when he couldn’t look to the sky itself, he had painted the stars on his ceiling so they would always be there. A bit ironic perhaps that he used the sky to ground himself.

Rolling his sleeves up to his elbow and popping open the top two buttons of his collar, he began to breathe a little easier. The wind picked up for a moment, pulling free more of his hair. So with a small smile, he pulled free the ribbon tying it up and let it fall freely around his shoulders.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a long rush, letting the tension from his shoulders melt away. Feeling lighter than he had all evening, he turned and headed back to the ballroom.

Sticking to the edges of the room, he snagged another glass of whiskey and observed the other guests casually. They had begun to dance, silken gowns swishing to and fro as the ladies sashayed across the floor, weaving back and forth through their gentlemen partners.

“Excuse me, but where could I find one of those?”

Sirius turned around at the question, ears perked at the accent lilting the edges of the rich voice. His eyes landed on none other than Mr. Remus Lupin.

“Pardon?” That was the only word that escaped the avalanche of thoughts suddenly in his head, and it took him a moment to clear them enough to think somewhat clearly.

“A glass of whiskey. I’m not much for champagne, I find the bubbles to be a bit-”

“Frivolous?”

“-irritating.”

The corner of Sirius’ mouth twitched up involuntarily. “I see, well if you find champagne bubbles to be testing on your nerves, you’ve certainly made a poor decision in coming to London. The city is filled to the brim with irritants.”

Mr. Lupin’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”

“Oh yes, not only the noise and the smog, but the people-” Sirius shook his head. “-well, they’ll drive you mad. Especially the high class lot.”

“Mmm, I see. I guess it’s a good thing I don’t scare easily.”

Sirius swished the whiskey in his glass idly. “A good thing indeed.” Reaching his free hand forward, he smiled. “Sirius Black.”

Remus hesitated just a moment before taking Sirius’ hand and shaking it firmly. “Remus Lupin. You’re Peter’s friend?”

“As are you, apparently.” Sirius said, managing not to be distracted by Remus’ hands. “Your music is exquisite.” A rush charged his blood as he spotted the slightest shade of pink flush beneath Remus’ scars.

“Thank you, it’s the first time I’ve played that piece in front of anyone,” he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly, “I’ll admit I was a bit nervous.”

“Well you played beautifully, not a touch of nervousness about it at all.”

Remus smiled slightly, the hint of a dimple appearing in his left cheek. “That’s good to hear. “

A new song suddenly started to play, and Sirius, already four or five glasses of alcohol deep, shot his most charming smile Remus’ way. “Care for a dance?” The surprise on Remus’ face was thrilling.

He smoothed his expression quickly, one eyebrow remaining quirked up in question. “Two gentlemen dancing might cause a bit of a stir.”

Unwilling to look away from those chestnut eyes, Sirius’ smile only widened. “I think you’ll find, Mr. Lupin, that I am rather well known for causing a stir.”

The smallest of smiles flickered about Remus’ lips for a moment, but then he glanced away. “I don’t doubt it, but I’m afraid you’ll find playing my music in front of a crowd is about as much attention as I’m willing to draw to myself.”

Sirius let out a short sigh. “I suppose that is fair enough. Let me show you where the whiskey is at least.”

Remus smiled then, the first full smile that Sirius had seen from him, and it was like the sun had suddenly broken through a sky full of dark clouds.

“I would like that, thank you.”

#Wendy Writes #hp fanfiction #wolfstar #au #harry potter au #fanfiction #marauders #sirius x remus #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #remus lupin #marlene mckinnon #peter pettigrew #jily #marauders au #idk what else to tag uuuuh enjoy?#also I haven't written properly in a while so sorry if it's rough!

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rueitae · 5 years

Text

Abandoned

Read my whumptober collection on Ao3

Earth setting, Pidge is a mythical creature, bad first meeting

~~~~~

Lance absentmindedly shuts the car door with a thud, his senses overcome with the sheer presence of this place.

The mansion left to him by his late grandfather is surprisingly well preserved for its setting deep in the forest. Vines creep around the ornate tresses while pine and birch obscure its view further down the road - their roots upending some of the stone foundation.

Lance had almost thought the forest ranger’s directions were wrong, but it seemed Keith really did know this place like the back of his hand.

The chill fall breeze carries fallen leaves around the still warm engine of his car. Lance shivers. Leave it to his recluse grandfather to have lived in such a place that looks like it could fit into a Halloween film. He’d have preferred to come during the summer, but the Will stated he need to visit by today’s date.

Lance huffs and glares again the place. “Well, let's go see what Grand-Dad thought was more important than his family.”

Grandpa McClain all but disappeared after his wife passed away and apparently this is where he stayed - not that any of them knew that until Lance found himself in ownership of it through the Will. Mom and Dad had been suspicious when the extravagant gifts (that he never used to be able to afford) came for the grandchildren with no grandfather in sight.

Lance opens the large door, wanting to know why his beloved grandfather left them to become a rich recluse. He steps in, walking over the cobwebs, wanting to understand why his siblings will spend the rest of their lives with perfectly happy memories of him, when all Lance can recall of him is getting a remote control airplane.

The cold air is made worse inside, where its stuffy and still. Lance bends over between two armchairs and pushes, having to put more muscle into it than he expected, making the window fly open.

A moth flutters in past him and as if by magic, the air around him fills with the sweet scents of spring flowers. Lance inhales deeply, mood lifting slightly by the refreshment.

Until he turns around.

The living room is clean. The furniture looks as bright and colorful as it must have when it was first made and a fire crackles below the chimney.

Lance raises an eyebrow warily. He’s heard stories that this forest contains ancient magic, but never has he believed them. Children’s stories, he figured.

But the fire is rather nice and surely it was just his senses playing tricks on him to have missed something so obvious as the fire. So he treads over and kneels down, moving the wood closer to the center of the fire, beckoning it to burn brighter. He sighs. He doesn’t know where he’s going to start cataloging things. How is he supposed to know what things his grandfather held most dear? Of all the grandchildren, he knew him the least.

He looks up, hoping for some inspiration in the painting above the fireplace.

But there’s a girl sitting atop the mantle.

Not just any girl. Antenna that remind him of a summer wheat field twitch inquisitively above her auburn colored hair. A furry cloak of greens, browns, and purples cover her shoulders - not unlike the moth that had just flittered inside.

Lance screams, falling onto his butt, crawling backwards with everything he has until he crashes into the sofa.

The girl tilts her head and frown. “Why are you screaming?” she asks. Standing, her cloak is more like a shawl wrapped around her body down to her knees. Her bare and shoeless legs remain nearly glued together as she jumps daintily down to the floor. “Am I not the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen?”

Lance’s jaw drops. Oh Quiznak, she was talking. “No. No way. Mythical creatures aren’t real.”

The girl’s eyes narrow darkly. “And I thought you humans had manners.” She clears her throat. “Will Silas be arriving later, then?”

His blood goes cold. “How... do you know my grandpa?” Lance asks cautiously.

Her face lights up with delight. “You are one of Silas’s grandchildren? That’s great! I’ve heard so much about you!” In a flourish, the shawl unfolds into a pair of brilliant wings that takes Lance’s breath away. Her body is covered in a tight-fitting green dress, adorned with colorful flowers.

She’s in his face a moment later, clasping his hands. “Which one are you? Marco, Luis?”

Lance’s heart beats wildly, blood rushing to his cheeks at such close proximity to a girl as lightly clothed as she. He’d be the first to admit how much of an incorrigible flirt he is, but this goes beyond a waggle of the eyebrows and display of finger-guns.

“I’m Lance,” he chokes.

“Lance!” Inexplicably she drags him into a tight hug and the suggestiveness of having her on top of him while on the floor is not lost to him. “The baby!” she declares.

All awkwardness is lifted instantly.

“Who are you calling ‘baby’?” he shrieks, far more high pitched than he’d intended. He shoves her off of him, standing clumsily and backpedaling as far from her as he can. “Who even are you?”

The brightness in the girl’s eyes dims, the lines of her mouth falling. “I’m Pidge,” she says, wings drooping and Lance isn’t sure if he imagines it, but the colors seem to fade. “He… never told you about me?”

“He hardly ever talked to us after grandma died,” Lance says in frustration. “Apparently,” he continues with growing anger, “because he was hanging out with you.”

To Pidge’s credit, she takes the accusation with grace, inhaling deeply through her wobbling lip. “Silas was the kindest human I ever knew. I can’t believe the sweet grandson of his is rude and cruel.”

“You took my grandpa from me!” Lance seethes. “What did you do? Put him under a spell to forget about us?”

Pidge gasps. “I would never--”

“I’m leaving,” Lance declares. He’s had enough of this magic that isn’t supposed to exist but does. How could Grand-Dad care about a flighty mythical creature over his own flesh and blood? The mere thought makes his blood boil. “I’m going home. Keep all his stuff, I don’t need any of it.”

And Lance thinks that’s the last he’ll ever see of her.

“Wait, you can’t leave!”

The door slams shut in his face, stopping Lance from going outside. He clenches his fists and turns sharply. “Are you going to keep me prisoner like you did him?”

“It's not like that!” Pidge closes the distance between them, but thinks better of approaching too close when Lance growls. “Your grandfather saved my life. I swore I would spend it protecting him and his kin. So long as you or any of your relatives stay here, you’ll be blessed with natural health and riches beyond your wildest dreams.”

So that’s how he’d gotten rich so quick.

“No,” Lance replies quickly, not even needing to think about it. “I don't need any of that stuff. Goodbye.”

He tries the door. Its locked.

“You don’t understand,” Pidge implores of him. “I swore an oath. Your family is my family. I’ll be here for your grandchildren's grandchildren. Just ask Silas, he understood. He promised to leave the house to one of you.”

“I can’t ask him,” Lance snaps. “Because he’s dead. He gave me the house, but I’m only here to collect his things.”

Pidge’s antenna fall flat over her hair. “He’s dead.” It isn’t a question, she seems to at least understand the concept.

“Yes, so would you let me go,” he continues with a glare. “I’ve had enough of his magic hullabaloo.”

Her breath hitches and her skin is noticeably more pale. Her hands shake. “It’s late,” she rasps with tears in her eyes. “Stay the night at least. You - you can go home in the morning if you want.”

Lance huffs. He wants to leave now, it isn’t nearly that late and his car headlights work perfectly fine… but there’s something in the way about how sickly she looks right now that gives him pause.

He pinches his brows. “Okay. I’ll stay the night,” he relents.

Pidge’s demeanor remains unchanged, but she does smile just a little bit. “Thank you,” she says softly.

~~~~~

Lance wraps the blanket closer to his shoulders and shivers. The rest of the mansion is still freezing, enough so that even the covers of the bed don’t provide the warmth he needs in the middle of the night. So he finds himself sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, stroking the fading embers.

“I should have gone home,” he grumbles.

Behind him, Pidge coughs.

Lance sighs and throws his head back. His mother would never forgive him for being so cruel to a lady, supernatural being or not. He grabs his phone from his back pocket and turns on the flashlight.

“You okay?” he asks as he walks over to her. For the last several hours she’s kept to herself, simply lying on the couch as if to sleep.

Lance shines the light on her and gasps.

Her wings are translucent, no longer vibrant with color. Her skin is deathly pale and she pants for breath as if she had pneumonia.

Lance drops to his knees beside her. “Hey, Pidge. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Pidge opens her eyes to acknowledge him for just a moment before wincing in pain. “I… I swore,” she sobs.

“Yeah, I remember,” Lance says, hands hovering over her - quiznak, he has no idea what to do! “But you don’t have to. I don’t want you to.”

Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, Pidge goes into a spasm, coughing up blood. “Can’t,” she rasps, “can’t break a promise.”

Oh.

Oh sweet mercy. Lance may have just been introduced to actual magic only earlier today, but he gets the gist now. Pidge had literally sworn. With magic. Somehow she’d bound herself to helping Grand-Dad and if she didn’t fulfill her end of the bargain... She was dying because he didn’t want her around.

Grand-Dad had known this. That’s why he gave Lance the house.

“I’ll stay,” Lance blurts out. “I’ll move in. Quiznak, I didn’t know your life depended on this!”

A pale green glow surrounds Pidge as soon as he says the words. The lights in the living room turn on and the fireplace reignites in full force. Her breathing calms and pink returns to her cheeks. Slowly, she opens her eyes, a soft smile on her face.

“He knew you’d stay,” she breathes quietly. “Thank you. I didn’t want to die alone if you didn’t.”

Lance falls to his bum, near speechless at the turn of events. He doesn’t know how he’s going to work this out - he has a life back in the city. For now, he’s just glad Pidge doesn’t suffer at the cost of his ignorance.

“I was dying when he found me,” Pidge tells her. “Stuck in a hunter’s trap. So I swore my life to make sure his was the best it could possibly be and the contract just… came out like that.” Tears fall from her eyes. “My father used to tell me that once I found a good mortal, they’d be just like family. Your grandfather was so kind, and reminded me of my own father so much,” she chuckles “always telling me I was like a grandchild to him even though I was hundreds of years older. So please understand,” she says looking into his eyes. “That’s why I tied my life to his bloodline - to your bloodline.”

Lance sighs deeply, defeated. “What am I supposed to say to that? It doesn’t feel right.”

“There are benefits to me too,” she says, a teasing grin growing on her face. “That you’ll find out in time.”

Lance stands and takes the blanket from his shoulders and lays it on top of Pidge. “Get some rest. We have a lot to sort out tomorrow.”

She’s snoring softly before he even finishes, a smile permanently stuck to her face. Lance grabs a smaller blanket from over top of an armchair and sits down.

He doesn’t know how much sleep he’ll be getting personally tonight with all the new information running through his head. Adrenaline works against his weary body. He still can’t fathom why his grandfather would enter into such a deal with a creature like Pidge.

Well, it seems he’ll have a while to figure it out.

