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paranormal-xfiles · 1 year

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Nov 04, 2022INick Redfern

Some Very Strange and Sensational Stories of the Roswell Affair: Dead Aliens or Dead Humans?

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When it comes to the issue of what really happened on what was once known as the Foster Ranch, Lincoln County, New Mexico in early July 1947, there are things we know, things we suspect, and things we will probably never know. But, that something happened – something which caused the U.S. Air Force to offer multiple explanations for the event – is not a matter of any doubt at all. It was an incident that clearly concerned elements of not just the military, but the government, too, and to a highly significant degree. Eye-witnesses – both military and civilian – were warned not to talk about what they had seen and / or heard. More than a few of those warnings crossed the line and can only accurately be described as death threats. People were plunged into states of fear. Lives were changed forever; even scarred. Some lives may have ended; as in terminated. It was on July 8, 1947 that the strange event surfaced publicly. Associated Press (among many other news outlets) reported on the startling, then-breaking news:

“The many rumors regarding the flying disc became a reality yesterday when the intelligence office of the 509th Bomb Group of the Eighth Air Force, Roswell Army Air Field, was fortunate enough to gain possession of a disc through the cooperation of one of the local ranchers and the sheriff’s office of Chavez County. The flying object landed on a ranch near Roswell sometime last week. Not having phone facilities, the rancher stored the disc until such time as he was able to contact the sheriff’s office, who in turn notified Major Jesse A. Marcel of the 509th Bomb Group Intelligence Office. Action was immediately taken and the disc was picked up at the rancher’s home. It was inspected at the Roswell Army Air Field and subsequently loaned by Major Marcel to higher headquarters.” The story was quickly picked up not just across the United States, but across the planet, too. In barely no time at all, however, the flying disc angle was blown out of the sky: the whole thing was nothing but a huge, embarrassing mistake. The materials found on the massive ranch – by rancher William Ware “Mack” Brazel – were not the remains of a disc, after all. What had really been found, and subsequently collected and brought to the Roswell Army Air Field, was weather-balloon debris. Or, so the military was careful to try and assure everyone.

(Nick Redfern) Directly on the Roswell "UFO" crash site

With Brazel at the time of the discovery – which had actually occurred days earlier – was a young boy named Dee Proctor. He would go on to be one of the most important people in the Roswell story. We also know for sure that three, key military men, all of whom were destined to become part and parcel of the Roswell affair, were also present at the ranch – and specifically before a veritable battalion was on-site and ordered to recover the massive amount of whatever-it-was. They were Major Jesse Marcel, the intelligence-office of the 509th Bomb Group at Roswell; Captain Sheridan Cavitt, of the Counter-Intelligence Corps; and CIC Master Sergeant Lewis S. “Bill” Rickett. All three were at ground-zero. They all saw the wreckage. Years later Marcel would open up wide on the matter of the debris he saw and collected. Cavitt and Rickett may have seen more than debris. Way more. Possibly bodies, strange bodies. Brazel and little Dee may have seen one or more of those bodies, too.

Although research into the Roswell affair didn’t take off big time until the mid-to-late 1970s, the 1960s were not without significance when it comes to the case. For example, in 1966, Frank Edwards’ book Flying Saucers – Serious Business was published Chapter four of the book is titled “Pick Up the Pieces.” Edwards said of the case: “There are such difficult cases as the rancher near Roswell, New Mexico, who phoned the Sheriff that a blazing disc-shaped object had passed over his house at low altitude and had crashed and burned on a hillside within view of the house. The sheriff called the military; the military came on the double quick. Newsmen were not permitted in the area. A week later, however, the government released a photograph of a service man holding up a box kite with an aluminum disc about the size of a large pie plate dangling from the bottom of the kite. This, the official report explained, was a device borne aloft on the kite and used to test radar gear by bouncing the signals off the pie pan. And this, we were told, was the sort of thing that had so excited the rancher. We were not told, however, how the alleged kite caught fire – nor why the military cordoned off the area while they inspected the wreckage of a burned-out kite with a non-inflammable pie pan tied to it.”

Kevin Randle said of Edwards’ version of events: “While the report was essentially correct in a gross sense, the details were nearly all wrong. But the point is that Edwards had exposed the Roswell case to a wide audience in 1966, when the book was published. Nearly everyone ignored the case because of the lack of detail, other than a location in the then small and anonymous town of Roswell.” Only three years later, however, the Roswell story was about to surface again. Not in the pages of a book, or even in the town of Roswell itself. The location was one most would never guess: a certain living-room in England.

(Nick Redfern) Dead aliens or dead human guinea-pigs?

July 21, 1969 was a day on which history was made. That was the date on which Neil Armstrong became the very first member of the human race to set foot on our nearest neighbor, the Moon. History was also made in a very different way on that day, too. It may have been different, but it was no less important. For the person telling the story, it may have been even more important. July 21 was the day on which a notable revelation concerning Roswell surfaced. Not in the United States, as one might expect or assume, but right in the heart of the U.K. The source of the story was Melvin E. Brown, a man who was stationed at the Roswell Army Air Field at the time of the mysterious crash in early July 1947. Several months later, however, Brown was given a brand new assignment. In England. It was while Brown was stationed in the United Kingdom that he met the woman who was destined to become his wife: Ada. The pair made a life for themselves in England and had three daughters. At the time of the Roswell affair, however, Brown was a sergeant in the military. Not only that, Brown – who passed away in 1986 – was a key figure in the Roswell story.

Whether by accident or design, Brown chose July 21 as the day to reveal what he knew about a certain, amazing event that had occurred, back then, more than two decades earlier. One of Brown’s daughters – Beverly – said, years later: “In 1969, he told my sister and me that he was ordered to go out into the desert. He said that all available men were grabbed to go out to where a crashed saucer had come down…and there were several bodies.” One of those who had the opportunity to interview Beverly in person was English UFO sleuth, Timothy Good, the author of the acclaimed Above Top Secret. She told him: “They had to form a ring around whatever it was they had to cover, and everything was put on trucks. They were told not to look and to take no notice, and were sworn to secrecy.” The story then got even more amazing, as Beverley revealed: “I can remember my dad saying he couldn’t understand why they wanted refrigerated trucks. And him and another guy had to sit on the back of a truck to take this stuff to a hangar. They were packed in ice. And he lifted up the tarpaulin and looked in, and saw three – or possibly two – dead bodies.”

Tom Carey and Don Schmitt record that Beverly described the dead crew as having “big heads with slanted eyes.” In her interview with Tim Good, however, Beverly made a very intriguing and revealing statement. She said that the bodies her father saw back in ‘47 “…looked Asian [italics mine],” but had larger than normal heads and lacked any hair. “They looked a yellowy color.” There is also this from Beverly to Tim: “…they could have passed for Chinese [italics also mine].” It is one thing to say that the bodies looked somewhat Asian; however, specifically stating that the bodies which Melvin Brown saw “could have passed for Chinese” strongly suggests they were extremely human-looking. There is a very good reason for that: they were human. Remember too that the “Chinese” comment was made to Beverly Bean by her father – a first-hand witness to the bodies. And, as a first-hander he should have known what it was that he saw.

Moving into the 1970s and the 1980s, we have three very intriguing stories from John A. Price, of the Roswell-based UFO Enigma Museum, and the author of a 1997 non-fiction book, Roswell: A Quest for the Truth. On one particular day in 1978, Price – who was employed as a roofer at the time - was working outside on a particular property in Hagerman. It’s a town situated approximately twenty-four miles from Roswell. The property held a number of handicapped children – this much was clear to Price, as several such children exited the property and stood on the patio, watching him as he worked. He thought “this must be a home for the mentally impaired.” That was not all, however. Price had more to say: “Suddenly, I almost choked on my coffee as two more children, or at least I think they were children, walked out and stood behind the others.” According to Price, they were all around four- to four-and-a-half-feet in height. They had oversized, hairless heads, and their ears and noses were noticeably smaller than normal for a young child. Things came to a sudden end when, Price recalls, “a lady came to the door and ushered the kids back into the house.” He did not see them again.

(Nick Redfern) Welcome to Roswell!

More than a decade later, Price received a letter from “an acquaintance” who he had known for some time. Price said: “In the letter he told me that the aliens I was looking for were at Fort Stanton.” For those who may not know, Fort Stanton was a military installation which, during the Second World War, held a number of Japanese “enemy aliens,” and which is barely spitting distance away from the Foster Ranch. We will learn a great deal more about Fort Stanton’s wartime Japanese connections in later chapters – as well as its links to Roswell. In the meantime, back to Price. Price’s source told him that at some undisclosed point, “There were some pretty deformed young men there, several of which could be of alien nature. We only went by what we were told; please don’t tell anyone. Mongoloid large heads, small ears, pin heads who could function and had shrill voices. They were supposed to be of incest, but from their looks – Outa-space.” Price took the story seriously, and mused on the possibility that the government may have grabbed handicapped people who had “no paper trail, no social security number, and no traceable family connections.”

Someone else who suspected that Roswell could be explained in down to earth – rather than alien – fashion was yet another acquaintance of Price. His name was Robert Betz, an engineer who, prior to his retirement, had been contracted to various corporations to perform certain, sensitive work. Price said, “Robert was convinced that the Roswell crash could be explained away as a top secret project of flying saucer design and that the bodies were midgets.” As all of the above shows, the Roswell affair gets darker and more sinister as it goes along.

