#richard brake kills it as always | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slxsherwriter · 5 months

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Write by the Moon

Fandom: The Gates, 31, A Good Day For It

Pairing: William Colcott x Selina (OC), Doom-Head x OFC, Norman Tyrus x OFC

Word Count: 6,416

Warnings: Demonic rituals, murder, killing

Author's note: This is part one of my reincarnation/soulmate AU fic featuring three Richard Brake characters. Not Beta read as always, so any mistakes are my own. This part will cover William and Selina. As his wife isn't alive in the movie, I decided to treat her as an OC. It is set up to show snippets of their life and the other parts will follow suit. Hope everyone enjoys.

The bar was busy, as it often was on a Saturday evening. Men and women, both reputable and dishonest, mingled about, sharing drink and food. Sheep in a herd, begging to be culled. William Colcott was that wolf in sheep's clothing. Setted at the bar, he was patiently biding his time, looking for the latest victim to satiate that spiraling darkness that resided within. The one that had been cultivated at a young age and had become an ever looming presence throughout his life. Long ago, he had learned that it was far better to give in and indulge in the need. It was what he was good at, even if no one seemed to suspect a thing. After all, the first kill had extinguished the idea of finding his soulmate. Who could be bound to a dark soul like his? Foolish ideas were given up, the mark on his chest ignored for years.

As he observed the room around him, however, that self-imposed denial came to a rushed end. A slow but steady warmth began to bloom. Deep within and across his skin. The sort that brought about a long forgotten sense of comfort. The sort that had briefly been had when he was a young child, sitting in his mother's lap, listening to her read him stories of King Arthur and the knights of the round table. Was it possible?

Fingers unconsciously tightened against the handle of his mug, breath stuttering as there was just a moment where he lost himself in the feeling. Indulging in what he had thought he would never be privileged to have. Reality came crashing back after a moment, William gaining his breath back and eyes now almost wildly darting around the room. Desperation never suited any inch of his life but that was what gripped his heart. She couldn't escape and she had to know that he was here. But where?

A grin, open and free, came to his features unconsciously when his eyes landed on her. Ah, there she was. Far too pretty to be a victim, though such things had hardly proven a matter of concern before that very moment. There didn't seem to be anyone that was accompanying her, leaving an opportunity for him to ensure that she knew right where she belonged. Taking a final pull of the mug, he set it down on the counter before picking his way through the crowd of bodies that now meant absolutely nothing to William.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked as he leaned down just a little bit, not wanting to shout over the voices of the others. When she looked up at him, he just knew that she felt it too. The way that her eyes dilated, the barely audible gasp that escaped her lips. The warmth only grew now that he was in such a close proximity. There was something else, though, something that he couldn't put his finger on as he looked at the woman. It took her no time to compose herself, though, as if the slip-up had never happened before she smiled at him.

"I supposed it is now." It was all the invitation that he needed, sliding right into the chair before anyone had the chance to interrupt them. His first thought this close up was that the color of her eyes couldn't quite be deciphered. They seemed to shift subtly each time the light hit them differently. He immediately waved over one of the barmaids to grab her attention. He allowed her to order first before getting himself a second drink. He might as well enjoy himself since this was where he was keeping himself until she was done with the evening.

To sort out the chaos that was ruling his mind in the moment was impossible. A million thoughts were flooding in all at once, leaving him unsure where to even begin.

"Perhaps we should start with the easy things before moving onto the elephant in the room." Her voice broke William out of his self-induced haze, and he chuckled softly.

"Forgive me," he said, "It seems that I am perhaps a little more ill-prepared than anticipated." The light sound of amusement couldn't be missed over the noise that surrounded them, even when it should have been drowned out. Hypervigilant to every reaction, that was what it was.

"Hardly something that can one can be faulted for. After all, it has turned into a rather unexpected evening, wouldn't you agree?"

"Unexpected but far more pleasant than I had hoped." Briefly, he wondered where her mark was. The thought that instantly followed was that if it was settled in a private location, he didn't want anyone else in the bar seeing it, knowing where it graced her body. That was for him and him alone. All in due time. They hadn't even exchanged names, but the tangible tension would see it's conclusion. There was no doubt in any ounce of his being. Holding out his hand for the woman, he decided that they needed to quickly remedy the first problem at hand. "The name's William." Never before had he desired to meet whatever expectations from an appraisal that another had given, but as her eyes trailed over his face, William wanted nothing more than to meet them for her.

"It's a pleasure, William," she offered in return, placing her hand in his. Bringing it to his lips before she could retract it, lips brushed over the knuckles. There was a hint of something burnt lingering on her skin. One that he couldn't place but hardly mattered. "Selina." Ah, a fitting name. However, it was not the only thing that he wished to learn about her.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." Another laugh, and there was a lightness in his chest, as if it was easier to breathe, easier to simply exist by the sound alone. There wasn't any resentment for the way that she was making him feel. William knew that there were things that would have to be sorted out, that complications would arise once that darkness crept back in, but for now, he would embrace the light that she brought.

"Quite the charmer, aren't you? Drinks, compliments, if I didn't know better, I would say that you were looking to get me alone." Oh, she was almost perfect. He liked a little sass and feistiness in his women.

"Now, that just wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, would it? Hardly befitting the situation."

"Of course, silly me to think such things." He braced his elbows against the table and leaned in. The wood still separated them, but William wanted to close that gap. Needed to in all reality. The compulsion was far too strong to be overcome and ignored. The banter had eased his mind and loosened his tongue.

"A complaint wouldn't pass my lips if that was how the night were to end." In response, she leaned in. The action wasn't what was anticipated, but he rolled with it, taking it as a positive sign that they were falling onto the same page. "Does it feel the same for you? A pleasant warmth that you could sink into and never let go?" Curiosity got the better of him, and the question slipped. It was far more vulnerable and open than what the man was used to being, though he supposed that was something that would come with the territory of getting to not only know but have this woman as a constant in his life.

Plenty of people were open about the subject of soulmates. What was felt, what was thought, how their life seemed to switch around in unexpected but not unwelcome manners. William wouldn't give up his life's work or activities just for Selina. But something in his gut told him that he wouldn't have to abandon it all. Something that would be proven true or false with a further exploration.

"It's a softness," she started and William couldn't tear his attention away. The bar could have been burning around them and it wouldn't have mattered if she still spoke. "A gentle warmth that seems to emanate from my very soul itself. A warmth of comfort and safety." It seemed she had been just as taken if that honest answer was anything to do by and he was thrilled. Safety. That stuck in his mind like a spoke in mud. She would always be safe from him, from the darkness. Nor would anyone dare lay a hand on her.

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

Selina had impressed the importance of this onto William several times over the last week. He was to be quiet and simply observe. If he spoke anything, he could risk the integrity of the ritual. Among other dangers. He took it seriously since she seemed so invested and dead set on making him understand, both the dangers and what she did.

Having never been a particularly religious man, William had at first thought that her insistence was cute but nothing more than superstition and foolish belief. Still, there was something in her being that drew him in, more than just the fact that they were soulmates. As if there was recognition of a darkness that matched his own.

What harm would it come to humor her and see what this was all about himself? William had finally agreed to watch a ritual, putting forward effort to understand this part of her life. It was incredibly important to her and a part that she hadn't wanted to keep hidden forever.

Standing in the corner of the room, he made sure that he was entirely out of the way as she settled a few more things at the table. Some herbs that weren't recognized, a candle that was halfway melted down already, an old copper bowl, and a knife. One that William could appreciate as the dimmed lights in the kitchen of their home caught the edge just right. There was a question that sat burning on the tip of his tongue, but he had sworn that he would remain silent until she gave the signal that it was okay to speak once more. Attention shifted off of the items that had been laid out to the woman herself. That something that he hadn't been able to fully understand hung heavier in the air, as if it was a physical presence in the room. Something besides just the two of them. A silly notion. But not one that he didn't so easily brush aside this time.

A further draw to her very being. Almost like he was seeing Selina for the first time all over again. A sense of awe that was so absent from every other aspect of his life. She settled at the table now that everything was laid out. Silence reigned for several long seconds. Patience was thin at the best of times, but he forced himself to not fidget or speak a word.

Then, after what felt like hours, Selina was finally moving once more. William watched as she moved with a practiced ease, the same sort that he had when he was out with a victim. It spoke of years going through the same motions, guided by muscles that had long ago memorized just how and when to move. Some of the herbs were placed into the bowl whole, others crushed, others burned. The candle was lit. Movements told him that she was letting the melted wax fall to the table in cruiated patterns before a small amount of wax was poured over the mixture before being placed carefully, deliberately to the left. William had to bite the inside of his cheek as he watched her bring the blade up. She wasn't going to do what he thought she was?

Her palm opened easily, cleanly. The knife was sharp. Yet, she didn't make a sound. His eyes never left the clenched fist as she held it over the bowl, though now, she was muttering something. Words that he either couldn't entirely make out or understand. William wasn't sure which it was at that very moment.

In seconds, none of that mattered. The temperature of the room dropped significantly and immediately. Hairs stood on the back of his neck, his stomach rolling as bile rose in his throat. A reaction that wasn't expected but uncontrollable. Selina was relaxed as ever in her seat. A smile sat on her lips, one that could barely be seen from the angle that William was at though he could tell it was there. That sense of a physical presence grew. The animalistic primal part of his brain screamed danger, instinct demanding that he slither further back into the shadows. There was nowhere to go, though, his back solidly against the wall behind him. Moving meant disruption, and that was simply not an option. Something was happening here that he didn't understand, but Selina appeared perfectly in control. Ruining that could mean harm to her. An unacceptable consequence of any movement on his end. So, William stayed as stock still as he could, as if he was simply waiting for a victim to pass in front of him.

Then, there was movement. Not from either of them. A shimmer of the shadows, something that caught the very periphery of his vision. It slithered away, vanishing as he blinked. Blood rushed by his ears, the sound near overwhelming as suddenly that darkness seemed to form right in front of Selina. His heart clenched, skipping a single beat as the expectations of violence soared.

It was with tremendous effort that William remained glued to his spot, the echoes of her voice reminding him that any movement or interference bred more trouble. Selina wasn't cowering or attempting to move away. That subtle smile remained across her face before her head tipped forward in a small greeting. Lips were moving, but he could not hear what words were being exchanged, as if there was some invisible wall between them, blocking out all and any sound. The darkness never took on more of a form than a black, hazy block in the air, at least to him.

So much for not believing in any of this. Before his very eyes was proof that another world existed. One that Selina was intimately familiar with and of which she possessed extensive knowledge. An apology was in due order. Once everything was finished and it was safe once more to speak.

The entire thing lasted about fifteen minutes. Gradually, warmth seeped back into the room, and light seemed to brighten. Blinking, William was able to break away from the wall, moving to the table where Selina was now cleaning everything up. No words were exchanged right away, not as he sat down and ran a hand over his face. Where was the best place to start? Safety. Not his but hers. That was a priority for him. He had to know that when she did this, she would remain safe. Often enough, it happened when he wasn't around, which was fine with him. What could he really do anyway? Against spirits and demons, his knife was likely useless. She remained silent, allowing him to take that time to gather his thoughts and form a proper sentence.

"I take it as long as you aren't interrupted, then these are rather safe rituals for you?" Her eyes brightened, the smile he was granted as bright as the morning sun.

"This is one that I have been performing for years and have built a rather comfortable rapport with the being that you saw. Now, I am not foolish enough to believe that I can control him. But I do know that it is far better to have an offer ready and keep him satisfied with respect and sacrifice than anything else. So yes, that one in particular I would say is safe." That left plenty of room for interpretation, William wasn't blind to the way that she had answered but worked around the question at the same time. If she felt confident enough, then he would have to take her word for it.

"And there are others?"

"Rituals or beings? Either way, the answer is many." Selina reached out, her hand settling over his and giving a small squeeze. A reassurance in a way and a grounding attempt. "I have a few I tend to stick with. It's just…easier that way." William felt that there was something else that she wanted to add on at the end but opted to leave it be. Remembering something, he reached for the hand that she was keeping close to her being and turned it over. The slice across her palm wasn't deep but it would need to be wrapped to stave off any chance of infection.

"Let's get that wrapped, love." The task was a settling enough motion that he was able to get himself back to a composed state, thinking through everything that he had seen and what its implications meant for their feature. It seemed that he would have some learning to do over the next few weeks.

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

Looking into the mirror, the unfamiliar jitters of nerves were beginning to become rather annoying. William wasn't sure what the source of such an unusual feeling was, but it didn't seem to want to stop. There was a deep refusal to believe that it was stemming from the fact that today would be the day that he and Selina married. No, it certainly could have nothing to do with that. There was simply nothing for him to be nervous about when it came to the event. Still, as the blue of his eyes stared back out at him from the glass, there was little other reason for it to be present.

He and Selina were soulmates. A thought that caused his hand to rise unconsciously, fingers lightly pressing over the mark that was over his heart. She wouldn't abandon him now. There would be no cold feet, nothing to stop them from making it official in the eyes of the government.

The two had been living together for almost a year now, having been together since that fateful night in the bar nearly three years ago. They were tailored for each other, slotting into the routines and patterns of life seamlessly. The sort of actions that many others wished that they could have and held jealousy over. William counted himself lucky for having found her at all but in a way blessed by some sort of being out there that they fit together so perfectly. Not God, no. He had no bearing here. Maybe one of those beings that Selina often spoke to or dealt with indirectly. That was a far more feasible explanation.

William found himself chuckling and swiping a hand through his hair one last time. It was foolish to waste another second standing in front of the mirror and overthinking things. They had to be at the courthouse on time or risked having the entire thing pushed off to another day. That would leave the woman simmering and scowling for the entire night. A mood that he did not want to have to navigate.

A simple ceremony had been decided long ago. Neither had family to be concerned with when it came to the union. They were left to decide what they wanted and how they wanted it. The agreement had come easy. He nor Selina had felt all that comfortable with the idea of being married in a church. For a multitude of reasons, with her practices being ranked rather high on the list. Besides, what was the point in having to give money to such an institution when it was just the two of them? It would bring up questions or sympathies that they didn't have the patience or tolerance to handle. Which left getting a civil marriage. The most important part was legal recognition anyway. They had been married in all but name since they had found one another.

William moved towards the front door, hearing movement upstairs. Selina was still getting ready. It was a good thing that she hadn't been waiting on him. He was only waiting a few minutes before she made her way down the stairs.

"Radiant as ever, my love." The compliment fell naturally from his lips and as always, he was granted that warm smile that lit up her entire face.

"Forever the charmer, even on the day of your wedding." He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her once she was close enough, using the leverage to draw her body closer yet to his. A gentle kiss was pressed to her forehead. The only one alive, in existence, to experience this side of him. Or, the one that this side only existed for, came alive for was more likely.

"Cannot go failing my duties now." As she relaxed against him, William ran his fingers lightly over her left shoulder blade, where her mark was hidden beneath the gorgeous blue dress she had chosen. The action was almost instinctual at this point, having been repeated over and over until he could have found it and traced it with his eyes closed. "Come on, we have a carriage waiting." He had to pull away first, a smile saved her and her alone present as one more kiss was dropped to her head.

The carriage ride was relatively quiet, William keeping an eye on the outside world while stealing glances at the woman across from him. His soulmate and soon to be wife. Her presence always brought that pleasant warmth to his chest, but the thought of calling her his in every way possible just made it all the stronger. The little smile that she couldn't seem to wipe off of her face only added to the atmosphere. A look he had placed there, a sense of pride swelling up at the knowledge. For a brief second, he felt like a boy again, having gotten away with stealing a candy bar and riding the high of having the best thing possible. That was what Selina was. The rest of the world hadn't recognized it, and he had stolen her away before anyone could. Destined to be with him, yes, but bound together on such a deeper level. He had made her his.

The carriage came to a stilted stop outside of the courthouse. Time for the rest of the world to know what he knew. Stepping out, he was quick to turn around and offer his hand, even when she didn't need the help.

“Ready?”

“More than ever.” Pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, William grinned before leading her into the building.

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

The shivers wracked his frame, uncontrollable spasms that allowed no rest. It had been that way for hours. Days almost. William had lost track of the time in the fever induced haze, mind skipping in and out of consciousness, but never truly resting. In lucid enough moments, he hated the way that he felt weak and felt useless. He couldn't even get himself out of bed to get to the bathroom. In the non-lucid moments, shadows moved and formed figures, horror that his mind couldn't entirely comprehend appeared and threatened him.

William coughed violently. The rattle in his chest was worrisome, but Selina couldn't do much more. The medicine from the doctor should have cured his symptoms three days ago. The recent illness sweeping through London has been like a second coming of the plague. Bodies were dropping faster than most could keep up with. Thankfully, it wasn't to the point that they were building up in the streets just yet. Her fingers brushed along his clammy forehead, frowning at the heat still radiating. If the fever didn't break soon, there would be bigger things to worry about.

She hadn't shown any symptoms yet. A small blessing. If she went down beside him, they might as well call an end to it. Pushing up from beside the bed, she moved to make some tea. It would calm her, and if she could get anything down him, help soothe his throat at the very least.

Standing in their tiny kitchen, the pot for tea boiling, she let out a slow sigh. If William didn't get better…. As soon as the thought came, she was quick to try and banish it. He hadn't succumbed yet. He wouldn't. Her William was strong and as stubborn as they came. He would make it through this and be back to his normal self. And if not? There were other options. Her eyes strayed to a few of the books that she kept close at hand in the kitchen for when rituals needed to be performed. Death could not part them. She just hoped it wouldn't come to that so soon.

Selina was pulled from the dark path of her thoughts when the kettle whistled. Making up two cups, the action was soothing. A routine that was familiar amongst the days of unfamiliar motions. Moving back to the room, she was pleased to see him with his eyes open, appearing far more lucid than he had in days. Her chest instantly felt lighter. Though, she wasn't foolish enough to believe that they were out of the woods.

“It's good to see you awake, love.” She spoke gently. Likely, his head was bothering him given how feverish he had been. And still was. She could see the sweat beading along his brow. “I've made some tea. Do you think you could get some down?” Standing beside the bed, she held it out and watched as shaky hands took the warm cup. She winced at the pained look that came from him at the simple act of taking a sip. Still, it was seeing him do something other than lay there and moan in pain. She wouldn't be picky. Selina reached out and brushed her hands along his forehead, pushing back the sweat soaked hair. William's eyes fluttered closed at the touch, leaning into it.

“You need more rest.” Not an observation as much as an order that fell from her lips. One that he was in no shape to disobey, and they both knew it. All stemmed from worry. Worry that he wouldn't get better. Worry that he would be taken from her. Worry that some force out there wouldn't allow them to be together, no matter what she tried.

A low, tired hum was the response given. The man took a few more slow sips of the tea, hands less shaky than they had been when he first reached out. Her husband was a strong, stubborn man. Selina took comfort in that knowledge and seeing a visible improvement. Even if it didn't last all that long.

“Have you slept at all?” His voice was hoarse, rough from the crying out he had done thanks to his fever dreams. That and lack of use. A gentle smile was given.

“Some. You are my greater concern. I'll sleep once I know you will wake up again.” As devoted as he was to her, she was as equally devoted to him. Her fingers continued the soothing actions against his scalp, hoping to ease him back to sleep. His body needed it, even if he had been barely conscious for three days. Proper rest would help heal him. The rattling in his chest with each breath he took shook her. The sounds were far from the powerful man that she knew. Almost made him sound frail, weak. But, she kept a brave face, not letting on those thoughts. If she gave it, they might come to light.

William eased back once more. It didn't take long for his eyes to close and his muscles to go slack. Sleep took him under, though this state should be far more restful for him. Hopefully, this lucid moment meant that the fever was going to break soon.

She watched, feeling fiercely protective over the man in the bed. Not the first in her life. No, she had been that protective over family. However, this may have been the first person, not blood related and certainly the first person in her adult life, that those feelings had appeared. It had taken a little time to get used to, understand, and control them. A little longer than she would have liked, admittedly. A dangerous time. Selina knew what and who she had ties to and the inherent risks that came with that. To herself and others around her. The simple fact that he was her soulmate had been well worth it. She had sensed the darkness that lingered within, the predator just underneath the surface. Drawn to it as much as she was him. Both the bond that fate had woven and the beast within.

Finishing the tea, Selina let out a small sigh. Her eyes ached. The strain of staying awake for so long was starting to set in. Sleep would soon be unavoidable. The wheezing that came from William was enough to leave her unsettled though, which meant no sleep just yet. The mark on her shoulder felt warm. Not the pleasant warmth that came when they were together. No. More like a fevered warmth. A shared suffering. She shook it off the best that she could without getting too comfortable. A little longer was needed before she could allow herself to rest. At least until his breathing settled into something more aligned with normal. He had been conscious but it wasn't enough of an improvement for her to let her guard down entirely.

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

The evening was cold and damp, rain falling as often was the weather these months. With his jacket pulled tightly around himself, the figure marched through the back alleys, listening, waiting. A predator hiding within the shadows. The nightmare that those among the London streets still feared. His name may not have been known, the press hardly getting their hands on the deeds that were carried out. No, he was far too meticulous for that. As much as the hysterics would be enjoyable to watch. Fame hardly mattered, though, to William. It would have complicated too many things.

The itch had become too much, and William had needed to go out. Just one kill, and he would be back in the comfortable warmth of their home. It gave Selina time to carry out what she needed to as well, without any worry of being interrupted.