#plance #whumptober2019 #no.26 #abandoned #voltron legendary defender #vld fanfic #vld pidge #vld lance #pidge is a supernatural creature #magical contracts #slight blood

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ladytshelby · 5 years

Text

Stand By Your Gun chapter one

Tommyxamelia

Gifs are from: pcllygray, weheartitsource, miss2lit, sirenjaandthestag. - if wrong please let me know and I’ll fix it.

I hope you enjoy the first chapter. There is plenty more to come in Amelia and Tommy’s story. Please let me know what you think. It would mean the world to me.

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈

Blood is coating the floor. Blood is dripping in her eyes, staining her clothes and her shaking hands. Amelia isn't even sure if it belongs to her because of the adrenaline pumping in her veins. She looks around, her eyes scanning the room finally seeing the damage that was caused in only a few minutes. Bodies littering the floor. Their faces belonging to people that, thankfully, Amelia can't recognize. Bullet holes making honeycombs out of the walls. Blood acting in place of the sweet honey.

Polly said this was a long time coming. A sort of reckoning for the Shelby family. Everyone kept going on and on about how the Italians were going to get what they deserved, but as Amelia walked around, she couldn't help but wonder if anyone actually deserves this end, dying in an abandoned warehouse with the only people who know where you are, are lying dead beside you. Tommy would say it is poetic to die with your brothers and take a bullet in the heart or a knife to your throat as long as it was for your family.

Amelia’s thoughts were interrupted when the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, slowly coming towards the room. Her hand immediately went for the gun Arthur gave her back at Watery Lane. She raised it, pulling back the hammer, waiting.

Now

“Miss Hastings, are you listening to me?”

Amelia’s head shot up, immediately snatched from her daze by her boss looking at her as if she possesses three heads. “Yes, of course, I am.”

Nurse Smith crosses her arms and looked at Amelia with a crooked smirk, “Okay then, what did I say?”

Amelia sat up straighter and put on her smile that would always get Ada and herself out of trouble when they were younger, running around Small Heath, “you said and I quote, “Millie, you are the best damn nurse on this side of Birmingham, and you know, I like you so much more than Margret Williams. Also, I’m going to give you a raise because I’m feeling quite generous today.”

Nurse Smith is trying hard to mask her laugh behind her scowl when she replies, “That was not it at all Miss Hastings,” She moves to sit in front of the younger nurse, who looks like she hasn't slept in weeks, “I was telling you that all the surgeries have been moved up from tomorrow to today, but never mind that dear, I want to know when is the last time you’ve had a full night’s rest.”

“What month is it again?” Amelia questions jokingly while leaning back in her stiff wooden chair. Her back popping with two loud cracks. There are nurses and doctors cramped into the closet they call a breakroom, all having the same look of tiredness. Even Doctor Anderson is in such a daze that he isn't drinking his tea, he is only staring into the cup, unblinking.

Amelia turns her head back to Nurse Smith who is looking at her with sad eyes, “I am being serious Amelia, you need to rest.”

“And I will,” She replied standing up from the table, “When I’m dead. I have to go check on Mr. Brown, his next round of meds is coming up.”

Nurse Smith stands up with her and blocks the door. Her head only coming up to Amelia’s chin. She may be short, but she makes up for it with her presence. Luckily, Nurse Smith really likes her and treats her as a daughter and doesn't see her wrath as much as the other nurses. “No, I got Miss Williams to take care of that. You, my dear, are going home to get some sleep.”

“But I’m fine, I promise.” Amelia tries to reason with her boss, but nothing was working. “I took a little nap in the broom closet earlier, p –”

“This isn't up for discussion,” Nurse Smith interrupts, pushing Amelia gently towards the exit, “Go home and tell that Shelby boy to leave you alone and let you rest. Doctor’s orders.”

With that, she turns to walk down the hallway, ending the conversation. Amelia waits until she was a few feet from her before she mutters, “Fine, but you’re not a doctor.”

“I heard that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Small Heath is buzzing with life. Merchants trying to sell goods, children running senselessly down the streets with their parents none the wiser, and evangelists speaking prophecies of almighty damnation. Voices and laughter carried and could seemingly be heard anywhere in the town, and Amelia loved it all. She loves the idea of people walking in the same direction but ending up in different places, and people living in the same city but experiencing it differently. Tommy says it silly to think that way, but she has to remind him that he used to think the same as her. When he came back from France, he changed and so did the world around him, everything now has a gritty film over it covering the good and not allowing it to shine through. With the good, comes the bad. Tommy only sees the bad, and Amelia tries her hardest to show him that there is still light in the world, no matter how dim it seems sometimes.

A voice from The Garrison pulls Amelia from her thoughts as she went to walk past the bar where she used to spend a lot of her time as a teenager. Harry, the bartender, waves her over and starts saying something, but she cannot hear from all the noise in the street.

“Harry, what's the matter? Is something wrong?” Amelia questions when she makes it to him, stepping aside to let a man in the door.

Harry shook his head, “No, nothing's wrong. Tommy came by looking for ya saying if I saw ya, to tell ya to meet him at Watery Lane.”

“Did he mention why?” Amelia asked while racking her brain not remembering if they had a family meeting.

“No, but he had a giant horse with him,” Harry replies shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh shit! I forgot that was today,” Amelia shakes her head, looking at her watch seeing that it is much later than she thought, “Harry, I got to go, but thanks for telling me. I’ll see you later on.”