#roswell #roswell ufo #new roswell ufo story #ufos #unexplained #paranormal history #ufo #aliens #demons

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quicksiluers · 3 years

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so for the dumb college au, @tipsywench brought up a great idea about what types of clubs or groups the trio (grant, sherman, & sheridan) would be in and it got me thinking...

so grant and sheridan for SURE would be in some equestrian club, for all those inner horse girls at the school. i also think that grant would be in some book reading club cause home boy loved to read, he even mentioned in his memoirs about how he liked to read instead of study which i mean, same. but he’s also kinda reserved so i wonder if he would want to be part of a club or just read himself? i can see him just sitting under a tree and reading, minding his own business and then being bothered by sherman/sheridan or longstreet. but the big thing would be the horse club, gotta be able to ride those horses!

sheridan would also somehow be in a random club about sword fighting or something cause i mean he did try to stab a dude once, so he probably would want to tune up those skills. but other then the equestrian club, i can’t think of another club sheridan would be in...he’d start a club about shit talking people he doesn’t like and just argue with anyone who doesn’t agree. seems to be his m.o.

sherman would for SURE be in theater club but would be that “well ACTUALLY” kinda asshole about it so maybe he’d start up his own shakespeare club but no one wants to join cause he seems a bit aggressive about it. he’d try to put on his own productions of stuff and that’s how’d he rope grant to be in them to play the female role, just dragging the poor boy away from any conversation he’s in to play some part in a play that grant has no clue about. sheridan would try to join in but sherman would be like “nah you too small” and then it would just end up in a fist fight.

what it comes down to is that it would all be chaotic

#my ramblings #my silly dumb college au #it continues to be silly and continues to be dumb #sherman is like we must put on A SHOW and grant's like i love you but whyyy are we making me do this #sheridan would probably try and crash it or something #what would be chaotic is to try and figure out who would be roommates....#who would room with sheridan lord help them lol

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forever-rogue · 3 years

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OKAY blurb/fic request. Stealing Javis cigarettes. Not the whole pack but just one when you want one and you and Steve just watch as he tries to figure where they are going. Or something along the lines of that . Just some plain old goofy office pranks/ partner teasing

Stealing Javi’s cigarettes? Teasing? I got you covered 😌

Javier x Fem!Reader; warnings: smoking, slight language, sex themes

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Stress.

It was the least you could use to how you were currently feeling. Nothing but dead ends and dead bodies had been turning up over the couple of weeks. And you were on thin ice. Well - you, Javi, and Steve.

And while you had a moment alone, you remained in the silent office, letting your thoughts wash over you, laying your head on the desk and practicing your breathing for a few moments. It was then that you took a look at Javi’s desk and found his pack of cigarettes discarded and tossed onto the middle. Strange. He usually always had them tucked into his back back pocket for easy access. He must have forgotten them.

Drumming your fingers along the top of your desk, you contemplated taking one. Unlike your two partners, you were not a big smoker, only partaking socially or on the rare occasion when your will was comprised and you just couldn’t help yourself.

Like now.

One couldn’t hurt.

He probably wouldn’t even notice.

Jumping out of your office chair, you darted across the room to his desk and snatched the box, popping it open and snatching out of the few remaining sticks. Shit. Maybe he would notice. Or hopefully he’d already have another pack at the ready.

It was already too late, you realized as you held the cigarette between your lips, bringing the lighter to it and inhaling deeply. Tossing the lighter back down, you sat on the edge of Javi’s desk and took a long, deep drag before exhaling heavily and wiping at your tired eyes. You were sure you looked as bad as you felt.

“Hey,” Steve’s gentle voice quickly pulled you of your thoughts as you turned to him with a sheepish expression. Ever the federal agent, it only took him a few moments to put two and two together, “don’t let Javi see. He’s already looking for any excuse to lose it.”

“I couldn’t help it,” you groaned as you walked back to your own desk, “one moment of weakness and he’s going to chew my ass off.”

“Not you,” Steve snorted lightly, “we both know that.”

“We’re not-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he cocked an eyebrow as you sat back and put your feet on your desk. Whatever you and Javier had was...something. Both simple and straight forward, but also incredibly complex, like the two of you were constantly walking on glass around each other, “we’re not dating, Steve.”

“You’re not not dating,” he insisted with a little smirk as you mouth his words back in a low, mocking tone. He only laughed as you sighed and looked at the ceiling, “whatever you guys want to call it, it’s something.”

“Sure, Steve,” you sighed softly, “just don’t tell him about this, yeah? I’m hoping he won’t even notice. If nothing else, I’ll go and buy him a new pack.”

“I saw nothing,” he gave you a small salute as you turned back to your paperwork, trying to quickly finish the cigarette before Javier returned it.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Javier stormed back into the office, stopping at the door and glancing at the two of you. He huffed as the two of you only gave him small nods of acknowledgment but remained engrossed in your work. Your heart skipped a beat as you were sure he expected you to say something - anything - but you choose not to.

Slamming himself back down in his chair, he reached for the pack to grab his own cigarette. He paused for a moment as he appeared to do a quick inventory, brows furrowing when he appeared to notice something was off. But if his suspicions were raised, he made no comment and just started worked.

Crisis averted. For now.

Steve caught your eye for a fraction of a second, a little smirk tugging on his features as your eyes widened in a silent plea to remain inconspicuous. The room in the air was thick and tense, but no one said anything, luckily, as you all went back to work.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next several weeks weren’t much better. Each day was just as hectic and chaotic as the next, with barely a moment to breath. And although you hadn’t wanted to succumb to your primal needs, you caved and started to pick up a new smoking habit. Still nothing compared to Javier or Steve, still not enough to have your own pack on you. Instead, you took them from Javier. At first it was just one then, but then it almost turned into a little game with you and Steve, to see how long you could keep this going on.

Today? Today you were almost desperate for a quick smoke. Groaning, but quick on your feet, you sneaked over to Javi’s desk and reached into his desk drawer to pick up the pack you knew he had stashed there.

But it wasn’t there. Nothing was besides the usual mess.

Fuck.

“Looking for these?” Javi’s voice reached your ears and you immediately froze as you slowly looked up and met his eyes. A warm flush washed over you, as he displayed the box of cigarettes you had been looking for.

Caught red handed.

“Umm...” you gave him an innocent look as you he came closer and closer, effectively trapping you behind his desk.

“I was wondering where these were going,” he smirked as he tossed the new pack onto the desk, “but you didn’t make it very hard to figure out. Sneaky little thing.”

“It was an accident?” you tried as he sat on the edge of the desk, his dark eyes watching you like he was the hunter and you were the weak prey caught right in his grasp, “umm...a moment of indiscretion.”

“Many moments of indiscretion,” he raised an eyebrow before reaching up and grabbing your chin, a firm but still gentle gesture, as he forced you to look at him, “you could have just asked.”

“Wasn’t as fun,” you swallowed thickly, feeling heat pooling low in your belly as you could already see where this was going. And damn, if you didn’t like the thought of that. He chuckled darkly before letting you go and quickly darting his tongue out to wet his lips. It was a habit that you had picked up on a long time ago, but it still made you heart flutter every dam time, “maybe I wanted to get caught.”

“Did you want to get caught?” he asked as his hands found your waist and he pulled you closer to him. You could feel his body heat radiating onto you and it was enough to send shivers up and down your spine.

“I like when you get mad,” you confessed as you played with his tie, tugging on it gently and pulling him almost to your lips. It was just enough to where you could feel his ghost over yours, but you weren’t going to be the one to make the first mouth, “you always fuck me right when you’re mad.”

“If that’s what you wanted all you had to do was ask,” and then he closed the gap between the two of you and crashed his lips onto yours, his hands moving to your backside as he squeezed the soft flesh, causing you to groan into his mouth.

“Javier,” it was nothing more than a soft, reverent moan as you pressed yourself against him, “please.”

“Ahh, sorry baby, we’re in the office,” he let you go completely, causing you to huff in annoyance, “guess you’ll just have to wait until later.”

“You’re an asshole, Javier!”

“And you’re a sneaky little thief, so I guess that makes us even” he pressed a kiss to your forehead before moving you slightly out of the way to sit back down in his chair. You made a small sound of annoyance as you stared at him in disbelief, “did you need something, sweetheart? If you want a cigarette, help yourself.”

“That’s not what I want and we both know it.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re all out of luck,” he said casually, “until later.”

“I hate you,” you stuck your tongue out at him as you went back to your own desk.

“I love you too, baby,” he shot you a wink, “I’ll make it up to you later. Don’t you worry.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @secretsweetscollectionblog @sheridans-dynamos @queenbbarnes @persephonesnebula @ah-callie @blushingwueen @thisis-theway @rosetophighlander @rae-gar-targaryen @hiscyarika @readsalot73 @huliabitch @ollyoxenfrees @coffeeandtodd @beepbeepsephy @scarlettwitcher @nerdyknightwritersblog @choicesarcade @arrowswithwifi @everythingaboutnothingstuff @suckerfor-fanfics @bestintheparsec @winters-buck @javihoney @aeryntheofficial @hail-doodles @engineeredfiction @aeryntheofficial @asgardianvamp21 @keithseabrook27 @karmezii @dearspacepirates @thatsuitlooksgoodonyou @paintballkid711 @mrpascals @kochamcie @lv7867 @artsymaddie @gooddaykate @rosiefridayrogersunday @heyitmelexie

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #narcos

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sagamemes · 3 years

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the sheridan tapes 📼 part one. here and under the cut, you can find a little under 120 lines of dialogue from the horror podcast the sheridan tapes, specifically from episodes one to three, edited for roleplay purposes. tw: police, murder, supernatural elements, mentions of apocalyptic scenarios, near death experiences, injuries, vehicular crash, recreational drug and alcohol use.