There was less focus on finding the perfect victim that evening. It simply mattered that his blade was stained red. There had been a sense of complacency and comfort that had settled in after the Ripper killings had stopped. A security that allowed his work to become that much easier. Individuals were emboldened to walk alone in the streets once more. Shortcuts were taken where they had been avoiding any alleyways where light couldn't reach. The perfect combinations of elements that brought his prey right to him rather than him having to stalk anyone and drag them into the shadows without notice. Sure, his killings brought about whispers, and the memory of the Ripper still created that nightmare, but it was not enough for anyone to be able to pay proper attention to what was happening around London.

The kill had come with just a small struggle, the sort that helped keep things interesting without being too much of a hassle. A brief slap across his face and a claw mark made to his wrist before the end had come and the body was dumped. A sigh of satisfaction escaped William as he cleaned his blade against the clothes of his latest victim before stepping back into the shadows and leaving the body hidden among the trash, likely not to be found for several days. After the rats and other vermin had gotten their fill.

Now that the urge had been quieted, he was looking forward to being home. Spending the remainder of the night, holding his wife close, was the perfect end to the night. His steps were light as he moved through the streets, now among the rest of the population and lights that lined the streets. No one would give a second glance, weather aside. Everyone was in an eager state to get home at the late hour. His shoulders relaxed further when his home came into view, chuckling softly to himself as his pace quickened even further.

William would have known something was amiss, even if it wasn't for the burning cold that spread out from his soulmark; the lights were off, and Selina's absence from the table in the small kitchen was acutely felt. Eyes wandered around the room, looking for whatever might be out of place, anything that would give him the slightest hint as to where his dear wife was and what had happened. A feeling of dread built from deep within his chest, constricting his lungs and robbing him of his ability to breathe. It was all wrong, and his hand reached for the knife that was kept hidden beside the door, on the off chance that someone was foolish enough to enter their domain. Not the same he used for killing, lest anyone connect the two. Plausible deniability if he used something from the home.

He could smell the burnt herbs that had been recently used. Selina had done some sort of ritual recently. As planned. That did not give William any sense of comfort as it normally would, not when her smiling face wasn't there to greet him at the door, ensuring that he had not harmed himself. A habit that she had developed early on in their relationship, one that had amused him to now end but had become so ingrained in their lives that it's lacking just heightened that sense of dread.

The thoughts of a ritual gone wrong flashed across his consciousness but was quickly dismissed. No, Selina was far too practiced and versed to have something go so horribly wrong. Her skills were refined and honed from years of study. She had taught him what to look for as a precaution, and there wasn't a feeling lingering in the air or any sign that it had been such an accident. Something else was at play here.

Creeping through his own home as he would a victim's, William strained his ears and his eyes for any sign of Selina. Nothing downstairs. The fireplace was dead, not even a hint of embers that would have signaled that she lit it for warmth now that the colder winter months were here. Up the stairs he went, knife at the ready. Still, no sound and the cold was only spreading further, practically invading his lungs with ice.

As much as he longed to call out her name, it would give away his position. That was when he heard sounds coming from the bedroom. A sound that he knew well enough. Gasped, gurgled breath. No longer could he truly control his actions, rushing forward. The door slammed open, smashing into the wall behind it, causing the man that was straddling his wife with filthy hands enclosed around her neck to jump. Red. It was the only thing that covered his vision as he lunged forward, not giving the man a chance to properly react. Blade met flesh, digging deep into muscle, unforgiving and with a practice precision. His subconscious mind already knew that it was too late, allowing his fury to be unleashed on the man before him. It hardly mattered who he was, or what intentions that he had come to the house with. This waste of a human had stolen his soulmate from him.

"A wife for a wife," the man below him snarled, the last words that he spoke as William sliced the blade across his throat, not deep enough to cause an instant death. Let the bastard feel what he had done. Panting, he dropped the blade and scrambled for Selina.

"Selina…" His voice soft, there was a shaky note to it that had never been present before in his life. Pain underlying it all as the ache and agony was setting in. "Please, no…" Gently, he slid one hand under her head while pulling her into his lap, his free hand gently stroking her cheek. The stillness to her body was a clear indication that his worst fears had been realized, that she was truly gone. Curling himself over her form, William let out an agonized sound into the emptiness of the room, heard by no one but himself. Gone. She was gone.

He had allowed himself to grieve, to cry and feel that nearly all consuming sorrow for no longer than a few minutes. The ice from his soulmark kept him grounded in reality, in the knowledge that she was gone. But that didn't mean that she was lost to him forever. The thought nagged the back of his brain and as his breathing began to even out, a new rush of determination came over him.

William wouldn't allow the world to tear her so easily from him. No, there was still far too much for them to do.

"I'll fix this, I promise you. We will be together again. Just give me a little time, love." The words spoken so softly held such intent. A vow far more than a promise. He had learned a few things from her over the years when it came to the occult and the dark beings that resided in the world just outside of their senses. A deal could be made. Whatever sacrifice was worth it. His soul was already damned. Living without her was not an acceptable inevitability.

First thing was first. He had to clean the mess on the floor beside their bed. With a gentle kiss to her lips and then her forehead, William forced himself to pull away from Selina. Throat still constricted, it took just a moment longer for him to be able to look away from her still, lifeless body and turn his attention properly to the lump of flesh on the floor. Shame that he couldn't have made him suffer longer.

So be it. William knew that there were things that could be harvested from the man to be able to aid his quest. The rest? It would be tossed to feed the rats and stray dogs that ran the streets.

#slasher writing #horror writing #richard brake #richard brake characters #william colcott #the gates #31 #a good day for it #william colcott x ofc #doom head x ofc #norman tyrus x ofc #soulmate au #reincarnation au

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humantorchie · 2 years

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JOHNNY STORM / THE HUMAN TORCH !

name ― jonathan lowell spencer storm alias ― the human torch ! age ― 23 gender / pronouns ― cis man / he/him faceclaim ― evan roderick occupation ― celebrity superhero & man about town affiliation ― the fantastic four ! canon― 616 based, a wide range of the comics, probably with particular influence from hickman’s run ??? we live in fear of mcu fantastic four

what was your character's life like in 2024 ?

a superhero since he was sixteen, johnny never wanted any other life. then again, he barely actually knew any other life. it was sue and him, on their own, until they met reed richards & ben grimm, went to space and then bam: overnight, everyone in the world knew his name. for a lonely teenager, it was intoxicating. johnny never learnt how to put the brakes on, and his life was always all about excess. more fame, more parties, more clothes, more cars, more danger. he wanted it all. and then, before he knew it, he was thirty years old.

johnny always joked he’d consider his life over at 30, but he didn’t know how right he’d be. it wasn’t long after his thirtieth birthday that he made his final stand. alone, against the annihilation wave of the negative zone, all to prevent an invasion of earth. the invasion was stopped, but johnny storm was dead.

or was he? in the negative zone, life and death weren’t so simple. johnny was resurrected and forced to fight to the death in the zone’s gladiatorial ring. over and over and over again. two years passed for him until he made his escape, all to prevent a second invasion of earth. it’d been only two months for the rest of the world.

it’s a wake up call to be stuck in an endless cycle of death and resurrection, only to come back to safety and feel just as trapped, just as stagnant. who was johnny storm? the fourth-rater of the fantastic four. his sister, reed, ben, they had partners, they had careers, they had children: they’d done something with their lives. johnny’d spent his life being mediocre, and he had nothing to show for it but a string of failures. every time he’d tried to strike out on his own he’d come back, having crashed and burned, classic johnny storm style. it was a question he’d been asked over and over again from friends, from family, and especially from significant others: johnny, what do you really want? johnny, i like you, but i don’t think you know what you really want. in the negative zone, he had time to think about it. two years thinking about the opportunities he’d missed, the things he’d never done, all the potential he’d wasted. he was going to do better, be better, now that he was back, but then... blipped out for five years. and then ... back to a world that had come undone and reset.

does your character have any memories from 2024 or their past ?

johnny has flashes, mostly in his nightmares. memories of being torn apart and put back together by the resurrection bugs of the negative zone, horrifying dreams of dying, of fighting in the ring, of killing, of using his powers to burn and destroy. no one stayed dead long, but the smell of burning flesh is still all around him until he wakes back up again, heart pounding in his chest, terrified by a sense of a lack of control that hasn’t felt this bad since he was sixteen years old and went up in flames for the first time. he doesn’t understand any of it, and is afraid to even try. fortunately, he’s got a lot of practice in ignoring his problems and pretending to be fine, so he’s trying to not even think about it. if there’s anything left behind, it’s the burning desire to be more, to actually make something of himself.

what are they doing in the year 2012 ?

really, johnny’s doing pretty good. the fantastic four are at the height of their fame, the world’s premier superhero team (and the us government has finally dropped all charges after they, y’ know, maybe stole a rocket ship. johnny, hands in the air, innocent smile: that was all reed’s idea, i swear). so johnny’s at the peak of his rising star and he doesn’t really know what it feels like to burn out yet. sure, he might have flunked out of college a few years back, he might have taken a few breakups a bit too hard, but he’s famous, he’s gorgeous, and oh yeah... he has superpowers. life’s hot! kinda like he is! it might have been years since he tagged along with his sister, her boyfriend and his best friend on an illegal ride to space, but he loves it as much as ever. being the human torch of the fantastic four is the best part of his life, the only thing johnny’s sure he’s good at. every day’s a new adventure, a new place to explore, to save the day. the ff are more likely found saving the galaxy lightyears away than on the streets, but they’re still a fixture of new york, part of the skyline. johnny currently lives in the baxter building, along with the rest of the ff, and has no intentions of leaving. as ever, they’re one not-so-big happy co-dependent messed up family.

right now, johnny wants to make it in hollywood. he’s used to being tabloid fodder, splashed all over social media, but he wants to be a movie star. it’d be better if he could actually act, of course, but he’s going to see how far a famous for being famous name can take him...

EXTRA:

really just this tweet:

see also: pinterest | playlist | bio (coming soon)

#avengedintro #file; johnny storm.

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thewestern · 3 months

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Drums/Space

Needle Drop (noun) is a show business term for when movies or television shows score a scene with popular music. Or rather anything that isn’t part of the original soundtrack. Like when you’re watching something and you recognize a song from before in your life … that’s a needle drop. It’s a clever way of connecting you, the viewer to the story, — you don’t personally know these characters but you do know this song, by heart — lending it an added depth. Or better still, if this is your first time hearing the song, and the program is introducing it to you in the context of this narrative, causing the opposite phenomenon to occur. Suddenly this virgin melody is imbued with some synthetic meaning. What a great way to discover music. Sure beats any goddamn algorithm. Fucking ‘a-man to that, brother.

Yes. Needle drops. Maybe you are familiar with some well-known examples from these classic films. The End by the Doors, Apocalypse Now. Mad World by Tears for Fears, Donnie Darko. Where Is My Mind by the Pixies, Fight Club.

The iconic filmmaker Martin Scorcese for our purposes could be considered a founding father of the needle drop. Of pop music, he once said, it’s the soundtrack to my life. (Same, dude.) They are inseparable, music and film. (Like peanut butter and jelly, baby. Sonny and Cher.) So it is that popular songs feature prominently in his work. From Slippin’ And Slindin’ (Peepin’ And Hidin’) by Little Richard, Casino … to I’m Shipping Up To Boston by The Dropkick Murphys, The Departed. Quite famously and hilariously he uses Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones in three of his films, including the aforementioned two as well as his masterpiece Goodfellas, which in and of itself is a bukakee of needle drops. There’s the Sunshine of Your Love by Cream, wherein the camera zooms in on Robert Deniro as Jimmy Conway, capturing the precise moment he resolves to kill the fool Morrie Kessler, a mob-connected wig salesman portrayed by character actor Chuck Low. Of course, lest we forget Layla by Derek & the Dominos, but crucially the piano coda; not the signature guitar lick, which would have been way too obvious. For the non-Clapton Division, please consider Then He Kissed Me by the Crystals. Because there are two words to make any cinephile cream his khakis on command: Tracking and Shot. And then … holy fucking shit, the cold open. Take a beat. Transport yourself there. The year is nineteen-ninety. Your girlfriend wanted to see Ghost, but last time you went to the movies you saw Pretty Woman, which you actually liked, but still the point stands. This time, you get to pick. After all, you’re paying. Popcorn, soda and tickets, for two … that’s twenty bucks! You take your seats on the aisle. Not because you want to be able to scramble for the emergency exits in the case of a mass shooting. Because you’re a bit on edge, on account of some whack job shot up a screening of the third Batman movie at a cineplex the town over from where you grew up. No, this was the early nineties. Even then you had a small blatter. Besides, you heard from your creepy coworker Jeremy, the movie buff, that this movie is like two and a half hours long. No way, Jose. Okay, shh, it’s starting. The house lights go dim.

Exterior: pulled over on the side of the road, in the pitch black dark of the pre-dawn. Our anti-heroes’ faces are underlit — as if from the fiery depths of hell — by the sinister red bath of the brake lights. A fresh-faced Ray Liotta as Henry Hill pops the trunk. With his last laboured breaths, a badly beaten and bloodied Billy Batts begs for mercy. Pesci as Tommy stabs. Deniro, Jimmy the Gent, shoots. Liotta — still Henry — slams the trunk, locking us, the audience, in for a ride we will not soon forget. Cue voiceover (one of the few masterful deployments of this oft-misused cinematic storytelling device):

As Far Back As I Can Remember I Always Wanted To Be A Gangster.

Hard cue, horns.

I know I’d go from rags to riches

If you would only say you care

And though my pockets may be empty

I’d be a millionaire

(Ladies and gentlemen, Tony M.F’n. Bennet.)

Marty, man. The freaking GOAT, dude. Ain’t no other filmmaker out there can touch him. However, they can and have used needle drops to relentlessly bite his steeze. There have been some worthwhile innovations in the form though. One special movie magic trick therein is if the characters in the story are also listening to, or better still singing along with the song in question. It’s sort of like, have you ever seen a movie that’s set in the place you live? If it’s New York or Chicago or Seattle or some other metropolis, usually you think, hey, that’s not [Name of city]! And you’re probably right. It’s not a major American city. It’s Toronto or Vancouver or Atlanta. Some city in a province or state with a film production-friendly tax incentive program. But imagine the rare cases the producer did spring to have it shot On Location, in your exact neighborhood, on your block even, right outside your old building. There’s something uncanny about it, isn’t there? Sure all the street names and the skyline is the same, but you’re a local. You notice subtle differences. Like they swapped out all the signs in the shop windows, probably to satisfy some product placement deal. Or the homeless guy who’s always passed out cold on that corner, regardless of the time of day. Probably some production assistant woke him up. Gave him ten bucks petty cash. Told him to take a hike for the afternoon. All that being said, if those actors are hearing a real song, one that You also know — it doesn’t matter if they’re on some soundstage in the deep recesses of a studio lot in fucking Burbank … well then quite feasibly you could exist within the fictional universe of this film. Their joy, their sorrow — become yours. You are now a part of this story. And that, my friend, is the good stuff. Here are some such examples:

I Got You Babe by Sonny & Cher, Groundhog Day. Fight the Power by Public Enemy, Do the Right Thing. In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel, Say Anything. Twist and Shout by the Beatles, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Old Time Rock & Roll by Bob Seger, Risky Business. Afternoon Delight by Starland Vocal Band, Anchorman. Hip to Be Square by Huey Lewis & The News, Almost Famous. Tiny Dancer by Elton John, American Psycho. Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, Wayne’s World. Don’t Stop Believing by Journey, The Sopranos (the only admissible example from the world of television as recognized by the court). Scorcese’s got a great one of these too, inwhere the character is interacting with the music, quite demonstrably so in this scene. Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon, The Color of Money. (TCOM also has another great Clapton [solo] drop: It’s in the Way That You Use It.)

Those are all well and good, but when it comes to movie characters interacting with music as a part of the story, well, let’s just say that Quentin Tarantino is the sensei of this dojo. You Never Can Tell by Chuck Berry, Pulp Fiction. Thurman and Travolta do the twist. Then the very next scene (chronologically), wherein Uma drops the actual needle, although technically it’s a reel-to-reel tape deck, on … Girl You’ll Be A Woman Soon by Urge Overkill. Followed shortly thereafter by Vinnie Barbarino quite forcefully dropping a hypodermic needle through her breastplate, injecting pure, pharmaceutical-grade adrenaline directly into her heart. No music plays during this scene. They say jazz is just as much about the notes you don’t play.

How about some later-period Tarantino? Straight Shooter by The Mamas & The Papas, Once Upon A Time … In Hollywood. (Did you know that the sheet music for this song was discovered by investigators at the crime scene for the first of two Manson Family Murders, on the grand piano in the director Roman Polanski’s home on Cielo Drive, mere feet away from the lifeless body of his eight-and-a-half months pregnant wife, the actress Sharon Tate, who had been stabbed sixteen times? Now that’s an Easter Egg.) Pair that recent offering with a stone-cold classic from his directorial debut … Stuck In The Middle WIth You by Stealers Wheel, Reservoir Dogs. (Obviously, the whimsical nature of the music and the lyrics, which are literally about clowns and jokers, juxtaposed against the sheer menace of Mark Madsen as Mr. Blonde, dancing with glee at the prospect of torturing this, his bound and gagged victim, Sean Penn’s brother, is played for effect here. This application of music in film as an agent of contrast will go on to be oft-immitated, especially in movie trailers. More on that later. In the meantime, as long as we’re indulging in a little Hollywood trivia, courtesy of the Internet Movie Database, Tarantino burned the entire budget allotment to score on securign the rights to this one song. Implying he was content with having no other music in the movie, so long as he had Stuck in the Middle for this one scene. Of course that’s not the case. There are other songs, but only because the producers managed to cut a separate record deal for the soundtrack.) Come to think of it, that movie opens with a needle drop wherein the needle doesn’t technically drop. The dialogue only refers to a popular song. Like a Virgin by Madonna. Just a crew of hardened criminals — we’re talking real bad hombres, here — sitting around the table at greasy spoon diner, shooting the shit about pop music, mouth love and metaphor. (BTW, best not step to Louisa with that — Actually, I Don’t Believe Tipping — bullshit, Steve Buscemi. She’ll have Thadeus go to work on your ass with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. Mr. Pink. What kind of pussy-ass name is that anyway?)

So now that we’ve established this crucial discourse, what then is the best needle drop, according to consensus? We needn’t look any further than QT’s contemporary and friend, PTA. Paul Thomas Anderson, courtesy of. PTFA. And this one’s a double dipper: Sister Christian by Night Ranger >| Jessie’s Girl by Ricky Springfield, Boogie Nights. He’s a buddy of mine!

Have you seen any of these movies, or have you heard any of these songs? What are some of your favorite songs from movies?

(Postscript: As previously mentioned, ultimately, the needle drop became so ubiquitous that They started using them to punch up movie trailers, much to the dismay of underemployed baritone voice actors in a world over. Ever the evolutionary, Marty had one of the best of these coming attraction needle drops, too: Black Skinhead by Kanye West, The Wolf of Wall Street, trailer. [For my theme song {Black} / My leather black jeans on {Black} / My by any means on / Pardon I’m getting my scream on {Black}.] Three years prior, the preview for The Social Network — best picture runner-up to The Artist — famously and quite influentially featured the backing track of a Belgian girls choir covering Creep by Radiohead, already an anthemic standard. It bears repeating how in subsequent years this became sort of cliche — movie trailers soundtracked by seemingly happy reimaginings of sad songs, or vice versa. It’s a cheap illusion. Sleight of hand. Pay close attention and you’ll see how it’s transcended advertisements for upcoming movie releases, and been increasingly deployed to promote household items and other consumer products. One campaign in particular comes to mind. It’s a series of stop motion-animated Short Films produced by a chain of Fast Casual Mexican restaurants. They’re self-aggrandizing as artistic stands taken against the societal ill of factory farming, but don’t let that fool you for one fucking second. They’re still fucking burrito commercials, at the end of the day. Same as ever. Only sans chihuahua. Not that it matters, but the needle drops used are sort of a spooky indie rock reimagining of the theme song from Willy Wonka, as well as two separate country-fried covers of fucking Coldplay.)

Ain’t it fun, remembering stuff? Tell you what: if you’re ever laying awake at night, tossing and turning, choose a category of something you like and make a list of the stuff you can remember within it. It could be anything. World capitals, say, if you like geography. Suppose instead you’re one of them sports nuts. Then how about backup quarterbacks, or singular team names is a fun one. (I.e. the ones that aren’t plural, or in other words don’t end in the letter -S- … e.g. Orlando Magic, Colorado Avalanche, Boston Red Sox, etc.) Also you could do saints. New Orleans or Catholic. Either works. Maybe comic book characters, you fucking nerd. Car makes and models. U.S. Vice Presidents. Dog breeds. Non-sporting group. Types of legumes. See, your brain isn’t rotting from the inside out. Go on and try it. Keep the nightmares at bay. For just a little bit longer. No, I am Not a Robot. Why do You ask?