She turns to leave, not waiting for Harry to reply and runs straight into a girl with blonde hair, who she swears appeared out of nowhere.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” They both said at the same time laughing lightly and continuing on their separate paths. Amelia’s feet going a little faster than before. She is anxious about finding out how the charm went with Tommy and the horse.

~~~~~~~~~

The chaos of Watery Lane will always bring a smile to Amelia’s face. As she walks into the house, she can faintly hear the chatter of the bets being taken behind the door by the fireplace. She usually helps with the boys take up them up but the hospital has been taking up the majority of her time. It seems as though everyone decided to get ill at the same time.

Amelia pushes through the door to come face to face with John who stumbles backward almost falling into the man behind him. “Shit Millie, where have ya been?” He straightens up smoothing out his worn jacket and motions for her to follow him. “We’ve been waiting for ya all damn day.”

“You do know I work at the hospital, John,” Amelia answers John, motioning to her nursing dress and walks into the room where the family meetings are held. “I can’t just up and leave whenever I please, ya know.”

“Yeah speaking of the hospital, we need your he—”

“What the hell happened to his face?” Amelia interrupts John when she sees the looks of Arthur. its as though he has been in a fistfight with a cat... multiple cats. She makes her way over to him and lifts his chin with her finger. He winces a little at her touch. “Who did this to you?”

“That fucker Campbell.” Arthur curses as Polly begins grabs his hand inspecting it.

“Who is that and why is he trying to kill you?” Amelia asks reaching for the rag from Ada. “Give me that Ada.”

“Yeah Ada, Let a real nurse do it,” John interjects, earning a scowl from his younger sister.

“Hey! I’m trained.” Ada pouts and hands the rag to Amelia knowing her brother is right.

Amelia laughs while dipping the rag into the bowl of water on the table and wiping some of the blood from Arthur’s face. “Ada, you ditched after day one of class and left me alone so I had to partner with that horrid Margret.”

“Well, all of ya can just fuc—” Ada begins to swear but gets cut off by Tommy bursting in through the door carrying a bottle of whiskey.

“Let me see him. Here” Tommy comes to stand beside Amelia and holds the bottle up to Arthur’s mouth for him to drink. Once he gets a good swig, he takes the rag from Amelia and pours the alcohol onto it before handing it back to her. Tommy gives her a look that says he is concerned for his brother, but under it, there is something Amelia can’t quite read.

She puts her hand on the back of Arthur’s head to hold him still. She dabs the rag on his cuts to clean them so they won’t get infected, and he hisses through clenched teeth and grabs her arm with his free hand. “Shhh, Arthur it's all right. None of the cuts are too deep to need stitches so you will be okay, only a little sore.”

After Arthur is patched up, Amelia sits down beside Polly and puts her head on her shoulder. Polly rubs Amelia’s knee and smiles. “What would we do without you, girl?”

“Probably have to deal with Ada’s nursing skills,” Amelia jokes and laughs when Ada throws a bloody rag at her.

“Leave me alone. I swear its pick on Ada day!” Ada exclaims and moves to stand by Tommy, who is watching Amelia closely.

“No, it isn’t. Its just quite easy to mess with you.”

The sense of family is what has always drawn Amelia to the Shelby family. She is grateful that they took her in all those years ago when she was new to Small Heath. After her father died and her mother turned into a recluse, Amelia was looking for a place to belong, and thankfully she found that in them. Of course, she knew about the family business and it has never swayed her love for them, she is in on everything that goes on. Tommy confiding in her the most.

Arthur’s voice breaks her thoughts when he says, “That inspector said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham.” Arthur tries to sit up straighter but stops and winces. “He said something about a robbery.”

“We don’t know nothing about no robbery,” John interjects. He has to talk around the toothpick in his mouth.

Amelia raises her hand still confused about who this inspector is. “Can someone explain to me who that is.”

“You would know, Millie, if you were here earlier.”

“Why don’t you shove it, John. I’m sorry I’m trying to help the sick.”

“Will you two shut up for the love of Christ,” Polly exclaims then turns to Amelia. “Amelia darling, Campbell is an Irishman who is trying to clean out the IRA.”

Amelia nods appreciatively, “Thank you, Aunt Poll. That’s all I wanted to know. Arthur, please continue.”

While Arthur is explaining the situation with the BSA strikes and how the inspector wants the family to be his eyes and ears, Amelia keeps stealing glances at Tommy trying to get his attention, but he won’t look at her. Instead, he is keeping his eyes on the floor seemingly very interested in his shoes. Something is not right and she knows it. He knows more than he is letting on, information he deems unworthy for the rest of the family to know, or it is the opposite. They are unworthy of the information. A knot forms in Amelia’s stomach and makes her feel ill at the thought of something being wrong.

She mustn't be the only one who notices Tommy’s silence because Arthur points his finger at his brother and looking at everyone else, his face mad with anger. “What the fuck is wrong him lately? Been doing all sorts behind my back for a while now and I’m bloody sick of it, Tom.”

Tommy finally looks up and looks his older brother in the face, his face the mirror opposite of Arthur’s and just says, “I’ll tell you in due time, brother. It’s none of your concern at the present.”

That was the wrong thing to say because Arthur tries to launch himself at Tommy but is restrained by the table and his injuries. John jumps up and pushes Arthur down into his chair telling him to be quiet.

Amelia takes this time to get up and go over to Tommy. She stands in front of his slouched frame in such a way everyone else in the room can’t see him and can only see her back. She gently puts her hand on his arm feeling the roughness of his jacket under her hands. She waits for him to look up before she nods her head towards the stairs and mutters, “We can go talk upstairs.”

Tommy looks like he wants to say no, but ultimately agrees and turns to make his way to the stairs leaving Amelia to follow close behind.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby #stand by your gun

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axelsagewrites · 6 years

Text

Sirius Black*Ravenclaw

There was an issue was my laptop. Long story short I had to wipe it clean and now I don't have word so sorry if theirs any mistakes since I couldn't use spell check. I also forgot how bad WordPad was.

Sirius X Ravenclaw!Fem!Reader

Masterlist HERE

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Remus looked at his friend, concern covering his face. Sirius was...studying? No. He couldn't be. Could he?

The werewolf looked over at James, seeing if he had noticed. He had. So had Peter and all three were staring at this spectacle.

The Marauders didn't study. Well, Remus did a little but still. Last time Remus made Sirius study he ripped pages out of the textbook and made them into flying paper dementors, all attacking Remus.

"I know I'm fabulous but can you not stare?" Sirius asked, not looking up from his textbook.

Remus sat his book down, knowing he'd never be able to read it till he figured this out. "Are you feeling okay Padfoot?"

"Just peachy,"

Remus and James shared a look. "Are you sure?" James asked, slowly.

Sirius closed his book with a huff. "Im perfectly fine Prongs. Just figured I'd study a little bit. Nothing wrong with being a little smart, you know."

"Who's the girl?" Peter's voice piped up from the corner.

James and Remus looked confused but Peter just shrugged. Sirius stayed silent for a moment. Suddenly he tossed his book to the floor and dramatically fell back on the couch "She doesn't even know I exist!"

The whole common room turned to him due to the outburst. "Oh bugger off you lot." Sirius scolded them. The young first and second years flinched and scurried off while everyone rolled their eyes, having gotten used to his behavior.

"So let me get this right, you, Sirius Black, fancy someone and are studying to...impress them?" James tried to wrap his head around this.

Sighing, Sirius said "Yes, okay. I'm completely smitten by a Ravenclaw who doesn't know I exist. She also doesn't even notice my incredible good looks or luscious locks. It's insane."

"Who is she?" Remus asked.

"(Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N)."

(Y/N) sat in her dorm, reading a muggle book, when her dormmates got back. "Hows the book?" Jess asked.

"Good." (Y/N) said bluntly, trying to not get distracted from her book, Peter Pan by JM Barie.

"Watcha doing later?" Jess asked while she and the girls started rummaging through their trunks. (Y/N) held up her book with a 'duh' expression. Don't get her wrong, she loves the girls, their her closest friends, but cmon, of course, she was going to be reading. "Well, how about you put the book down for a couple hours and come out with us?"

"Out where?" (Y/N) asked hesitantly.

"The Gryffindor, Slytherin match," Jess shrugged.

(Y/N) thought about it. It was a Friday night so she could finish the book after "That's not too bad I suppose. Okay sure."

"Yay." Jess was happier than she should be. "Oh, and you know how after the winning house always through a small get to geth-"

"No." (Y/N) deadpanned.

"Cmon," The girls whined. Jess, Taylor, Rosa, and Ty sat on her bed. "Please come. Please please," Ty begged.

"Why do you want me there? You know I'll just complain?" (Y/N) crossed her arms.

Rosa rolled her eyes "Don't care. We don't want you to become a recluse. You could end up like that Remus kid."

"Hey! He's really nice," Taylor stuck up for him, checks tinted.

(Y/N) leaned forward and pinched them "Someones got a crush," she sang.

"Shut up," Taylor whined. "Besides if you come maybe you'll finally get a boyfriend."

"I don't need a boyfriend," (Y/N) pointed out.

"You don't need books," Ty chimed in.

(Y/N) gasped, clutching the book to her chest "How dare you?!"

"What will it take?" Jess sighed. (Y/N) leaned back and thought about it. A smirk took over her face. "Oh no," Jess paled.

After the girls agreed to get her a new book, each, she agreed to go. But only if "We get to get you ready,"

The match wasn't too bad. The girls dressed (Y/N) up in a slightly baggy sweater and skinny jeans. It was what was going on after that scared (Y/N). She knew the girls wouldn't let her go to a party like this.

The match, however, was fine. Most of the time Slytherin and Gryffindor were neck and neck despite a chaser having to switch out last minute. Apparently, the chaser had come down with the 'sniffles' /Cough*Slytherin*Cough/ and had to be switched out for someone else. Sirius, (Y/N) thinks.

He seemed to be keeping up fine, despite not being on the team, until suddenly he stopped, froze even. He'd been flying straight to the Slytherin goal, quaffle in hand when he looked over to the stands.

Gryffindors and Slytherins stayed on specific sides but Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were mixed in, supporting either side. A group of Ravenclaw girls was cheering for the Gryffindors, one wearing skinny jeans and a baggy sweater; (Y/N).

(Y/N) thought she had made eye contact with Sirius when he stopped but she assumed she was just being self-centered.

Slytherin was able to get the quaffle from Black which kicked him back into gear.

Gryffindor won, despite Black's sudden freeze, and the crowd cheered. As (Y/N) and her friends starting heading back up to the school Jess said they'd have to hurry to get ready.

(Y/N) was used to watching her friends get ready but not doing it herself. This time it was her they shoved in the chair in front of the vanity to get ready.

She had nothing against makeup, normally just too lazy to put it on, but she had to admit they did good. Nothing too over the top, just a brown smokey eye, winged liner, and purple-ish chapstick. Oh and face makeup but it was subtle.

The outfit however...maybe not. (Y/N) was used to baggy clothes, men's clothes even, for comfort. No one likes to curl up in a book while trying to make sure nothing pops out or skirt rides up.

A leather skirt, rolling stones tee, and heeled ankle boots wasn't a normal outfit choice for (Y/N). The tee was hers, slightly oversized as usual, but it was tucked into the skirt. The skirt was Ty's while the heels were Taylors. Jess had rolled the short sleeves of the tee for a 'better' look.

"I look," (Y/N) began, her friends nervous for her reaction "Amazing," they let out a sigh of relief "But this," she gestured to her whole outfit "Is weird and won't be happening ever again. Got it?"

When (Y/N) got to the party she got a few compliments about her outfits and a few stares. Although she didn't appreciate the stares from guys the compliments from girls were great. Most people did a double take though. (Y/N) knew she looked good when she got done up but was too lazy to do it on a daily basis.

Her and her friends though all agreed to ignore all the guys and just have a fun time, considering it wasn't likely (Y/N) would do it again in a long time.

They stood by the couches, sitting on the back of them, talking with some Gryffindor girls. "Hey, I'm going to get another drink," Ty announced.

"I'll come too," (Y/N) followed Ty to the makeshift food and drinks tables. She had to admit the Gryffindors knew how to make a setup.

Instead of being in the common room, like most other houses, it was held in the room of requirement. This lets them set up this long table filled with different treats, snacks, and drinks. Alcoholic and not.

(Y/N) pondered over whether or not to get an alcoholic one. "Ohh, being a daredevil?" Ty teased when (Y/N) inspected a can of something.

"Maybe," she gave a sly smirk "I dunno though. Sure it drank before but not at a party."

Ty slung an arm around her shoulder, squeezing it "It's up to you but why not? One drink won't hurt."

"Ohh is this the peer pressure mum warned me about?" She joked. Looking at the can she eyed it over before deciding "Screw it. One won't hurt." When Ty didn't reply (Y/N) looked up. "Go talk to him,"

"We promised-"

"Go. Seriously. I'll cover you if it comes to it." (Y/N) told her friend. Ty looked a bit nervous "Go! I'll wait here for you."

"I mean, I guess I could go say hi."

"Too late." (Y/N) grinned as Dirk Cresswell waved to Ty. "Have fun," (Y/N) pushed Ty with a smirk. Ty glared at her but went over to Dirk.

(Y/N) laughed lightly. She looked over and saw her friends had moved from the couches to beer pong. (Y/N) shrugged it off and decided to stay at the table. There was food here so...

The Marauders laughed, Sirius the loudest, as James levitated Sirius in the air. While he was up there he looked over the room and saw her, (Y/N) standing by the food table. "Put me down, mate." His voice still held laughter.

Sirius said a quick goodbye before rushing through the crowd to where (Y/N) was. His confidence dropped slightly, seeing she wasn't there, but picked up when he noticed she had just moved down the table.

Padfoot took a deep breath before walking over. She had been standing by the food, reaching for a treacle tart, when Sirius 'accidentally' bumped into her while reaching for one as well. "Sorry 'bout that love," he told her.

"It's alright," she said, passing Sirius a tart "Here,"

"Thanks. Um, you look, um very nice," Sirius felt his confidence melt away as he stood before her.

"Thanks," her voice had dropped some of its cheery tones.

Sirius noticed the can and couldn't stop himself "You drink?"

(Y/N) chuckled "Yup. Everyone surprised I'm not a goody to shoes."

"No its just, you don't seem the type. I mean I'm surprised you're here and not reading a book or something,"

"Well alas, my friends insisted," Somehow the conversation just kept going and Sirius found himself more and more surprised, and more and more smittened.

She drank, liked rock music, had an amazing sense of humor, and wasn't slightly fazed when the Marauders joined them and made completely inappropriate jokes.

As the night went on though their groups merged. (Y/N) and her friends, and the marauders basically kicked the people off the couches and took them for themselves. Remus, surprisingly, was flirting with one of her friends.

However, the night was drawing to a close. Sirius asked if he could walk (Y/N) back to her dorm. "Nah its okay. Me and the girls were gonna walk back,"

"The girls and I," Sirius corrected her "Its cool to correct a Ravenclaw,"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes "Night Sirius,"

"Wait, you know my name?" Sirius blurted out. Throughout the whole night, they never introduced themselves. But realistically ofcourse she knew his names.

"Yeah," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "You sit behind me in Muggle studies," (Y/N) turned to leave with her friends but turned around "You know the seat next to me is empty. Maybe you could sit there sometimes?" she suggested, checks tinged.

"Yeah, um, that um sounds yeah um cool, uh. Yeah." Sirius couldn't help but lose his cool. His friend's sniggers didn't help. "See you then."

"Night Sirius." (Y/N) smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek before scurrying off with her friends, all of them giggling.

"Night," he breathed out, his friends laughing and patting his back.

#Marauders #marauders imagine #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter cast #harry potter ships #Harry Potter Ship #Sirius Black #young sirius black #sirius imagine #sirius black imagine #young sirius x reader

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witherwill · 6 years

Text

The House on Elysian Drive

The house I grew up in was old and creaky when we moved in, although it had only stood for twelve years at that time. The gate was rusted, the electricity was faulty, and the paint was peeling and water damaged. There were three trees in the backyard, none of them good for climbing. My older brother and I referred reverently to the two old pines that stood at one end of the yard as “The Forest.” They remain to this day, silent sentinels keeping watch over the house's inhabitants, though they are smaller than I remember them and far less strong.