❝ jesus, [name]. you’re not making this easy, are you? ❞

❝ makes you wonder... do these things follow me because i chase them, or were they always following me? ❞

❝ darkness and complete disorientation does a number on the human brain. ❞

❝ i don't think he was a werewolf. ❞

❝ i’d call it the customer service smile. you know, the one that says ‘ thank you for shopping with us, please die now ’. ❞

❝ i’ve found the more showy the text, the less impressive the actual phenomena. ❞

❝ my job here is kind of… shaky at the moment. ❞

❝ [name] was also engaged in the study of the impossible in his free time. ❞

❝ so it’s just me who drives you up the wall then? ❞

❝ well, you’ll be happy to hear i haven’t been having any fun. no weed, no ghosts. ❞

❝ there hasn’t been a new lead on her case in more than half a year. ❞

❝ so here i am, wrapped up in a blanket, staring at my little fireplace, so bored i actually decided to call my sister for once. ❞

❝ it’s a little town near bandon. very little. nice little mini-market, and that’s about it. ❞

❝ i doubt i’ll sleep much tonight. that’s okay. i just feel like looking at the stars for a while. ❞

❝ it's probably for the best. i am simultaneously exhausted from the drive and absolutely wired from the coffee. ❞

❝ i wonder if there will still be ghosts out there when that happens? when the earth is gone? ❞

❝ glad to hear you’re enjoying yourself, then. ❞

❝ knowing doesn’t make things any easier, but it does make them a little less frightening. ❞

❝ that’s all just a lazy way of saying that the real explanation is too difficult—or too horrible—for them to accept. ❞

❝ it almost killed me, but in the end it settled for putting me in pt for a year while i figured out how to use my hands again. ❞

❝ he muttered something about my time being up. or maybe he said it wasn’t up. ❞

❝ i don’t really care that i didn’t get any writing done today. ❞

❝ nothing. not a single idea worth writing down, no itch i needed to scratch or question i needed to answer. ❞

❝ guess there really is no such thing as bad press. ❞

❝ i have no idea what a writer’s ‘ process ’ usually looks like, but i’m pretty sure it’s not this. ❞

❝ see what i have to deal with? god… siblings, am i right? ❞

❝ what can i say? i have a soft spot for gothic architecture. ❞

❝ computers have never been very good at reconciling paradoxes. ❞

❝ they’re pretty much over funding my little expeditions. ❞

❝ that kind of smile doesn’t normally show that many teeth. ❞

❝ you know, that’s only scary the first few times you do it. ❞

❝ one day, it will be dead. one day all the stars will burn out, go dark and silent. one day, everything will be so dark and so cold that no new stars can ever be born. the old ones will blink out one by one, like candles going out, and then… nothing. silence. darkness. void. ❞

❝ the simplest explanation is almost always the right one. ❞

❝ i don’t remember getting in my van, putting the key in the ignition, or speeding away from that house, but i must have. ❞

❝ no, no, i’m fine, i’m fine, just go bother someone else. ❞

❝ i haven’t eaten, moved, or written anything all day. ❞

❝ but maybe that's just the fact that it is two in the morning and my brain is running mostly on caffeine. ❞

❝ given how good a [job] he is, i know it’s not the first time he’s done it. ❞

❝ i escaped, but i knew that whatever was in that house has just marked me as prey. ❞

❝ calm down. think. you’re just going to confuse yourself. ❞

❝ just wanted to tell you a couple of us are headed out to marvin’s for drinks if you want to come. ❞

❝ one of the most disappointing things about living in america is the lack of genuinely haunted houses. out of all the supposed haunts i’ve visited, maybe one in ten seems like the real deal. ❞

❝ sounds… peaceful. not many distractions, then? ❞

❝ something tells me this tape wasn’t played in court. ❞

❝ one of the neighbours must have called 911. ❞

❝ my infamous accident. it almost killed me. ❞

❝ i just woke up to footsteps in the kitchen. i don’t know who, or what, but there’s someone in here with me! ❞

❝ could you shut the door on your way out, please? ❞

❝ uh, wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. ❞

❝ the fire that i said went out? yeah, it just started burning again. ❞

❝ so i asked him to lie. ❞

❝ it'd really be just a few of us. maybe me and [name] and one or two other tagalongs… ❞

❝ apparently, the press had a lot of questions too. ❞

❝ i’ve driven more than 8 hours and drunk enough bad coffee to give an elephant heart palpitations. i’m sure as hell going to get my money’s worth. ❞

❝ oh sorry, am i bothering you now? what happened to ‘ call anytime you want, [name] ’ or, ‘ you’re always welcome here, [name] ’ ? ❞

❝ i’ve forgotten to charge my phone. again. ❞

❝ i… think i’m going to turn around now. ❞

❝ well sorry if i wanted to have a nice talk with my sister for a change. ❞

❝ will it just be left there forever? our legacy? look upon our works, ye mighty, and despair? ❞

❝ no matter how far away from home you are, no matter how different the constellations might look from where you’re standing, you can always look up on a clear, dark night and feel like you’re about to fall right into it—the terrifying, endless expanse of nothingness. ❞

❝ i know authors can do some crazy things to get out of writer’s block, but i’ve never heard of one resorting to arson. ❞

❝ why do you always think there’s something wrong? ❞

❝ ours is not to question why, ours is but to digitize and stay the hell out of trouble. ❞

❝ so let’s try walking backwards. just keep an eye on it. ❞

❝ i got lucky. or maybe i was just fast enough to escape. ❞

❝ maybe there are secret passages behind the walls and corridors. ❞

❝ no matter how far i walked, i couldn’t find the way i came in. ❞

❝ well, i /know/ i’ve had worst nights. i just can’t think of any right now. ❞

❝ i do want you to have fun, [name], i just don’t want you to get yourself killed doing it. ❞

❝ i mean, obviously, i do care, that’s the whole reason i made this trip. to get away from the noise and focus. ❞

❝ i might have… forgotten to tell anyone where i was going. ❞

❝ before i get started, there’s just one thing i need to say. i have absolutely no patience for the unexplained, or the things people call ‘ unexplainable ’, ‘ supernatural ’, or ‘ paranormal ’. ❞

❝ i told [name] that i needed to get out, to get inspired. ❞

❝ okay, if someone is messing with me, they’re going to be very sorry, very quickly. ❞

❝ [name] lied his ass off to save yours. ❞

❝ a crash like that does funny things to your head. ❞

❝ i still don’t know how he got there without me noticing. ❞

❝ any plans i had to travel abroad went up in smoke. ❞

❝ i thought of pulling out the bad cop routine. ❞

❝ strange how something so dead can be so beautiful. ❞

❝ it hated me: hated what i do, and more than that, hated who i am. ❞

❝ lots of tall tales. and more than a few ghost stories. ❞

❝ oh good, you’re still here! ❞

❝ reviewers absolutely grilled it: said it was a nonsensical rip off of the dark tower, whatever that means. ❞

❝ i jumped out the window. cut my hands on the glass, but thankfully not bad enough to need stitches ❞

❝ i told her, tonight. ❞

❝ for a minute, i wondered if that would really be so bad. it was a fitting way to go, given my… well, everything. ❞

❝ i suppose that’s a universal constant—maybe the only one. ❞

❝ i never let myself get this turned around. especially not at night. ❞

❝ i don’t know if it’s actually haunted. but if not, then it was sure as hell convincing. ❞

❝ i’m not one of those people who thinks she’s the spawn of satan or something ridiculous like that. ❞

❝ unless i’m prepared to accept that she was murdered by something that crawled out of a funhouse mirror, this isn’t much help with the case, either. ❞

❝ i have to try and work some actual cases the rest of the time. you know, cases that might have some answers i can find. ❞

❝ it's cold, damp, and dark as night. i'm in my element, at least. ❞

❝ your place is waiting for you. ❞

❝ yeah, i’m all good. great… hanging in there, you know? one day at a time. ❞

❝ oh, i see you. you think i’m still scared of [thing], huh? think you can freak me out? ❞

❝ trust me, i’ve had a hell of a day, and you do not want to mess with a pissed off… ❞

❝ and tell my sister i'm sorry. ❞

❝ oh god, it's cold. ❞

❝ the night sky really is beautiful out here. ❞

❝ tell him he shouldn’t have been such a good liar. ❞

❝ i’ve been listening to this for the last two weeks now. ❞

❝ it’s not even that i’m having bad ideas. i’m not having any at all. ❞

❝ can’t get away from the work, no matter what i do. ❞

❝ i made sure i switched off my phone before i came up here, just in case. ❞

❝ god, these things smell of weed. ❞

❝ yeah, well… just wanted to make sure you’re okay, you know? ❞

❝ [name] is dead. that's all there is to it. ❞

❝ no, i need to get out of here. it’s been a long day. ❞

❝ a lot of the art i found was just paintings of a night sky full of stars. ❞

❝ my job is to look the facts dead in the face and find an explanation. one that will hold up in a court of law. ❞

❝ personal and career choices, i guess you’d call them. ❞

❝ damn. i could’ve sworn i felt something strange about this place when i hiked through this morning… or maybe it was a different part. hard to tell this late at night, anyway. ❞

❝ well, let’s just say a middle-aged man-child running out panicked and tearing at his eyes would hardly be a marketable image. ❞

❝ i didn’t mind that i’d be alone—i always expected that to be how i went. ❞

❝ i’m sure that’s on my personnel file by now, as if it could get any more problematic. ❞

#sentence starters #sentence meme #rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #starters #rp starters #* sentences.#* meme.#sheridan

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potatocrab · 4 years

Text

father’s daughter

Butch and Rosie; two stubborn kids who don't know how to communicate with each other—sparks are bound to fly. Just two lonely hearted people that were forced to grow up before they were ready.

After an unsettling argument, Butch relies on old vices to get him by. When he returns to the Megaton homestead, he finds that Rosie has been suffering in silence. Now, he's determined to reconcile their differences and help her grieve over a painful past.

x - x

*Set somewhat immediately after Loose Lips with direct references to that work and Whiskey and Rain.*

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

5895 words | [read on Ao3]

Drinking was a mistake.

Butch only seemed to come to that conclusion too little, too late—always way after the alcohol started weighing his stomach down, and the pleasant burn down his throat turned fowl. He should know better, shouldn’t he? Liquor was evil and the inventor of beer was a cruel mistress. Butch had to remind himself he only called it that because Rosie had taught him about the history of his ‘favorite poison’ as some form of torture while he recovered from a hangover one bright and sunny morning.

Served him right for what he put her through after getting sloshed at Moriarty’s. He couldn’t get a straight answer from her (or Gob, for that matter) on his actions from that evening, but considering who he was, and his track record, there was a probability he either did something or said something stupid. Probably a combination of the two. His only solace was that Rosie didn’t completely ice him out, insisting to drop the subject of his missing memories with the promise he cut back on his vices.

That’s where Butch messed up—again.

Instead of agreeing, he pushed back, digging and prodding for information that she wasn’t willing to provide. Their discussion spiraled into a heated argument before dissolving into bickering, reminiscent of their childhood in the vault. They were two stubborn kids who didn’t know how to communicate with each other—sparks were bound to fly. And so, she ran off to Moira’s to pout in private and he sulked away to the only place he could find comfort—the bar.

He drowned his sorrows, wishing for a different kind of spark between he and Rosie. He’d already been carrying around a flame for her, a fact he was just barely coming to terms with. It wasn’t something worth sharing and ruining a friendship over—not when he couldn’t even manage that. Butch stayed at Moriarty’s all evening—again—until Gob kicked him to the metal wayside.