###

Hank didn’t have a record player. Funny, doesn’t he seem like the very model of a Vinyl Man? Like imagine if there were a museum exhibit about how humans throughout history listened to music — with all manner of gramophones and jukeboxes and walkmans — there’d be taxidermied Hank in a life-size diorama of a finished basement, dropping the needle on an Al Jarreau LP. Truth is, if he couldn’t hear it live and in-person, which was his preference, Hank didn’t much care how he listened, or even what the music was. (Just so long as it wasn’t rap. Like JG, he was woefully dismissive of hip hop in all forms. Was this a manifestation of white guilt, considering all the music he did like had been ripped off of black music from the first? Perhaps. It’s hard to say.) The people he was listening with, is what was important to him. They could choose for all he cared. And so they did. Mary Ellen Moffet’s love wagon had an eight track. Russ got named as one of several hundred co-defendants in the suit brought against Napster by Metallica, persecuted as an early adopters of pirated music, apostates of the record company industrial coplex. Of course, Skip had his radio. Thadeus and Louisa enjoyed the music of the conversation. He didn’t get the pleasure of knowing Grace, but she was known to be a witchy woman on the aux chord. (Zeke had a device called the Zune that he was terribly self-conscious about.) And after all these years the New Frontier still had that five CD changer. The Mick resisted any attempt to upgrade. What for? The carousel goes on forever. There is no dead wax, turn over to side B, pop the cassette, start a new playlist. Once one of the discs from Mick’s binder ends, the cartridge rotates, and another begins. Case in point: Jerry Garcia Band. Spring 1990. 20 May 1990, Hilo Civic Auditorium, Hawaii (Big Island).

Tough mama

Meat shakin' on your bones

I'm gonna go down to the river and get some stones.

Sister's on the highway with that steel-drivin' crew,

Papa's in the big house, his workin' days are through.

Tough mama

Can I blow a little smoke on you?

#novls of tumblr #needle drops

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fandom-imagines-stories · 3 years

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Trapped Secrets

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader, Derek Morgan Platonic x Reader

Words: 3692

Summary: With no time to lose, you and Morgan storm an unsub’s house before the rest of the team gets there. After not hearing back from you, Spencer and the team start to panic. Injured, trapped, and keeping a major secret, you and Morgan have to stay alive in a frightened unsub’s basement.

Notes: I picture this in season four because that’s where I am in the series. Plus I really like Spencer’s hair cut at the beginning of this season. I am totally in love with Spencer Reid so expect to be seeing more imagines for him and for Criminal Minds in general! I hope you guys are as excited as I am.

Find more Spencer and more HERE

“You’ll be careful, right?” You asked, straightening your boyfriend’s tie underneath his vest.

“Only if you are.” Spencer gave you that little awkward smile that he always gave you. “Besides, I’m not going with Agent Action Hero.” He motioned to Agent Morgan; your search partner for the evening.

“He’s not an action hero.” You laughed, strapping on your vest. “He just really likes kicking in doors.” Spencer snickered slightly, but his expression was still uncomfortable.

“You jealous that I’m riding with your girl Reid?” Morgan laughed, patting the younger agent on the back.

“Morgan.” You hissed, jerking your head towards Hotch.

“What? We all know about you and the brainiac.”

“Yeah, and Hotch doesn’t exactly like being reminded about it.” The relationship between you and Dr. Reid wasn’t exactly protocol, especially on the same team. You hadn’t quite been able to figure out why SSA Hotchner hadn’t reported you or told you to put an end to it.

“You guys better get going. We only have about five hours before he’ll likely kill Audrey Lang.” Spencer hooked his finger with yours, only for a moment, but it sent a sweet, tingling feeling up your arm. With both of you being new to any kind of serious relationship, you stuck to pretty small signs of affection. You didn’t mind. It was personal and perfect. Spencer went to join Hotch and you headed to the car with Morgan.

“Is it just me, or did Reid actually look kind of worried?” Morgan asked. It was more to tease you than from concern.

“Shut up.” You couldn’t help but grin. Morgan had that effect. You got into the passenger side and waited for his list of snarky comments. He wasn’t done poking fun at you yet.

“I have to say, you’ve got ‘rule breaker’ all over you, but I honestly did not see this coming from Dr. Teacher's-Pet.” He shook his head with a smug smile and started the car. You just sat and rolled your eyes. Any response would just mean more provocation. “But dating a younger man… I always pictured you as more of the ‘Silver Fox’ kinda girl.” Now that pressed your buttons.

“Okay, first of all, just because I like Richard Gere, doesn’t mean I like older men.” You retorted, “Secondly, I’m not even that much older than Reid. There’s what, three years, between us?”

“Uuuhuuuh.” The side eye he gave you made you want to slap him. Morgan chuckled. “Come on, you and I are friends, right? Don’t I get a few little details?” From the smirk on his face, you knew what he was talking about.

“Derek Morgan, we are on a case. We are professionals on a case about three murdered federal employees. I will not divulge information regarding my sex life!”

“I never said anything about sex, Agent Y/L/N.” His grin grew and you begrudgingly turned your face to the window. Morgan laughed at the red flushing your cheeks. You would be mad if he wasn’t your best friend.

In the other car, Reid rode beside Hotch in tense silence. Spencer knew that his relationship with you could potentially get both of you into trouble with the bureau. Every time he was around Hotch, he waited for the reprimand. The unusual quiet was almost worse. Hotch turned a corner and took a heavy breath.

“It’s a bad idea. You know that right?”

“I know it’s against the rules, if that’s what you mean.” As intimidating as his superior could be, Reid was sure of himself.

“The rules are there for a reason, Reid.” Hotch sighed. He would give anything to not be having this conversation right now.

“Have either of us proven to be less efficient?”

“That’s not the point.”

“If our relationship complicates our work, I can assure you that Y/N and I will be the first ones to address it.”

“Reid-”

“You know, if anything, I think that we’ve working better together than we have in the past, which is saying something because Y/N and I-”

“Are you happy?” He asked a little more aggressively than he had intended. Reid just blinked at him blankly.

“What?”

“Are both of you happy?” He glanced over at the younger agent and Spencer shifted in his seat. He was awkward, but assertive.

“I can’t totally speak for Y/N, but… yes.” He sat and waited for his superior’s response. Hotch fixed his eyes on the road.

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said okay.” Maybe he was going soft, but he’d never seen Reid or you like this before. If this relationship could help the both of you get through the horrors you saw every day, then turning a blind eye might not be the worst thing.

“Thank you.” Spencer felt a small smile creep onto his face. Hotch scowled.

“If a single problem arises, and I mean any dispute or laps in judgement-”

“You didn’t know anything about it. Got it.” Spencer stared at his lap to hide his smirk.

You were still avoiding Morgan’s inquiring gaze when Garcia’s voice came through your earpiece.

“Guys, Audrey Lang’s phone just turned on.”

“Where?” Morgan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“157 21st Street.” Your stomach turned. As selfish as it was, a part of you had hoped that someone else would be closer. Morgan whirled the car around.

“That’s just around the corner from us. We’re right on top of him.” He slammed on the brakes in front of the house and the two of you jumped out of the car. The house was about what you expected from a paranoid, conspiracy-obsessed unsub. The windows were boarded up and two different cameras looked down at you from the roof.

“Morgan.” You pointed to the devices. Jacobs knew you were here. He nodded and spoke into his radio.

“This guy has surveillance everywhere. He’s going to panic.” He glanced back at you, waiting for you to have his back. Despite your building panic, you didn’t have time to hesitate. You gave him a strong nod. “We’re going in.”

You pushed your fear to the pit of your stomach. If you showed even the slightest panic, Morgan would know and you could jeopardize everything. So when he kicked in the door, you were right behind him.

The house was silent. With guns raised, you both covered the first floor, finding nothing but scattered notes and ‘Big Brother Is Watching’ flyers. You located a flight of stairs leading to the basement and cautiously followed Morgan down. Similarly to the floor above, the basement seemed other than a desk with a few surveillance screens. Across from the stairs was a large metal door. It was open.

Morgan charged towards it, but something wasn’t sitting right with you.

“Hotch, how close are you and Reid?” You asked tentatively.

“Five more minutes. Have you found Mrs. Lang?”

“She’s in here!” Morgan announced. You stepped into the room, but kept close to the door. Morgan was kneeling over the unconscious body of Audrey. While she was out cold, she was still breathing.

“What about Jacobs?” Hotch asked.

“We looked everywhere upstairs and he wasn’t there.”

“Reid, when you went to the other crime scene, you said that the victim had been covered and made to look like part of the rubble, right?”

“Yeah, Jacobs wanted to hide the body. If the construction worker hadn’t been working there, it likely wouldn't have been found.” Spencer’s voice wavered as he figured out where you were going with this. You looked at Morgan with wide eyes.

“Then how did we get here so easily?”

Hotch yelled into the radio.

“It’s a trap. Get out of there. Now!”

You whirled around and came face to face with Steven Jacobs. You fired your weapon, but didn’t get the chance to see if you hit him. Instead, you stumbled backwards and the large metal door slammed shut.

“No!” Morgan shouted, throwing his weight against the door to try and break it down. “Hotch, can you hear me? Reid!” The radio connection was dead. Morgan slammed against the door again.

“Derek.”

“We’re going to get out of here.” He searched the door for any point of weakness.

“Derek.”

“Let us out, you son of a bitch!”

“Derek!” You finally yelled. When he turned around you watched his face morph with panic. Blood leaked through your fingers, your hand pressed against the wound in your shoulder. It wasn’t your gun that had gone off, it was Jacobs’. And you were hit.

The street swarmed with teams from local police, S.W.A.T, and the BAU. In the middle of all of it was Spencer. He just stared at the front door. Somewhere in the basement of that house, his girlfriend and his closest friend were trapped by a paranoid schizophrenic with a gun. Neighbors reported already hearing a shot go off. Judging by the lights still on in the house and the fact that you and Morgan still hadn’t come out yet, it wasn’t one of your guns to make the shot.

“He must be using something to jam the signal.” Prentiss huffed, her attempts to get a hold of either of you failing. “We need to get in there.”

“We don’t know what Jacobs has in there.” Rossi said gruffly, joining them after meeting with the S.W.A.T leader. “For all we know, he could try and blow the whole block.”

“The longer we wait, the longer he has Morgan and Y/L/N.” Spencer ran his fingers through his hair. “Audrey Lang is probably dead and we don’t know who shot the gun or-”

“When they found her, Morgan didn’t say anything about Lang being dead.” Hotch said sternly.

“He didn’t say she was alive, either.” Spencer’s voice was harsh considering he was speaking to a superior.

“Reid, I want to get them out just as badly as you do, but if we try and storm in there, Jacobs will likely kill them and himself.” Hotch’s tone was stern and surprisingly calm.

“You thought you had me, didn’t you!?” A voice boomed from the house. Every agent in the street tensed and raised their weapons. Prentiss was the first to lower her gun.

“Look in the bushes.” She pointed to the shrubbery on either side of the door. “Speakers.”

“You all thought you would silence the truth! Well I’m smarter than you. That’s right. And I will not be silenced!”

Hotch looked at the hostage negotiator, who gave him the okay to talk.

“Mr. Jacobs we don’t want to silence you.”

“Tell that to the three spies in the other room.” Underneath Jacobs' voice was the sound of banging. Like fists against a door. Listening closer, Spencer could hear a yelling voice.

“Morgan.” He whispered to the others. They listened to the sound of their coworker- their friend- trying to break free.

“Jacobs you son of a bitch, we’ve got two injured people in here!” Derek screamed. You closed your eyes, trying to drown out the sound that was just making the pain worse.

“Derek, don’t antagonize him.” You grimaced, trying to keep pressure against the still gushing bullet hole in your shoulder. “It’ll just piss him off.”

“Y/N, we need to get paramedics in here. Audrey is barely breathing and you’re bleeding out.” He knelt in front of you, lifting your hand slightly to look at the wound.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to tell the patient they’re going to die.” You teased, trying to get your mind off of the guilt and regret. Derek winced.

“You’re not going to die. I didn’t mean that.”

“Go check on her.” You motioned towards Mrs. Lang. “I’ll be fine.” You adjusted slightly so your vest was in your lap. You had to take it off in order to tend to your wound and it left you vulnerable.

As Derek crossed the room, you felt your vision blur with tears. You should have told him. You should have told him.

Outside the tension was only getting worse. Jacobs had gone quiet and the team was itching to break the door down. Spencer was pacing, running through plan after plan in his head. If Garcia could hack into Jacobs’ system, they could cut the surveillance feed and go in. But if Jacobs noticed the hack, he would kill everyone inside. Finally, the shrill voice came back over the speakers.

“One of your spies is dead.” He laughed frantically, a madman slipping more and more into his delusion. Spencer froze. “She said she didn’t know anything, but I knew she was lying. You train them well, you know.”

“She.” Spencer whispered, the panic making his hands shake.

“Mr. Jacobs, which woman is dead?” Hotch asked carefully. Jacobs laughed again.

“You have chips in all of them, you tell me.”

“Mr. Jacobs, I need to know who died.” While he kept his gaze focused on the house, Hotch could tell that the team was holding their breath.

“Damnit!” Derek exclaimed, slamming his hand against the floor. Audrey was dead.

“There was nothing you could do, Derek.” You said grimly. You looked around at the metal walls and felt the last bit of hope leave you. “He’s going to kill all of us.”

“No, no, you don’t get to talk like that.” Derek crouched in front of you and put a hand on your cheek. “We are not going to die in here.” A tear slipped down your cheek and you shook your head.

“I never even got to tell him.” Maybe it was shock, but you started to hyperventilate. “I didn’t tell him, Derek.”

“Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t tell Spencer.”

“Tell Reid what?” Derek’s eyes searched yours until you watched the realization on his face. “You’re not…”

“Yeah, Derek. I am.” You wiped another tear away. “I found out a couple of weeks ago.”

“You’ve known that long and haven’t told anybody?” He sighed, sitting down beside you. You laid your head on his shoulder.

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” You laughed humorously. “I know I should have told Hotch as soon as I found out, but I couldn’t tell him before I told Spencer and I just couldn’t figure out how to tell him.” Your voice cracked and Derek pressed a kiss to your temple.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

It was eerily quiet. Jacobs had stopped his rambling and the sirens outside seemed distant now. Your hands fell to your stomach and you smiled sadly.

“Help me think of names.”

“Hmm?”

“Come on, distract me from the pain. Help me think of names for the little genius.” You shifted so that you were looking at Derek. “I was thinking that, if it’s a girl, I want to name her Diana. Spencer’s mom has always been such a big part of his life and I think that’s what he would want.”

“Diana is a beautiful name.” He gave you a sweet smile and took your hand in his. “What if it’s a boy?”

“See, I can’t make up my mind on that. I’m sure Spence would want some super smart author’s name or something, but... he’s the smartest person I know.” You spread your fingers over your belly, thinking about everything you had to lose.

“Well if Spencer Jr. doesn’t stick, you could always name him after your favorite profiler.” Derek chuckled. His smirk fell when he looked at the sorrow on your face.

“I need you to tell him.”

“What?”

“If I don’t…” You gulped. “If I don’t make it out of this, I don’t want him to find out from some doctor. I want him to hear it from you.”

“Don’t go there. Don’t you go there, you hear me?” He stood with new determination. “We are getting out of here and you and that wonder baby are going to be just fine.” He brought your hand up to his lips before turning towards the door.

“What are you-”

“Jacobs!” He pounded on the door. “I’m ready to talk! I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Derek what are you doing?” You struggled to stand and Derek moved you to the wall beside the door and motioned for you to stay still.

“I’m ready to talk, Jacobs! You win!” You both readied your weapons and Derek stood in the corner.

It didn’t take long for Jacobs to take the bait. Slowly, the metal door opened and Jacobs cautiously stepped inside. His wild eyes locked on you and your gun and he charged towards you. Before he could get far, Derek kicked the door into him. The impact made him stumble forward into you, shoving you against the wall. Your head hit the concrete hard, disorienting you long enough for Jacobs to aim his gun at your stomach.

This time the shot wasn’t his. And you didn’t miss.

The second shot had everyone ready to go in. Teams were prepping when the front door opened.

“Hold your fire!” Morgan shouted. “I’ve got an injured agent here!” He emerged from the house walking as fast as he could. He was carrying you. Spencer broke into a sprint, rushing alongside him and trying to examine your injuries.

“What happened? Is she okay?” Before he could answer, paramedics swarmed them.

“She was shot in the left shoulder, no exit wound, and she’s lost a lot of blood. She also hit her head pretty hard, but she’s remained conscious.” He informed them.

“Sir, you’ll have to come with us so we can examine you as well.” One ordered.

“I’m coming with you.” Reid said firmly. Nobody argued with him and so they all climbed into the back of the ambulance.

They sat Morgan and Reid down and got you onto a gurney.

“Agent Y/L/N, can you hear me?”

“Agent Morgan, did you sustain any injuries in Mr. Jacobs’ basement?”

“Dr. Reid, I need you to stay over there.”

So many things were happening at once, Derek could barely get a word in.

“There’s something you need to know before you give her anything.” He told the woman tending to you. He finally looked at Reid. He’d been avoiding his gaze since he stepped out of the house, but now he had to keep his promise to you. He had to tell him. “She’s pregnant.”

The paramedics acted accordingly and Spencer just stared at him.

“What?”

“She’s pregnant, kid.” Derek put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, his gaze shifting to you.

“That’s not… she would have told me. She would have-”

“She wanted to tell you. She was just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Don’t call me that!” Spencer pushed away from him.

“Sir, I need you to calm down-”

“Reid-”

“You should have waited! If you had waited for the rest of us, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“We were trying to save Audrey Lang.”

“Audrey Lang died!” Spencer snapped. “And now so could Y/N. She could die and could my…” He trailed off, his anger fading quickly into a devastated panic.

“This is really not the place for this argument.” One of the paramedics warned.

“She’s going to be okay, Reid. Her and your baby are going to be okay.” He pulled the younger agent into a hug, trying to convince himself as well.

The whole team was in the waiting room. Hotch watched Reid carefully as he paced relentlessly. Judging by the tension between him and Morgan, there was something the two weren’t saying.

The bodies of Audrey Lang and Steven Jacobs were found in his basement. Hotchner would be filling out the paperwork as soon as they found out your condition. When the doctor finally approached them, everyone was on the edge of their seats.

“Agent Y/L/N will have to wear a sling for her shoulder injury and she’s suffering from a concussion, but in time, she will make a full recovery.” Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The doctor continued. “As for the other matter,” She gave Spencer a small smile, “she’s asking to speak to Dr. Reid before any other visitors.”

With everybody’s eyes on him, Spencer followed her back to your room. You looked a lot better now and you were giving him a nervous smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He stood in the doorway for a moment, unable to move.

“I’m going to go fill out some forms, but I will be just down the hall if you need anything or have any questions.” The doctor said before leaving the two of you alone. Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly shuffled forward.

“Is everything okay?” He asked. “I mean… is the… are you-”

“We’re both fine, Spence.” You held your breath, waiting for him to react. Spencer pulled up a chair and took your hand in his. His hands were shaking slightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Spence…”

“Were you that afraid of how I would react?”

“No!” You exclaimed, laying a hand on his cheek. “Spencer, I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of facing it. I love you and I want this child, I do. But… I know geological profiling and how to link victims and what to say to a grieving family. I don’t know how to be a parent.”

“You think I do?” He laughed anxiously. “I don’t know the first thing about being a dad. But…” He gulped. “I know that I have been happier with you than I have in my whole life. I don’t know a lot about love, but everything I do know, I know because of you. And if you can do that, then we can figure this out.”

A grin spread across your face and you pulled his lips to yours. You were too distracted by each other to notice the other figure at the door.

“I believe I was told something about naming a certain baby after me?” Derek smirked. Spencer gave you a look.

“You’re delusional, Morgan.” You laughed. Derek looked at Reid.

“Are we good, kid?”

Spencer smiled.

“Yeah. We’re good.”

#spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #matthew grey gubler #spencer reid #derek morgan #aaron hotchner

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nothingconsoled · 3 years

Text

do I accept gif/icon requests? not at the moment.

do I accept gif/icon suggestions? yes, always!

this post serves as a collection of direct links to all the fc resources I’ve uploaded to this blog. you’re welcome to like this post to check back in later for more! you can also view my gif packs here if you prefer to see example gifs, and here is the side - blog where I reblog other people’s resources. (If you’re struggling to find posts on tumblr I suggest searching using this helpful site).

my gif packs

William Fichtner, Finding Steve McQueen (2018)

Alun Armstrong, Possum (2018)

Richard Brake, Perfect Skin (2018), The Dare (2019)

Robert De Niro, Cape Fear (1991), Heat (1995), Being Flynn (2012)

Jessica Lange, The Gambler (2014), AHS S1E1 (2011), Cape Fear (1991)

Jane Seymour, Lake Effects (2012)

Laurence Fishburne, Standoff (2016)

Lily Rabe, Finding Steve McQueen (2018)

David Bradley, The Lodgers (2017), Harry Brown (2009), Roy (2021), Edmund the Magnificent (2019), and Broadchurch S1E1

Michael Caine, Youth (2015), Harry Brown (2009)

Scott Turner Schofield, The Conductor (2018)

Bradley Cooper, The Hangover III (2013)

Alex Blue Davis, NCIS (2017)

Drew Barrymore, Boys on the Side (1995)

Cameron Diaz, In Her Shoes (2005)

John Goodman, 10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)

John Gallagher, 10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)

Dame Judi Dench, Notes On A Scandal (2006)

Joaquin Phoenix, [ gif icons ] Joker (2019)

Paul Dano, Being Flynn (2012)

Josh Brolin, Labor Day (2013) *(accidentally deleted this. kill me. I’ll try to find a backup of this somewhere and repost it. rip.)