My family never owned the house. Dad rented it for ten years before his gambling debts caught up with him and he left the state. My mother packed us into the car one night and we started a new life in a new part of the city, and I did my best to put the house and what happened there out of my memory. I had all but forgotten it until two days ago. I was searching for a new place, and I got an email about a listing that had just gone up. The gate has been replaced, the carpets have been torn up, and the interior has been repainted, but it's the same house. As I scrolled through the pictures, all the fear and the dread came rushing back and I had to run to the bathroom to vomit.

There was an empty lot just up the street from where we lived that we used to play in as kids. Back then, there was still a lot of undeveloped desert, and that area has since been turned into an apartment complex, but at the time it was unexplored and unloved, except by my brother and me. There were lots of hills and dunes to scramble up and down and plenty of bugs and lizards to inspect. We pretended we were scientists discovering a new species, or paleontologists on the dig of a lifetime. For poor desert rats like us, there was no greater pleasure.

One day a couple weeks into summer vacation we arrived at the lot to find that a construction company had dumped a bunch of concrete and building materials there. We immediately ran to inspect them, hoping to find something interesting. My brother made the first discovery and waved me over.

“What do you think it is?” he asked, turning the striped brown stone over in his hands.

“Looks like it was some kind of necklace,” I said, noting the small hole that had been drilled in the top of the stone.

He made a face and said, “Sounds girly,” then handed it back to me. I pocketed it and set off again.

We continued searching through the rubble, but after twenty minutes' work in the unforgiving desert heat, we were beginning to feel discouraged. Finally, a twinkle beneath a rock caught my eye. “Hunter, look! It's a chain! It looks like silver!” I shouted. There was a broken jump ring still hanging from it, as though the pendant it held had been torn off.

When we got home that evening, I eagerly rushed into my father's office to show him what we'd found.

“Looks like tiger's eye,” he said. “See all the little lines and different colors? People wear it for protection. And luck,” he added bitterly.

I asked if he could fix it for me, since he had a box full of jewelry findings and tools. Once it was properly strung on the chain, he helped me put it on. It was heavy around my neck, but I felt so powerful. The tiger's eye became my childhood talisman, capable of warding off all evil. I never took it off even to shower.

As my father's gambling addiction worsened, he became reclusive and secretive. His office was off limits, and we only saw him at dinner, when he begrudgingly came out to eat. Our mother worked the graveyard shift as a bartender, so we never saw her either.

My brother and I changed too. He was a withdrawn, frightened kid. But I got stronger and bolder as the months wore on. By July, I was fearless. When strange activity began happening in our home, I didn't bat an eye.

As usual, Hunter was the first one to notice something had changed. “Kat, look, the mirror cracked,” he said, calling me into our shared bathroom. I walked in to see an deep crack running right down the middle of the mirror. Hairline fractures traveled out from the main crack in a delicate, web-like pattern. It looked as though someone had slammed something small and heavy into the glass.

More things began breaking. Chairs lost their legs. The seams on the couch cushions split, exposing the stuffing beneath. The gate rusted shut. The paint peeled completely away from the walls, exposing the yellowed drywall beneath. Our parents blamed everything on the house's age and the quality of our hand-me-down furniture. Dad's temper got worse and worse, and soon we began finding remnants of his nervous spells: cigarette butts and roughly chewed nails littered the patio. He yelled at us for everything, even for trying to clean up the house. We were too afraid to tell our mother, who didn't need the added stress. Finally, he started hitting us. That's when the voices started.

Late one night, I laid in bed with a bag of frozen peas over my bruised arm. I was dozing when I heard it. It sounded small and weak, like a child not much younger than myself. I couldn't make out what it was saying, but it whispered to me all night. I fell asleep with its voice in my ears and I dreamed of the desert.

The next morning, I asked Hunter if he'd heard it. Our rooms were adjacent to one another and shared a wall, so if it was real, he would have heard it too. Fearfully, he said yes. It terrified him. He said it whispered things, but wouldn't elaborate when I pressed him further.

As I climbed into bed that night, I hoped I would hear the small voice again. Just when I began to lose hope, teetering on the edge of sleep, I heard it. This time, I could understand it clearly. “Come play with me!” it said. “I'm lonely! Please?” I told it that I was tired, and we could play tomorrow. The last thing I heard before I fell asleep was, “Open the window, Kathryn.”

I resolved to figure out who the voice belonged to and what they wanted. I decided the best way to do this would be to construct a spirit board. I snuck into my dad's office while he was still asleep and grabbed some paper and a fat black marker. I tried not to look at the fist sized holes in the walls. I guess he tried to show some restraint after all, for all the good it did him. Quietly, I eased the door shut and went back into my room. I placed the paper on my desk horizontally and wrote out the words “yes” and “no” at the top and bottom. In the middle, I printed the alphabet and the numbers 0 through 9. The hole in my tiger's eye was large enough to see the letters through, so I decided it would be okay to take it off just this once. Carefully, I placed it on the makeshift board and put two fingers on each side like they did in the movies.

“Do you want to play?” I asked, keeping my voice low so I wouldn't wake anyone. The tiger's eye moved slowly to the word “yes.” I was surprised at the way it felt beneath my fingers. The stone moved smoothly and silently, as though I wasn't even touching it. I expected it to make a sound against the paper, but there was nothing. I tried again. “Who are you? What's your name?” The stone didn't move, so I asked, “Are you lonely?” This time, the stone darted towards YES, then picked out letters: NOT ALIVE. I shivered, my suspicions confirmed. This entity had to be the voice I was hearing at night. I asked the ghost several more questions, eventually resorting to yes or no questions when it seemed to have a hard time spelling out words. When I heard my father stir in the other room, I hurriedly told the ghost goodbye and promised to play with it again soon. I hid the board in my closet and fastened the tiger's eye around my neck before venturing into the kitchen for breakfast.

Later that evening, I laid in bed with a book. Dad had been unusually quiet, and I hoped to keep it that way, so I did my best to stay out from underfoot. After some time, I fell asleep with the book still in my hand. When I woke up, it was full dark outside and the voice was whispering in my ear. “Open the window!” it said. “I'm outside! I want you to play with me!” Sleepily, I trudged to the window and had my hand on the latch before I saw what I'd been talking to. There was a face pressed up against the glass, and it wasn't a child. It was distorted and wrong, with no nose and no eyes. Urgently, it begain to scream. “OPEN THE WINDOW KATHRYN OPEN THE WINDOW OPEN THE WINDOW OPEN--” I wrenched the curtains shut and ran to my brother's room.

“Hunter! Wake up, there's something outside, please!” I shook him desperately until he blinked at me slowly. His eyes sharpened when he saw how pale my face was.

“You saw it too, didn't you?” he said.

“Yeah. I've seen it a few times. I haven't been sleeping well,” he admitted. “But it didn't bother me all night, so I thought it'd be safe. Guess I was wrong. You wanna hang out here tonight?”

I nodded gratefully. With that monstrous face no longer in front of me, I felt safer already. “Why didn't you tell me?”

He shrugged. “You wouldn't have believed me. No one ever believes me.”

I hugged him tight and promised to be a better sister from then on. We sat in silence for a few minutes before he said, “You know there are more of them, right?”

“It said it was lonely. I talked to it with a spirit board, and it told me it was alone,” I protested.

He pulled away immediately. “You talked to it? Why the hell would you do that, Kat?” It was the first time he'd ever sworn around me.

“I thought it was nice! Anyway it said it wasn't alive, so I thought it was a kid ghost. I definitely didn't expect that thing.”

“Of course it's not alive, Kathryn. Do you think something alive could look like that?” His eyes were wide and fearful. “I have a theory. I think they want your necklace.”

Surprised, I ran my finger along its smooth surface. It calmed me somewhat. “Why would you think that?”

“This started when you brought that thing home. I think it's cursed.”

“Cursed? Really?”

“I don't know, Kat. But I'm scared. I think we need to tell someone. Not Mom and Dad. But someone has to know what's going on.”

As the room turned blue in the dawn light, we formed our plan. I had a friend from school whose neighbor was rumored to be a witch. She lived within walking distance, but it was still a bit far for two kids in the summer heat. But it was worth it if she knew how to help us.

When Dad finally left for the evening, we filled a backpack with bottled water and sunscreen and set off. We didn't talk much on the way there and concentrated on staying hydrated and upright. By the time we reached the house, we were both flushed and dripping with sweat. My friend's neighbor, Anna, invited us in immediately, seeing how exhausted we looked. As it turned out, she was not a witch, but she believed strongly in the supernatural. Her bookcase was full of texts on symbols and myths. I felt sure she would know what to do. We told her our story hurriedly. As we sat at her table drinking lemonade, she turned the stone over in her hands.

“This has power,” she said knowingly. “Evil spirits are attracted to anything that can make them stronger. Kat, how do you feel when you wear this?”

“Really good,” I admitted. “Like I can do anything.”

“This is usually a stone of bravery, as well as protection. I'm sure many spirits are interested in obtaining it.”

“Can we get rid of it? Can we just give it to them?” Hunter blurted.

Anna paused, still holding the stone and running her fingers over it slowly. I stared at her hopefully. The truth was, I didn't want to get rid of it. Finally, she spoke, “I don't think this stone is evil. I think you should hold on to it.” Her eyes flicked to my bruised arm. “It may well be protecting you.”

We thanked her, and I slid the chain back over my head, relieved to feel the comforting weight against my chest. It was almost dark, so she offered to drive us home, and we gratefully accepted, silently agreeing to talk about the situation once we were alone. Upon reaching the house, she shivered slightly. “There is negative energy here, kids. Be careful. Keep that necklace on.”

Once we were inside, Hunter opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of a key turning shakily in the lock. Dad was home early. We ran to our rooms, hoping if he didn't immediately see us, he'd leave us alone. As we waited with baited breath, our father screamed, asking where the hell we were. Then the whole house began to shake violently.

I ran into Hunter's room. I didn't know if I could trust Anna, but I hoped she was right about my necklace's protective abilities. I pulled him to the floor and looped the chain around his neck so we were both wearing it. I heard a crash behind us but we didn't move. Voices began to scream all around us. As the shaking intensified, so did the voices. They were telling us to open the window, open it now, open it open it open it open it –

And as suddenly as it began, the shaking stopped. Cautiously, I pulled Hunter to his feet. We both jumped at the sound of another crash from behind us. Another scream, human this time. “You open this goddamn door! Open it right now!” Our father's fists beat against the cheap door, causing it to splinter, but it held. The house began to tremble again. I realized then what the spirits had been trying to do. They were keeping him out. I opened the window, ushering Hunter through it before scrambling out onto the dirt below. We ran to the only place we could.

Anna ushered us in quickly and made us tell her everything. “They were trying to help,” she said, with a note of guilt in her voice. “I should have known. I'm so sorry.” She explained that it must have been our father's rotten energy she felt poisoning the house. His anger over his debts and our mother's lack of affection towards him became so strong it began to make the house itself decay. I asked her if my Tiger's Eye really had the power to protect me. She told me that talismans only have as much power as you give them. I believed so strongly in it, enough to find power in myself that I didn't know I had. That, along with some concerned ghosts, was enough to shield Hunter and me from the worst of our father's violence. It wasn't until later that I realized it was gone, probably lost in the yard somewhere when we escaped.

Anna called 911 to report domestic violence, and she got a hold of our mom, who had been at work the whole time. The cops let dad off with a warning and mom moved us out that night. We didn't mention the way the house shook or the ghosts to anyone. Dad stayed in the house alone for another year as it crumbled around him. He wrote me letters, but I never bothered to read them. Eventually they stopped coming. Hunter slowly got his confidence back, but he never went back to being the carefree kid he was before. He moved to California right after high school, and we don't keep in touch as much as we should.

That brings us to the present day. The owners of the place had scheduled an open house, and against my better judgment, I decided to go. As I pulled up, I felt my fingers clench involuntarily. My chest tightened. My stomach roiled. For the second time in as many weeks, I puked violently. But I desperately needed the closure, so I walked, with legs that just barely trembled, to the gate. In my determination to reach the door without chickening out, I failed to see there were no other cars outside.

I rang the bell and tried to see inside through the frosted windows. I could see some wobbly shapes inside, but no one answered the door, so I tried the handle. It swung open easily at my touch. The wobbly shapes I saw turned out to be scattered pieces of mismatched furniture that hadn't been in the emailed pictures. I recognized them from my childhood, and wondered aloud why the new owners had bothered to keep such ugly things. In one corner of the sunken living room, my dad's favorite chair still stood, exactly as it had fifteen years before. Our dining room table had been shoved against the French doors leading to the backyard. I was sure if I looked, I'd see the crayon marks I'd drawn on the underside of the table when I was five.

The house was not big, and after the shock of seeing our things, I realized that it was otherwise empty. There was no evidence that people had been here at all, other than the furniture. And I noticed something else that made me shiver: the largest pieces of furniture had been used to block all the doors leading to the outside. All except the front door. I ran for it, but they were quicker. The door locked itself, and I couldn't get it to budge. As I pounded against it, the old familiar voices began to speak.

“We're so happy you came home, Kathryn.”

“Open the door!” I said helplessly. “You helped me once. Why are you doing this?” As I spoke, I ran for the back doors and shoved the dining room table out of the way.

“We didn't do that, silly,” said a voice. “You did it all on your own.”

“But you lost your necklace! So we can finally play together,” said another.

“We've wanted to play for so long,” said a third.

“My necklace?” I asked, my panic rising. And then I understood. “Was my necklace keeping you out?”

“Only for a while. But Daddy let us inside,” giggled the second voice. “And we didn't want him to leave!”

That explained the barred doors. They'd kept him trapped in the house for a year, somehow still alive all that time. But I was the person they really wanted, and I resolved not to let them have me.

Anna said talismans only have the power you give them, and though she'd been wrong about so many things, I hoped she was right about that. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the first thing my fingers touched, which turned out to be my key ring. Fitting, I thought. I concentrated. I tried to feel the way I felt as a kid, strong and confident and courageous. I turned my attention to the door. Holding my keys out in front of me like a shield, I urged it to open. The ghosts screamed and pushed back against me, so I tried harder. I threw all of my weight against the door and shoved, physically and mentally, and finally, it burst open. I ran down the path, through the gate, and made it to my car with the voices shrieking behind me.

For a few days, things were quiet. But yesterday I got a letter in the mail, ostensibly from my father. It read, “Come back home, Kathryn. We're all waiting for you.”

#short story #fiction #horror #creepy #ghosts #writing #based on a true story #haunted house

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firetrucksandflowers-blog · 7 years

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Reese Burns’s Character Sheet:

Because he’s so OBSCURE and I needed to get to know him more.

GENERAL:

Full Name: Reese Burns

Meaning: Reese- “The name Reese is a Welsh baby name. In Welsh the meaning of the name Reese is: Ardent; fiery.” This suits him very well, I think. Ardent meaning enthusiastic and passionate, similar to fiery, which he is, about a great deal of things, just not on the outside. Also fiery because lmao he’s a firetruck.

Burns- “Scottish and northern English: topographic name for someone who lived by a stream or streams, from the Middle English nominative plural or genitive singular of burn (see Bourne). Scottish: variant of Burnhouse, habitational name from a place named with burn 'stream' + house 'house'.” Well, I chose burns because haha l o l he’s a firetruck, too, but I think the meaning is so ironic, which also kinda fits. In the movie Red always has his water hose, and firefighters put out fires, so the whole Burns meaning place by water fits as well.