He tried to continue his wallowing at the Brass Lantern, but all Leo would give him was a can of purified water, insisting he drink it to sober up if he was heading home. The implication nearly sent Butch to the Megaton common house instead—he didn’t deserve to call Rosie’s place that, not when he was still acting like an idiot who hadn’t learned anything since leaving Vault 101 behind. It was that idiocy—mixed with some drunken bravery—that made Butch decide he couldn’t hide away forever. After chugging down another can of water and using the restaurant’s facilities (nearly puking at the pungent, chemical smell of Abraxo), he headed up the rafters and right to Rosie’s front door.

The lights were off, which meant she was either asleep, or had crashed at Moira’s. Butch wasn’t sure which was worse. He either had to be sneaky, or deal with the repercussions of making her feel so uncomfortable that she didn’t feel welcome in her own home. He pushed open the unlocked door as quietly as he could manage, opting for stealth as he slid inside. The house was quiet—but all Butch could focus on was the dull throb at the base of his skull, hoping the sound of his footsteps against the staircase weren’t as loud as he imagined.

At least he managed to keep his balance all the way to the second-floor landing, releasing a deep breath he didn’t notice he’d been holding. All he wanted was to fall face-first into his bed and sleep the terrible day away. Just as Butch leaned against the doorway to his room to call it a night, he noticed the faint glow of a Pip-Boy light coming from Rosie’s bedroom. So she was home. The question now was, what was she doing? Maybe it would be better if he left her alone, but Butch was tipsy, and curious—especially when he heard the click of a holodisk through the slightly ajar door.

“I don’t want you to follow me.”

Hey! Butch perked up when he heard her old man’s voice. What was she doing listening to tapes from her dad, and why was she doing it in the dark?

“God knows life in the Vault isn’t perfect, but at least you’ll be safe. Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going.”

Butch frowned, finally registering that he was listening to Doc Sheridan’s last recording before he abandoned Vault 101—before he abandoned Rosie. At first he felt angry. Butch had to deal with the fallout of the doctor’s choices and had seen the pain caused to those he left behind—even if Rosie never talked about her father, or his death.

“Goodbye, Rosemary. Darling.” Shit—was she crying? He could definitely hear her sniffling. “I love you.”

That’s when Butch realized he was intruding—this was not meant for his ears. He took a step back, trying to slip into his room undetected. His boot knocked the door with a bang while the metal floorboards creaked beneath his clumsy movements. There was no recovering from that. He winced, clenching his teeth as he heard Rosie’s alarmed gasp, stuck to the spot just listening to the faint shuffling on the other side of the door.

“Butch?” she hushed, the light shining in the direction of the hallway. “I—is that you?”

Damnit. He sighed, slumping forward. The jig was up, and now his mind was racing with all the possibilities of how he could manage to sweet-talk his way out of the situation. Make it not look at bad as it seemed—like he wasn’t eavesdropping, or that he hadn’t just spent the last several hours knocking back stale beer and whiskey.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Oh.”

Well that wasn’t very reassuring. Butch couldn’t tell if she sounded disappointed, or surprised. Or just sad. He swallowed the lump in his throat, deciding to inch closer to the doorway, pushing one hand through the gap and wiggling his fingers in a wave.

“See?” he called, waiting a few beats before poking his head inside.

Rosie was sitting on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, one thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders to combat the winter chill. In front of her was a spread of holodisks and other belongings—hard to tell when the only light was coming from her discarded Pip-Boy on the nightstand. But it was fairly obvious that she had been subjecting herself to some kind of melancholy trip down memory lane, something that Butch felt he was too inadequate and too inebriated to deal with. Still, he wasn’t about to just…leave her alone.

“Want some company?”

He was sure she was going to tell him to get lost, but she nodded, moving the tapes to the side so they were almost out of view. “Okay.”

Even with her whispered approval, he hesitated in the doorway, hating that he wasn’t as sober as he wanted to be, and probably smelled like a Brahmin’s backside. Or worse. Eventually, he made it to her bedside, rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous flutter of warmth radiated through his chest. She generally didn’t let him into the privacy sanctuary of her room and now he was inches away from where she slept. He’d feel more excited about the situation if his mind wasn’t so cloudy.

Rosie stared up at him with a disappointed frown. “You’ve been drinking.”

Butch gulped, trying to ignore the lingering taste of alcohol on the back of his tongue. Maybe it would’ve been better if he stopped for a smoke on the rafters before sneaking back there, or maybe that would’ve just added more fuel to the fire—he was supposed to cut back on that too. He slowly blinked, realizing the silence had stretched on too long for him to lie.

“N—yeah,” he said with a defeated sigh.

More awkward silence. He eyed the space she’d cleared. Was it meant for him? No time to be presumptuous—that’s usually when he made a total ass of himself. Rosie followed his line of sight and nodded, saying nothing else. Butch took the hint to sit down on the edge of the mattress, leaving enough space between them so she wouldn’t feel crowded. Even so, she shifted her legs away, adjusting the blanket so it was tight around her shoulders, almost like she was guarding herself from him. It was hard not to take it personally, but if Rosie didn’t want him there, she would say so. Right?

Ugh. He was too drunk to deal with this level of confusion and self-doubt. What he needed was an appropriate conversation topic that wouldn’t make her more upset. Butch nervously drummed his fingers against his knees as he glanced around her darkened room, before suddenly noticing there was something missing.

“Hey, where’s Dogmeat?” he asked. He thought about how there was no robotic voice to greet him when he returned to the house. “Or Worthy?”

“Moira offered to run Wadsworth’s maintenance routine so she could study his specifications,” she explained with a small shrug. “I left Dogmeat at the shop too, so it would be quiet. So I could be alone,” she avoided his stare. “I didn’t think you’d be coming back tonight.”

“Where else was I supposed to go?” Butch felt a little offended, frowning at her. “Common house was full—” A lie, but she didn’t need to know that, not when he was after sympathy points. “Don’t exactly have the caps to crash at the Saloon, ya’ know.”

Rosie regarded him with an annoyed expression, and he bit his tongue, already regretting what he’d said. “Plenty of caps to spend on the booze, though.”

“I’m sure you’re friendly enough with the girls there, maybe you wouldn’t need to—” she stopped herself short, pursing her lips as her face flushed pink with color. She turned away again.

Butch’s head was clear enough to catch her insinuation, and he didn’t care for it. He could deal with being called a drunk, but he wasn’t some manwhore, sleeping around with any available gal in the Wasteland. Those days were long behind him, especially now that he was with Rosie. Not with Rosie—not in that way.

What was with her, anyways? She’d been acting strangely lately; more flighty than usual, and more emotionally and physically guarded. A weird and worrisome setback after the trust-building they’d done in with their friendship. Rosie had been her usual, anxious self when they were hunkered down in that rainstorm a few weeks ago, albeit with a few mixed signals that had him thinking she wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her. He decided to blame it on the whiskey and her head-cold instead.

But then he woke up one morning, face-down in his pillow with a pounding headache and Rosie’s cold shoulder. She still nursed him through his hangover, showing a reserved kindness with her bedside manner as he suffered through a stomach bug the following few days. No more of Moriarty’s moonshine, she ‘prescribed’, written down on a piece of paper that was taped to his Pip-Boy. A whole week passed of them tip-toing around each other, Butch struggling to comprehend what he’d done wrong. When he asked, Rosie skirted the issue, but he just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie. He stirred the pot until it blew up in his face.

And now? Now they were here, back at what felt like square one.

Butch groaned, smacking his hand to his face as he tugged his fingers through the front of his hair. They really needed to stop running around in circles like idiots. No more falling back into old habits and old traits like they were still stuck underground and under the thumb of the Overseer. Didn’t they agree to a fresh start? Maybe that’s where the problem was. Nineteen years of rivalry didn’t just disappear with a simple apology and a handshake. The two never really talked about their past lives in Vault 101, like drudging up the past would make things between them more complicated than it needed to be. Seeing Rosie now, curled up on her bed, still teary-eyed from crying over the phantom voice of her dead dad made Butch realize that leaving the past behind and building walls never did any good.

He’d felt guilty before, but the knot in the pit of his stomach was a completely different level of regret. Now that they had a relationship—a friendship—he was desperate to keep it that way. Even if it meant pushing down the other, more intense feelings that had blossomed in his heart. It didn’t matter if he thought that maybe, just maybe, Rosie might feel the same way—he’d do anything to mend their broken bonds.

Rosie suddenly moved, leaning forward as she spoke. “I—I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey, no—” he interrupted, shaking his head. Butch turned towards her, scooting so he was sitting on the bed more comfortably. “You don’t need to apologize, Rosie. I do. I’m sorry. Acting like an ass, doin’ things I said I wouldn’t, and pickin’ fights with the only friend I got left in the Wasteland.”

He hesitated on that last part, heart aching within his chest. “We’re still friends, right?”

She nodded, the tiniest of smiles pulling at her lips. “Yes, Butch.”

“Phew,” he sighed, trying to inject some humor into the tense moment. He hated when things got too serious, even when it was necessary. “I really mean it. I don’t wanna keep fuckin’ up like this, backsliding into the jerk you hated growing up.”

He clenched his fingers into a fist before very carefully reaching over to tap her knee. She glanced at where his hand rested but didn’t flinch away.

“You’re all I got, ya’ know?” the words sounded familiar as he spoke them, but he wasn’t sure why.

Rosie’s eyes widened a little, and then, her smile increased—just barely. “Yes. Of course. Who else would take care of a sad sack like you?”

Butch pursed his lips, confused as to why that sounded familiar too. She rested her hand over his for a moment, giving it a light squeeze before flipping it over and sliding her fingers up his wrist to the latch of his Pip-Boy. He watched her movements, finding a strange sort of intimacy to her removing the device and glove for him, as if he wasn’t perfectly capable of doing so himself.

“My apology stands,” she sighed, resting the Pip-Boy on the nightstand next to hers. The light wavered, drowning them both in an eerie, muted glow. “I—I’ve been harsh on you, making demands when I should’ve been more patient.”

“I deserve it,” he replied. He wanted to put his hand back on her knee, wanted any excuse to touch her again, but held back, plucking at a loose strand on his jeans. “Hey, so uh…the other night…”

He trailed, anxious about bringing up the topic that had set off this chain of events in the first place. Rosie blinked at him and said nothing.