Jaz Sinclair, When The Bough Breaks (2016)

Jonathan Rhys Meyers, 6 Souls/Shelter (2010)

Dermot Mulroney (gif icons), The Wedding Date (2005), and the Griffin & Phoenix (2006).

both

Tilda Swinton (gif icons & static icons), We Need To Talk About Kevin (2011), Burn After Reading (2008), Constantine (2005), Thumbsucker (2005)

my icon packs

Keeley Forsyth, The Devil Outside (2018)

Juno Temple, Small Apartments (2012)

Peter Stormare, Small Apartments (2012)

Johnny Knoxville, Small Apartments (2012)

Rebel Wilson, Small Apartments (2012)

James Caan, Small Apartments (2012)

Billy Blair, Whitetail (2021)

James Jordan, Home (2020)

Kathy Bates, Bad Santa II (2016), Home (2020)

Jena Malone, The Public (2021)

Richard Brake, Bingo Hell (2021)

Daniel Grogan, Recipe For Abduction (2021)

Barabra Hershey, The Manor (2021)

Sean Whalen, Employee of the Month (2006)

Matthew Rhys, The Americans S1E1

Noah Emmerich, The Americans S1E1

Dax Shepard, Employee of the Month (2006)

Danny Woodburn, Employee of the Month (2006)

Doug Jones, Pans Labyrinth (2006)

William Fichtner, Finding Steve Mcqueen (2018)

Alun Armstrong, Possum (2018)

Rosamund Pike, Return To Sender (2015)

Richard Moll, Lake Effects (2012)

Lara Flynn Boyle, Twin Peaks: S1 (1990) & S2E1-4

Jacob Wysocki, Loosely Exactly Nicole: S1E1-4 (2016), Fat Kid Rules The World (2012)

Nicole Byer, (pt one two three four) Loosely Exactly Nicole: S1E1-4 (2016)

Brandon Scott (pt one two), Loosely Exactly Nicole: S1E4-5 (2016)

Stanley Weber (pt one two), Not Another Happy Ending (2013)

Sam Coleman, Leatherface (2017)

James Bloor, Leatherface (2017)

Lili Taylor, Leatherface (2017)

Naveen Andrews, Sense8: S1 (2015)

Helen Mirren, Collateral Beauty (2016)

Octavia Spencer, Gifted (2017)

Cate Blanchett, Notes On A Scandal (2006)

Keiynan Lonsdale, Love, Simon (2018)

Jonah Hill, Acceptance (2006), Grandma’s Boy (2006)

Amy Aquino, Bosch: S3 (2017)

Claudia Doumit, Timeless: S2E1 and E3 (2018)

Nathan Page, Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries (2012-2015)

my screencaps

Sid Haig, Spider Baby (1967)

Danny Woodburn, Employee of the month (2006)

#underused fc #gif pack #rp icons #olderfcs #gif hunt #resource index

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geminimoonbeamx · 4 years

Text

And the snakes start to sing

A/N: Okay, so my anxiety since this entire Covid-19 situation came to light has been...pretty deteriorating to say the least. It’s funny(which it’s really not),The only thing I can think might help is to dig back deep into my writing. I really want to live in the fantasy worlds I can create in my head right now. So I will.

Warnings: Some angst(it is during the Marauders era), cursing, SMUT, and I feel like I should add this here- I wrote this as self therapy so this reader insert def has some specific looks and traits, if that bothers you I understand, but also I warned you so...

Summary: Sirius Black and Y/N steal a tender moment in the middle of the war. Marauders Era. Young Sirius Black(Ben Barnes) x Plus Size Reader

The way you slam your body into mine reminds me that I’m alive,

But monsters are always hungry darling- and they're only a few steps behind you.

Finding the flaw,

The Poor weld,

The place where we weren't quite stitched up right- Richard Silken

Part l

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

You mull on that fact as you sit in the driver's seat of the muggle car, gripping the wheel, skin pulled tight across your knuckles. You’re shaking - vibrating from deep in your core with so much velocity that it makes your teeth chatter. Your muscles ache as you try to regain control of your body, of your breathing- the only thing keeping you from completely crumbling is the focus that you have on the road in front of you-

Even then you don't really see the asphalt, dimly lit by street lamps that seemed to be few and far between the further you drove.

All you can see is that alley.

Dark, dank and frigidly cold, the death eaters that weren't supposed to be there, but who had seemed to show up in puffs of smoke. In three’s- and then four.

Five.

Six.

You hadn’t been able to keep count.

Faster than you, James and Mad Eye could take on.

For a moment, everything had been lightning speed. Time passed fast, in a blur. Blood and screaming. Spells, violent spells that you’d never uttered before thrown left and right, by both sides.

You'd watched bright green flashes pass by like shooting stars, almost grazing you. Illuminating the corridor in razor sharp rays.

So close that you could taste them.

Death tastes acidic. Bitter. Fizzles on your tongue and sticks to the back of your throat.

You still swallow around it even now, hours later, as you drive.

You’d forgotten how much you hate muggle travel. You’d much prefer to apparate, but James is in no state. He sits beside you, slumped in the passenger seat, clutching his side and wincing at every bump. Having grown up with his pure blood parents, there's no way he could have driven anyway, didn't know how. Perfect Potter isn't capable of everything, turns out.

That's fine, you’d assured him. You needed to be able to focus on something before the very little part of your brain that was still loosely wound, unraveled.

You hadn't shared that part, but you think he knows.

The radio crackles and a muggle band plays lowly.

The car makes its way down the long winding roads in silence. Shock settling over the two of you like a heavy blanket. There’s nothing that can be said- no words that could describe the ice that still ran through your veins or that could balm what had happened.

When you hit a particularly nasty pothole, cajoling the car roughly he hisses through his clenched teeth.

“Sorry’, fuck, I’m sorry” You apologize, righting the wheel in a tight jerk to the right, pressing on the brake. “Are you okay? Still bleeding?”

He’s damn lucky that that Confringo charm hadn't caught him directly, but still. When he’d flown into that brick wall, he’d done it with a bone crunching thud. You knew a few of his ribs were broken, his skin rubbed raw and cut open.

“M’fine. Moody did what he could- stopped the bleeding. I think. It stings like a son’va bitch though” James sounds tired, gravely. Voice void of that usual mirth it carried- his chestnut skin pale, clammy. “Drive faster- hopefully Dorcas is already back”

He’s right, Dorcas has healing hands. She’d whip up an ointment, utter an incantation, and he’d be good as new. You step down on the accelerator, foot heavy and mind eager to get somewhere that feels safe, even the trees you pass by feel like they’re watching you, waiting to leap at any turn.

Would you ever feel safe again? After looking into those eyes, seeing that face-

———-

The ride takes hours,

Your mind zones to dark places,

The two of you reach the current makeshift safe house.

———

Protective charms line it heavily, Dumbledor himself had drawn them

To the naked eye, you pull up onto what looks like an old decrepit factory in a row of old decrepit factories- all concrete and broken glass windows. Gritty rust covered metal high beams and caved in ceilings, the tires crunch on the gravel out front- you can barely put the car in park before you’re overcome by a sea of red-

Red hair, soft hands. Vivid green eyes.

Lilly comes bounding out, long legs propelling her forward fast.

“Y/N!” She shrieks as you climb out, you don't blame her for how she runs to James' side of the car. He looks far worse than you do, you think. But then again you haven't seen your reflection because the glance over she gives you is horrified.

“I’m okay, just get James! Lets get him inside” You hurry, your legs feel heavy as you meet her on the other side of the car.

It’s begun snowing again, fat flurries falling from the inky night sky, cold enough to start the shaking again. Your hands are uncoordinated paws, good for nothing and yet you help Lily, take one of James arms around your own shoulder as she takes the other, the two of you supporting him - dragging him towards the entrance.

“Gideon! Go find Dorcas!” She yells for one of the fiery headed Prewet twins who are spilling out of the building. Merlin, they look similar- she could be their kin. “Mad Eye was able to send us word about what happened in London! We’ve been waiting for you! I’ve been so scared- thank bloody God you two are even alive”

“We’re okay-“ you start, trying to calm your friend down. She seemed like she was two seconds away from blowing a fuse and well- you were one of the few who knew about her condition. You weren’t so sure complete emotional breakdowns were good for developing fetus’.

“Only because Y/N. She saved my life. She saved us all back there” James is barely conscious and defining not coherent.

You hadn’t saved, you’d killed. Innocent people included.

Lily is staring at you past James' bowed head and you can’t see her eyes.

Not when James is dragged in and whisked away by Dorcas who is already whisking something in a bowl, her braids piled atop her head and her deep eyes worried- yet sage. Calm, as she calls to you from over her shoulder. “That gash on your forehead is nasty! I’ll get to you next”

You hear them laying James down on the makeshift kitchen table and for some reason your feet are frozen in place. You can’t follow. Don’t care to see the chunk that was taken out of him back in the alley.

In the alley. In the snow; cold and frigid. Voldemort had appeared from the shadows and raised his wand high and you knew you were going to die, even though you weren’t ready to. Didn’t want to-

“Y/N” you raise your eyes-your mint and her emerald meeting somewhere in the middle. Lily’s are worried, the almond shape exaggerated.

You wonder if yours convey how far away you feel. How close you are to drifting right out of your body and floating up- somewhere quiet.

Because everything was too loud now- everyone bustling in and around you. Emaline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, Frank Longbottom- where was Marlene? And Sirius?

Had the night been as bloody and brutal for them as it had for you?

“Go” you croak at her “Go with him, Lil. Mending bones hurts like hell- I’ll just- I just need to-“

She looks torn, and you imagine she is. Her best friend is quite obviously on the verge of a panic attack and her fiancé is bleeding out on the kitchen table.

“Go” you insist once more, squeezing her forearm through her maroon cardigan, trying to encourage her.

You don’t inculpate her for James taking precedence, she all but peels herself away from your side to go sit next to him, to grasp at his hand as Dorcas covers his wounds in dittany and he grunts loud and pained.

You stumble backwards, not wanting to see anymore blood for the moment.

Maybe ever.

No, focus.

You force your brain not to check out yet as you limp back into the open space that seems to be slowly but surely filling up with other members of The Order.

People talk over each other and it's hard to get anyone to answer your questions.

When Remus, Shacklebolt and Peter walk into the fort, all looking disheveled but uninjured- you finally start getting somewhere.

Peter’s speech is fast and broken and nervous- you keep telling him to slow down. You can't manage to understand what he's saying.

“Fuck, Peter! Merlin just shut up- shut up for two seconds. Remus, what happened?”

Edgar Bones and his family were killed, but everyone else was still intact- just scattered. Trying to find their way back home, back to headquarters or any local safe house.

You gape at Remus, as he tells you the news. His voice is sturdy even though he looks like he might keel over at any moment, which is why you’d always sought him out, since you were kids. Remus was in a constant state of suffering, and yet he was nearly always the most clear headed person in the room.

His eyes though- they always did betray him. You can see it in the amber iris. The horror. The sorrow. The fear.

Edgar Bones was dead.

Edgar, and his husband, and his two children- he’d show them to you once. Opened the silver locket that was ever presently around his neck and two smiling waving dark haired cherub cheeked kids waved back from the photos inside.

Bile rises in your throat and you stare up at Remus, still just trying to process it all. His mouth is still moving and is certainly forming words, but the loud whomping in your ears keeps you from hearing them.

You’re all going to die, the thought is sharp and ragged and cuts up your brain.

“Oh”, is all you can manage. It’s a whisper, the most you can force. Remus reaches for you and you easily avoid his big scarred hand, stepping away from it before it can land on your arm.

You choose to ignore the hurt look that flashes briefly on his face.

Kingsley Shacklebolt starts listing off the known locations of other members then. Dumbledor is delivering the news to the Bones, Feniwick is held up at Hogwarts- there had been an attack in Hogsmeade. Four Muggle borns had been killed in the street. Sirius and Marlene along with Alice Longbottom have made fort at the McKinnon’s cabin, a known safe house, stuck for the moment as most are.

“Mad Eye’s gone to rally with Aberforth. I think they’re trying to track the Lestranges- that’s w-who ambushed us tonight”

By the look they give you, you know they know those aren't the only people who you’d crossed wands with.

“You know who is on the move, we heard it- he’s angry cause’ of what happened back in London. What did happen? Is James okay?” Peter questions and you really do feel bad for snapping at him, for telling him to shut up. He's just scared, for himself and for his friends.

You know how much Peter cared about James.

“He’s fine, he’s in the kitchen getting mended by Dorcas- Lily’s with him”

The rest of it, the story that everyone seems so eager to hear, you hold back. Tight lipped, chest heavy. The stout blonde man looks like he wants to ask more, go forward, but he just nods and scurries into the kitchen.

That’s fine. James’ll relay it all to his friends, to the Order.

And everyone will know just what you did.

Your stomach rolls threateningly.

————-

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

First- you soar on it. It carries you through, you can’t feel pain or time as it curses through your bloodstream. But then,then, after your body’s flight or fight checks off, it makes you crash. You stumble down from the high- pain throbbing and world going molasses slow. Your stomach churns and your head pounds from the whiplash like stop.

You empty what feels like your soul into the porcelain toilet of a spare bathroom that you’d barley found before you started spewing. It’s violent, your whole body convulses with every gag, and it seems to go on for an eternity even though you can’t even remember what and when you’d last eaten.

You choke on bile a bit before you stumble over to the sink, turning on the creaky faucet and putting your mouth right in the stream.

You’d been able to stand the questioning and the looks and the pricing for just about a half an hour before that familiar wave of anxiety that you’d managed to keep at bay overwhelmed you and sent you running.

A breakdown was very much due. You’d rather no one bare witness to it.

Not even Lily who’s threatened to plow down the door at least twice now.

When you connect eyes with yourself in the mirror you almost look away. The reflection that stares back at you is alien. The woman feels so far away- that you raise a shaky hand, touching the glass. Trying to convince yourself that it’s real.

That you’re real.

There’s blood, mostly dried, that has run into your eye from the cut in your hair line that’s really more of a sloppy open bruise and you rinse it off, scrubbing with your fingers til’ it hurts. The blood won’t come off, your hands stained red. Blood everywhere. Your blood. James blood. That Death Eater’s. Those muggles that had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time-

Your breath goes choppy again, sobbing on air as you think about it. You just need the red to be gone, you’ll feel better once it’s gone.

In the corner of the mirror, you side eye the shower behind you.

——————

Part ll

The rooms in this place remind you of the girls dormitories back at Hogwarts.

Or maybe you just miss the girls dormitories back at Hogwarts.

You bet it’s the latter, because the only thing similar is the fact that there’s a row of beds. There’s no Lily laughing, or Marlene painting, or Mary dancing. All of those things feel so distant now, memories that you never thought to cherish but that you now hold on to with claw like ferocity.

You’d do anything to be fifteen again, cooped up in the castle on a sunny afternoon.

Instead you stand in the middle of a drafty room, your skin raw and flushed from the blistering temperature of the shower, the ends of your curly hair dripping down your back as you clutch the towel that someone (Lily) had left outside the bathroom door to your body.

You sit down on the bed where your nap sack had been dumped- the extender charm you’d put on it had been a bitch to get right, but you're grateful for it as you dig around it’s never ending contents- able to find a clean cream colored sweater and leggings.

You're shimmying the clinging black fabric up your thighs when there's a knock at the door.

You sigh. You can’t keep putting her off. You’re being a shitty friend when she’s trying to be a good one, and you know it.

“Come in, Lily. I’m dressed” You call, back to the door as you drag the towel over and through your hair, frowning at the curly untamed state, before beginning to twist it into some semblance of a bun.

“Actually, not to disappoint you but it’s just me”

The voice is deep, silken. Familiar. Distinctly masculine, and definitely not Lily’s.

You turn fast, and hopeful. Your eyes wide when they land on the tall figure that looms in the doorway.

“And I was hoping you wouldn't be dressed”

Sirius stands there, his slate eyes combing over you, a small grin tugging at the left side of his mouth. He looks a little tired- the fine lined wrinkles on the outer corner of his eyes and the bags under them both deep, pronounced. He obviously hasn't shaved since you’d last seen him, weeks ago. What had been a shadow was now dark scruff. His hair is scraped away from his face, tied in it’s usual knot at the back of his neck and he’s donning his signature worn leather jacket. He looks so familiar that it almost brings tears to your eyes. Standing there, being crude and handsome and real.

You felt so foreign in your own skin that seeing him so solid is a relief that you can't quite explain. He’s a strong boulder, a rooted tree, that you can tether yourself to.

You want to tell him that. That you didn't realize how much you needed him until that moment. You kind of hate that realization because needing Sirius Black was stupid, so stupid.

“What are you doing here?” Is what comes out instead. Wrong, you always say the wrong thing when he’s around “I thought you we’re stuck at the Cabin”

He doesn't look offended, but he does look concerned, as he closes the door behind him. “I was. I was able to slip past them though.'' He shrugs, casually, as though he hadn't risked his life leaving the McKinnon’s.

He was always so blase about everything. It drove you absolutely bonkers.

“I’m taking it you did that on four legs?”

Ever since you’d learned about Sirius, James and Peter's Animagi sized secret, everything made sense. You knew they weren't lucky enough to get away with all that shit they had back in school. Definitely not smart enough, either.

He shrugs again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard as he sits down on the bed that you had claimed for the night as your own. He's so much taller then you that even sitting in this position, the two of you are almost eye level.

“I heard what happened, I wanted to make sure you guys were okay. Plus, once my cousin got her pound of flesh she took off- left Crabbe and McNair in the forest. Fucking idiots couldn't find their own noses in a mirror. There’s no IQ test for up and coming Death Eaters, is there?”

Of course he’d heard. You can't meet his gaze- that intense stare that he’s been giving you since he’d walked in. You don't know what to make of it, don't really know how it makes you feel.

But then again none of that was anything new. There was no label to slap onto what you and Sirius had started, onto what you felt for him. Marlene had accused the two of you being fuck buddies, but that wasnt it.

You’d have to have been friends before it for that to be accurate, which you weren't.

You weren't even sure that you were friends now.

All you knew is that you were glad to see him, even if that happiness was laced with confusion.

“I suppose not. Your cousin isn't the brightest bulb either. She’s just cunty enough to be through most of the time” You’ve always despised Bellatrix Black- ah, no, she’s a Lestrange now isn't she? Figures she’d marry one of those fucked up inbred brothers. Trash congregates with trash.

“True. She always was committed to being cruel”

“She needs lend some of that commitment to brushing her hair regularly”

Sirius snorts, shaking his head a bit. You’re good, so fucking good at deflecting “You know Dorcas is still looking for you. She wants to check out your head”

“It’s a shallow cut, I’m fine” sounds hollow even to your ears and his small scoff is honestly what you would've given him if the roles were reversed. “I am” you start stronger, trying, really trying “I’m just...tired. I’m rubbish at combative spells- I know you remember me in D.A.D.A. I could barely pass my Newt. It took a lot out of me, is all”

Sirius lets you ramble, which is a nicety for him because you can see that he’s fighting himself from cutting you off. Sirius doesn't take bullshit, can't stomach it.

“You went head to head with Voldemort tonight and you’re trying to tell me that you’re ‘rubbish at combative’ spells? What the fuck, Y/N?” He says bluntly, grabbing you by your wrists as you try to back away, holding you steady, not letting you run away. “It’s just me. Talk to me”

The vulnerability you feel in that moment is only just weighed out by your stubbornness as you stare right back at him, teeth clenched, unwilling to break that eye contact. He was calling you out, almost challenging you.

“What do you mean what the fuck? You what the fuck, Sirius! I don’t know what you want me to say-” You’re defensive, your hackles are raised and your voice is razor sharp.

“What happened?”

“Oh, bugger off. Don't act like you didn't talk to James before you came up here. You know exactly what happened”

“I want you to tell me what happened- no, don't look at me like that. I’m not the others, I’m not- I’ve told you everything. All the ugly that I’ve seen, that I’ve done. I would never judge you, and what you were forced to do tonight? That’s not something that anyone is going to judge you on” His voice is too soft, it doesn't match the strong grip of his long fingers around your wrist.

Doesn’t match the rough way he usually fucks you or the lukewarm looks he gives you when the two of you are in public.

You tug on his hold, if only to make sure he won't let go.

He doesn't.

Tethered, your brain again supplies that word for the feeling of security he gives you.

“I killed three people tonight, I think. I don't know- it was all so fast, everything happened so fast. We were just supposed to be gaining intel, you know? And then out of nowhere they were swarming us, Sirius. Blocking is in. James got hit right before Voldemort apparated in and I- I knew we were going to die. So I- I just blew everything up” Tears are rolling down your face as you recount the events. You don't know how to describe to him how cold it was, how scared you were. You’d never experienced fear like that “I didn't have control of that spell, I’d read about it, but I had no idea that it was going to…”

The fucked up part is that you knew it might. You knew that it could incinerate everyone and everything. Including you and James and Moody. But in that moment...that desperation you felt out weighed it all.

“Hey, hey look at me- we’ve all been there. You did what you had to do. You dont think we all throw out spells that we have no fucking idea how to use In the heat of the moment?” You didn't realize that you’d said that last part aloud, but confessing to Sirius had gotten all too easy these last few months.

He made your lips loose, lowered all your inhibitions without your permission. You hated him for it. Craved him every moment that he wasn't around for it.

This war was turning you to stone. Cold and rigid, but You didn't feel like you had to be marble hard when he was around.