Title: Mr.

Signature: His signature wouldn’t be very big or extravagant. Very simple and plain. All the letters are written out and there to see. It’s only just slightly slanted. Uppercase first letters while the rest are lowercase and the uppercase is larger than the rest of the letters. The letters aren’t short and stubby but they also aren’t tall and skinny, just somewhere in between. It doesn’t take up the whole space provided, just starts from the beginning and ends with a good amount of space at the end.

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 30

Birthday: July 7th, 1987

Sign: Cancer

Birthplace: Newcastle, England

Current Residence: Swynlake, England.

Immediate Family:

Mother- 56: Hannah Marie Burns (Geena Davis)

Father-Deceased: Martin Lucas Burns (Kurt Russell, bc I think I’m hilarious obviously.)

Eldest Sister- 35: Olivia Burns (Alexandra Breckenridge)

Middle Sister - 33: Daneel Burns (Holliday Grainger)

Distant Family:

Grandfather, Mother’s Father-Deceased: Michael Jonathan Lewis

Grandmother, Mother’s Mother - 89: Julia Beth Lewis

Grandfather, Father’s Father-Deceased: Blake Mitchell Burns

Grandmother, Father’s Mother-Deceased: Nora Burns

Aunt, Mother’s Younger Sister: Haley Miranda Lewis

Species: Human

Ethnicity: English, German, and Norwegian.

Preferred Hand: Left

Eye Color: I’m sad because he has them big brown eyes but Chris Pratt’s are those weird different colors at one time changy ones and you know what SOMETIMES they LOOK BROWN so. I’m EMO about it okay, I spent a million years looking for the right face claim doNT MAKE ME REGRET MY DECISIONS

Hair Color: Brown, but in the right lighting it’s auburn.

Height: 6 ft. 2in. Or 188cm

Shoe Size: 12.5 (UK)/13 (US)

Health: Well off

Organ Donor?: Yes.

Driver’s License?: Yes. He’s very passive, so thank your stars he isn’t licensed to drive the truck. (Not that if he DID drive it he would let anyone get between him and getting to the fire. I’m just sayin he’s too nice and wouldn’t be fit for the job tbh.) Stops for too long, uses his blinkers, goes the speed limitations. He doesn’t mind driving, since his counterpart is a flipping car, he’s good at it. He just makes sure he’s doing right by the other people on the road because car fires are the WORST.

Allergies: None

Grooming: Well kept, except when he just comes out of the garden or work. Got that patchy beard thing going on because when he shaves he literally looks like a sixteen year old in the face. Not that I guess he cares...wow okay so we’ll say his beard comes and goes in waves. Mostly well kept hair. Wears deodorant. And his cologne is nice, subtle, nothing too flashy because he does not peacock. But no one likes to get a whiff of those over the top ones. It’s warm and just all around pleasant.

Posture: Not particularly upright, but he doesn’t slouch over. His shoulders are usually forwards instead of pulled back because it’s a little bit if protection from the outside if his shoulders are more inwards. If that. Makes any sense. He likes to use the backs of chairs when he’s sitting. At the computer he’s hunched over though. Doing the typical, hand holding up his head by resting his chin on it, leaning forwards look.

Gait: He can be fast when he needs to be. Most of the time he goes an adamant speed. Tries to stay out of other people’s way.

Habits and Mannerisms: He worries his lower lip between his teeth a lot. Rubbing his cheek. Clasps his hands behind his back. Rocks on his feet.

Scent: Most of the time he smells of the outdoors or like a campfire. But if it’s been a good day he just smells subtly of the earth and his soap/cologne.

Expressiveness: His face is very expressive and hides little to nothing of what he’s feeling. I think, due to his inability to communicate via auditory language his body subconsciously tries to make for it. Hence why Chris Pratt’s face is kinda perfect for him, even tho he’s so smiley. (this is the part where mary tries to dignify her choice in fc to herself) He is VERY expressive in the face and it morphs and moves and tells the person speaking to him exactly what’s going on inside his head, even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it or if he can’t say it. And Chris Pratt has a very expressive face when he wants to. I shall just have to scavenge the happy go lucky for the sad and recluse arrgghh.

PERSONALITY PROFILE

1. People don't behave the same way all the time. In fact, they generally have a mask for every social group -- friends, family, business. Sometimes they have a different mask for different groups of friends. How does your character act around different people? How does their personality shift and change?

Reese generally is always himself. At all times. Mostly because he never got the total socialization to behave differently around someone else. The only time he has a total change of pace with his actions are when he is outspoken. This rarely happens outside of his family gatherings or when he’s on the job. When he is on the job he is louder and larger than life because you can’t go into a burning building silently and you can’t expect others to understand you by just looking at them through the gas mask. MOST of the time he’s a quiet little wall flower, though.

2. Your character has been brought to a party and promptly ditched. They don't have a ride back home. How does this work? How comfortable are they around all of these strangers? Do they interact?

SUPER UNCOMFORTABLE. He would never go to something with that many people unless he was guilt tripped or someone he really cared about asked him to go with them. He doesn’t do well around that many people since he doesn’t have the experience and just isn’t equipped for the over stimulation. Reese would probably bounce out as soon as he realized the person he came with left him high and dry. Unless he knows he was supposed to be the DD, then he would go outside and wait by the car for however long it took for the party to diminish. OR he would walk around making sure everyone was doing okay and that there were no fire hazards. Besides the amount of people.

3. It's kind of awkward - what subjects are likely to make your character hesitate, flush, stumble on their words, etc.?

Anything? Really? He gets flustered talking about anything with anyone. Of course sex and love and all that stuff makes him blush a shade so red it looks as if he’s got rose petals coating him from the tips of his ears down to his neck and chest. A lot of things, man, he’s a shy little thing who is never not hesitant and stumbling over his words.

4. Is your character more dominant or submissive to the people around them? Do they tend to follow others' orders and wait for people to give them instruction in life, or do they charge ahead and make decisions on their own?

This really depends on the situation! As I feel this always does with people. In a crisis situation he’s been trained to not panic, to be calm, whereas most people are freaking the hell out. Reese is the one telling them to take a steady breath and what to do next. When he’s working he’s the leader, when there’s a fire going on he will take charge. But on any other situation he would be submissive. He can’t really say no because it just seems so much easier to say yes and do whatever it is that needs to get done, done.

5. What happens when your character doesn't get what they want?

Reese doesn’t want much of anything really. But, I guess if people’s happiness gets taken away or if his flowers don’t come in on time or someone has trampled through them he cries. If he doesn’t get what he wants he cries and runs.

6. What's the character's self-esteem like? It’s okay, not the best.

Hoo, hoooooo, hoooooooo. Okay, so since Reese has never found his voice amongst the crowd, he’s never really found himself. BUT THE THING IS HE HAS. In the garden and in the fire station. He just hasn’t realized it because of all those years of getting beat down or ignored. His self esteem wanes and waxes throughout every situation. As he grows more comfortable with people it rises and his personality and humor comes out to shine in the sunlight. As he works in the garden or gets put on a call, his confidence is unmoving and he’s honestly a little intimidating to come up against. Then, when all that is done, and he’s in the grocery store or walking home from work, he recedes back into himself. Closes the door and locks everything away for no one to see.

7. What's one flaw about themselves that they hate the most and wish they could change?

One???? Hahahha. Well. Reese here doesn’t really like much of anything about himself. He wishes he could talk! To! People! Everyone always seems to have such interesting opinions and experiences and dear lord, he wishes to be apart of those things. Most of the time, since he has the patience of ten thousand saints put together, he doesn’t mind just being alone with himself. But being shy and scared gets in the way of so many things. He just wants to be able to talk to someone without them asking why he’s so quiet or someone just moving along from him because he can’t give them the words they need.

8. How does their personality shift when someone gets to know them well?

I don’t know and neither does he because he’s never had that experience. No one has ever sat down and taken the time to get to know who he is outside of his sisters and mom. But they saw him grow up and forced everything out of him from the moment he was able to speak. He’s use to them by now. But everyone else just deemed his shell too hard to crack open, not wanting to take up their time to see what was inside when everywhere else people had themselves open for display because that’s much easier.

9. Do they prefer time alone, or with other people?

Time alone. Out in the garden. On a run, working out. Reading. He’s had a lot of time being alone. He doesn’t mind it at all. People are scary, enormous giants to him.

10. Is it easy for this character to tell someone "no" when they don't want to do something?

Nope. Reese is the yes man of the century. Mostly because he hates the face people give him if he says no. He did it like, twice when he was a kid. If he did it any time after people would probably shrug and say ‘Oh! No problem then!’ but he’s too scared to say it ever since then. So he doesn’t. To him it’s easier to say yes and do it and make them happy.

11. If this character were to describe their own personality, how would they do it?

He would agree that he’s quiet. But that’s preeeetty much it. He doesn’t think on himself at all.

12. Is this character aware of their flaws?

Yeah. He himself gets frustrated with his inability to communicate to the ‘norms.’

13. How has this character's personality changed from childhood to adulthood?

As a kid I think Reese was a little more outgoing and confident, as all children are before they see the real world for the shitty place that it is. He was always quiet, but as the time went on and as kids started picking on him more and more, he went radio silent. He was probably more talkative as a kid, but as he got older he stopped talking. And he’s observant and has a job that deals with people a lot so he isn’t totally socially inept, but he’s just too shy to start anything on his own.

14. Who influenced this character's personality? Did they pick up any mannerisms or traits from someone?

His sisters and mother since they always talked for him, a lot of the older people in his life who always said how him being quiet was a good thing. And then of course his tormentors. His kindness came from his Grandmother, though. The sense to see that people are so much more and have so much more going on came from her talking to him about humanity. Lots of women influenced him, obviously. They showed him that his emotions were okay to have, but the kids at school kicked him in the shins for showing them off.

But his smile is his dad’s.

15. Does this character express affection? Are they comfortable doing so?

Y E S. Okay, so this is kind of a weird phenomenon with Reese. Since he is so shy and avoids confrontation it’s odd for him to be okay with expressing affection, right? Right. But he does it. He gives the warmest hugs and would love to hold someone’s hands or press a forehead kiss to someone. He would be super careful about personal boundaries, though, too scared of running someone off. So on one hand he would LOVE to do things like that for someone but on the other hand he would wait to see if they gave him permission to do those things.

16. When frightened, will the character "fight" or "flight"?

DEPENDS. Is it a fire? He’s the first one coming after it. Anything else? He’s running away in tears.

17. Does this character ever put someone else's needs in front of their own? All the time. Every waking moment. He puts his life on the line for people's health and well being. His own is put in a box in the back of the closet. He would give up anything for someone else. Hell, he would probably die for a tree or if it meant the Earth to be okay.

18. If this character suffered amnesia and lost all their memories, what would they be like?

W O W, what a QUESTION because he seriously is the way he is because of his surroundings. Everything he is is because of someone else, or because of an event that happen to him. Besides his love for the Earth and plants? He would be talkative for one thing. I think his gentle and nice nature would stay with him, because those are just deep rooted in his core, but probably a bit more lively.

19. How does the character's living space reflect their personality?

Hmm, I think just like him it’s very muted but with small personal touches. Also like him it’s warm, cozy, and like a home. Blankets and pillows are all around and soft. So like, everything has a purpose or meaning and isn’t just for show. Also there are plants all over the place. Reese isn’t all that clean or organized, but he isn’t a complete slob either.

20. What's one thing that other characters wish they could change about this character's personality?

For him to speak his mind, probably. To not be a pushover?

EMOTIONAL PROFILE

1. How easy is it for your character to feel anger? What's usually a good tip off that they're experiencing it? (Physical reactions, movements of appendages, etc.)

Anger is one of the hardest emotions to pull from Reese because he is so gentle and light to the touch. But if he is angry it’s probably out of trying to protect something or becoming super frustrated with someone. The clues to look for are he is talking, and he is very loud. Anger is a strong emotion and one that he doesn’t experience on the daily like most every other one. He would probably yell, but be able to keep enough of himself together to keep from lashing out too harshly? You never know.

a. Sadness?

Very, very, very easy for him to experience. If he gets offended or someone is just talking trash to him he gets sad. Like I’ve been saying he is a crier who doesn’t even think about trying to keep it in. So when he is sad Reese starts crying and probably bolts to the nearest of exits. There are different types of sad cries which are either the loud wracking sobs that he lets loose on his way out or the silent moments he gets to himself when no one is around to see him.

b. Happiness?

I would say it’s pretty easy to make him happy. Show him a picture of a seal looking fat and happy or of a type of flower or just anything remotely good and he’ll brighten. Hell, if someone smiles at him in passing I think it would make him happy for the rest of the day. If it’s the normal everyday he has a small smile on his lips and a lightness to his steps and maybe a little swing in his arms. If it’s a ridiculous amount of happy he, you guessed it, starts crying.

c. Fear?

Easy to feel. Probably every time he sees a fire engulfing someone’s space of living or car or wherever. Also at any loud noises or someone coming at him in too sudden of movements. He would never say or think it, but those years of torment led to fear of getting abused again like that. He can defend himself now since the training to become a firefighter was tough and spit him out with more pounds of muscle, but he doesn’t really know his own strength.

2. What state of mind is the character usually in?

I would say a good one. He doesn’t focus on the bad. He’s very optimistic. Not too busy or too blank either. Reese is able to have something on his mind, like plants or work, without becoming overwhelmed. One thing at a time.

3. Are there any emotions the character is particularly afraid of, or really resents having to feel?

First thing is first, he is very in touch with his emotions. Reese is a soft and squishy human being with his feelings out there on his person all day everyday. And it’s not that he knows them well, it’s just that he feels them and allows them to come and go as they please. So, now the question, is he afraid of feeling any kind of emotion; yes. Love, obviously, because pain is something he hates. Not on himself, but on someone else. And if he were to feel love for someone and somehow have to see them in pain? Because of him? It would probably kill him. It almost killed him to see a tree get cut down in his primary school park and no one really knows if plants can feel pain.

The emotion he resents is fear because that’s what he thinks is keeping him from speaking.

4. How easily does this character trust their feelings with others?

Mmmm, well if someone were to ask he would be open about it. He probably wouldn’t be able to explain it very well to them, and insist that everyone’s interpretations of emotions are different, but if they asked it of him to explain he would let them know.

5. Can this character easily hide their emotions?

PFT NO.

a. Do they find it difficult to express emotion, thus tend to look neutral?

No. :)

6. How well can this character resist their emotions and impulses?

Emotions: Can’t. At all. Impulses: MMM. He’s not very good with understanding what he wants? Besides normal things like sleeping or eating or going out to weed the garden, but other than that? He’s a hard worker, isn’t lazy or really that much of a procrastinator. Sooo, impulses, = non existent or easy to resist.

7. Does this character ever get violent (with others, objects, themselves) when feeling any certain emotions?

No. No way. He would NEVER hurt anyone else….on purpose. Or let harm befall someone else. Especially because of him. Reese is never violent. He knows it causes more harm than good so he stays away from it at all costs. But...if a bug is bothering him when he’s trying to water the plants he’ll go a little overboard with the hose trying to get at it. But he’ll feel bad afterwards.