“I just—” he tugged at his shirt collar, wondering why he felt so hot. Was that a normal sign of intoxication? “Ya’ got me worried that I did somethin’ really stupid, like…” he trailed off, flicking his gaze away from her face, focusing instead on the way her fingers were twisting around the hem of her blanket. “I didn’t try to hurt you, or—”

“What?” Rosie said, alarmed. She shook her head in earnest. “No! Nothing like…that.”

As intense as she sounded, her words did little to reassure him. Butch continued to pout, wondering if she’d lie to him to spare his feelings. Then again, Rosie wasn’t exactly the best at fibbing, and had the worst poker face. She seemed to notice his skepticism.

“You…asked me to stay with you, so I did,” she reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and kept her hand there to rest against the side of her neck. It was distracting, almost as much as her soft laugh. “You thought that me helping to take off your jacket meant the evening was leading into something more, but I assure you, even when inebriated, the Butch-man is all talk and no action.”

He was momentarily stunned by her joke, before putting the puzzle pieces together. In a drunken state he’d propositioned her and now, instead of being mad at him, she was teasing him. He flashed her an overexaggerated pout, one that had her hiding her grin behind her hand. Butch leaned sideways across her bed, digging his elbow into the mattress as he propped up his head.

“If ya’ wanted some action, girlie, all you had to do was ask,” he beamed at her, adding a wink when he noted the tint to her cheeks. Too easy. But he wasn’t there to get carried away with flirtatious innuendo—not now. “Ya’ sure I didn’t do, or say anything else that night?”

There had to be more to the story, he just knew it. She wouldn’t have reacted the way she did otherwise. Rosie hesitated, all the humor draining from her face. “You didn’t.”

Before Butch could say anything else, she continued. “Why have you been spending so much time drinking at the bars anyways?”

The pointed question caught him off guard, and he struggled to think of a good enough answer. One that didn’t make him feel vulnerable, at least. As withdrawn as Rosie was about her feelings, Butch was way worse—just so happened that his coping mechanisms were far unhealthier, and probably genetic. From where he was positioned, it was easier to see the collection of holodisks and loose papers, remembering that he’d intruded on a very private moment. He owed her some honesty, for once.

“Homesick, mostly. I think. Maybe,” he cleared his throat, unsure. He traced his fingers against the fabric of her sheets, focusing on the way her left hand rested on the bed in front of her—he still wanted to hold it. “Not for the vault, but…ugh. It’s hard to explain. I’m just—”

He chewed on his bottom lip, in disbelief he was about to say it out loud. But it didn’t seem so strange admitting it to Rosie. “Sad.”

When he finally looked back to her face, he found her blue eyes shining with a kind of sympathy he didn’t expect to find. “I know the feeling.”

Silence blanketed them, but it isn’t as uncomfortable as it was before. There was a quiet understanding as they regarded each other—just two lonely hearted people that were forced to grow up before they were ready. At least they had each other. Butch only wished that fact didn’t make his chest constrict with a kind of yearning that could never be fulfilled.

In an effort to distract himself, he glanced back down at the tapes she had haphazardly shoved beneath the spare pillow. The question danced on the tip of his tongue, and if he had been sober, he probably would’ve remained silent.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Rosie wrung her hands together, obviously anxious at his question. “How much did you hear?”

“Noth—” he decided it was best not to lie, especially when she frowned at him. His whole body felt warm again. “Your pops. Calling you Rosemary.”

She flinched, startled, eyes going wide behind her thick framed glasses. Butch knew it was her full name, but nobody except her old man, the Overseer and Mr. Brotch called her by it. He’d certainly never used it, well, until now. No wonder she seemed surprised—did it sound as foreign as it tasted? She’d given him strange looks when he started using Rosie more often than Stitches, but this was something a little different. A lot different. Like he’d spoken something sacred and forbidden, yet she didn’t look like she wanted to smite him.

“I—” she took a shaky breath, steadying herself. “You know what happened to my dad?”

He nodded solemnly, remaining silent and unmoving. Butch kept his eyes glued to her face, thinking about how he learned about it all secondhand. When she found him in the Muddy Rudder in October, she briefly mentioned her father had died. It wasn’t until he traveled with her to the Citadel that the rest of the blanks were filled in, and he learned about Project Purity and the Enclave, and how Doctor James Sheridan had sacrificed his life to keep the technology out of group’s hands. Rosie had witnessed it all, and barely escaped with the surviving scientists into Brotherhood safety. But she never spoke about it, so neither did he. If Butch knew how much suffering she’d been doing in silence, he might’ve said something sooner.

“I’m still trying to get over it all,” she whispered.

His heart ached for her and the amount of grief she must’ve been fighting through. The regret returned to churn at his stomach, fighting with the ever-present butterflies. Some friend he was. He wanted her to know he could be a compassionate and thoughtful guy—he could show off his romantic side later, God willing. Tonight, Butch DeLoria wore his heart on his sleeve.

He slid his hand across the space between them, and lightly grasped her fingers, brushing his thumb across the back of her knuckles. “Maybe you don’t have to.”

Rosie stared at their clasped hands for a moment, regarding his words. He reluctantly let her go when she pulled away, suddenly turning towards the nightstand. She grabbed his Pip-Boy, placing it between them, leaving hers behind so it could continue to serve as a makeshift lamp. Then, she reached to rifle through the holodisks on the bedspread, the blanket around her shifting. Butch ignored the way her loose shirt flashed the bare skin of her shoulder—now was not the time to get excited over a little bit of flesh.

“I only got to work with my father for a brief time at the Jefferson Memorial,” she started to explain, lifting up a tape that was labeled Project Purity Personal Journal. “I collected all of his journals and recordings but didn’t get a chance to listen to them until…after.”

She hesitated on placing the holodisk into the Pip-Boy’s player. “Like father, like daughter. He was very meticulous in his recordings. Some of these journals date back to before my birth. Before…my mom died and…my dad fled to the vault.”

Talking about her old man was one thing, but Butch wasn’t about to broach the topic of her mother. Hell no. You want to talk about something forbidden, that was it. Rosie didn’t dwell on what she said, toying with the playback controls.

“I thought if I read his notes, listened to him explain…” her voice broke as fresh tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “I would get the closure I’ve been chasing. But—”

She pressed play, and Butch involuntarily winced at the sound of Doctor James Sheridan’s voice. In Vault 101, he wasn’t somebody that necessarily ever had a kind word to say to him, not that Butch was deserving of such respect. He was Rosie’s childhood bully, a general menace, and was always messing up his clinic with blood and excuses. It was strange to hear him in such a disjointed manner, musing about Project Purity. He sounded tired. Guilty.

“It’s been close to twenty years since my last entry. Since I left all of this behind to make a life for my daughter, Rosemary. We spent all that time in Vault 101, tucked away from the rest of the world. It wasn’t perfect, but it was safe, and that’s all I could have hoped for.”

He glowered at the squiggly lines that appeared on the screen of his Pip-Boy. If the good doctor thought Vault 101 was safe, he was living in a world of delusion. Probably why he finally broke out, come to think of it.

“Now, my daughter is a grown woman. Beautiful, intelligent, confident. Just like her mother.”

Rosie was covering her face with one hand now, but it was obvious that she’d begun to cry in earnest, teeth clamped down hard across her bottom lip so she’d remain as silent as possible.

“And as hard as it was to admit it, she doesn't need her daddy anymore.”

The recording ended.

Rosie was unable to hold back the quiet sounds of her sobbing and snapped both hands to her face in and effort to hide her tears. She pushed away her glasses, rubbing at her eyes and cheeks as she turned away. It wasn’t like Butch hadn’t seen her cry before, but this was raw, unfiltered emotion. More than ever he felt like an interloper, like he was seeing something not meant for his eyes.

“I can’t help but feel like…” Rosie hiccupped away another sob, frantically wiping at her face. “Like he blamed me. The reason why Project Purity didn’t continue, why it failed. The reason why my mom died—it was all because of me.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “All those years growing up in the vault. It wasn’t like he was…abusive, just…distant. And now I know why.”

Butch decided it was time to move, time to say something—time to lend some kind of comfort. Even if she ultimately rejected it, he had to try. He pushed himself to sit, scooting his Pip-Boy to the side so his legs could occupy the space instead. In retrospect, he was a lot closer than he intended to be, but there was no backing away now, no second-guessing his decisions. Heart. On. Sleeve.

“Hey, hey,” he tentatively reached out to her shoulders, rolling them under his grasp. “Don’t—”

He wasn’t about to tell her not to cry, but what she was suggesting didn’t sit right with him. Butch titled her chin up with a fleeting touch. Rosie inhaled sharply, and her hands fell to his forearms, but she didn’t push him away. She still couldn’t look at him, staring down at what little space remained between their bodies.

“No way your old man thought that way about you,” he said, tilting his head in an attempt to catch her eyes. “I mean—he wouldn’t say all those things about ya’ if he didn’t think it was true, right? Never thought you’d hear them, so why lie?”

Rosie’s breath was still shaky, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. He quickly swept them away with the pad of his thumb and gingerly cupped the side of her face, fingers tangling in her hair.

“Beautiful, intelligent, confident,” he repeated the words from the holotape, hoping that if she couldn’t believe dear ol’ dad, then she’d at least believe him. “Sounds like the Rosie I know.”

Finally, she looked at him and the breath was stolen right out from his lungs. Her eyes were still glossy, but she’d stopped crying, the blue of her irises shimmering so intensely it was like he was being hypnotized. A blush had settled across her cheeks and nose, creeping up from her pale neck. Butch flicked his gaze to her slightly parted lips, realizing that by titling his chin down, he could kiss her.

A split second of clarity snapped his mind into focus and like a punch to the gut he realized how much of a dumbass move that would be. Kiss her? That was the kind of debauchery that got him into trouble with Rosie in the first place. He thought so, at least. Plus, he couldn’t kiss her when she was vulnerable, and while he was still so full of booze he might as well puke in her trash bin. No way did he want their first kiss to be one he regretted.

Rosie’s fingers dug into his jacket and regardless of what the silent signal meant, he pulled away, giving her space. He couldn’t look at her face for a long while, not wanting to see the possible disappointment in her expression. When he finally dared to glance up, he found her staring at his boots, dirty from whatever he’d walked across while in town that evening. And now they were resting across her bedsheets.