“I could've killed us all. I killed those muggles- fuck. They didn't know- they didn't do anything” You’re sobbing again, soft underbelly exposed. He could gut you right now if he wanted to. “They were innocent”

“Shh, C’mere” He pulls you in between his spread legs, lets go of your wrists in order to envelope you in his gangly arms, to squeeze at your thick waist and shoulders as he holds you. “You didn't kill them, Y/N. James said it was the counter curse that Voldemort used that hit them- think about the positioning. They were on the same side of the alley that you were- crossing that street, they got hit with a curse that was meant for you”

You shake your head, burying your face in the soft thin skin of his neck because he’s wrong. You know he is. James was out of it, pain clouding his senses. You knew what you did.

Sirius doesn't argue it further, just lets you cling to him. Allows your cries, ugly and snotty, to shake you both.

He lets you get it all out- until you're hiccuping on the last of your tears. You're completely slumped against him, pretty much sitting in his lap as he supports all of your weight. You’d be more self conscious in that moment if you had any energy left to be.

“It was so horrible. There were...pieces of people. Everywhere” You shudder because you can still see it. Like you're still there.

Sirius’ arms tighten at that, squeezing you to him for a minute. A hug within a hug,

“There are casualties in war...it sounds fucked up, and it doesn't make any of what happened tonight better, but it is what it is”

He’s not nice, not really. He gives you the hard truth that you don't want to swallow. They aren't the pretty words that you want, but they are what you need.

War is ugly, and up until tonight, you’d been willingly ignorant to that fact. You’d heard the horror stories of what Voldemort and the death eaters had done, and were doing, but you'd never experienced any of it first hand.

Seeing changed everything.

No one, from either side would come out of this clean. Everyone and everything would be blood stained, tainted.

It’s a heavy realization, that the world you were fight for would never be the same.

You pull away from Sirius then, grabbing his hand and losing your fingers with yours when he goes to grab, to keep you close. He watches, dark brows pulled together, as you lie down on the lumpy old bed, head resting on the singular flat pillow.

“Lay with me? Please?” You give his hand a tug, tac on that pretty please at the end.

Like it’s necessary.

Like he wasn't planning on staying since the moment he’d walked through that door- you could have thrown a fit. Hit him, hexed him, and he still wouldn't have left you. “I’m so tired”

He stands from the bed and you make a small hurt little sound.

“I’m not going anywhere, hush” He smiles, canine grin and crinkled nose as he sheds his leather jacket, combat boots and scratchy dark jeans coming off next, leaving him in a long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of threadbare black boxers that had seen better days and definitely were sporting a hole or two.

“Lumos Nox” with a flick of his wand, the lights in the room go out.

The bed really wasn't big enough for two people, but you made due. Sirius all but laid his entire long lean body on top of yours, acting as a sort of human blanket.

“Oof, bloody hell, Sirius!” you tease, squirming under him for a minute but loving every inch of him pressed down on top of you. You felt secure, safe. So different then you had in the car when you’d wondered if you’d ever feel this way again. You twine your arms around him, giving him the room to nuzzle his face into your bosom, nosing at the soft fabric of your sweater as your fingers bury themselves in his thick onyx hair.

He’s all but purring as you scrape your nails against his scalp. He’s not really a big scary dog at all, no. He’s more pussycat than anything.

The silence is peaceful, his head rests on your chest and everything smells like him. Sandalwood and cigarette smoke, and something sweet that you could never quite put your finger on. Dark and sensual and overwhelming. It always sticks to your clothes, after nights like this. You know you'll smell him in your hair for days.

Sometimes it’s still mind boggling that this is where the two of you had ended up. That you got to have him like this. You remember the days that you would pine for him, years one through four at Hogwarts had been hard on your fragile little heart. Too young to fully understand that boys like Sirius didn't look twice at girls like you.

And he hadn't.

The girls he dated, and Merlin was there a slew of them, had been beautiful in a way that you just...weren't. You’d never have a thin nose or mile long legs. And so you dropped the torch you carried for him, let the flame die out until all that was left were low simmering, angry, embers. Because fuck Sirius Black for not wanting you.

Even now, you wonder if he really does.

Want you.

Yes, the two of you had shown each other your bleeding hearts, had let each other see the dark, odd, ugly puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit into the persona’s you publicly displayed...but you wonder all the time if it wasn't just...trauma bonding.

Clinging to the only available warmth during a blizzard, trying to find someone to weather the storm with.

Without this war, without the two of you being forced together by the horrible things that were being done, that you were doing, would there even be anything there? The two of you weren't James and Lily, weren't destined to be together, to get married and live happily ever after. Your love, if that's what it was at all, wouldn't survive the war like theirs would.

“Your going to hurt yourself” Sirius’ words are muffled as he speaks them into your sweater.

“Huh?”

“You’re thinking too hard. I can practically hear the muscles straining in your brain Y/L/N” You tug on his locks at his statement, lightly enough to not cause pain- even though you knew now that he liked that.

“It’s nothing” you insist.

The last 24 hours has been hard enough, you aren’t about to fuck them up further by questioning feelings, stirring up the inevitable end of this...thing.

“”It’s something” he’s an insistent pushy tosser.

“I’m just wondering why you came back tonight, is all” you try to keep a casual cadence to your tone, but still.

Sirius props his chin on your chest. The room is dark enough that you can’t see him, but you can feel him studying you “When I heard about what happened and then found out that it was you and James that’d been there...I knew I had to find a way to get here. The two of you-“

There’s a long gap of silence. You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat hummingbird fast in your chest as you wait for him to continue.

“- Are my best friends. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost one of you. And then I hear that I almost lost both of you at the same time? It was fucked. I don’t know what I would’ve done if...I’d things would’ve gone differently”

You know this is hard for him.

Sirius is just about the most emotional person you’ve ever met- he feels everything so intensely, it’s alarming really. And yet he can’t ever voice those feelings in a way that’s not screaming or drunken declarations.

His parents had really done a number on him.

“We’re friends?” Your question might sound stupid, but really, you were curious. You never thought he wanted you as a friend.

“Blimey, Y/N, are you serious?” He sits up even further, voice laced with disbelief as he rests his elbows on either side of your head, his face hovering above yours now.

“I’m just asking! I never knew, and you’ve never said. Don’t be a dickhead about it” Is your barbed reply.

He lets out a barking laugh and you can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. Probably some mixture of the two.

“I told you about my father breaking my fingers when I refused to learn the piano” He sounds...guarded. You hate it, that you caused that. His guard to go back up. You should’ve kept your big mouth shut. Your right hand planes up and across his biceps. Resting on his shoulder.

“I know. I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry, just know that I would never tell that to someone that I didn’t consider a friend. That I didn’t care about”

See? Emotional. So emotional. It’s like it bubbles up within him, always threatening to overflow. You could never guess when the next outburst would be.

“Well that’s good, I guess I consider you a friend too. I never did before, when we were kids, but now I don’t know what I would do...without your friendship”

Friendship is a deceitful word, a mask of something else that was far too big for either of you to attempt to tackle.

“I don’t know what I’d do without your friendship either. I never want to find out. I really did lose it a bit when I heard about what you did. Ask Marlene. She said I was overreacting”

This is a confession- it’s I love you without the strings. It’s I need you without the commitment.

It’s not fair, to either of you and it’s messy and doomed.

But it’s beautiful, all the same.

“I bet you were” you give a watery chuckle, and he presses his forehead to yours, nudging your nose with his.

“Maybe just a bit, but if we would’ve lost you tonight, I would’ve-“ he breathes deep through his nose “I don’t know what I would’ve done. Hunted them all down, probably”

It’s hot, no, physically hot. You’re burning up, his words striking a match and lighting an inferno inside of you that’d laid dormant for years.

“You can’t leave me anytime soon, got it Y/L/N?” His mouth is less than an inch away from yours, his words feel feathery against your parted lips.

“Mmhmm, I’ve got it” you're breathless already, on the verge of whining and Sirius is just a man, only human. How is that not supposed to drive him mad

“Good” he grunts out fast, before slamming his mouth to yours. He’s not slow like he’d like to be, like he knows you deserve. His kisses are hungry and wet and consuming and you just part those pretty lips and whimper into his mouth, begging him to keep going. To keep taking, so he does. Bracketing his hands on either side of your face, using it as leverage to fuck his tongue in and out of your mouth as his skin hips slot between your fatty thighs.

You pant into each other's mouths as tongues explore the places behind teeth, and Sirius hips find a rhythm that matches his tongue.

“Fuck” you pull away with a gasp and Sirius just drags his spit wet mouth down, across your chin, down your neck. When he sucks an earlobe between his teeth you mewl, legs coming up, your feet propped against the back of his thighs as you pull him closer, nestling him even deeper into the center of your thighs.

He very much likes being between your legs, as he’s told you that very fact before.

It’s warm and you’re plush and soft all over, his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, hips, belly as yours muse his hair, slipping the elastic out so that the tendrils fall freely, long enough now to curtain the two of you, brushing against your cheekbones.

It’s needier than it’s ever been, and when Sirius tugs off your sweater impatiently he literally groans as his hands map out your bare skin touching all the places that usually make you flinch. Rolls and stretch marks- it’s like he needs to feel everything. When he cups your large breasts, one in each palm you full body shiver. He paws at them, thumbing your nipples until they pebble under his touch, before his mouth takes over.

His tongue swirls around the hard buds sloppily. Too much spit, less teeth that usually are biting and sharp. He’s suckling, all over, marking you up, taking his time.

“Sirius, please” your whines are high in your throat and almost pitiful as you fist his hair. He hushes you gently, suckling turning to open mouthed kisses, before he pulls away, stripping his shirt off, in one elegant sweep.

His torso, long and lean- yet toned and sturdy is on display then and honestly you kind of want to turn the lights back on just to look at him for a while.

Usually, Sirius loves to tease. To draw things out at an almost painful pace. It’s maddening. But not tonight.

No, he’s helping you peel your leggings off your curvy calves, then stripping himself of his boxers quickly.

Things are different- somethings shifted. Everything feels all consuming, passionate, both of you are gulping for air as you rut against each other, rubbing and writing. Trying to press as much bare skin together as possible.

He presses two fingers inside of your wet cunt as he rubs his scruff against the sensitive skin of your neck and you keen, high and loud.

Instead of shushing you, he reaches blindly and clumsily for his wand. “Muffilato”

He really is a great multitasker- he manages to cast the silencing charm as he crooks his fingers inside of you, padding at your g spot and making you wail brokenly.

“That’s it, pretty. You can be as loud as you want, go on love” he coos in your ear and holy shit sex with Sirius has been good since it’s inception- but this is something else.

Maybe it’s because of what you’d experienced earlier- all of those negative emotions being combated by all of these good ones but fuck. It felt so good.

He fucks you with his fingers, two and then three and you’re sobbing even before he kisses down your body. Lips scorching and brandishing. When his hot wet tongue slithers between your lips, zeroing in on your clit you’re done for.

It’s embarrassing how little time it takes for your body to tense up, for you to clench around his pounding digits.

“S-s-shit- oh fuck! Sirius!” You grapple at his shoulders, yank at his hair as you convulse, lost to the orgasm that rips through your chest like a bullet.

He works you through it. With little licks, and then soothing words as he pulls his fingers out of you. Your legs fall even farther open and you feel like a well wrung out dish towel.

He’s still being so sweet, as he situates you both on your sides, spooning you from behind. He nuzzles at your still wet curls and really, you’re almost asleep at this point- but not so out of it that you’re unaware of him hard against your lower back.

“Sirius” you mumble, reaching behind you, your short chubby fingers wrapping around his cock. It’s so perfect in your hand- skin hot. Rock hard and velvet smooth.

He groans low at the contact, stills your hand with his “No, it’s okay. I just wanted to take care of you”

You frown at that, whining- and not a happy one “But I want you inside of me”

“You’re barely coherent right now- you’re gonna’ fall asleep any second” he counters back, although you can hear there’s little fight in his strained voice.

“So fuck me while I’m asleep. I want you. We can do it just like this, gonna feel so good” you’re exhausted, but you’ve never wanted anything more. You rub your ass against him, you can feel the tip at the top of your crack and he’s breathing raggedly into your hair.

“Fuck woman. You’re insane” It’s a laugh, or maybe a moan as he grabs the back of your knee, raising it, giving him access to the wet hot flesh between your thighs. He hisses as he guides himself inside of you, and you both sigh when he bottoms out.

Hells, this angle is so good. You get to be completely lazy, just laying there like a doll and taking it as he holds you close and pumps his hips.

The room is filled with wet slapping and breathless panting.

There’s no way you can come again so soon, you’d never been one of those multiple orgasm kind of girls- Sirius gives a strong thrust, the tip of his cock brushing your cervix and sending shockwaves down your tailbone.

Your nails dig into his forearm as you gasp. You’re totally going to come again. Everything is hypersensitive, molten fire, pleasure so bright it’s almost pain as you hold onto him.

“God- you feel so bloody amazing” Sirius’ mouth is right at your ear, you can hear how close he is, that stutter in his breathing “I’m not gonna last- I can’t- fuck. It’s too good”

“Come inside me. Please. I want- fuck I want you closer. Never want you to stop. Want you like this forever, Please” It’s your own words that tip you over the edge for the second time. Thinking about Sirius being close like this, forever. You want him, balls deep inside of you for the rest of your life. You’d never really had an orgasm that was completely internal, your neglected clit not responsible for the tightening of your walls, for the screech that leaves your throat.

Sirius curses, chokes on a loud moan, and then stills inside you. Grabbing you, holding you still as he buries himself to the hilt and empties himself in hot spirits into your womb.

He feels shaky and uncoordinated as he tries to regather himself. Merlins fucking beard- he’d never come that hard. Ever. He swears he’s still feeling the shock waves minutes later when he’s finally able to move.

He breathes in through his teeth and you let out a squeaky mewl as he pulls out.

“Sorry, I’m sorry” he kisses your shoulder soothingly.

Never want you to stop

The words that you’d spoke in the throws of your pleasure ring in his head as he manages to locate that towel you’d used earlier and clean both of you off. It’s half assed and you’d both certainly need to shower before you but back on clothes but at least he’d tried.

“You still awake?” He whispers to you because you’ve gone so still, your body loose and your breathing even.

You make a noncommittal sound, half of an ‘mmhmm’ and he chuckles, managing to get the blanket up and around the both of you before curling himself back around your body.

He’ll let you have the only pillow, that’s fine. You’re so plush and soft anyway. One big pillow, really. More comfortable than the expensive peacock feathers his mom used to fawn over when he was little.

You’re out like a light, and yet Sirius’ mind is going a mile a minute.

I want you closer

You’d almost died, less then twelve hours ago. James has told him how close it had been for both of you. How narrowly you’d escaped death's grasp.

Sirius presses his face onto your back, off centered from the nape of your neck. You smell like your shampoo here- blackberries and sweet lavender.

He had ran, lungs heaving and paws aching through the woods around the McKinnon Cabin. Desperation fueling him. He’d been so scared. The moment he’d been out of sight, he’d appirated to this safe house. He’d only been here once and could barely conjure the image in his head, but he’d still done it.

He could’ve gotten caught, he could’ve been splinched.

Even now, he doesn’t care.

He can pretend that it was out of concern for his best friend, and yeah a big part of it was. James was his brother. The only family he had left and seeing him to make sure he was safe and okay was important to Sirius…

But in the dark, with his arms wrapped around you and the smell of you all over him, he can admit that he’d snapped in a way that he never had before. When he’d heard that you’d been the one to lift your wand and fight, that Voldemort had thrown curses directly at you…

He was terrified.

Not much scared him these days- and that was the sad truth. He was brave to the point of recklessness, he’d always prided himself on that fact.

But the idea of losing you? That he was scared of.

Want you like this forever.

Please.

Another thing that Sirius Black was scared of? The fact that he wanted you forever, too. He wasn’t made for love, not the kind that he knew you wanted. Not the kind that he watched his friends partake in.

He’d let you down eventually, he knew it, and with as smart as you were, he knew you knew it too.

But not tonight.

Tonight he’d hold you, breathe you in, and pretend that there wasn’t a war waging in the world outside.

————

Many years later, while he lay on the dirty stone floor of his Azkaban cell- he stares wordlessly at the ceiling and remembers how you smelled of lavender and blackberries. How you’d giggled like sunshine and fought like hell.

And he remembers, most, how much he loved you.

Alright guys! Thank you for taking the time to read this massive one shot! I hope you enjoyed it. As always I ask that you comment, and reblog if its possible. Love you all!

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@peacefulwriter88 @jalapenobarnes @jaamesbbarnes @gifsbysimplysonia @brieannakeogh @allaboardthereadingrailroad @all-about-sirius @spidey-babe-parker @propertyofpoeandbucky @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @autirobo @louisianaspell @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @hufflepuffing-all-day-long @threeminutesoflife @writeturnlove @benbarnesescape

Well, that was painful lol. I’ve been feeling really angsty with everything that’s been going on in the world- so I decided to lean into it. I will be writing some fluff pieces soon too, to cope with this quarantining, so keep an eye out.

Okay so we all have the time I thought I’d write a kind of long author's note down here. Harry Potter is my all time favorite Fandom(and fun fact, was the first fandom I ever wrote for) and I definitely don’t give it the love it deserves here on my page.

Sirius Black *chefs kiss while sobbing* That man taught me how to love. He was my first true male character love.

My Fan-Casting has always been a little different then everyone else’s, but lately I’ve really tightened up my dream cast and I love it so much so I thought I’d share(obvs, please feel free to imagine whoever you want in these roles):

Sirius Black: Okay this is probably the only casting I have that is like OG dawn of time Sirius fan cast. BEN BARNES IS SIRIUS BLACK. He always will be to me and nothing will ever change my mind. I imagine Ben with like some Harry Styles mannerisms when I write my Sirius.

James Potter: Chance Perdomo. James Potter was brown and that is that. Chance won me over as Ambrose in Sabrina. He’s so cheeky and thoughtful and arrogant and perfect.

Lily Evans(Potter): Sophie Skelton! This is actually a pretty popular cast for her which makes me so happy because Sophie is so perfect for Lily. I could never get behind the Karen Gillian wave. Sorry.

Remus Lupin: Daniel Sharman- I recently came across a post with Daniel as a young Remus and omg my life is changed for the better!

Peter Pettigrew: Okay so I feel like Peter is so hard to cast- but when I think of Rowling’s book desript of him I always come back to one actor. Jonah Hill. I feel like he would tear this part uppppp. Also he’s plus sized unlike all the other actors I always see people fc him with.

Marlene McKinnon: Okay so idk where this came from but I’ve always seen Marlene as Latina? Like always. Her fc has jumped around for me but has recently landed, hard, on Ana De Armas

Dorcas Meadows: Ashley Blaine Fearherson!!! Dorcas is cannonly black which I fucking love because she was so bad ass that Voldemort’s bitch ass had to go take her out himself. A queen. She’s always been a fave of mine

Alice Longbottom: Florence Pugh! She didn’t make much of an appearance in this particular one shot but I love her!

Frank Longbottom: So I know Nevilles like really white in the movies, but I’ve never been able to get over Diego Luna as Frank. Sweet sunshine man.

#Sirius Black #sirius black x plus size reader #sirius black x reader #harry potter #ben barnes #ben barnes x plus size reader #Sirius black x plus sized reader #billy russo #billy russo x plus sized reader #Jilly #james and lily #james potter #lily evans #marauders #wolfstar

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your-ace-cousin-clover · 3 years

Note

ahhhh hi sorry for the LATE response, life's been kinda wild lately

anyway, i'm really glad you liked the poem & i don't mind you sharing it :)

(plus, a new prompt sounds nice)

(&btw, richard siken's new book is gonna be called "blue jupiters" (as far as i know copper canyon press will publish it))

also, happy you liked the recs! i found it cool how you said "the way god chooses to escape from his own reality through someone who does not believe enough in him to question him at first"! couldn't have put it better myself.

(sorry if this ask seems all over the place, i just have to get somewhere and i'm gonna be mad late - but i really want to finally send a response)

i enjoyed your recommendations a lot so let me elaborate real quick-

the problem with travel:

right off the bat, same.

traveling does always make me feel like i'm starting a new chapter and i should act accordingly.

love "kill the kid stuff, start to act my numbers" - the choice of words you use when writing is so important. (thats why i cant judge anyone who spends a long ass time on thesaurus! sometimes writing really does feel like looking through a lost & found or fishing the right word out of a goodwill bin! flipping through a magazine in search for the right word to cut out and stick on your collage!) imagine how substantially different the poem would sound if limon had written "start to act my age" instead of "start to act my numbers"

"[...] - we’re small

and flawed, but I want to be

who I am, going where

I’m going, all over again."

this^ part kills me in a good way

accident report in the tall, tall weeds:

"my ex got hit by a bus"

gets right to the point. kinda like a short story? an immediate jump into action

i might've said this before but i like it when poems tell stories (i mean i guess they all do, in a way, but i specifically mean the ones that have clear characters? if that makes sense)

"No tampering with the great universal brake wires."

ahhh yeah - when you feel like a thought can cause real life consequences

"When the plane went down in San Francisco,

I thought of my friend M. He’s obsessed with plane crashes.

He memorizes the wrecked metal details,

the clear cool skies cut by black scars of smoke.

Once, while driving, he told me about all the crashes:

The one in blue Kentucky, in yellow Iowa.

How people go on, and how people don’t.

It was almost a year before I learned

that his brother was a pilot.

I can’t help it,

I love the way men love."

^ don't you love it when a poem beats your heart to a pulp?