8. Has this character contemplated suicide? No.

a. Self-harm? No.

b. Physically injuring others? N O

c. Killing others? nooOOOOOoOooooOOOO

9. Does the character have any triggers? Why do these things trigger them?

He doesn’t really realize but bullying. If he sees it he would break down. His first hand experience at being on the other end of the relentless teasing and physical abuse were enough to scar him for a lifetime. But he doesn’t?? Think it was that bad?? If you were to ask him he would say others in the world have it worse and he’s doing okay, so it’s nothing to worry about.

10. What would hurt this character so badly they couldn't even breathe?

I know this is supposed to be a serious question, but lmao, someone killing his plants. It’s easy to hurt him because he’s so soft. So, just stepping on his gardenias would make him a mess.

11. What is guaranteed to make this character smile?

Anything nice. Like, just seeing someone out on the town being happy would make him smile. Or looking out his window to see his garden alive and well would melt him. And, as always, listening to someone talk about something they love/are passionate about. Reese knows people are beautiful through and through and just to see someone with life in their eyes and love on their lips? Inspiring.

12. If the character could remove one emotion from their life, which would they choose?

W O W. Hmm. He wouldn’t know what to say to this question because he knows that without one emotion the others wouldn’t make sense? But maybe fear? To be able to not be scared at all would appeal to him.

13. If they're feeling upset, who are they likely to talk to for comfort? Or do they keep it inside?

He would mostly feel like he’s bothering someone if he wanted to talk to someone while he was upset. But the most likely people he’s going to call are his mother and sisters because they’d get mad at him if he didn’t, and they would find out eventually anyways.

14. How would this character cope with losing someone extremely close to them?

He….wouldn’t. He would cry so much he would exhaust himself. Maybe he could work through it eventually, like a loooooooong eventually, because he’s so in touch with his feelings. But it would devastate him.

15. How does this character look and feel when crying?

WELL, this probably isn’t supposed to be a big question, but for Reese this is a VERY IMPORTANT AND LOADED EXPLANATION.

The Sobbing, Sad Cry: This is the cry where Reese lets it loose and runs away to get far from the source of his woes and back to somewhere he can calm down and be out of the way of other people going about their day. This is the ugly cry, with tears dripping and running and there’s snot on the sleeve of his shirt and sweat because he’s crying that hard. After he has stopped running, and has found his secured place to cry, he curls up, and just cries. It’s ugly and his face is puffy, and he sounds like a baby. And he feels like shit, too, because it feels like he isn’t getting enough air so a little hyperventilation comes into play.

The Quiet Cry: The teary eyed, small amounts of tears cry. He will look upwards in an attempt to keep the tears from falling or just let them fall and not bother to wipe them away. He isn’t loud, he keeps the harsh breathing or reckless whines and whimpers choked in his throat. His eyes get squinty and his face gets red, his bottom lip will wiggle and he’ll try to stop its movements by pulling it between his teeth. Mostly for when he’s like stunned sad or doesn’t want to disturb the surroundings. Like a funeral.

The Angry Cry: Loud and not very proud. Obviously if he’s going to get angry he isn’t going to want to be crying while trying to get through it, or if he’s trying to talk to someone, but he is a crier and crier's cry when they get angry. It’s more subtle than his sad cries because he’ll probably be too wrapped up in anger to notice the wet streaks on his cheeks and dripping from his chin. And if he does, he’ll get even more angry, making a positive feedback loop for himself. His voice will probably get all shaky and broken when he talks.

The Frustrated Cry: Probably the least? Seen? But when his long, longlonglong, line of patience wears out and he can’t take the vast amount of emotion crashing over him, he’ll let it go. He’ll look distraught and mad at himself, and it’s probably best to leave him to his own unless he asks to not be.

The Relieved Cry: One he experiences after a fire or after getting someone out of a fire or seeing a plant come back to life. It’s a little breath and a few missed tears, but it doesn’t take long and it mostly just to let himself have a moment to realize things are going to be okay.

The Happy Cry: He will be laughing or smiling/grinning while tears flow. His hands will be shaky but he’ll be in a really good mood. Ever seen the Parent Trap with Lindsay Lohan? Of course you have, don’t lie to yourself, but he gets like Martin when they find out Annie is Hallie. “I’ve never been so happy in my entire life!” But less sobby and more smiley.

The Laugh so Hard Until He Cries Cry: Self explanatory. He becomes a smiley little ball of sunshine.

The Watching a Movie/Tv Cry: There will be a pillow against his chest or a blanket pulled up to his chin and tears. So many tears. And tissues on the coffee table in front of him.

The ‘I didn’t even Realize I was Crying’ Cry: Also self explanatory. He’ll be just standing somewhere, distracted, and just be tearing up.

16. If the character had to live out the rest of their life either perpetually angry, sad, or frightened, which would they choose?

Sad. He’s had enough experience with it. He doesn’t like any of them, but being scared he’s kinda already doing and it’s awful, and to always be angry would be dangerous.

17. Does this character tend to blame or punish others for their own emotions?

Nope. Only himself.

18. Is this character empathetic, and tends to be influenced by the emotions of others?

Yes yes yes. All the time.

19. What is the strongest emotion they have felt?

….a lot, holy shit. So many things because every emotion is strong for him.

PHYSICAL PROFILE

1. Based on the current diet and exercise your character has, where do you see them physically in five years?

The same, maybe fitter? Being a firefighter he tries his best to be in his best physical condition in order to not hinder the people he is trying to help and save. So he feels as though he has to be well off. Who knows, maybe by then he’ll have gotten hurt enough to have to retire early from the firefighting game and be a pudgy guy.

2. How agile is this character? Can they dodge easily? Or are they clumsy?

He’s weirdly agile. Like not graceful at all but he isn’t clumsy. Reese is a force to be reckoned with when he wants to be, you know. So his shoulder can slam into a door the the thing will go down after the first few tries. At the same time he also has a gentleness to him. When he’s touching plants or someone who is hurt he’s very careful. It’s kind of a weird combo, but he pulls it off. It’s a learned control over himself.

3. Describe the muscle content of your character. Are they untrained and soft? Or lithe and powerful?

He was trained into something powerful. He’s a bigger guy, so his body isn’t exactly skinny or lithe. More like an elephant or a rhino. While he doesn’t know the exact limits to his strength he knows he’s fit enough to be doing the job. He pushes himself when working out and stuff to make sure he’s not losing too much muscle in order to be out of his depth when going into a dangerous situation. It also helps when carrying bags of mulch or soil from his car.

4. What kind of body fat percentage do you suppose they have?

Not a lot tbh. Probably some around his middle, but.

5. Do they have any scars? Where did those scars come from, and how did they get them?

Y es. He’s got a scar from when Nathan Peterson’s vengeance seeking friends attacked him. It’s on his left side. One of them had a knife that the others didn’t know about, so when they saw that sticking out of him they all took off because it suddenly got a little too real that he could die or whatever. Thankfully none of them pulled it out when they left, but it did enough damage.

6. Describe some hairstyles your character has had in the past.

His mother probably gave him the buzzed look as a kid because that’s easy? Just shave his hair off, he doesn’t care what he looks like that the moment. Then his sisters got involved and started using him as their life size doll and messed up his hair a lot when he was younger. He never said anything, of course, but the kids at school did. And when he got to secondary they let it do it’s own thing. Mostly he kept it short. Like any other men’s style. Short on the sides, longer on the top.

a. How about the present? What's their hair like now?

Just the regular short hair, a little flippy dippy on the front. It’s kinda curly when he lets it grow out, too.

7. What are their teeth like? Any cavities? Root canals? Does their dentition ever hurt?

Uh, I mean he brushes and flosses twice a day, so they’re pretty well taken care of. Nothing too out of the box with them.

8. Do their arches ever fall? That's painful.

Nope.

9. How much endurance do they have? Do they easily get tired during a workout?

High endurance, he’s gotta to have passed to become a firefighter. Not easily tired out at all. He’s built it up to where he can go for a long time without becoming completely exhausted.

10. How easily can they bear pain?

Very easily. A lot of the time he doesn’t say he’s in pain out loud because he doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal. One time when a kid managed to break his arm in school by doing the arm around his back and pushing him against a wall he didn’t say anything all day until he got home and his sister saw his ugly looking arm when he took his uniform blazer/shirt off. He’s probably not to woman level of pain tolerance, but he’s pretty up there.

11. How long can this character sit still?

A long time. He is a patient man.

a. Do they shift a lot when sleeping?

Not a lot of the time. He’s mostly stationary throughout the night.

12. What do their nails look like? Do they bite them?

Short and mostly well kept. Has dirt under them a lot of the time, but he cleans them before doing anything else when he comes inside from the garden. He doesn’t bite them, no.

13. How hairy is this character?

I’m WHEEZING, what a QUESTION, I’m sorry Chris Pratt we’re getting personal aren’t we.

a. Arms? Normal??

b. Legs? Normal

c. Underarms? Oh dedarjk, normal

d. Eyebrows? They’re there but they’re no Colin Farrell or Peter Gallagher.

14. What is the most imperfect part of this character's body?

He thinks his hands are too big a lot of the time.

15. Do they get cold easily?

Naah.

a. How about overheated?

Yes. Since he is a little toaster oven in the shape of a human he can get hot very easily. Which means he sweats at the slightest hint of overheating. But it also means that he stays warm very easily.

b. Seasick?

No, he does well with motion. His muse is a car so I feel like he would be okay. Probs fall asleep to it. Be one of those babies his mom put in a car seat and drove around to help him fall asleep that night. Not that he was a problematic baby.

c. Do barometric changes in pressure affect them?

Nah.

16. How do they react to getting an illness? Think about sore throats, achy bodies, headaches, stuffy noses, runny noses...

He ignores them until they get really serious. Most of the time his mom would never know because he ran hot, and she freaked out one too many times, so she just never knew when he was sick because he never said anything. Not until she noticed he sounded stuffy or was blowing his nose, or squinting a lot. On his own he doesn’t do anything until it affects him significantly. But he isn’t a whiny mess on the couch. Just a bundle in bed watching feel good movies and smelling mint he picked on his way in.

17. Is this character's body sensitive to touch?

Wow, OKAY UH, I will say yes, yes he is. He’s really sensitive? Ticklish around the middle. And he stiffens when anyone gets to close to him because besides his family no one has ever touched him with anything but pain so he gets wary in tight spaces. Unless he’s getting someone out of a fire, then there’s layers of his suit to keep him from them. But yeah, besides his calloused hands from work, he’s very sensitive.

18. How strong are this character's basic senses? Sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell.

Hmm, okay so his sense of sight is 20/20 and he doesn’t need any contacts or glasses. His hearing isn’t the best of the best. We discussed touch. Taste is normal, not too strong but not too weak. He’s got a tolerance for extreme heat in food, so if the food JUST came out of the oven he can eat it no problem. Or he’s just weird and enjoys that feeling of burning his tongue and roof of his mouth. His sense of smell has been tested in training to be able to detect a lot of things now, so it has been schooled to be stronger.

19. If this character had to permanently lose one of their senses, which would they choose?

Taste most likely because he needs everything else to help people. See where he’s going, hear people calling for help, feel for heat, and smell for the source of the fires. He’d miss a lot of things, but he thinks he could get along fine without it.

a. What if they could only have one sense, and had to lose the others?

HARD ONE. But touch.

20. Does this character have any unusual limbs or physical features?

Nope.

PREFERENCES AND PEEVES

1. What's the state of your character's kitchen? What kind of foods do you find in it? Is it... clean?

Warm and inviting. He likes to cook. Like a lot. He grows a lot of vegetables and herbs in his garden, probably not a lot of fruit because that takes a while for them to grow besides the ol tomatoes. But he has a lot of fresh and local foods floating around the place. Also a lot of baked goods when he has the time are on platters or at the firestation when he knows he won’t be able to eat them all. It’s clean and only fairly organized. Things are kind of lingering around in drawers and the stacks of plates and bowls aren’t the tidiest, but it isn’t a headache to find things for people who aren’t familiar with the place.

2. If they could only eat one type of food for the rest of their life, what would they choose?

Vegetables? Because they’re easily grown and healthy. As much as he’d miss cake.

3. What kind of clothing does this character wear?

Comfortable things in the casual. Jeans or shorts and plain t-shirts with tennis shoes. Work out clothing for when that’s going on. And then when he needs to get dressed up it’s either his dress uniform, the whole get up, or a more casual looking suit and tie. At work he’s in his uniform. At night just a shirt and his boxers tbh, he gets too hot other wise and he can’t sleep in pajama pants.

And socks?? I feel like he wears socks at all times. Maybe...not to bed but just when he’s around the house he’s gotta be wearing socks.

4. How does this character feel about piercings?

He doesn’t care what other people do with their image at all. It’s their body and if it makes them happy then he’s cool. As long as it isn’t hurting them.

a. Tattoos? Honestly, he admires people who can sit through that. He doesn’t think he could, but he could. But hmm would he get one? Probably not.

b. Dyed hair? You do you.

c. Revealing clothing? As long as they’re happy with their body, he doesn’t care or glance twice.

5. How does this character feel about animals?

He loves animals and they love him. Animals don’t bullshit around and don’t make him feel awkward because they’re genuine for the most part. They can also tell that he has a good soul and is kind. Not to mention he isn’t loud and he doesn’t coo at them like a lot of people. Kind of a mutual understanding thing going on there.

a. Would they want any pets?

UHM YES. Let’s be honest he’s getting the fire station a dalmatian. Or 20. A L S O OMG, wow just had a very cute thought, he wants to be a beekeeper! He’s VERY adamant about the bees ever since he watched a documentary on them. It opened his eyes to all the fat fuzzy things hanging around his flowers. I’m imagining him being timid to go get them, scared he’ll kill them, but at the same time knowing they’ll be good for the flowers and the environment. Will probably never come to fruition because idk how this is gunna go into the rp but I can always headcanon he got them when he retired or something. They aren’t animals, but YOU KNOW WHAT he would love his little bees until the end.

b. What animals are their favorite?

Whales. They’re relatable because they’re so big and yet they’re gentle and beautiful. Okay, maybe he doesn’t think he’s beautiful but whatever. They’re also super fierce when they need to be. He has newsletters about whales in his email. When he was in uni and had a small job at the library he spent a few of his pay checks donating to saving whales. He still does from time to time when it doesn’t go towards the rest of the environment.

6. What type of movie is this character most interested in watching?

Feel good movies. Also romantic movies. He likes being a pile of goop at the end. He cannot do scary movies or super sad movies. The Shawshank Redemption is a good one for him because Andy was wrongfully accused and made the best of his situation. Also Morgan Freeman is bomb. And then he loves You’ve Got Mail and Pride and Prejudice. Hmm, Back to the Future and Ghostbusters, things like that. Nice lovely movies that end with the main character's happy. Worships Julie Andrews.

7. If this character could master a skill instantly, which would they choose?

Social skills lmao.

8. Are there any behaviors that other characters do that irk this character?

Littering! Hurting themselves! Being rude! Blatant disrespect for the Earth! How dare!

a. Does the character ever voice their annoyance?

Only if it’s about defending something/someone that can’t defend itself. Like if some hoe just threw a piece of trash in the air for the wind to take he would snatch it and say, “I think you dropped this.” And then run for the hills.

9. Would this character rather create something or destroy something?

Create. Or rather, help to create. He isn’t completely artistically inclined, so just to help things grow or make food from ingredients is his place.

10. What kind of comedy does this character prefer? Toilet humor, vulgar, slapstick, morbid, etc.