Butch let out a nervous chuckle as he swiftly untied the laces and pushed them off his feet. Rosie offered a lopsided smile at the gesture, though he had to wonder if she actually wanted him to leave instead. He wiggled his toes in his socks, reminding himself that if she wanted him gone, she’d say so. When the silence stretched on for too long, he awkwardly gestured to a holotape that was labeled differently than the others.

“What’s that one?”

Rosie’s smile was much more genuine as she read the label. “Better Days.”

“What’s on it?” Butch asked cautiously. “Doesn’t sound so science-y.”

“It’s—it’s one of my mother’s recordings,” she explained, in a quiet voice.

Butch’s curiosity was spiked. “Whoa, really?”

She seemed to be considering something before grabbing for his Pip-Boy again, swapping out one holodisk for another. This time, he wasn’t sure what to expect, leaning closer to the device in anticipation.

“...that batch of tests was inconclusive, but Madison and I are convinced it's a problem with the secondary filtration system. We're going to re-calibrate the equipment and try again tomorrow, so that—”

Rosie paused the playback, and Butch couldn’t help but grin at the voice he’d heard. He met her gaze, and softly laughed, which only perplexed her. “Your ma sounds just like you,” he said, catching her little, flustered expression. “I mean, you sound like her. Smart. Got those brains from somewhere, huh?”

“I—” she bit down on her bottom lip, holding back a beaming smile. Butch wished she wouldn’t. “I suppose so.”

“Is there more?” he felt selfish for asking. This was her mom, and she’d been willing to share such a private memory with him. He didn’t have to be so greedy.

Rosie fiddled with the Pip-Boy controls, the tint to her cheeks returning. “It’s…embarrassing.”

“Whadd’ya mean?”

She was suddenly interested in a spot on the metal ceiling. “My mom was uhm…interrupted,” she said. “By…my dad.”

Oh. Butch bit back a lewd expression, considering these were Rosie’s parents. Her deceased parents. She noticed his reaction and leaned forward to give his shoulder a playful shove. Well, that was a good sign, if any, that they were back on good terms. Or headed that way.

“Get your mind out of the gutter!” she reprimanded, even if there was a trace of amusement in her tone. “It isn’t like they recorded a—a sex tape, or something.”

Butch’s brain short-wired on Rosie uttering the words sex tape, and it took him a couple seconds to catch up to reality. He pointed at the glowing screen. “How do I know? You’re the one who won’t play it.”

She huffed, but eventually continued the playback, lifting both hands to press against her face as her mother’s voice echoed around them. Whatever Butch was expecting, it wasn’t the playful teasing of a woman scientist, distracted by her amorous husband. Much different than those racy holofilms the Snakes and him used to sneak a peek at in the restricted area. This was romance—this was love.

“We'll move on to diagnosing the issues with the radiation dampeners. That should... Ow! James! Now? We really shouldn't...”

The tiny chortle is what really set him off. Why’d it sound so familiar, like he’d heard it before, replying in his dreams? Butch quickly realized, as he looked back up to meet Rosie’s eyes that he’d heard her giggle in the same way—a rare and wonderful thing, but he’d heard it enough times to catch the similarities now. He wanted to hear it again. Not in a faded memory, but straight from her lips—and he wanted to be the cause.

“Sounds like…they were happy,” he finally said.

Rosie slowly nodded. “Yeah.”

She moved the Pip-Boy back to the nightstand, and he took the hint that there would be no more listening sessions that evening. He had no idea what time it was, but it had to be late, and no doubt that she’d exhausted herself crying—both before and after his arrival. It was time for him to leave.

“Butch?”

This time, Rosie was the one to close the distance, scooting closer to his body before wrapping her arms around his neck in a loose hug. She rested her chin against his shoulder and sighed, the sensation causing a shiver to run down the length of his spine.

“Thank you,” she whispered. It was all she said.

Butch caught up to the moment, looping his arms around her waist, daring to squeeze her closer. “Yeah.”

After a few minutes, she nuzzled her cheek into the leather of his jacket. “You smell like gin. And cigarette ash. If it weren’t for the pomade and cologne, I’d probably kick you out.”

Butch snickered, but his brain was too hazy to come up with a proper comeback. Either from a sudden onset of drowsiness or the lingering effects of his intoxication, he wasn’t sure. “Yeah, well you…”

He rested his head against hers, pressing his nose through her dark hair. She smelt pretty, fresh and warm from a recent shower. The words fell from his lips before he could stop them. “You smell nice.”

Rosie very softly laughed, a quiet little giggle that ghosted across the shell of his ear and warmed his body and soul. She went quiet after that, going still in his arms. He didn’t dare to move, even after several minutes turned into almost a half-hour. His eyes went droopy, and he started to tilt sideways as it became harder to combat sleep.

“Hey, Rosie,” he hushed, trying to rouse her. “Time for bed. Think you’d rather sleep horizontally, yeah?”

She hummed, arms tightening around his shoulders. “Okay.”

When he tried to pull away again, she protested. “Don’t leave.”

Butch froze in place—surely she was sleep-talking. Did she know what she was talking about? Just a few weeks ago she was abhorrently against the idea of sharing a bed and now…?

Rosie spoke one last time, in a barely-there whisper. “Please.”

There was no denying her now, not that he necessarily wanted to leave. Butch only wished the circumstances were a little bit better. Clearer. Less muddled and thick with heavy emotion. If he wasn’t so tired, he might’ve had a crying session himself, but that could wait for another evening.

Instead, he shifted their bodies backwards across the bed, uncaring that they were laying across the mattress diagonally, and that his feet were hanging off the bed. If he moved her again, he’d surely wake her and risk ruining the entire moment. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it across their torsos, shielding them from the cool air of her room. Rosie snuggled close, arms curled tight against his chest—she was blissfully asleep. Butch tucked his arm around her waist, allowing himself one fleeting kiss to her temple as he succumbed to the darkness of sleep.

“Goodnight,” he whispered. “Rosemary.”

#fallout 3 #butch deloria x f!lone wanderer #butch deloria #rosie sheridan #fallout fanfic #rosie sheridan fics #angst train choo choo #donald glover emotions (tm)#more of Butch in his feelings #Rosie has a cry #they do hug though so it's not all sad

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thenightling · 3 years

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What might have Been (Sandman fan fiction)

What might have Been...

Someone out there really does not want me to write Sandman fan fiction so naturally I must write more.

This story was inspired by the fact that over on his Tumblr Neil Gaiman was asked on at least two occasions that if Alexander Burgess had freed Morpheus, would he still have been condemned to eternal waking or if he would have shown mercy? Both times Neil Gaiman answered that Morpheus would have shown mercy. And yes, Neil Gaiman has a Tumblr. So this is a story of what may have happened of Alexander Burgess had freed Morpheus back when he probably should have.

Note: This story does contain a depiction of early twentieth century homophobia and some period accurate slurs. Based on my own personal experiences as a non-straight person I understand if the scene might make some readers uncomfortable. However you might find the end result of what happens to the abuser somewhat cathartic.

What might have Been…

The boy stared intently at the glass cage in front of him. It was domed and rather egg-like in shape and tall enough to hold a man or something very man-like. The leadened quartz-crystal was as clear as any well-made window. Alexander Burgess watched the creature with the fascination of a child watching a pet lizard in a terrarium.

The naked being in the cage stared back at him with cold intensity and a proud contempt as well. The creature was pale as chalk, and his eyes were like back pools of water with twin stars serving as pupils floating in the darkness. Later Alex would be able to compare this vision to the claimed “Grey” alien encounters he would read about in grocery store tabloid magazines. One stark difference from those creatures though was that this creature had a shock of wild, black, hair that reminded Alex of a disorderly pile of raven feathers, thick and heavy hair that framed the pale face staring out at him from behind the glass. The creature was improbably thin. It was clearly intelligent and generally humanoid. If Alex hadn’t seen the summoning for himself, if he had not detached himself so thoroughly from the alienness of this entity, he might have even found him beautiful or attractive. But all potential for that had been lost to fear and the unavoidable and frightening knowledge that this was not a human being.

Alex did not know why he found The Creature so fascinating. He had discovered who and what the creature was in the Paginarum Fulvarum. The King of Dreams. That revelation had somehow not resolved his sense of curiosity. This was the being accountable for everyone’s dreams, all of humanity’s secret fantasies and all those shameful imaginings that come late at night when people are at their most vulnerable. For Alex there was a secret shame in his own dreams…

“I hate you.” Alex whispered. It was a childish proclamation but there was some hidden pain there. The bony, wraith-like, creature moved his head slightly, acknowledging Alex’s words without responding verbally. He never spoke to them.

Alex wasn’t even twenty-years-old yet but he knew he was not like other men. He was not “manly” by the usual definition of the term. And he believed that if his father knew about his secret yearnings, his Desires… He would be disowned…

It was this thing’s fault, wasn’t it? The cruel bastard there in the box. He was the one who gave him those dreams. The dreams that Alex dared not describe to anyone. Dreams of other young men. The feel of their lips against his face. The tingle through his scalp as the lips vibrate against his earlobe as something gentle and inviting was whispered into his ear. Their affection, their touch, their love… How Alex dreamt of that love, that sweet, terrible, sinful love. And why? Why was this such a taboo? His father had used magick for so many cruelties. He had even killed with it. So why were his desires, ones that could never hurt anyone, considered to be so much worse? …And who decided that a form of love could be deemed evil anyway? Wasn’t love supposed to be ultimate redeemer? The ultimate absolution? As far as young Alex was concerned humans and the powerful beings that governed the universe- they were all hypocrites. All of them! Hypocrites who took pleasure in the befuddlement of others by tempting them with …with deviant dreams…

Alex had enough of staring at the alien-like boogeyman there in the cellar. He got up off the cold, damp, floor where he had been seated, eye level with the crouching, naked thing. Almost staring each other down, as if in a contest of wills neither was entirely sure about. Alex stood up. Unlike the pale creature imprisoned there, Alex could leave. He could leave at any time. …Then why did he feel just as trapped as if he was the one in the glass bubble?

The months passed and not much had changed. Alex had grown a bit, but that was normal. He had read somewhere that some men grow until they’re twenty-five. He was taller, leaner. He discovered he needed spectacles, which wasn’t too surprising. He had squinted often when reading father’s dusty old books.