"What I saw in the men who came before,

sometimes I don’t want to say this out loud,

was someone I could hold up to my ear

and hear the ocean, something I could say my name into,

and have it returned in the inky waves."

self recognition through the other! yeah! sometimes people are people and sometimes people are mirrors and i know this wasn't her point but aren't we all just saying "hey! this is how i feel! do you feel like that too?" and sometimes "language is complicated but i think you know exactly what i mean and i know what you mean too!" and "when our experience overlaps the cosmic alone-ness becomes bearable!"

shit i'd love to drop another rec but i REALLY have to go now! hope to hear from you soon

-cat

Well, lmao Cat now, I'm the one who's late in replying, but yeah, I've been really busy. Now, I've got a bit of a time to reply to your ask.

First of all, "Don't You Wonder, Sometimes?" by Tracy Smith is a really interesting poem especially centred around Bowie. I love how the poet makes Bowie into a mythical being, like a sort of a spirit rather than a mortal man.

"Not God, exactly. More like-

Some thin-hipped glittering Bowie-being"

I love how the poem takes in the spirit of Bowie as something that will keep living on -

"Saying nothing is lost, that everything lives on waiting only

To be wanted back badly enough?

Bowie will never die. Nothing will come for him in his sleep

Or charging through his veins. And he’ll never grow old,"

It's just a beautiful way to think of the artist living on despite their death. They live through those they have touched with their art as well as their art themselves.

"In which I’m forever a child looking out my window at the night sky

Thinking one day I’ll touch the world with bare hands

Even if it burns."

And I just simply love these lines ^^^ . I love the poem touches up on reincarnation. It's interesting as it mentions how people are reincarnated a few times and then, they go to the beyond.

"And how many lives

Before take-off, before we find ourselves

Beyond ourselves, all glam-glow, all twinkle and gold?"

And finally, I love how the deification fo Bowie continues making him into a cryptid? That's the best way I can describe it honestly.

"When a man his size can meet

Your eyes for just a blip of time

And send a thought like SHINE

SHINE SHINE SHINE SHINE

Straight to your mind. Bowie,

I want to believe you."

(I followed your style of picking up lines and talking about them - it's a pretty fun thing to do)

{Purple happens to be my fav colour so, yeah I annotated with purple}

And yeah, language is funky like that. Honestly, I love the fact that people swap art with each and it's like every though we're different, you go through the same emotions. No matter whatever niche emotion is, someone has already written about it! If they haven't, you can always write it!

This reminded of a favourite poem of mine (tw : homophobia and sort of death ? though) which reminds me of the awkwardness of telling people I'm queer / coming out to them. It's called Three A.M. by Jill McDonough.

Also, I've been reading some more stuff to rec them and to hear your thoughts on them. It's all food - themed because I really got into food poetry last week. And as I was talking to a lovely mutual about the intimacy of cooking food and feeding someone.

I'd highly rec the movie "Big Eden". It's a wonderful gay rom-com movie with no homophobia at all and a lot of intimate cooking and wanting to make sure that your crush is loved and taken care off.

But anyway -

Having a Coke with You by Frank O'Hara

Perhaps the World Ends Here by Joy Harjo

The Orange by Wendy Cope

For Grace, After A Party by Frank O'Hara

Eating Together by Li-Young Lee

And these two posts are where I got these poems from, so perhaps you could read the other ones in the list.

Food Poems 1

Food Poems 2

And also, you're into Succession! Yay!! Are you into Tomgreg? If you're not, that's chill. But, like more Tomgreg people the better. I'd love to hear your thoughts about the show too! :) And like I said before, I really enjoyed your Kendall edit! Did you get a chance to watch my Tomgreg edit? It's called Don't Blame Me, I put it on my Tumblr. (No pressure if you can't)

And I have to ask, because I forgot, what are your pronouns, Cat? I use she/they. I just wanted to ask what you want me to use while referring to you. And let me know if you wanna do another poetry writing swap again.

Anyway, that's it for now! Let me know what you think! I hope to hear from you soon :)

#Cat Anon #Succession #Poetry #Clover speaks #Food

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writingformadderton · 4 years

Text

Please come back to me💙

Ship: Madderton

Word Count: 1753

Summary: Richard gets a call one evening from Taron after having a fight a few days before. T is driving to him and gets involved in a car accident, which sends him to a coma. Since that day Richard is by his side every day, waiting patiently for him to wake up. The regret not telling Taron about his feelings breaks him, every day a little more.

Additional Tags: angst, coma, car accident, mention of blood, first kiss, best friends, lovers, comfort, soft, fluff

Based on a request

Richard looks up confused when his phone rings with the special tone he put in for Taron. What did he want now? "Hey," he sighs.

"Hey, I wanted to talk to you…I'm actually driving to you now," T says and stops at a red light. "I'm... I hope I’m not bothering you today," he rubs his face and waits for his best friend’s answer.

"No, it's fine. I have nothing to do anyway, when are you gonna be here?" Rich asks and looks around his living room. It’s all cleaned up which makes him feel relaxed.

"Three minutes or so," Taron says and starts driving again. "Rich, I know I said some stuff that was awful. I wanna make it good again."

Richard rubs his face and thinks back to their argument a few days ago. Taron had been enormously drunk, spilled some secrets in front of his friends and teased Rich because of his insecurities. Since then Taron has been extremely sorry and wants to make it good again. "Taron, it's.. it's okay. We're gonna talk about it."

"I'm sorry, I know I messed up. Rich I-."

Suddenly Richard hears him pushing the brakes and a loud crash. "Taron?" he asks and fear creeps up in him when he doesn't get an answer. "Taron?!" Did he just have a car crash? He ends the call and rushes outside to the car. His heart races when he drives a few streets further and already sees the ambulance.

A paramedic quickly makes sure he knows Taron and then he lets him step into the ambulance. Rich falls down heavily on the seat next to the stretcher where Taron lies, blood all over his face and closed eyes. He's pale which makes the blood look even darker and he moans in pain. T opens his eyes, groaning and turns his head to the side blinking slowly. "Rich," is all he says and Richard hears him.

He doesn't care about the paramedic sitting next to him and takes Taron’s hand carefully into his. "Hey, I'm here."

Taron looks at him with half closed eyes. "I'm sorry, Richard. For everything."

"Shh, have some rest now. We're gonna talk when you're better, yeah?" Rich says and strokes his knuckles swallowing hard.

"I don't wanna die, Richie," he chokes out and coughs, contorting his face in pain. "I don't want to." Tears are rolling down his cheeks.

"Taron, calm down. You're not going to die. We're driving to hospital and-." Richard gets cut off by T bending in pain and moaning loudly before his eyes fall close and his head tilts sideways, his hand sliding out of Richard’s. Rich softly gets pushed away by the paramedic who's telling the driver that Taron is unconscious.

A bit later they knew it wasn't just Taron passing out. Taron had fallen into a coma and his body had been fighting against it for the last four months.

Rich sits on his bedside and watches him silently. He comes here almost every day since the accident, still waiting for his mate to wake up again. Sometimes he tells him about his day, what he missed or just sits there in silence holding his hand. He often starts humming Taron’s favorite song and it always brings him to tears because it's so ironic--Someone Saved My Life Tonight.

But most of the time Richard is mad at himself. He has been in love with Taron for so long and he missed his chances to tell him over and over again. And now he's lying here, right in front of him and his chance is gone. He doesn't know if Taron will ever wake up again or survive his coma at all, and it kills him sitting there not being able to do anything at all.

"I miss you so much, T," he says and tries to fight the upcoming tears. And once more he buries his face in their tangled hands and starts sobbing quietly. "Please come back to me, I can't lose you. I just can't," he begs and tries to calm down.

Through tears he sees Taron’s beautiful eyes closed, his face without any emotion and his fluffy hair that's a complete mess. His thumb strokes over his cheek while he bites his lip trying to get himself together. He kind of wants to stroke over his head but he doesn't. It feels wrong touching him so softly when Taron’s not present mentally.

Taron feels like he's trapped in a big dark room. He can't move, he can't speak and he can't think in a straight way. But what the strangest of it all was, he couldn't get out of it. Whatever he tries to do, he can't open the door and get outside to see light again.

He feels immensely cold and left alone most of the time. Sometimes he feels like his best mate Rich is right next to him, like a voice from the outside keeping him alive. He would give everything to be able to hug him and just feel safe and loved in the light again.

He sees the good moments between them all the time flashing by in front of his closed eyes. Laughing and dancing, singing or cuddling. He sees Richard’s deep blue eyes, his always perfectly styled hair and hears his calming voice.

And sometimes he has this tune in his head. It keeps playing over and over again. Someone Saved My Life Tonight. And somehow he knows something is wrong with this dark cold world he's in now. He fights against it, tries to open the door and keeps this song in his mind.

Richard is at home when he gets a call from Taron’s mum. "Hey Richard, I am so sorry. I know you've been with him today and I-." she starts crying and Richard heart starts kicking in his chest.

"What's wrong?" he asks, scared and feels panic rising in his body. Please say he's okay. He stumbles over to a chair and sits down heavily.

"They think he's gonna wake up tonight. I can't be with him, because of the girls and I wanted to ask if you maybe-."

"I'll be there," he says and Taron’s mother thanks him and tells him to call her. He promises it and ends the call. Tears fill his eyes and he presses his hand in front of his mouth. Could it be possible that he wakes up? The tears start rolling down his face and he starts sobbing again. But this time they are tears of hope.

When he arrives in hospital Taron isn't moving still and he sits down on his bedside. He rests his head on his arms on the mattress and looks at T. "Come on, you can do it," he whispers full of hope.

He wakes up when someone bops his nose. Richard opens his eyes confused and looks into a pair of blueish green eyes. He jumps up and presses his hands in front of his mouth trying to hold himself together. Tears are streaming down his face and he can't get anything out. He breaks down on the chair sobbing and buries his face in his hands.

"Hey, come here," T says and rolls aside tiredly. When he opened his eyes half an hour ago, a nurse stood next to him and went away to get a doctor. They explained to him that he was in a coma for almost four months. As soon as they left Taron saw Richard sitting there next to him sleeping and he remembered how he told Richard he doesn't want to die in the ambulance. He remembers that his blue eyes were the last thing he had seen. And now almost four months later he was still here.

Richard sits down next to him and tries to control himself. But seeing him awake and hearing him talking is too much. He wraps his arm around Taron and pulls him close. T takes his hand and feels his own eyes filling with tears.

"You're still here? After all this time you're still coming to see me?" Taron asks with a shaking voice and tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Of course, Taron! I was here every day since the accident," Rich answers and now he strokes over his head, running his fingers through his fluffy hair.

"Why?" T asks and his voice cracks. "I hurt you!"

"I love you," Richard chokes out and swallows hard. That was fast.

"What?"

"I'm here because I love you. Like really love you," he explains and looks at him with fear in his eyes. "If that's too much now, I'm okay with that. I-."

"You love me?" Taron asks with a thin voice and sniffs. Richard nods and T feels his heartbeat increasing. "I kept on seeing you when I was in a coma. You, you, you. I love you too."

Rich presses his lips together and rubs his face. "I promise I'll take care of you!"

"I know. You always did," T admits and strokes his cheek. He leans forward and they sink into a salty and wet kiss due to the tears. But it's perfect for them.

"Oh fuck." Rich pulls back and takes out his phone. "Promised your mum I’d call her."

A bit later Taron’s mum rushes in and pulls him into a tight hug crying. Rich leaves them alone and goes for a walk through the corridors. He bites his lower lip and can't believe how lucky he really is. Taron is back and he loves him.

A few days later Taron can go home and asks Richard if he can stay with him. Rich says yes and so they are lying in bed together cuddling. "Richie?" T suddenly says.

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared." Taron mumbles and cuddles deeper into him.

"What? Why are you scared, love?" Richard asks, concerned and looks down on his golden boy.

T looks up to him and he sees fear and shame in his eyes. "I'm afraid of sleeping and not waking up again."

Rich softly strokes over his head and wraps the blanket close around him. "You don't have to. I'll be here and I'm staying with you. You're not alone, bub."

Taron smiles weakly and nods. "Okay."

Richard can hear him breathing deep and peacefully after a while and he looks down at him a bit scared. But Taron’s expression is completely peaceful, with a small smile on his lips. His lover is just asleep.

@dreamingwolfthings @onceuponadetectivedemigod @primaba11erina @guns-n-marvel @shereighties @honkycrowley @multicoloredchicken @sarahegerton96

#taron egerton #Richard Madden #madderton #taron egerton fanfiction #taron egerton fic #taron egerton fluff #Taron egerton angst #richard madden fic #richard madden fanfiction #richard madden fluff #Richard madden angst #madderton fic #madderton fanfiction #madderton fluff #madderton angst

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ournewoverlords · 5 years

Text

Rocketman is great, go see it!

I'm not the man they think I am at home Oh no no no I'm a rocket man Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone

Oh man, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this movie. I’m apathetic towards biopics and I barely know any Elton John songs outside the Disney ones (yes, I’m a heathen, my excuse is that I didn’t get to America until 1995 and some combination of Britney and N’Sync consumed my formative years) but I had a big doofus grin throughout this movie and discovered a lot more sympathy for a celebrity I had in the back of my head as “the eccentric old dude who seems nice enough but probably doesn’t have all his marbles?”. That’s not because the film glamorizes Elton John by any means - it literally starts out with him declaring he’s done a great many horrible things, and concludes with him sighing that he’s been a cunt since 1975 - but you see the man inside the glittery bird costume, broken but trying, and I think that makes it a success in my book.

It’s a “musical fantasy” - honestly, a straight-up musical - that hits some pretty familiar narrative beats: main character bursts into rehab in the opening, looking like he needs a shower, a shave, and a hug, and now we’ll learn how he got there. No surprises, but it’s a clever way of unspooling his character arc as the movie progresses, because we watch him start his account with flat-out lies - “my dad was great, always there for me” - and then as he keeps going, it starts pouring out of him and he can’t help but begin to confront the truth. One character arc, the literal arc, is about his downfall, but the other one - the one behind it - is about his healing. It’s not an “X happened, then Y happened” kinda biopic, the journey here is as much inward as temporal - this is Elton, coming back to face the words a musician early in his career told him: “You gotta kill the person you were born as in order to become the person you want to be.” But who is the person Elton wants to be? What if the person he wants to be is just... himself?

And who is that, anyways? What I love about the movie is how it’s interested in what’s behind all the glam, the glitter, the outrageous costumes and crazy heels and rock n’roll - but it’s not afraid of those things either. You don’t have to be one or the other, extrovert or introvert, dazzling showman or a shy kid who only ever wanted to play for himself. Because the man IS fucking fabulous, he clearly had big emotions and a big life, and what I love about this movie is how it’s not afraid to throw itself into that, the same way camp is a kind of defiance against both the people who take life too seriously, and the people who don’t take it seriously enough. It punctuates again and again that this whole thing is about the hole in Elton’s heart, the hole that one’s parents are supposed to fill, and how his outrageous talents both lift him out of there and then give him too many things to fill it with — luxury clothes, booze, sex, drugs, eating disorders, pushing away the only people who care for him as if self-hatred were its own addiction. It’s a bottomless pit, and the struggle Elton faces is whether there’s anything worth salvaging at the bottom of it. It doesn’t sound like a very heroic choice, but it is: choosing life.

Some notes I jotted down right after watching, spoilers under the cut:

There were some things I didn’t think worked as well, though it wasn’t that they were bad, just that I wish there was more there.

For example, I thought that the final sequence where the characters from his past re-appear in this kind of cliched therapy sequence felt a bit too on-the-nose and forced, or at least clunky compared to the deftness of many of the earlier scenes. As a climax, it didn’t really land for me. This is part of my general wish that the story had more “meat” on it — i.e., a bit more prose and less verse — because it feels like it should be building up to this realization that Bernie was the one who truly loved him this whole time (not romantically I mean, but, in the more meaningful sense, properly). Because Bernie essentially becomes a peripheral character after their initial honeymoon — he’s always kinda in the background, but they drift apart over the years to underline Elton’s fall — so their relationship doesn’t have as much weight as it could’ve to me even though it is a thread that runs throughout the movie.

Don’t get me wrong — the scenes they have together are sublime, especially that “Your Song” scene, where the look Elton gives him really makes me wonder if Elton’s aborted kiss really was just a young man confusing his momentary giddiness for a crush. Jamie Bell gives this wonderfully gentle performance that keeps him as this North star in your mind, the one you want Elton to find home by. I just wanted more, especially in the latter half of the film, because I think the core of this film is about a love story, between Elton John and the things that save him: his best friend, and his love for music.

That’s my critique of the film in general, if I had to have one — despite running over two hours long, there’s some parts that feel oddly compressed or skimpy. John Reid, Richard Madden in an incredible performance as Elton’s frighteningly intense yet undeniably attractive business (and pleasure!) partner with the Hugo Boss suit and smoldering black eyes, goes from what girls want the dude in Fifty Shades to be to an abusive, cold-blooded asshole in the span of what feels like two scenes and ten minutes. It’s like one second, Elton’s star is rising and he’s flying high — and then in the next, he’s snorting coke, fighting with John, and drinking too much. It is heavily implied that: 1) getting famous was synonymous with doing drugs at the time, and because of Elton’s personality he couldn’t brake (but I still wish they made this subtext a bit more text) and 2) that behind this lurch downwards is his inability to be honest about his sexuality — John, of course, wants him to marry a beard “for the business” — but it’s strange that that’s not brought up earlier as a theme, when he was secretly getting kissed by the trumpeter and then happily trysting with John.

“Living a double life”, though, is a huge theme in another way: it’s the contrast between Elton’s happy, extravagant show life and Reginald Dwight, a lonely little boy trapped inside a miserable man trapped inside a mansion that provides so much of the pathos in the “adult” years of the film. None of the fame and fortune have brought him love, only adoration. If that’s a familiar thesis in biopics about famous people, it still works for me here because Taron Egerton’s performance is just SO GOOD. He gives it his all in every moment, not just the big singing and dancing ones. Behind all the little drug-induced twitches and grimaces of self-loathing (but also just the tiiiny bit of ego all great performers have), you can see the sweet kid who deserved better, who just wants to “go home”, if only he could find it.

I think the fundamental reason behind my “I wish there were more stuff” is the fact the movie structures itself after a musical, and for musicals the non-singing parts are more about how you get from one big singing part to the other. That’s a hard space for a biopic, especially one that gets into pretty serious territory and has years to cover; song and dance end up competing with time for character work. But the director does something I think is really clever, though, and that’s to use those musical sequences as part of the story — the moments flow into the song, and the song crystallizes the moment/theme/feeling in this natural way. They’re not an excuse to check off Elton John’s biggest hits, but rather fulfill a cinematic purpose in capturing an emotional rather than factual truth.

Not just the songs, but there are a number of these deft little scenes I really liked because they make the “point” in a single shot/cut/image, with very little dialogue. Some examples:

- The first time Elton and Bernie meet, Bernie mentions the country song Elton’s prospective manager had just disparaged and Elton kinda smirks, then in the next beat realizes that maybe that was kinda asshole, and he clumsily hums out the first verse, and Bernie perks up and follows with the next, and soon they’re both banging on the diner table and singing it together with huge grins. What’s especially great about this scene is that you can’t figure out if they’re doing this in “reality” and everyone thinks they’re crazy, or if this is one of those musical fantasy sequences. The point is that the distinction between them doesn’t matter, because that sequence is about the feeling of the moment, and at that moment they feel connected. Love at first sight.

- The scene where many years later Elton, now successful and dare-we-say perhaps even hopeful that his father might accept him now, finds the man with his new house and family — and after the expected awkward intro it seems to be going ok, his father’s invited him to come sit and chat inside. So there’s his father sitting on the couch… and then this pair of boys, his new sons, comes over and he just wraps his arm around them so easily, and your gut sinks instantly, before it even cuts to Elton, whose face has shattered all at once

- Nice studio girl, lifting her voice with his in his darkest moment -> cut to wedding -> cut to morning at the house, each opening their own door and greeting each other with an excruciating level of politeness. Says it all in three scenes.

- The levitation during his performance at The Troubadour. PERFECT. You can say “this and this happened”, “and then he gave an amazing performance”, but that’s not as powerful as showing the feeling Elton John must’ve felt during that performance: a lonely little boy turned struggling young man who felt, for just a moment, that he could fly.

- Another musical sequence - Elton’s suicide attempt, where they carry him onto the ambulance and he keeps batting away the oxygen mask to keep singing. It works on so many levels because he’s just a kid who wants to sing, he’s the star who was born to sing, but he’s also a man who doesn’t want to live.

#rocketman #rocketman review #taron egerton #richard madden

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dogbearinggifts · 5 years

Text

Missing in Action

Umbrella Academy

Author’s Note: This is Part Four of my Sheepdogs series. If this is the first time you’re seeing this series on your dash, I’d definitely recommend going back and starting with Part One, He Saw the Ghosts, a slight AU exploring what might have happened had Klaus spoken with a kinder vet in the VFW scene. Dead Ringer and Tattoos With Better Stories follow the vets he meets as they try to offer support while trying to determine just why he looks so much like an unidentified soldier in a fifty-year-old photo.

All installments are available on my AO3 account.

The man’s name was Arthur, and tracking him down had proven, from the beginning, to be more difficult than Richard liked.

Sometimes he enjoyed the search. He liked to find a clue and follow the breadcrumbs down a trail to a discovery both expected and surprising, examine and marvel at all the little facts he picked up along the way. He’d never been fond of puzzles, but after putting the metaphorical pieces together on more than one occasion, he thought he’d finally grasped the appeal.