Oddball. Physical humor gives him anxiety to watch, but hearing a good joke of words and set up make him laugh. Also I feel like really stupid jokes would make him laugh. Like all the ‘Why did the chicken cross the road?” ones. Why is a chicken crossing the road? That’s?? Funny in itself. At least to him. Also all the flower jokes.

11. If they could stay at one age forever, which age would they choose and why?

Probably mid 50’s. Still able to move with some sort of ease, but too old to work in his field…...as a…...fireman…., so he can just be someone’s gardener and live in a little home in their backyard. Or like, above their garage. Just a small little job that would make someone happy? Omg, even better, he can be a booth at the local farmers market!! OR be helping the mother effing whales. Wow, yeah, he would love to retire and just do something for the environment. Also no one bothers you all that much when you’re an old man, so that would be, ideal.

12. If the character could only wear clothing of one color, which would they choose?

Gray maybe? Keep it neutral. There are….several shades of it after all.

13. Describe the character's favorite possession. Where did they get it, and why are they so attached?

When he was recovering in the hospital his sisters got him a cactus. It’s alive and well and on his bedroom window sill in Swynlake now. He loves it because his sister’s got it for him and it was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. It’s stayed with him for years and years and saw him through that rough patch in his life. But he would never say that. He would say he loves all his plants equally. He just loves that one the best because his sisters were kind enough to think not to get him something that would die next to him in the room like everyone else with their flower arrangements.

14. What is the character's favorite weather?

Rain. Not thunderstorms, because, yeah, he and thunder aren’t friends whatsoever, just a hard rain that comes and goes. One that makes the weather cool down and the plants perk back up. It gives him the opportunity to go outside and not have to sweat gallons and see to the plants while they’re happy. He also likes the smell of the dirt and the flowers when they’re wet. It’s nice and Earthy and just fills him with contentedness he can’t get anywhere else.

15. Do they prefer sweet, salty, sour, meaty, spicy, or neutral tastes?

I think he really likes spicy food and has built up an immune system to it so it isn’t as painful as it once was. Just a nice burn on his tongue. But he also likes soft and sweet, hence his love for baked goods. And smoothies are usually sweet, too.

16. Would they rather sleep in a cold room or a warm one?

Cold! He dies in hot rooms because he has to have a sheet or blanket out of comfort covering him in the night. But in a hot room his body temperature just makes it too bleeh to get comfortable. If he’s in a cold room that means he can snuggle into that one layer and be just the right temperature.

17. Are there any hobbies this character absolutely hates and would never want to do?

Hunting? OoOOO ACTING/PUBLIC SPEAKING that would be the worst thing in the world to him. Having to get in front of a bunch of people and speak? No way.

18. What's the easiest way to annoy this character?

Talk shit about the Earth, get hit. Being stupid with fire.

19. Are their interests and likes socially appropriate?

Yeah. I mean? Maybe people don’t associate 30 year old men being out in the garden crying over how beautiful his peppers are turning out, but he isn’t doing anything super weird or gross. Also cooking is like a fad now. Thank you foodnetwork. (Lowkey he worships Alton Brown, too.)

OTHER

1. What is the character's first memory?

His sisters playing with him in the living area. They were just messing around with some blocks and stuffed animals, building houses for them and giving them lives in this little neighborhood they had come up with. His mom was making dinner but they were all to caught up in their game to pay attention to when they were supposed to go wash their hands or sit at the table. It’s simple and small but it’s the oldest thing he can remember.

2. Has the character ever experienced deja vu? Do you happen to know why?

Mmm, no. Tis a good question, but no he hasn’t.

3. Sensations are powerful things, and often certain scents, sounds, touches, etc. can invoke memories strongly associated with them. Which have imprinted in your character's mind?

Loud noises always bring back when kids would yell at him or when the guys who ganged up on him were laughing at him as he asked them to please, stop. Also the smell of alcohol or weed will always be associated with Nathan and that night with Jules. Then of course fire and smoke just pulls up work.

4. How'd they get along with their parents and/or other relatives?

Really well. He’s such a mama’s boy. Since his dad had died before he got to know him all he had for a parent was his mom and that didn’t hinder him in the slightest. He loves her so much and is so thankful to have had such a wonderful human being to raise him. Reese also gets on very well with his sisters. They’re all really close, even if they aren’t in years. Both of them are married and with kids. Olivia, the eldest, has a wife who adores Reese, and a son who loves his cool uncle who fights fires. And Atty, the middle, has a nice husband who Reese was very cautious of at first, but grew to like. Her two kids, older boy and younger girl, love Reese too.

His mom’s parents loved him and he loved them. He was connected to his grandmother the most since his grandfather died when he was 9. And his mom’s sister spoiled him to end because she never had kids and always wanted a little boy.

5. What's the worst injury they've ever gotten?

Getting stabbed! Woo!

6. How many places has this character lived in?

Four. His home town, his university town, town he trained to become a fireman, and now Swynlake.

7. If the character could erase one memory from their mind, what would it be?

Uhm, probably that night he got jumped. Erase all that fear and pain and just utter helplessness and it would have given him back plenty of sleepless nights. Or all those times he had walked across campus alone, even in the day time, after he came back and not feeling so terrified.

8. What was the character's economic situation?

Comfortable. He isn’t rich but he isn’t struggling. Probably?? Higher middle class since he’s got an established job with benefits and all that jazz. Not to mention he isn’t a big spender on anything at all. He’s doing fine.

9. Describe the character's love life throughout the years.

WOW OKAY. So hmmm…...non existent. Legit. It’s hard to imagine him in any romantic relationship. Haaaaa. Because he doesn’t talk to people? outside his family. He’s never been good at talking to people, so there’s no way he ever approached anyone he thought was attractive. And if anyone were to come to him they would either get bored of him or deem him too much work. Also he’s too awkward for any sexual encounters outside of someone he would fully trust himself with which I’m not so sure anyone would so far in his life? Otherwise he would kind of be out of his shell a little bit, having had someone evoke that from him already. Yeeaah, if he had any kind of relationship like that it would have been with someone close and they would have pushed him to be a little more outspoken. But he’s still a recluse who has never felt that connection. But then on the flip side if he was in a relationship with someone who made his conditions worse I think he would have totally written off human interactions forever, even though he is an optimist who sees the best in people, but he would just make sure no one ever got near him again, because no DOUBT he would blame the ending of the relationship on himself.

WHAT A REVELATION. He’s Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed. I’m dealing with a 30 year old virgin here oh dear. I’m terrible to my characters.

10. How did the family that raised this character influence them?

While they meant well, they always spoke for him, answering questions for him and all that. But it hindered him in being able to speak for himself. But his mother raised him right, to be polite, and his sisters were very protective of their younger brother, they’re also his best friends in life as he is to them.

11. If this character could "unmeet" someone in their life, who would they choose?

NATHAN PETERSON. *timmy turner’s dad dinklebuuurg.*

#about #bio #everyone else's are so good i had to hop onto the car #twas super helpful

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youngsurvival-blog1 · 6 years

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Reddit Wp Carryover #1: You're a 250 year old vampire. You've found that living as a recluse and faking your death every 70 years or so is actually fairly easy. You've consistently fooled everyone except for your mortal enemy - Keith from the IRS

I tore the pink letter to shreds with a frustrated shriek. The tattered bits whirled around my feet as I kicked at them petulantly, not satisfied until they were all out of sight. In all of my two hundred and fifty years of life, or rather undeath, I had been able to evade electrical bills, dodge utility payments, and siphon internet from unsuspecting neighbors. But then there was the IRS, actually, it was Kieth. My lips curled in a snarl at the thought of the doughy, bespectacled human, his hands forever damp with sweat and clutching a pristine black briefcase.

He was infuriating, every time I changed my name he found me, every time I moved I would get another bright pink letter. I knew eventually he would visit, the letter said as much, written in his swirling handwriting and signed with an unchanging, impeccable signature, simply Kieth. Though, how he found me wasn't the greatest mystery surrounding Kieth. It was the fact that he was most certainly human, but he never aged. It hadn't been various IRS agents over the years, it had always been Kieth.

I pondered this as I stalked to my kitchen to grab a drink, muttering curses under my breath as I went. My hand gripped the glass while I tore the plastic of the blood bag open, pouring the contents without really thinking about what I was doing.

Why doesn't he age? I sipped the blood and tossed the empty bag in the trash, moving through my house silently.

There had to be an explanation, humans aged and died. Was he a machine? A clone? An alien? I shook my head at the notion. Kieth was distinctly human, his scent didn't lie, neither did his heartbeat, or the warmth he gave off.

With an exasperated huff I fell onto my couch, mind still swirling with thoughts of the ever obnoxious Kieth. I was so lost in my thoughts that when the doorbell rang I let out an involuntary yelp.

That smell, peppermint, tweed, and sweat. It was Kieth. Snarling I walked to the door, pulling my brown hair away from my face and wiping my bloody lips with the back of my arm. A toothy smile planted itself on my mouth as I opened the door to my apartment.

"Kieth, I wasn't expecting you so soon." And there he was, in all of his soggy, soft glory, damp blue eyes blinking at me expectantly.

"I'm quite sure you weren't Miss Yvir, but we have quite a bit to discuss this time." I hated that he knew my original name, and insisted upon using it every time we spoke despite my ever changing identity.

"May I come in?" He looked up at me through his thick glasses, my chin easily an inch above his forehead.

I opened the door and swept my arm in an exaggerated bow and he slithered past me into my living room, where he plopped unceremoniously onto my couch. My smile twisted into a snarl as I took the chair, lifting my glass of O+ from the table. He squirmed uncomfortably as I sipped it and internally I purred with glee. Over the years he had never asked outright what I was, but he knew, he had to by now.

"So, Miss. You have not paid your taxes for the last three years. Not the longest you have evaded, but still a serious offense." He adjusted his glasses and tried to meet my eyes. "Would you like to instill a payment plan or would you like to go ahead and pay your entire balance?"

I took another long sip and licked my fangs. Kieth shifted a bit away from me as I leaned forward over the paperwork. At this point I had no interest in the numbers, I could easily pay whatever sum he wanted, but I was trying to find any clues as to what kept him ticking, and annoying.

From what I saw he wore no pieces of power, had no necromantic tattoos, or any indication of interference from another supernatural source. He didn't even have the wet dander smell werewolves seem to always have hanging around them. With a frustrated sigh i leaned back and pulled my checkbook from my purse, Keith's erratic pulse the only sound in the room other than that of a scribbling pen.

As I pulled the check from the spine a thought struck me, does he bleed? Can he die? Over the years I had never really considered killing him, was he a pain? Yes. Did I ever want to see him again? No. But he was only doing his job, as annoying as he was. However, at this point my curiosity was outweighing my benevolence and I set my snakelike green eyes on him.

I handed him the check in one hand, and as quick as lighting I had embedded his lovely fountain pen in his throat, ripping the doughy flesh of his neck open as I tore the pen free.

The smell of raw magic filled the room, overpowered by the scent I vomited blood onto the carpet and I was glad I hadn't tried to bite him instead. I would have been burned from the inside out by the sheer amount of energy in his veins.

He gurgled and clawed at his open neck, the dark blood sluggishly moving between his fingers. And as he scrabbled at the wound it began to close before my eyes.

Within moments his pale throat was unblemished, marked only by the smears of thick unnatural blood. All I could do was stare at him as he collected himself. He had undergone a blood ritual, an old one from the smell of it, and it had worked. The rituals were very rare, because of the risk, and even more rare were successes. Just who the FUCK was Kieth?

"Now." He cleared his throat and I jumped, startled from my even more confused thoughts. "Hopefully you have gotten that out of your system. I will need you to write another check, as this one has blood on it."

I dumbly stroked another check and handed it to him. With a satisfied grunt he placed it in his tidy briefcase and stood, straightening his dark tie. My legs lifted me from the chair and I moved to walk him out of my home.

As I opened the door he turned to me, offering his sweaty palm as if I had not just tried to kill him. I shook it, my mind not really present, still swirling with the thoughts of Kieth's real identity. Maybe a surname, his last name may give me a clue, but I remembered he had never told me. And he never signed it on his letters.

"Until next time Miss Yvir, and next time please don't wait so long to send us your payment." He moved to the top of the stairs and I found my voice.

"Hey Kieth." His wet blue eyes found mine and he cocked his head to the side in response.

"Since we've known each other so long, and you know me so well, isn't it strange that I don't even know your last name?" My voice was saccharine and he looked thoughtful for a moment before a slow grin spread on his paunchy face.

"I suppose that's fair." He winked at me and started down the stairs. "It's VanHellsing." His pale hand waved from above the railing, his footsteps silent. "Until next time, Miss Yvir."

#writing prompt #fiction #my writing

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allonsysilvertongue · 7 years

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Silver Pen: The New Neighbour

During a particularly long stretch of writer's block, Haymitch Abernathy discovered a world of his own making. (AU)

Hello all, yes it's me again. This is a story I came up with last week while I was exceptionally bored, stuck somewhere for hours. There are about ten chapters and I've finished writing the first draft of all the chapters.

Chapter 1: The New Neighbour

Over the past two years, Haymitch Abernathy had learnt to keep quiet.

Admitting that he was a writer often invited odd looks. Couple that with his now slightly unkempt appearance – wrinkled clothes that needed washing and sometimes, unshaven beard – people tended to assume that he lived alone and was a recluse, which he is. Or if they knew his history, then they assumed he was ridden by guilt and dealing with it by writing. That also happened to be partially true.

So he stopped. There was no longer any quiet mumbling under his breath that he was in the middle of writing a book or that yes, he had stopped writing children’s books. He couldn’t muster the innocence needed to write for that target audience.

It had gotten tiresome to deal with the sympathetic look on people’s face when he gruffly admitted that he was dry of inspiration. Not telling people about his writing seemed to be the easiest solution. In any case, he did not feel entitled to the term any longer.

Writer, he scoffed.

He had not managed to write anything for the past two years. It didn’t mean he didn’t try. He tried, and sometimes he tried too hard even though he knew nothing good would come out from him trying to force himself to it. The things he came up with felt juvenile, forced and inauthentic. His work did not feel genuine to him and if it didn’t feel like it came from him, his readers would know that too. Readers could always tell.

There were scribbles of mindless plot that led to nowhere. He supposed he could expand on it but he couldn’t find the will to do so.

There were also half-thought out characters that were never fully developed. But the characters that he had developed and fleshed out well, he was rather fond of, not that he would ever admit that to anyone. It was easier to him to write characters lately. He felt a strange bond to them which at times, he thought was a troubled sign. He should get out more and socialise.

There were also names in fictional places that his mind conjured up that despite his best efforts, he could not fit into anything at the moment. He was sure that one day, it would all make sense to him – the plot, the characters, their moral dilemma – but today was not that day.

Hauling himself to his feet from the sunken armchair, Haymitch kicked the bottle on the floor that was blocking his path. It rolled under the sofa. He would need to restock which meant that he would have to do the tedious task of going into the town centre.

Haymitch peered out of the window to check if the weather was good. The snow had begun to melt and for a brief second, he thought twice about stepping out of the house.