One thing was different though. Father had hired a new gardener. A pretty, red-haired boy, barely Alex’s own age. And Alex had the distinct feeling that perhaps this young man was also… different. Different in his capacity to feel for men what most men usually only feel for women (or so Alex believed).

It was a warm summer afternoon when Father finally took notice of Alex and the peculiar way he watched the gardener. Alex, whom he often ignored. Roderick Burgess found it distasteful and rather Crowley-esque that his own son should look at another man in that way. He watched as Alex observed the gardener. Roderick hoped what he was seeing here wasn’t what it appeared. But it seemed so. Alex was as infatuated with the near androgynous gardener boy in a way that he should only feel toward women. Well, something must be done about that!

“Father, please!” Alex tried to shield himself with his arm as his father’s heavy, old, walking stick came crashing down on him again. “You are an EMBARRASSMENT! The heir to the Order of Ancient Mysteries, my ONLY son… a worthless, useless… Mary!” There was another crack from the gentleman’s cane being used in a very ungentlemanly fashion. “No, Father, I… Magus. Magus, Please, I-“ “It’s that boy, isn’t it? That Elliot? Well, he doesn’t work here anymore! I sent him away. You’re lucky I don’t just stop his heart to rid myself of this shame!” He was one to talk of Shame. His father, the infamous occultist, rival to Aleister Crowley, head of The Order of Ancient Mysteries, and source of scandal after scandal. The papers always had something to say about Father. They never spoke about Alex. Alex knew how to keep a low profile, to keep to himself, to go virtually unnoticed in his father’s shadow. The threat to stop Elliot’s heart was very real. Alex knew his father had enough magick to do such a thing to someone without the occult means to defend himself. “No! He’s innocent!” “Innocent?!” What did that matter to someone like Roderick? Alex had always been too damn soft and now he had gone over to fairyland as far as Roderick was concerned. Well, at least he knew his son hadn’t soiled his bed with his deviance yet- he had not acted out his profanity in the house, at least there was that. “Look at you! You’re a disgrace!” Alex was cowering and crouched in the corner of his room, which was in disarray from his father’s attack. He knew he couldn’t hide what he was from him. His father was just too powerful…

It also didn’t help that Alex had kept those old novels under his bed. The picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, a few selected Greek myths carefully bookmarked in a thick, leather-bound, volume, and the closet drama Goethe’s Faust parts 1 and 2 translated perfectly from German into English. Anyone with the ability to read between the lines, as they say, could tell what Mephisto’s relationship with Faust was really all about… Alex couldn’t tell what was worse, the words his father said or the cane coming down again and again. He was too afraid to fight back. There was no telling what his father or his father’s minion might do if he tried. Sometimes he had nightmares of his father’s darker wrath, much more extreme than this. “You dress like a fairy! Look at you! Growing your hair out like a girl, walking around in long velvet jackets like they’re frocks! You think you look like Henry Irving or something? No, you look like a little girl! No woman will ever find you attractive. I should have realized, the way you bury yourself in those books, like a little wanna-be priest.” Alex saw nothing wrong with dandy fashion and as for his hair, plenty of respectable men had hair longer than his. His hair wasn’t even really shaggy. Oscar Wilde’s hair had been longer than this at the time of his death. Though he knew that was, as far as his father was concerned, an awful example. He whimpered and tried to wait out the pain and dared not argue the accusations. “They stare at you, you know.” Roderick continued in his tirade to shame him. Alex knew the only person who actually scrutinized what he wore was his own father. He kept to himself too much to be the focus of anyone else’s attention. “You think I don’t see it? How they turn and look at you and whisper on the street what a pansy you are. Maybe if you dressed normal you wouldn’t forget you’re supposed to be a man!” No one was actually saying he was a pansy. That was clearly Father’s own insecurity about his masculinity talking.

“Clean yourself up.” Roderick said, finally too exhausted to beat him anymore. And in an after-thought “If anyone asks, you fell off a horse like the clumsy idiot you are.”

Roderick walked from the room, gentleman’s cane (if you could call it that) still clutched in his hand.

Alex slowly pulled himself to his feet. He was trembling yet, and sniffling, trying to choke back the threatening sobs. Alex had long ago abandoned the childish (as he saw it) hope that a parent’s love was truly unconditional. The child in him still insisted it was supposed to be unconditional, that parents are supposed to love you and accept no matter what, and Alex still craved his father’s approval and acceptance. It had been some naïve governess from Alex’s childhood who had taught him that foolish notion he could not shake, that a parent should love you without condition. And he never could quite let go of that belief even if all of his life experiences insisted that no parent (at least his parent) could not love in that way… Could Roderick Burgess love at all?

Alex finally left his badly disheveled room once he was certain his father was no longer nearby. There were papers and books scattered, along with a knocked over chair and some random knickknacks. Some ceramic and glass items were broken, fragments of childhood playthings lay on the carpet. Something had broken tonight and it was not merely some old toys… Alex walked …or more precisely he stumbled, down the hall. Alex’s back ached where he had gotten the brunt of the caning. He knew the marks were going to scar. Everything ached. His shoulders, his legs, especially his back. One eye was blackened and his cheeks were red from the heat of crying. He wiped furiously at his own tears. It was foolish to cry. And it was dangerous to dream…

He would never really be free. He was as much his father’s prisoner as the creature down in the cellar… If he tried to run away he knew his father and his magick would find him. And… he had nowhere to go anyway… Even if his situation was “Normal” and there was no fear of magical ramifications for his defiance, to whom could he turn? Where could he run? There was no sanctuary for someone like him…

Alex made his way to the secret passage, to the stone staircase that spiraled its way down to the windowless chamber. He knocked on the heavy wooden door and announced himself for the two guards his father had watching the prisoner. One of the guards opened the door for him. They knew better than to question the boy’s condition but there was a slight trace of pity in at least one of them, a softening to the man’s usually unreadable expression. Alex managed to steadily walk to the glass cage, hiding that he was in pain. He slowly laid his hand against the cool glass. “Please leave us.” “But the Magus says-“ One of the men started to protest. “My... Father,” Alex practically spat the word, “is the one who pays you. And I speak on his behalf. Now go!” The men exchanged looks and then shrugged, deciding not to argue with the young man. They both were eager to have a tea and coffee break anyway. Alex lowered his hand and stood outside the cage. He looked at the pale, emaciated figure behind the glass. He had never changed. Not since the day they had captured him. He had not aged, nor had he grown a beard. And yet Alex felt as if he, himself, had changed so very much in that time. Changed in such a way that he saw now that he was in no better of a situation than this creature here. Trapped in darkness, trapped behind the glass, unable to touch or be touched. Alone… Naked, exposed. Everyone could see everything about him. And yet he- The King of Dreams- was unashamed. Proud. Not trembling or cowering from a brute of a father. Alex’s contempt for the creature mingled with long, distant fear, was now being replaced by a different emotion. Something not unlike empathy and maybe even envy. Envy at the defiance of will, envy at the hidden power that such a fragile, delicate looking thing could have… Almost beautiful. The King of Dreams was almost beautiful…

Alexander Burgess saw this weakened, helpless wretch, and he saw himself. A prisoner locked away from light. A prisoner stripped of dignity. Utterly at his father’s mercy until he said or did what his father wanted… Would this proud creature eventually cower and break as Alex felt like he had broken. Alex bit his lip. If he freed this creature it… he might kill him… or worse… But maybe… Whatever his fate might be, it was better than this. Right now, as it stood, they were both prisoners. But if he freed him, this so-called King of Dreams… At least one of them would be free. And Alex would have some small revenge on his father, the Magus of The Order of Ancient Mysteries… Maybe it was some half-hearted attempt at self-destruction, a suicide without noose or razor- that Alex felt he would either die by this creature’s hand or by his father’s but he wanted this thing to end and let it end tonight. This felt like the only true way to end it. Alex had gotten a hold of the heavy brass key and placed it into the lock at the base of the crystalline cage. He was really doing it. The key fit easily into the hole of the metal base just within the binding circle’s confines. Alex dragged his foot over the old, chalk, binding circle, deliberately breaching it, as he turned the key. The crystalline cage opened at a discrete seam. The pale figure stood up slowly, cautiously, moving like an uncertain animal. He blinked those wide, black eyes, like doe reacting to being offered food by a human.

The King of Dreams stepped out of the cage and toward Alex. He tentatively moved beyond the binding circle as if worried that Alex might change his mind and try to stop him, or perhaps that someone else might. Alex stepped back but only slightly. Alex waited for whatever was to come next. The pale figure moved to him, the glassy black eyes stared at him, stared deep into his own and for a brief moment Alex felt… understood... maybe even accepted. And most importantly he felt… forgiven. Not for the sin of what he was- this creature saw that as no crime, but for how he had treated him. For taking part in the summoning spell, for being complacent in his father’s abuses and humiliation of this proud entity. “I’m sorry…” Alexander said, swallowing back fresh tears. “I’m sorry… It was my father, he…” The pale figure put a finger to his own lips.* “Shhh.” Alex was trembling, afraid of what he might do next. And for a second, there was such a softness to the usually cold creature and a slender hand touched Alex’s cheek but only for a brief moment. Alex had never heard him speak and he was startled by the soft sound of an audible voice coming from him. He didn’t say anything really other than the “Shhh.” Alex blinked several times. The King of Dreams moved past Alex, toward the stairs. Alex went to bed shortly after that as if nothing had happened. He had just felt so very tired. He tried to behave as if he had not just released his father’s prisoner. The next morning though things were different. Alex had slept peacefully and felt quite well rested. Even his black eye had seemed to have mostly healed and his back didn’t hurt anymore. There would be no scars after all. But something was wrong in the house of Fawny Rig. The servants were in a tither. Roderick Burgess would not wake form his sleep. He was alive. And he seemed to be dreaming. He would moan and mutter, and occasionally whimper or beg for it to stop, crying out in his sleep, but he would not waken. Alex stood to the side of the bed. “Father! Father, please! It’s me, Alex! Please wake up! …Please.” But the situation was hopeless.