But there was a difference between struggling to find where a puzzle piece fit and putting the picture together only to find pieces were missing.

The friend of a friend put Richard in touch with a friend, who wasn’t home but—thankfully—was up on answering messages. A call to the number Richard was given also ended at an answering machine, but he’d only waited a short while for a call back before his phone rang again.

“God, I’m sorry,” the friend—Trevor—said. “I forgot—he’s visiting one of his kids. You want the number where he’s staying?”

Under ordinary circumstances, Richard would have said no, he’d left a message and that would be fine; but thoughts of Klaus made him hesitate. Accept the number and interrupt the man’s vacation, or delay the call and delay answers until after Klaus showed his face again—perhaps long after.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter. He’d faced Klaus more than once without an answer to a single one of the questions the younger man raised; doing so again wouldn’t be impossible. The kid needed a place to run to, a friend to listen. Richard could provide that without knowing where he’d come from or where he’d served or even his last name.

And yet….

He couldn’t face Klaus again, not with all those questions nagging at him. Not with doubt gnawing away at compassion and suspicion threatening to push concern aside.

“You sure he won’t mind?”

“Nah. If he can’t talk, he’ll let you know.”

Richard wrote the number down, thanked Trevor and hung up, but didn’t dial it immediately. The digits scrawled on a piece of notepaper—they were just a number. A sequence that would bring an interlude to a stranger’s visit with his family, if not grind it to a halt. Maybe things would stop there, end with the voice on the other end of the line announcing that he knew next to nothing about the unnamed soldier in the photo.

But maybe not.

Richard brushed a thumb over the paper. It was just a number, but it felt like a key.

Arthur preferred to be called Art, and if a stranger intruding on a family visit bothered him, his voice didn’t show it.

“I’ve spent the last forty years bouncing around the whole country,” he said with a laugh when Richard apologized for the interruption yet again. “Probably made me hard to track down.”

“Just a bit.”

Art laughed again. “So you want me to come on down today, tomorrow, when?”

Richard glanced again at the number he’d taken down. He’d been told the man had somewhat settled in Arizona, but the area code looked familiar. “How close are you?”

“’Bout forty minutes away.”

So his daughter had wound up in one of those towns scattered around the city, the ones that lured tourists in with a cultivated quaintness and a Main Street designed to separate them from their money. “We’ve got his photo at the VFW here in town.”

“I can get there tomorrow. You got directions?”

Art beat Richard and Jim to the VFW, and despite only starting his walk once hands were shaken and introductions made, he beat them inside and reached the memorial wall a few paces before they did.

“This the guy?”

Even before he closed the gap, Richard knew which soldier his pointing finger highlighted. “That’s him.”

A smile tugged at one corner of Art’s mouth and then the other, but no sooner had it spread than it lost whatever innocence it might have had, turning wistful at best. He shook his head. “Should’ve known Klaus would show up in the last place you’d expect.”

The name was like a thunderclap. Richard tried to think of something, anything to say besides asking him to repeat it, something that wasn’t incoherent stammering.

“Klaus?” If Art heard Jim’s voice increase in pitch, he didn’t show it. “That’s his name?”

“His parents were ahead of the curve, I guess.”

“My great-grandpa’s name was Orange.” Richard wasn’t sure how he managed to get the words out at all. “Married a woman named Blossom and never heard the end of it.”

“Klaus. He have a surname?” Jim asked. It sounded casual enough, but Richard heard the strain in it, the forced nonchalance.

“Hargreeves.” Art frowned, looking to the photo again. “Always did think that was weird, once the Academy started making headlines.”

Klaus wasn’t too unusual of a name—not like Orange. It hadn’t been the sort of name most mothers would bestow upon their children back in the forties, but it had existed. So had Hargreeves. If the parents of a perfectly harmless baby boy who had done nothing to deserve it could nevertheless choose to saddle him with a name like Orange back in 1843, then a Mrs. Hargreeves in the 1930s or 40s could name her son Klaus.

Richard tried for an unhurried gait as he moved closer to the photograph of the unnamed soldier—toward Klaus Hargreeves, if Art wasn’t the perpetrator of the world’s strangest and most twisted practical joke. Maybe if he were able to remove it from its frame and study it without the glass, he’d be able to find some discrepancy between this Klaus and the one he knew. It was the light, he decided. The light kept him from seeing it clearly, gave an admittedly spooky coincidence more meaning than it deserved.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Art frown. “You okay?”

Richard didn’t try for a smile, or even a reassuring tone. Art struck him as a smart guy—too smart to be brushed off with something like that. “You want to sit down?”

There was a table somewhat close to the photo, and that was where they set up operations. Jim fetched a few drinks from the bar and passed them around; Art held onto his beer a moment before speaking.

“You know, I figured I’d just come in and name the guy.”

Richard kept both hands wrapped around his soda as he tried to find the proper words. It was tempting to toss all the cards on the table and let Art sort them out—but there was still a chance that all this was a coincidence or something darker. Throwing everything out into the open could muddy the waters before they had an inkling of what lurked beneath.

“We’ve had some….weird shit happen, these last couple of days,” Jim said without looking up. “And it all ties back to that guy in the photo.”

“To Klaus,” Art said.

“Yeah,” Jim said with a hint of a sigh. “To Klaus.”

“We still don’t know shit about him,” Richard added, motioning between himself and Jim. “But you do. Maybe you can help us clear a few things up.”

Art fell silent, gazing down at his beer. Richard tried not to hold his breath, tried not to let anticipation and disquiet show on his face. He tried not to watch, too, but that proved fruitless. Slowly, Art’s expression softened. Slowly, it became a smile.

“The guy was a trainwreck.” He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “But God, he was fun.”

He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. Richard had seen that smile before, wry and expectant all at once—the smile of a man who knew he had some good stories to share.

“This one time, I was just sitting there, minding my own business, and Klaus walks up, plops himself into my lap and goes ‘Trust fall!’” He chuckled again. “Of course, he didn’t get to that part until I was already cussing him out.”

It wasn’t that Richard forgot the reason for Art’s presence. It wasn’t that he tossed the purpose of hearing his stories aside. But as Art told another story followed by another, as he relaxed into memories he may not have shared before, reason and purpose took a backseat. They remained in the back of his mind, but he was laughing too hard to hear their guidance.

Richard still hadn’t gotten his wind back from laughter at the last story when Art slapped the table. “The ghost moose! Almost missed that one.”

Jim coughed on his beer. “The what moose?”

Art leaned forward with his elbows propped on the table. He liked to do that and gesture broadly as he spoke, Richard had noticed. “So, Klaus didn’t know how to drive once he got in country.”

“How old was he again?” Richard asked.

Art frowned, as though he’d never considered the question before. “I…I dunno. Late twenties? Anyway.” He waved the question aside. “So we’ve got to teach him. He’s in the driver’s seat, bumping along—and there’s nobody for miles. Out in the middle of nowhere. But everything seems to be going great, he’s finally getting the hang of it, and then all of a sudden—bam! Guy slams on the brakes, almost pitches us all out. We’re all ‘What the hell, you almost got us killed,’ and he just stares at the road a minute and then he goes, ‘I thought I saw a….moose.’”

“You’re shitting me,” Jim said.

“Nope.” Art chuckled. “He said it just like that, too—like he knew he had all of two seconds to think of something good and that’s what he came up with.”

Richard gulped his soda. “A moose.”

“Yep.”

“In Vietnam.”

“That’s what the rest of us said, but he goes, ‘Well, maybe they lived here millions of years ago and now there’s a ghost moose walking around, ever think of that?’”

Art grinned through the laughter that followed.

“I’ll bet that story took off,” Richard said when he’d straightened out enough to speak.

“God, yes. After that, every goddamn shadow we saw was the ghost moose. Officers pull some new bullshit? Ghost moose. Mail’s delayed again? Ghost moose.”

Richard grinned. “Did the ghost moose have a name?”

“Spurlock,” Art said after another gulp of his drink. “Think it was Charlie who said we should call him Reginald. I thought it was a great name for a moose, but Klaus didn’t like that one, and since the ghost moose was his idea—”

“You wanted to go with something he liked,” Jim finished.

“Yep. Not sure where he came up with Spurlock, but it stuck.”

The name sounded familiar, but Richard couldn’t quite place it. He was still trying to match it to a face, a news article or anything else when Art nodded to the photograph on the wall.

“Every man in that picture came up with at least one story about the ghost moose. Dave started writing them all down one night. Gave the collection some long and important name, like For Those Who Have Seen Shall Never Unsee: Visages of Meese in Their Spectral Forms. But those stories...God, they were wild. That moose was into some weird shit.”

As much as he wanted to remain where the stories and laughter had brought him, Richard couldn’t ignore the nudging back toward the purpose of the whole meeting. “Dave….Katz?”

Art nodded. “He and Klaus were pretty close.”

Richard thought the way Art averted his gaze signaled something more behind those words, but the silence lasted less than a moment before Art shook his head slightly.

“Klaus was no idiot, though. Said some dumb shit, but he was a smart guy.”

Jim gave a wry smile. “Think everybody served with that guy sometime.”

“Better than a dumb guy who says a lot of smart shit,” Richard added.

“Yeah….” Jim exhaled, setting his beer on the table. “Served with him, too.”

“I tell you he knew Nixon would get elected?

Richard couldn’t say what about the question sent a jolt through him, but he’d learned years before to listen to that. Instincts could be off, but they could also be like a sound from far away, signaling danger not yet visible. “No.”

“Yeah, we were talking about the race, who everybody was gunning for—and Klaus goes ‘Eh, Nixon’s just gonna win anyways.’” Art shook his head again. “Figured it was the drugs talking, but come November, guess who’s president?”

The image of Klaus stumbling into a laundromat, covered in sweat and on his way to another club, resurfaced in Richard’s mind, but he pushed the thought back. “He knew?”

“Said it was a lucky guess.”

Richard looked to Jim, saw the same disquiet he felt reflected back, and pressed on. “Nixon won with—what? Forty-three percent?”

“Something like that.”

“And he just said Nixon was gonna win.”

“Like he knew,” Jim added.

“Look, the guy….” Art paused, pressed his lips together. “He wasn’t the only one who used, all right? Not by a long shot. And he said a lot of things like that. Just weird shit. Some of it made sense, some didn’t. But at the end of the day, he was a guy you wanted with you when shit hit the fan.”

Art sat back, and It took more of Richard’s willpower than he cared to admit to keep from slumping in his chair. He wasn’t defeated, he wasn’t chastised, because this wasn’t a fight. Just a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding he couldn’t clear up until he corralled the bizarre ideas and half-baked possibilities swirling through his head into something resembling coherent speech.

After a long silence, Jim was the one who spoke. “When’d he join your unit?”

“I don’t remember exactly when.” It was thoughtful, a consideration. There was still a hint of temper behind it, a note of irritation, but nothing more. “I know he did, since he wasn’t there from the beginning, but I don’t remember him ever joining. He was just kind of…there one day.”

“He ever say where he was from, when he got drafted?”

Art’s frown deepened. “Never did say. He was from here, though. Pretty sure.”

Jim’s questions had set Art pondering things he might not have pondered before—and sharpened the cold unease in Richard’s middle. Details no longer swirled past one another like debris in a tornado; they fell to the ground, snapped into place like pieces in a puzzle. He wasn’t sure he understood the picture they formed, but he needed to be sure. He nodded to the tattoo on Art’s bicep, the bottom half visible beneath his sleeve.

“Did everybody in your unit get that tattoo?”

“This one?” Art rolled up his sleeve, revealing the same tattoo Klaus had worn: a skull emblem below the words Sky Soldiers and 173rd Airborne Division. “Yep. Same place, same everything.”

Not quite the same. Where Art’s tattoo had faded and blurred with age, the one Klaus wore—the Klaus he’d met, at any rate—appeared more freshly inked. “How long was he there?”

Art looked down at the table. Any trace of mirth had vanished the moment questions took a turn he didn’t like, but Jim’s more routine inquiries had brought a sort of wistfulness, as if decent memories had begun to simmer at the back of his mind—the sort that needed no defense or explanation, only sharing. Every bit of cheer drained from him at Richard’s question.

“He didn’t even make it a year.”

Richard felt the bitterness in those words—had felt it time and again, when yet another friendship ended at the front line. He shut his eyes, trying to turn the flood of unwanted memories into a stream, turn the deluge into a current he could stand against.

“Him and Dave both. Fight ended, dust cleared. Dave was dead, Klaus was gone without a trace.” Art’s intake of breath shook. “Lost ‘em both that night.”

There was nothing to fill the silence that followed. Richard could have tried. Could have repeated some of the same platitudes he’d been given, knowing they’d remain empty no matter how much sincerity he poured into them.

Once again, Jim spoke first.

“You said they were close.”

It was an observation, and a gentle one at that. Art didn’t lift his gaze from the table, hands wrapped around his beer.

“You know, I think Dave might’ve been the first one to talk to him. Can’t say for sure, since I don’t remember when Klaus joined, but Dave? Saw the guy looking around like he still couldn’t figure out how the hell he wasn’t back in the States and thought That guy needs a friend.” His mouth tipped, more in rueful memory than genuine mirth. “There was a while, in the beginning, when the rest of us were wondering how the hell Klaus made it through basic without learning a goddamn thing, and Dave’s there with him, showing him what to do. Just all, ‘Try it that way. Do it like this. You got it.’”

The image of Klaus—the Klaus he knew—wearing David Katz’s dog tags surfaced in Richard’s mind. A quickly traded glance with Jim said his friend entertained similar thoughts—with similar disquiet.

“You never heard anything else, after he went MIA?” Richard asked.

Art exhaled. “I’m sure he’s dead by now.”

Now it was Jim’s turn to glance at Richard, meeting his gaze with a frown. Richard gave a small shrug, and Jim returned his attention to Art.

“You remember if he had any other tattoos?”

Art frowned. “Why?”

“Like Jim told you,” Richard said slowly, “there’s been some weird shit around that guy in the photo.”

“Yeah, but what do tats have to do with it?”

“We’re not sure we know, either,” Richard said.

Art gave them both a long look, let out a short sigh, and leaned forward. “Yeah. Had an umbrella on his forearm. I…always thought it kinda looked like the Academy logo, but never….”

His train of thought ended as his gaze shifted between Richard and Jim.

Richard knew he ought to speak. He didn’t trust himself to offer a full explanation, but he knew he should say a few words at least. Stammer something. Begin a sentence and end it too soon. But the more he fought for words, the more they eluded him. In his mind’s eye he saw Klaus concentrating on his knitting, Katz’s dog tags around his neck as the umbrella on his arm flicked in and out of view.

Klaus.

Klaus Hargreeves.

Klaus Hargreeves, haltingly asking about Richard’s time in Vietnam as he practiced stitches.

All the impossibilities bound up in that one, all the questions that went along with it, were nothing compared to that one certainty. He didn’t know how. He couldn’t say why. But in that moment, Richard would have bet money that the Klaus he knew, the Klaus Art knew, and the Klaus Reginald Hargreeves had adopted as an infant were one and the same.

Art’s gaze managed to pin them both down. “Are…you guys gonna tell me what’s going on, or….”

Richard drew a breath and then another. The first one shook, the second was steadier. He needed a way to phrase what he had to say, a means of softening it, but there was nothing. “I don’t think Klaus is dead.”

For a fraction of a second, Art’s face went entirely blank; then half a dozen emotions warred for dominance. Confusion. Shock. Anger. Relief. Despair.

Hope.

“If you’re shitting me—”

“I’m not. Swear to God, I’m not.”

“So what the hell made you say it?”

Richard opened his mouth to answer, traded a glance with Jim and thought better of it.

Jim drew a long breath and pointed to the photo on the memorial wall.

“Because I caught him crying over that picture just a few days ago.”

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy fanfic #tua fanfic #sheepdogs series #umbrella academy spoilers #klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klaus/dave #original characters #original character #oc #ghost moose #klaus in vietnam #klaus and dave in vietnam #vietnam war #klaus and dave during vietnam #klaus has army buddies #army buddies who miss him

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selfships-in-spanish · 5 years

Note

Man i could only imagine how quickly the mafia boys would come to Onas aid, someone brakes into her home and steal lot of shit n leaves her in a jam? The boys instantly go kill the man and then make sure their girl lives comfortably. Someone begins to harass her at work or somethin? they make sure the person regrets even being alive. Man i love them

Connor’s phone vibrating on his nightstand wakes him from his deep slumber. He lifts his head from the pillow, hair mussed in all directions, and looks at if as if it personally offended him. It kinda did, he was having a rather nice dream involving sweet smiles, soft curly white hair, and the voice of an angel saying sweet nothings to his ear.

Groaning he picked it up from the nightstand and blinked to see the caller ID.

Ona Boix

Oh.

OH.

He answered at the speed of light, his sleep deprived brain cells waking up instantly.

“This is Connor.”

He heard sobbing noises on the other side of the line, heavy breaths in between.

“Connor? Connor--” a strong wail came out after. More crying.

“Fuck! Fuck, Ona where are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he spurred in action, almost kicking down his brother’s door.

Richard woke up with a knife on his hand, ready to murder the intruder. But he saw his brother and his worried expression, phone glued to his ear, and dropped it. He heard whimpering noises coming from the device.

“Okay, okay breathe. I’m with Richard, we are coming okay? We are on our way.” Richard heard more distressed noises, making out a please somewhere in the middle. He recognised that voice and he did not like that at all. “We are coming to you, okay?” Richard heard more affirmative noises and the call ended.

He asked no questions, not yet. Richard threw over his head the first t-shirt he found and some pants, looking for his socks and shoes. Connor ran back to his room to get dressed too, leaving the door between their rooms open. Once dressed and hair semi decent, they ran to the garage. As soon as Connor closed the door, Richard made the engine roar and speed up to Ona’s place. It was late, not much traffic, and honestly? Right now they didn’t give a single fuck about getting a speeding ticket. Something happened to Ona, that was a top tier priority.

Richard came to a screeching halt, parking just right in front of Ona’s apartment building. Closing the car, they both looked up to Ona’s windows, seeing the light on. Richard shouldered the front door open and Connor passed through it, racing up the stairs to her floor. Once there his heart stopped.

The door was broken, and from what he could see, the whole apartment was upside down. He came in, worry chilling his guts.

“Ona?” he called out, cautiously. He heard a sob and ran to it without thinking it twice. He found her curled on the floor at the feet of her bed. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying, tear tracks visible on her cheeks, being refreshed again and again. That sent him a pang through his entire body. He never wanted to see Ona like this ever again.

Connor knelt next to her, gently caressing her face and kissing her head as he coaxed her into his arms. He looked around the bedroom, seeing all the drawers and closets open and their insides spilled on the floor. Richard found them and knelt on the other side of Ona, touching her shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

“N-No, no I’m okay.” she sniffled, taking her wet face from Connor’s chest to look at Richard. “I just-- I came home, and, and found the door broken and open and-- “another sob, ”it’s gone, my things are gone, my TV, my switch, my belongings, even my grandma’s necklace-- “more heavy breathing,” I went to visit my parents for the weekend and when I came home tonight I saw this and I panicked, because, because I don’t have much and now it’s gone and I don’t know what to do. I won’t ever have anything back and-- joder!” she buried her face in her hands, another wave of crying taking over her.

The brothers looked at each other and nodded. Connor stood up, phone in hand. Richard took Ona to his arms and made her sit on her bed while he let her cry herself out, softly kissing the crown of her head.

“We will see what we can do, okay? But for now I need you to stay here with me and help me pack, just for a couple of days, alright?

“W-what?”

“C’mon, we are going to take you somewhere safe. Connor and I will take care of this.” He gently coaxed her to stand up and rummage around the thrown pieces of fabric. They found a suitcase on the other side of the room and opened it on top of the bed. They filled it with what Ona could salvage and closed it. He took the bag she used for the weekend and deposited next to the closed suitcase.

Connor was on living room talking to the phone. He was already moving strings to find out who was the fucker who did this. They were going to pay dearly for it. The house was a mess, they took their sweet time taking it apart and stealing everything of worth. They knew Ona didn’t make that much, that this was a small place and she really didn’t have much of an option, but it infuriated them anyways.

Richard and Ona came to the living room just as Connor was ending his phone call, having a lead. Ona looked around with a heavy heart, not wanting to think how was she going to get back on her feet after this. Maybe she could ask for extra hours, filling for someone who wanted some early vacation days, or she could ask for an early payment, or-- Gods, what would she do now?

Connor took her out of her dark thoughts by gently taking her hands.

“Let’s go. We will sort this in the morning, okay? Now you need to rest, we will take care of it”

“Please I don’t want to be a burden. I can go back to my parents for a while, I’m sure they won’t mind.”

Richard took the suitcase and her back from her hands, already marching down the stairs to the car, ignoring Ona’s protests. Connor made her step out of her ruined apartment and closed the door, making her march down the stairs with his arm securely holding her close to him. Once on the street, Richard was already waiting for them with the door open and the engine on, a worried expression on his face. Connor got her in and kissed her hand as he went to the copilot’s seat. Richard drove back to the mansion in absolute silence. Connor fiddled with the radio, asking Ona if she wanted something in particular. She shrugged her shoulders, settling for whatever they preferred. The radio put on an old song, surely Father would know it by name and year.

Ona did have half a mind to look around and be completely taken aback. It was huge, well cared for and it yelled money everywhere she looked. She felt out of place.