Then something twinkled out of the top corner of his window.

It was the glint from the sunlight hitting the metal plate of a truck that was currently driving down the small road towards the Village.

Haymitch watched.

He could count on one hand the number of times visitors actually wandered into the Village in a year. To him, this was definitely something to be curious about, so much so that he actually stepped out of his house to stand by the porch.

The truck came to a stop in front of one of the houses – the one right next to his to be specific. The frown on his face deepened.

He had not had a neighbour for nearly two decades and he was not sure he welcomed the change.

A young man with a head full of blond hair stepped out of the truck. He caught sight of Haymitch and raised his hand in greeting with a smile on his face. He had kind blue eyes and Haymitch gave a curt nod in response. On the passenger side, the door swung open. This time, a black-haired female jumped down. She threw a wary glance in Haymitch's direction but unlike her companion, she did not deem it necessary to greet him.

Not wanting to seem intrusive or too curious, Haymitch went back inside and chose a seat by the window. He couldn't take his eyes off the girl's braid and the gold accessory that was pinned to the tail of her braid. From this distance, he couldn't really tell what it was but he thought it resembled a bird.

They stood in front of the house which Haymitch now assumed to be theirs. The young man slipped his hand into the girl's and with an encouraging smile, led her up the steps of the porch.

No one had moved into the Village for years. He was the sole occupant and frankly, he wasn't sure what would make a young couple choose this place in particular.

He decided, as he relocated to the kitchen scrounging for leftover liquor from bottles in the cupboard, that if they stayed out of his way then he would keep out of theirs.

For days following that, Haymitch heard the couple moving things from the truck and into their new house. He heard footsteps, the door opening and closing, things crashing onto the floor when someone dropped a box, and the rise and fall of inaudible voices talking to each other. On the third day, he smelt the sweet fragrance of freshly baked bread wafting in next door and that continued every morning.

The signs of life were too difficult to ignore.

Despite that, they did not bother him. They had not knocked on his door to introduce themselves, probably still busy unpacking and adjusting, and that suited him just fine.

Except for one small problem. Ever since he saw them, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was bothering him.

There was something oddly familiar about those two that he couldn’t quite figure out. The braid and the pin… He kept seeing it. It was like a splinter on his finger. He was aware that it was there but despite trying, was unable to pull it out to ease himself.

Without a thought, Haymitch wandered closer to his door. Nowadays, he was beginning to feel like a creeper. He had been watching them on and off to a point that he knew the boy had left in the morning, presumably to head to town.

He was walking home now, Haymitch noted.

He spied the canvas tucked under the young man’s arm and the paint brushes poking out of the paper bag. Haymitch blinked, feeling ill at ease.

He paints.

And, he knew it was the boy who did all the baking. Haymitch had seen him rushing out of the house with his hands covered in flour that one time when he had heard a yelp from the woman.

He bakes, too.

Haymitch knew him. He knew with every fibre of his being that he knew this young man.

Of course, that was impossible since he had never seen him or the girl in his life before. Tired of speculating and thinking about his new neighbour, Haymitch grabbed a bottle from his recently stocked cupboard and drank until the moon greeted the sun, and until he passed out.

When he woke up the next morning, it was to a pounding headache and a parched mouth. Haymitch staggered towards the kitchen, drinking straight from the tap.

His kitchen window overlooked his backyard and into the edge of the woods. From there, he could also see a portion of his neighbour’s backyard.

The girl came into view. She was wearing a leather jacket which even in his headache and blurred eyesight, he somehow knew that the jacket was old and brown and too big for her frame. He was startled by his own thoughts.

Haymitch splashed his face with a handful of cold water to wake himself up but the girl was still there and the jacket was definitely old; old enough to have belonged to someone else and passed down to her, judging from the looks of it.

It was when she picked up an item from her feet and slung it over her shoulder that Haymitch reeled back.

It was a bow.

She hunts and wears her hair in braid with a gold pin.

“A mockingjay,” he breathed out in realisation. Haymitch ran a shaking hand through his hair. “No. No, this is impossible.”

Having found his boots, he jammed them on and slammed his front door open. His footsteps were heavy as it thudded against the pathway to the house next door.

He met the boy halfway and surprised, they both stopped short.

“Oh, hello, I was just about to go over.”

Haymitch stared at him and at the bread wrapped with a piece of cloth that he was holding.

“I would have come sooner but we were quite swamped with all the unpacking,” he laughed lightly. “I’m your neighbour.”

As if that needed explaining, Haymitch thought.

“Yeah, saw you moved in a week ago or something,” Haymitch grunted. “Who’s the girl?”

“My fiancé,” he answered, the pride clearly displayed on his face. “I made some extra bread and thought that this was a good time as any to come over and introduce myself.”

Haymitch silently took the bread he offered.

"I'm Peeta," he extended his hand. “Peeta Mellark.”

The name made Haymitch freeze. He felt his stomach churning.

“I’m sure you have seen Katniss around,” Peeta went on even if he found Haymitch’s reaction slightly odd. “She’s gone to hunt but once she comes back I’ll tell her to drop by and say hello.”

"Katniss," Haymitch rolled the name on his tongue. "Katniss Everdeen..."

That seemed to throw Peeta off. "Do you ... Do you know Katniss?"

Do I know, Katniss?

He wanted to laugh except he was in too much shock.

“Did you break into my study?” Haymitch demanded.

“What?” Peeta sputtered, not at all expecting to be accused of breaking and entering.

“Your names… Were you given them from birth or did you… Did you both have it changed recently? Did you steal the names from me?”

“I don’t – I’m not sure I understand you,” Peeta shook his head.

Without ever telling the boy his name, Haymitch turned around and marched back to his house. He slammed the door and locked it, and took the stairs two at a time.

For the first time in a long while, Haymitch turned the knob into his study. The simple act of opening the door and his footsteps against the floorboard unsettled the dust which floated in the air.

He went straight for his desk and rummaged through stacks of papers, sweeping others onto the floor and knocking old ink bottles over until he finally found what he was looking for. The papers were wedged under his typewriter.

His eyes scanned through the words and then his breath caught.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

There it was written in ink.

He knew why they were familiar.

They were his characters.

He wrote them. He created them and somehow.... they were both alive and living next door.

So... WHAT DO YOU THINK! How is he going to deal with this knowledge? Or is he even going to accept it? Let me know in your reviews :)

#hayffie #everlark #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #hayffie au #silver pen

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cherryblossomcheesecake · 6 years

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How Rare & Beautiful: Chapter 2 - A FFXV OC Fanfic

Getting kinda generous with the chapters here. Two days in a row now, but fair warning, this is only because I'm on reading week and I'm actually balancing assignments well right now. We're still kinda building up Soo-Min as a character in this chapter but hopefully if all goes well, next chapter will feature some familiar faces. I'm also trying to keep to a consistent word count, anywhere between 1,700 to 2,000 is what I how to write per chapter, besides special chapters that just have to exceed that limit. This is mostly done for the readers benefit do y'all can get chapters faster, while being an obtainable goal for me. Hope you enjoy this new chapter. I highly recommend that you listen to "frostfall" on youtube as it was this chapter's inspiration and complements it well. WORD COUNT: 1,805 words POSTED: 02.21.17 Master List Previous Chapter

Frostfall - Jeremy Soule

I let Miss Renata fuss over me for the next day before she allowed me to be around the other children again. Even then, if the other children were being too loud around me, they were shooed away by the old woman or her husband.

I took refuge in the books the couple kept around the house and occasionally the newspaper, if Mr Faustus was finished with them for the day. Through them, I had learned that I had ended up in a realm called Eos, and was currently living in Insomnia, the Crown city of the kingdom of Lucis.

In order to help me "remember", Miss Renata had gone over my details on file with me. In this world, I had been born to some Goryean immigrants and left on the foster home doorstep at 9 months old. The old couple had named me Cassia when I was brought here 8 years ago, but at the thought of using a name that was not my own, I demanded to use the name I knew as my own. With a lot of grumbling and sighing on the old couple's part, they reluctantly changed my name to Soo-Min.

While I had been recovering from my head injury, the other children living in the foster home had attempted to get me to participate in their games. I tried to be involved as best I could and play the part of an eight year old, but more often than not I found myself nose deep in a book about the history of Lucis and the Royal family.

But Miss Renata and Mr Faustus were concerned for me, and how reclusive I was becoming. The elderly couple went out of their way to try and speak with me, to get me involved with the other children's games. I only smiled and asked for more books to read. Eventually, the couple gave up and began giving me books in place of dolls and games. The other children also gave up in trying to include me in games, unable to come up with something that would hold my interest for longer than five minutes

Every once in awhile, there would be a hype about how potential adopters would be stopping by and take a child home. But I never really took part in it; I was a strange kid who wanted to read instead of play, and more often than not, the couple usually wasn't interested in adopting an immigrant.

It was one of those days where a couple was coming to potentially adopt, and the house was in a frenzy trying to get everyone and everything in order. I had dressed nicely as Miss Renata had requested and set up the dining room table with some refreshments with one of the older girls earlier this morning.

I sat on a couch in the sitting room, reading a battered copy of The Cosmogony, in an attempt to learn about the beliefs of the people of Eos. The Astrals were a fascinating subject and I was so thoroughly engrossed in the old tome that I was unaware of someone sitting down beside me.

"I always found that the young people never truly appreciated the legends of the Six like they used to. It's refreshing to see a child so engrossed in their tales." I startled at the sound of the stranger's voice, looking away from the book to my left.

Sitting on the left end of the couch was a man somewhere in his late thirties, wearing a casual suit as he smiled gently at me. His hair was a golden shade of blonde, with kind green eyes staring down at me. I jolted as I realized that he was waiting for me to respond.

"Oh, um… I like reading just about anything, especially since I hit my head a month ago and can't remember what was taught in school." I explained quietly, looking down at the book that lay in my lap.

"What would your favourite genre of reading be? Mine would probably be crime novels, if I'm being truly honest." the man stated with ease, leaning an elbow against the arm of the couch.

"Probably history and the Cosmogony. Since they're both interesting and important, of course." I offered, looking up with a small smile, "The legend of the rejected king is one of my favourites."

"Well, that's refreshing to hear. Not many learn about that one after preschool... " the man mused, trailing off as he caught sight of a woman lingering in the doorway.

"Ah, Myung-Hee, come here. I'd like you to meet someone, sweetheart." the man called out to the woman, who smiled lightly as she approached the two of us. The small woman was dressed in a pretty blouse and a loose skirt, her dark hair piled up on her head to reveal her brown eyes, features attributed to Goryean heritage. The woman took a seat across from us in one of the armchairs that littered the room, smiling lightly at the man beside me.

"This is my wife, Han Myung-Hee. I'm Aetius Farron, forgot to introduce myself earlier." the man introduced with a chuckle, shaking his head at his forgetfulness.

"Soo-Min." I offered, bowing my head lightly in return. Myung-Hee laughed lightly, looking between her husband and me.

"So, Soo-Min-ssi, has my husband been talking your ear off about books? He'll chat about his obsession with anyone he can." the woman asked with a laugh, a slight accent staining her words, but understandable nonetheless.

"Actually, it's nice to talk about books for once. None of the other children want to hear about the Six or old legends, they just want to play all the time. So I'm often alone and reading." I replied with a sad smile, looking down at the Cosmogony resting in my lap.

"Sometimes being alone with a book is the best thing in the world." came Aetius' response, the man trying to be helpful in some way as he patted my head with a heavy hand. I looked up again, forcing a warmer smile onto my face.

"So, what do you do for work?" I asked out of honest curiosity, as the couple had been the first adults to have an extended conversation with me when looking to adopt. And considering I actually liked them, I might as well put in some effort.

"We both work up at the Citadel, actually. Myung-Hee is one of the Prince's caretakers and I work in the Crownsguard." the blonde-haired man replied, looking at me carefully as he answered my question. I nodded lightly, my shoulder-length black hair swaying around me.

"I've only seen pictures of it in my history books on the Lucian Royal family and the kingdom itself, but it looks so amazing. And the fact that it's ages old makes it even more awesome, in my opinion. It's so cool that you get to work there." I gushed, my love for old buildings flooding my tone with admiration. Myung-Hee chuckled at my enthusiasm, smiling fondly at me.

"Yes, it's quite the honour to be working in such grandeur. Though I must admit the magic tends to wear off when you're trying to wrangle the Prince into his bath or attempting to get him to eat vegetables occasionally." the woman said, laughter apparent in her tone as she spoke fondly of the Prince.

"Between you and me, my wife has the fun job out of the two of us." Aetius mock whispered from behind his hand, driving me into a small fit of giggles.

"I'm sure brandishing a sword and beating up other members of the guard are just as fun, dear." Myung-Hee countered with a wide smile, brushing invisible dust from her skirt as she and her husband stood from their seats.

"It's been a pleasure, Soo-Min. But my husband and I have to speak to Miss Renata and Mr Faustus, enjoy the rest of your day." the woman said, Aetius ruffling my hair before standing and guiding his wife out of the living room in search of the two caretakers.

After the sounds of their steps had faded, I set my book on the couch beside me and followed in their wake. Tailing the couple to the dining room, I lingered just outside the doorway as they spoke with Miss Renata and Mr Faustus.

"Are you sure you wish to adopt her? The poor child has been a handful ever since she hit her head and awoke with no memory of anything. She is trying to relearn eight years of information and we need to be sure that you aware of this added commitment." Mr Faustus cautioned the couple, his voice stern.

"We're quite capable of handling her, Mr Faustus. She'll have the best education available and we'll treat her as if we were her parents from birth." Aetius assured the elder man, taking on a professional tone that he hadn't use with me.

"My husband and I are aware of how special of a girl Soo-Min is, the conversation we shared in the living room is proof enough. We believe that we can give her what she needs to succeed. We're positive we want to adopt her." Myung-Hee said, unfaltering in her words as she spoke to the older couple. I smiled brightly at the thought of the nice couple adopting me, excited and hopeful that my caretakers wouldn't deny this opportunity.

With a heavy sigh, Miss Renata finally spoke after a moment of silence.

"Very well, once Soo-Min has agreed to the adoption, we'll sign the paperwork. We must put her feelings and opinions into consideration as well, Faustus." The man grunted lightly in response, "Very well then, I'll go fetch the kid."

Before he could stand for his seat, I stepped into the room, much to the surprise of the adults.

"I'm sorry for eavesdropping but I couldn't help it. I wanted to know if Aetius and Myung-Hee were planning to adopt me." I apologized, bowing my head slightly as I spoke.

"It's alright, child. But do you agree to your adoption? It's a lot to process for most children, let alone one in your situation." Mis Renata questioned, her gray gaze sweeping over me in concern.

"Yes, ma'am. Nothing would make me happier than to go home with them." I spoke calmly with a smile on my face, praying to the Six that Miss Renata wouldn't find a reason to doubt my sincerity.

"Very well then. Go collect your things then, we have paperwork to sign." the old woman sighed, standing from her chair to retrieve my file from the office. Myung-Hee and Aetius smiled happily at me before I disappeared out of the dining room and up the stairs to my room to collect my things.

Next Chapter

#ffxv #original characters #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv fanfic #my fics

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