They took her inside, the maids already prepared a room for her next to the brothers. Her suitcase and bag were already there, the clothes gone from them and a note that they took it to the laundry room. Oh. There was a very beautiful and expensive-looking pajama waiting for her on the bed, slippers on the floor. The brothers left her to get changed, patiently waiting outside as two guard dogs. She timidly opened the door to let them know she was finished, some droplets of water still clinging to her strands. She let them in, Richard closing the door. Connor took her by the hand and made her lie down on the bed, him following after discarding his shoes and socks. Richard did the same, getting on her other side. She found herself sandwiched between the brothers, safe, their arms around her, Richard being the big spoon while Connor rested her against his chest. Ona fell asleep in a restless sleep, still too agitated by the prior events.

She woke up in a warm and secure cocoon provided by the brothers, not having left her side all night. It truly was a sight to see them with their hair mussed and out of place, having it always perfectly styled. As well as not wearing their expensive suits but plain t-shirts and jeans. Connor even had his mouth slightly open. Her giggle woke them up, Richard tightening his arms and pressing himself closer to her, while Connor snuggled closer. She could get used to wake up like this, if someone asked her.

They found who did it, caught them like street rats and strapped them to chairs.

Most of her possessions were retrieved, her switch neatly secured inside her protection case with all the games. Saves too. They even managed to find her grandmother’s necklace, secure in a new jewellery box. All was stored inside a van, ready to be taken to her new apartment Ona still didn’t know of. It was in a very secure neighbourhood, an attic with a beautiful view of the city and a big and sunny terrace ready to be filled with Ona’s plants rescued from her flat.

Richard and Connor smiled at the men’s whimpers, the tape muffling it.

“You thought you could get away with this, scum?” Connor stepped to the light, his smile sending chills over the thieves bodies. “You really thought you could steal in our territory, harm our beloved citizens, get away with it and feast on the dirty money like pigs?”

One of them whimpered, surely trying to plea for mercy. It was useless. Mercy was not something they gave.

“Not only you harmed our citizens, but one in particular. One we hold very, very dear to our hearts.”

Richard came into the light too, having his suit jacked discarded and neatly folded over a chair. He was rolling up the sleeves of his black turtleneck, his eyes drilling frozen holes on each of the thieves.

“And that has to be punished, don’t you think?” he looked at his brother with his eyebrows raised in a mocking question.

“Of course, my dear brother. Filthy thieves must pay for their sins. To set an example.”

Twin smiles looked back at the thieves. They trashed and screamed, crying for their lives as Richard approached them while Connor took a chair to enjoy the gruesome show.

His brother was ruthless but had the patience of a saint. He made sure they suffered for every tear and sob their beloved sunshine spilled. For every frown, every second her heart hurt. It was slow, painful, maddening.

Connor whistled in awe.

“Brother, I think this is your best work.” He looked at what formerly were the thieves bodies, now a bloody mess.

“This is what they get for hurting her. The only tears I wish to see falling from her eyes are tears of joy.”

“Indeed. Let the boys clean up, we gotta go.” he turned on his heel on a second thought, ”But you should clean yourself first, I doubt she will appreciate you being covered in blood.”

Richard looked down at himself and his ruined clothes. He clicked his tongue. Oh well.

“Thank God I brought spare clothes.”

“I got clean wipes somewhere. I knew you would make a mess”

Richard snorted.

“Always prepared, huh?”

“You offend me, Richard” Connor put a hand on his heart in mock disbelief.

Richard let out a short laugh, a rare thing to be heard and his brother was grateful to be blessed by it.

“C’mon, let’s go”

#dbh #detroit become human #detroit: bh #rk800 #rk800 x oc #rk800 x reader #rk900 x oc #rk900 x reader #rk800 x oc x rk900 #rk800 x reader x rk900 #mafia au #mius writes #tw: blood #just in case because let's not forget who they are #ask #anon #Anonymous

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luthienluinwe · 6 years

Text

Black Roses and Hail Marys

Inspired by artwork @xbullet-01

Jason Peter Todd, age 15, died on Saturday, December 22 while on an overseas trip with adoptive father, Bruce Wayne. He is preceded in death by parents Catherine and Willis Todd. He is succeeded in life by adoptive father Bruce Wayne and adoptive brother Richard Grayson. A closed-casket visitation will take place at Newcomer Funeral Home from 10 AM until 7 PM on Thursday, December 27. The funeral will take place on Friday, December 28, at 9 AM at the Gotham Cathedral with graveside service to follow. In lieu of flowers, expressions of sympathy may be made to the Hudson County Department of Child Services.

He crumpled the two-week old paper in his hands and threw it onto the floor, not caring where it had landed. It couldn’t be true. Jason wasn’t dead. Just a month ago, they’d been laughing together at the manor, Dick finally having warmed up to his replacement. Just two weeks ago they’d gone on patrol together and talked about all of the things Dick would be doing off-planet.

And now he was cold and stiff and pale and dead.

And Bruce hadn’t even bothered to give him a damned phone call.

He hadn’t even been able to go to the funeral.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and it wasn’t fair. He was able to stand there, complaining about something Jason would never be able to experience again.

He started to reach for the phone, teeth clenched. He rehearsed everything he wanted to say to Bruce in his head three times over. But his hand wouldn’t wrap around the receiver. He swore and punched the wall next to where the phone sat hanging, the pain in his knuckles not registering for several moments.

********

Dick had gone home to visit the family after a rough case with the Titans. He’d found out about the new kid from the papers and from some tense phone calls with Bruce and Alfred, but knowing and experiencing were two completely different things. “Hey,” he greeted Bruce and threw his bag onto his bed.

“You could’ve at least said hello to him,” Bruce crossed his arms and Dick rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well you could’ve at least told me about him,” he snapped.

He didn’t even regret it when he saw the younger boy’s head quickly duck out of view of the doorframe, when he heard the footsteps all but running down the hall.

*********

The rain was pouring down, but the water was hard to see against the black night sky. His suit clung to his skin, and he didn’t even care about how hard it was going to be to take off that much wet spandex once he got home. He had debated the outfit for hours. A suit was more appropriate, more formal, more traditional. But Jason had never done anything the traditional way.

Enough people would have worn suits to mourn him, people that sent flowers and Hallmark cards and pretended to care until the next big tragedy popped up. Jason’s name would fade away. Dick could see the future galas clearly in his head. “Oh, and remember that one boy? The one from Crime Alley? Such a shame what happened to him,” some woman with a diamond ring on her finger and diamond studs in her ears would say. “Ah, yes, a shame to die so young. What was his name? John? James?”

He wandered through the cemetery, long deserted by that hour, looking for the stone he least wanted to see. He passed the smaller graves with the tiny headstones. He passed the monuments for people that history had already forgotten.

And he saw it, gray and cold and unfeeling. Jason P. Todd. August 16, 1994 – December 22, 2009. May You Forever Soar the Skies.

Dick shook his head and stared at the stone. It wasn’t right. Jason had been fire. And now he was surrounded by ice.

*********

“Oh my God, we’re going to die,” Dick muttered and shut his eyes tightly, leaning his head against the back window of the car. On the list of bad ideas Bruce had come up with that week, Jason driving them to the gala was definitely near the top. By his count, they’d run two redlights (it was different when they were civilians) and nearly rammed into an elderly lady.

Bruce turned and shot him a glare. “At least he didn’t wreck the car two minutes after getting onto the freeway and use the goddamn brake!”

“Sorry,” Jason squeaked out, and Dick couldn’t help but smirk. At least Bruce was consistent with being tough on them.

He got out of the car, hanging behind Bruce, and waited for Jason to step out of the driver’s seat. “You did… okay,” he managed. “Just, I don’t know, relax or something, okay?”

“Hard to do when you’re being screamed at,” Jason muttered and crossed his arms. For a moment, Dick wondered what the kid’s deal was. All Bruce had told Dick was that Jason’s parents were dead and that he came from the bad part of town.

“Yeah, well, he does that,” Dick shrugged. “It’s how he shows he cares. Now let’s get inside. The sooner we make appearances the sooner we can disappear with Roy.”

He thought he saw a glimmer of a smile on the younger boy’s face. And just for a moment, he thought maybe having someone on his side wouldn’t be so bad.

**********

He clutched a single, long-stemmed rose in his hand. The thorns had torn through his glove and made his hand bleed, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t been sure of what to bring. A bouquet seemed too impersonal.

His chest was tight and his mouth was dry. Jason was just a kid. He’d just gotten his learner’s permit. He was going to ask the kid from his class out on a date. Now he was never going to get his license and he was never going to go on that date. He’d never get married. Never have kids. Never be the person Dick knew he could have been.

And it was so damn unfair. Jason was starting to get better. Bruce was getting through to him. The anger and aggression and impulsivity were all getting better.

Death was something that happened to other people, not to them. Not when enough had been taken from them already.

He threw the rose onto the grave and sat on the cold, wet ground, staring at it. “I’m so sorry, Jay,” he heard his voice crack and he hated himself for it. He felt like the air had been knocked out of him, like someone had ripped his chest open and grabbed him by the heart.

And he could feel the rage that Bruce always warned him about boiling in his veins because Jason had died and Bruce hadn’t done a goddamned thing about it.

******

“If you flick your wrist they’ll fly better,” Dick leaned against the wall and watched as Jason practiced throwing his Birdarangs. Bruce had a Wayne Enterprises event. Alfred had been given the night off. And Dick had been less than thrilled at Bruce’s attempt to force him to bond with Jason.

“Can you go five minutes without criticizing me?” Jason snapped, green eyes full of fight and fire.

Dick blinked and crossed his arms, impressed that he’d finally stood up to him. “Will you just trust me?” he asked.

Jason sighed and let out a resigned “Fine.” Dick smiled and stood behind him, guiding his arms and his right wrist. He felt Jason’s breath catch when he saw the weapon fly and land, sticking into the wall. Alfred would be upset that they’d damaged the new paint, but Dick didn’t care.

He stepped back and watched Jason turn to face him. “Did you see that?” the younger boy asked, eyes full of wonder.

“You know,” Dick laughed. “Sometimes I do know what I’m talking about.”

*******

He shouldn’t have driven to the manor. Rationally, he knew that. He was angry and upset and not in his right mind. But he needed to have that conversation in person. “Dick?” Bruce frowned and glanced over at him from his desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“When were you planning on telling me?” Dick slammed his helmet onto the desk in front of him.

“How did you…”

“The damn paper, Bruce!” he snapped and shook his head furiously. “Not to mention it’s all over the damn media. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? He’s dead and you couldn’t even come to tell me yourself…”

“I didn’t know what to say,” Bruce sighed and rested his head in the palm of his hand. And for a second, Dick felt sorry for him. He’d lost a brother, but Bruce had lost a son. “It was quick,” he said, but wouldn’t look back up at Dick. “He wasn’t in pain.”

“And I’m sure that’s exactly what you told all your stupid fake friends,” Dick said, trying to keep his temper in check. “What really happened?”

“Why do you need to know the details?”

“Because he’s my brother, and he’s dead, and you don’t even care enough to tell the damned truth about it!”

He’d crossed a line. He knew it as soon as he saw Bruce’s eyes flash, something dangerous in them. Bruce Wayne, caring father and public figure had left the room. Cold, terrifying Batman had replaced him. “You want to know what happened?” the older man demanded. Dick wondered if Alfred would pop his head in to make sure they were both okay. “He went off on his own. He was kidnapped by the Joker. He was beaten within an inch of his life, and he was blown up. Are you happy now?”

And Dick wanted to scream, to demand how Bruce could keep himself so far away from the situation. But fighting wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t bring Jason back.

He grabbed his helmet and he left.

******

They had fought just before Jason had died. Dick had told himself he’d cool down while he was off-planet. That they could work it out and go back to their regular, twisted lives. You could have killed him, he could still hear his voice shouting at Jason, dressed as Robin.

Yeah, well I didn’t. Even if he deserved it.

The rain was falling harder. It was late and he needed to get back home. But he didn’t want to leave Jason there alone. He should have been nicer. Maybe then Jason wouldn’t have gone off on his own. Maybe then he’d still be alive.

Dick never hugged him. Dick Grayson, the most touchy-feely person on the planet, had never hugged his little brother, the person he was supposed to protect and love and care for no matter what.

His arms were wrapped around the headstone before he knew what he was doing. His breaths were shuddering and ragged, and he knew that the rain wasn’t the only thing making his face wet.

He rested his head against the cold, hard concrete. “I’m sorry, Jay,” he spoke, voice barely above a broken whisper.

Jason was gone.

And it was all his fault.

“Dick?” he jumped when he heard Bruce’s voice behind him. He pulled himself away from the headstone, trying to act as though nothing had ever happened. He started to stand, but Bruce pushed him back down. He watched as his adoptive father sat on the ground beside him. What a sight it must have been, Nightwing and Batman staring at the grave of a boy time would forget. “I’m sorry.”

He wanted to fight. He wanted to scream for Bruce to leave him the hell alone, to never talk to him again. But all the fight had been drained out of him. And when Bruce pulled him into a tight hug, he did nothing to push him away. “I’m so, so sorry.”

#Fanfic #fanfiction #batman #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Dick Grayson Needs a Hug #Jason Todd is Dead #Dick Grayson Feels Guilty

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Farther, Faster and No Sweat: Bike-Sharing and the E-Bike Boom As with all bicycles during the pandemic, electric bikes, or those with battery-powered motors to handle propulsion, boomed. The market research firm NPD Group said sales of e-bikes grew 145 percent in 2020 compared to 2019, outpacing sales of all bikes, which were up 65 percent. “Bike categories that catered to families and recreational and newer riders grew better than more performance-oriented bikes,” said Dirk Sorenson, a sports industry analyst at NPD, adding that e-bikes “overcome challenges like big hills or going on a longer ride than a typical bike.” But it’s not just consumer sales that have mainstreamed e-bikes. Municipal bike-sharing systems have increasingly adopted the technology, with some cities, including Charlotte, N.C., going with an all-electric fleet during the pandemic. Social distancing demands, the quest for safe and more accessible public transportation and sustainable travel measures have forged a growing adoption of e-bikes among travelers as well as local residents. “Covid sort of propelled electric bikes forward by years,” said Josh Squire, the founder and chief executive of Hopr, a bike-share service. Cities, bike-sharing companies and even a peer-to-peer bike-sharing platform (in which bike owners rent their bikes directly to users) are jumping into the e-bike ecosystem. Here’s how bike-sharing — sometimes called “micromobility” to include other small vehicles, such as scooters — has shifted in the tourism lull. Covid did not kill bike-sharing In the early days of the pandemic, bike-share usage stalled as those working from home stopped commuting. For essential workers who needed to travel, bike-sharing became an alternative to buses or trains, where they might be exposed to the virus by other passengers. Lyft, which manages bike-share fleets in nine cities — including the largest systems in New York City and Chicago — gave about 30,000 essential workers free yearly passes. “Covid was able to highlight micromobility as an essential transportation service, filling in where transit service stopped or where gaps existed and helping essential workers get to work,” said Samantha Herr, the executive director of the North American Bikeshare Association. As people began to leave their houses in summer, biking rebounded. In Honolulu, nearly 80 percent of members of the bike-sharing system Biki said riding was the safest form of public transportation during the pandemic. In Chicago, the Divvy bike-share system recorded its busiest month on record in August. In New York City, where Citi Bike added 3,700 new bikes in 2020, ridership exceeded 2019 levels in the last four months of 2020, according to a monthly report filed with the New York City Department of Transportation. The company said 27 percent of rides were deemed “casual,” or recreational, in 2020, versus 17 percent in 2019, with the most popular stations around hospitals and parks, reflecting the mix of essential and casual uses. Biking was clearly a remedy for cabin fever, and bike sharing is an affordable cure. In Miami, where hand sanitizer dispensers were installed at Citi Bike Miami stations, casual users have taken about 40 percent of rides in 2021 as tourism has ticked up. Colby Reese, the co-founder of DecoBike, which runs Citi Bike Miami, estimates about half a million visitors annually used the bike-share system before the pandemic. Plans are in place to add about 200 e-bikes this summer to the existing 2,000-bike fleet. “Because of Covid, outdoor things are more popular than they were before,” he said. E-bikes for the people The electrification of bike-share systems, accelerating now, has been underway for several years. In 2018, the Bikeshare Planning Guide from the Transformative Urban Mobility Initiative, a global initiative on sustainable transportation, called them “ideal for bikeshare because of their otherwise high upfront cost to users, and they can improve user comfort by reducing often-cited barriers to cycling such as fatigue, sweating, and longer-distance or hilly trips.” According to the North American Bikeshare Association, in 2019, the last year for which statistics are available, 28 percent of bike-sharing systems had e-bikes. It found e-bikes were used more intensively than traditional bikes, at a rate 1.7 times higher. In 2019, when the Madison BCycle fleet in Madison, Wis., went electric, usage more than doubled. Novelty was a driver, along with affordability. “To be able to try an e-bike for a very low rate for a day pass is what draws people initially to try it out,” said Helen Bradley, the general manager of Madison BCycle, where a day pass costs $15. “Then they get hooked,” she added, on the range of the bikes, which can go 30 to 35 miles on a full charge with top speed of about 17 miles per hour. Chicago plans to have 10,000 e-bikes in its Divvy system by 2022 — it added 3,500 e-bikes in 2020 — in a plan to provide accessibility to 100 percent of the city. Updated March 2, 2021, 5:39 a.m. ET Adopting e-bikes hasn’t come without growing pains. In New York City, Citi Bike introduced e-bikes in 2018, but removed them in 2019 after reports of brakes malfunctioning, causing rider injuries (similar problems forced Lyft, which manages Citi Bike, to temporarily withdraw e-bikes from its systems in Washington, D.C. and San Francisco). Last winter, New York re-introduced Citi Bike e-bikes, which reach maximum speeds of 18 m.p.h., below the limit of 20 m.p.h. later set by the city for the pedal-assisted e-bikes. There are now about 3,700 e-bikes in the 19,000-bike system; the average e-bike gets over nine rides a day, while the average for pedal bikes is 3.5. “Putting a little bit of a motor on it makes cycling more attractive to a wider and aging audience,” said Aaron Ritz, who oversees the Indego bike-share system for the City of Philadelphia. Over the next five years, the Indego system will more than double in size, making half the fleet electric and focusing on historically underserved neighborhoods, which tend to be Black or Latin American. “The more we shift from single-occupancy vehicles, the better, for reasons of air quality, traffic safety, environmental impact and greenhouse gas emissions,” Mr. Ritz said. Gregory F. Maassen, 53, a resident of Washington, D.C., describes the district’s Capital Bikeshare e-bikes as “built like tanks to withstand a lot of abuse.” E-bike aficionados, like Mr. Maassen, who founded a social group called E-bike Lovers, prefer higher-end bikes, but credit bike-sharing as a gateway for introducing them to a broader audience. “Interest in bike-share systems has had a great impact on the acceptance of e-bikes,” he said. “It gives people a low-cost entry into this new technology.” E-bikes can be purchased for a few hundred dollars, though most fans say quality bikes start around $1,500 and go much higher. But finding a fully charged bike is crucial, said Richard Strell, 68, a Bay Wheels bike-share rider in San Francisco. “I started using e-bikes because of Covid and I don’t own a car in San Francisco,” he said, noting that e-bikes with only seven or eight miles left on the battery were too weak to get him up hills. “I was excited, but it turned out to be disappointing.” Going farther, faster and mainstream Shared bike systems always aimed to go the “last mile” or fill the gap between public transit hubs and your destination. E-bikes makes them more serious contenders as transportation options by going farther with less effort. “If I can get someplace farther or faster, that matters when you’re picking a mode of transportation,” said Bill Dossett, the executive director of Nice Ride Minnesota, the nonprofit that started the shared mobility system in Minneapolis, now operated by Lyft, which plans to add about 2,000 e-bikes this spring. Lyft, the country’s largest bike-share service, has added transit information on its rideshare app in 17 cities to better coordinate with public transportation systems, in addition to showing available drivers, bikes and scooters. In Denver, users can buy transit passes through the app. “We’re giving people a user-friendly way to piece together trips and allow them to explore a city that historically would have been much harder,” said Caroline Samponaro, Lyft’s head of micromobility policy. The success of electric bikes and scooters has encouraged Bolt Mobility, which is in about 21 cities and college campuses, to develop electric mopeds, three-wheeled bikes and minicars, electric vehicles that offer more stability and protection. “These devices aren’t supposed to be just for 20-year-old kids, they’re supposed to be for everyone,” said Ignacio Tzoumas, the chief executive of Bolt Mobility. Bolt, which was co-founded by the Olympic gold-medalist sprinter Usain Bolt, has plans to bring its e-bikes and scooters to Tokyo in time for the Olympic Games this summer. Private bike-share systems predicted While most bike-share systems are affiliated with cities, entrepreneurs foresee a future in private bike shares for hotel guests, apartment complex renters or company employees. The peer-to-peer bike-sharing platform Spinlister is developing a private model that would station Rokit Ebikes at a hotel, for example, which could offer access as an amenity, leaving the management and maintenance to Spinlister. Before the pandemic, Hopr had plans to take its services, which include e-bikes, to hotels and create private bike-share systems, an effort paused by the dearth of travel. “We come from sharing and have the technology to unlock a bike from an app and rent it so it’s no hassle for the hotel,” Mr. Squire of Hopr said. Follow New York Times Travel on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook. And sign up for our weekly Travel Dispatch newsletter to receive expert tips on traveling smarter and inspiration for your next vacation. Source link Orbem News #BikeSharing #boom #EBike #Faster #Sweat

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