And despite everything he had suffered at his father’s hands Alex still grieved. He wept as if his father was dead and he knew his father’s fate was worse than death. Alex still mourned. Alex still pined for what might have been, still longed for a father that would love him unconditionally and accept him for who and what he was without question. If the world’s most infamous sorcerer couldn’t even do that… who could? Who could… love him?

Alex was scared. He had been in his father’s shadow so long he did not know how to function without him and he had been so isolated, he had so few friends. All he could do was rely on the servants, the lawyers, and his father’s money to support himself. His father was moved to the hospital and eventually diagnosed with some sort of Encephalitis Lethargica. A sort of brain swelling related sleeping sickness but Alexander Burgess knew better… Somehow he knew…

His father would never wake up… The years passed and everything that was Roderick’s passed into Alex’s hands. His father died years later in that hospital bed but Alex was not sure of his father’s nightmares were truly over. He imagined his father’s soul was still trapped somewhere, still suffering an endless nightmare leading into another nightmare, and each time he thought he was waking he would just find himself in yet another new nightmare. Somehow Alex knew this. Where his father was now condemned to eternal waking did he know his body had died or did he have a futile hope that he would one day wake up?

The estate, Roderick’s fortune, everything was now Alex’s. No one was there to be critical or to tell Alex what to wear, how to speak, or… who he could love. And Alex eventually met a beautiful young man named Paul. Oh, how he loved Paul. They would travel to such places together. London, France, Berlin… They traveled together on a private yacht and drank Champaign on the deck as they watched the sunset over the Mediterranean Sea. There was no secret prisoner to worry about, nothing to shackle them to Fawny Rig like Dorian Gray shackled to his painting. They could go anywhere. They could do anything. They were free. And Alexander Burgess lived Happily Ever After… It was a pleasant dream. Too pleasant…

Elderly Alexander Burgess woke in a cold sweat. There were fresh tears in his eyes. He sat up in bed and Paul was there beside him. At least there was that… At least Paul was there. Paul was real.

But that’s not how the story played out, not really. Alex had never been brave enough to defy his father. He had not slipped down to the cellar the night that he should have. He had never freed the prisoner. Even when his father had died he had never freed the prisoner that he both resented and related to. And he had been the one punished with six years locked in a nightmare that would seem to end only to reveal a new nightmare was starting, and on and on it had gone. He had woken from that “eternal” curse to his beloved Paul waiting for him. He had been forgiven. He was relieved that Paul was here. Paul looked at him now. “What is it, love? Did you have a bad dream?” Alex nodded. “I don’t know what’s worse… that nightmare that I was trapped in or…” He bit his lip before choosing the words. “…knowing I could have saved us all… saved myself…if I had just done the right thing at the right time…”

“Hush now, darling. You’re still half-asleep. I’ll get you some tea.” Alex was soothed and sighed. There was no use dwelling on what might have been. But sometimes those dreams of what he could have done- what he should have done, if he had just been brave enough… Sometimes that felt so much worse than the actual punishment the Lord of Dreams had subjected him to before finally forgiving him…

But at least he was safe now. At least he had Paul. And at least he had been forgiven. And he was loved and accepted for who and what he truly was. And his cruel, old father, was very much dead. A loveless old man was gone. But Alex was alive. Paul was alive. And they were in love. And no one could take that away from them. And Alex and The King of Dreams were both free from the shadow of Roderick Burgess forever.

There was no point on dwelling on what might have been. That did not matter now. What mattered was the love that Alex had finally found and the freedom that he and The King of Dreams both had gained.

The End

#The Sandman #Sandman #The Sandman Fan fiction #What Might have been...

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phoebehalliwell · 3 years

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So I LOVED your Sheridan and Warren fic!! The two of them are hilarious because that are just trying their best those poor boys! I had a hypothetical, so like in all those AU where Prue is wished alive in I Dream of Phoebe, what would happen in this situation? Would Prue go see her sisters or would she go find her kids? ALSO Prue as the boys magical (deceased) guide is Perf 👌🏻

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA tysm !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love my boys so much i’m really trying to keep them like. like as removed from proper magic as possible bc i just think it’s really fucking funny to just follow two bimbos around as they try their best. i’ve also def like tinkered w canon a lil bit as explained in this post here only to keep them further away from aunts who could explain everything like they don’t even have a whitelighter bc paige was supposed to fill that role really the only person they have is prue who gave them a crash course when she unbound their powers as explained in this post and they will occasionally summon her but even then it’s less for advice and more bc like. they want 2 talk to their mom. and i do think prue will occasionally try to make like guest appearances on their birthday she’d def be a presence kinda like how grams was a presence for the girls if they had a book of shadows prue would do the flipping. but they don’t. she did guide their familiar to them!! the cat’s name is swizzlesticks and yes it is just kit again lmao. But. Ur Question. so basically in w&s’s origins jack raised them post prue death and like he kinda fucked off to japan for the rest of the show (sidenote both warren and sheridan are quasi fluent in japanese like jack the only difference is while jack uses his bilingual talents for business the twins almost exclusively use this ability to multitask while watching anime) so i think piper and phoebe had like Zero contact w their nephews and paige actually has never met them like she didn’t even really know they existed bc deadass just no one mentioned them. so like if prue is wished back to life in i dream of phoebe for starters she’s gonna know chris is piper and leo’s son bc she’s been keeping an ear to the ground and Heavily monitoring this chris situation before she assessed that he was good she spent a lot of time trying to figure out if a ghost should beat the shit out of an alive witch so idk who’s wishing prue alive in this specific au tbh u know what richard’s kinda off the shits this ep he’s probably wish prue back to life to try to prove to paige that she doesn’t have to be a charmed one she can just be paige :) and paige would lose her SHIT bc like oh my god that was not what she wanted and she’s so not ready to meet prue but here she is lmao and chris is freaking out bc now he really knows he’s altered the future in Major ways i think piper would see prue and immediately pass out and while i think prue would really really want to see her kids her first task would definitely be fixing the future and she would entirely dedicate herself to making sure wyatt doesn’t become evil but i think like she would pull chris aside and be like hi in your future where are my kids and chris would be like who? and prue would be like my sons?? warren & sheridan???? and chris would be like what?????? bc this whole time if wyatt was indeed not the eldest son like are you Fucking Kidding Me????? but no he’s never even heard of warren and sheridan bc in the dark future their powers were simply never unbound and they just continued to live as mortals and may or may not be dead depending on how good the witch finder bots are but like. i don’t think even if wyatt knew they existed he would want to find them bc that just draws attention to the fact they existed and he’s not the firstborn of the next gen so either they’re doing fine-ish all things considered or they just like died lowkey. but chris didn’t even was remotely aware of their existence. and i think this would kinda send prue into a bit of a tailspin bc her boys are so far removed from their legacy and their family (and they’re being raised by jack yikes!!) and she’s like no these are my kids but if she wants to get where they are she either needs to book a fight or find a whitelighter so i think this would specifically be a prue/paige adventure which is also nice bc paige is omnilingual and prue does not speak japanese so like. idk cute adventure. probably use some monster from japanese mythology to save either some smallish town or alternately a major city bc both of those r fun. i think if jack saw prue again he would start throwing things at her and stuff bc he’d be convinced this is some demon here to kill his kids just like they killed her bc haha that’s not a recurring nightmare lmao so i think prue would cast the truth spell right then and there to prove she’s really her which also leads to some good comedy and character development bc jack paige and prue are all under a truth spell and there is a lot unsaid between all of these characters with paige’s inferiority complex and prue and jack’s true feelings for each other and issues caused by prue’s death y’know blah blah blah but i think prue would really use this opportunity to bring warren & sheridan back into the fold so to speak and bring them to the manor and properly train them in the craft and tbh in this specific au i think prue and jack would actually end up together. bc in any other world i’m saying they literally just coparent like they’re fond of each other and will always love the other in like some way but it’s not like Love but i think here specifically it’s like. like the time spent apart where jack just like fucking wishes prue was there and realized what an absolute sap and hopeless romantic he is bc yeah he always like grand gestures and clowning around but like. warren and sheridan’s first steps? and jack was just fucking alone like ngl he almost cried bc he just wished. like prue should have been there. she would have been a great mom. she was a great mom. and his kids deserve their mom and like. he just wishes he could have shared that moment with her. completely unbeknownst to jack prue actually does like you know watch over them all and she’s just like. like blown away by jack. like never in a million years would she have thought he was capable of doing what he did. like. like wow man. and i think the combination of those two like actually having them together again and raising their kids i think romance would blossom again. and i think it would be this insane slowburn bc i think y’know like. like it only happened the first time bc jack pursued prue and was like stubborn and stupid and he like knew she was outta his league but it didn’t matter bc that relationship was just for funsies it was a fling it was never meant to be permanent but if jack were to pursue it know it’s be like. permanent. you know? and jack just doesn’t think prue feels the same way like jack’s a fuckin idiot he knows that and prue’s like a witch? like an insanely talented with and a successful photographer back from the dead don’t worry about it lmao and she just like. she takes the world by storm she balances her career and motherhood and saving the motherfucking world like how could she ever. she would never want to be with someone like jack like that’s just. it’s not in the cards. and prue on the other hand keeps waiting for the penny to drop she keeps waiting for like. jack to realize he doesn’t have to be here anymore. she’s convinced he’s gonna hop town and continue being the man she knew while she was alive now that he doesn’t have to keep watching over the kids now that he’s free in a way but that just never happens because jack doesn’t want to leave like those are his kids also he’s in love with prue lmao but she just can’t. she doesn’t get it. men leave. that’s what they do. that’s what they’ve literally always done she can’t like. she can’t open herself up to something serious only to have jack just ditch and leave her kids with the memory of his back walking out the door so she lowkey starts to push him away put her walls up which only furthers jack’s belief that this is never gonna happen but sometimes it’s like they’ll accidentally fall asleep on the couch together in the middle of the afternoon with the sunlight on them and they’ll wake up like Horribly Embarrassed like oh my god which they’re like this isnt weird okay like we have kids together they’re right there like. we have had sex multiples times before piper walking in on up taking a cat nap in the living room is literally it’s nothing!! oh but it so is something meanwhile phoebe the empath is about to lose her Fucking Shit like guys!!! guys!!!!!!!!! and piper’s just trying to reign her in like no don’t interfere bc piper knows prue’s fear of abandonment and she does not know this new iteration of jack she just remembers what he was like and she doesn’t want to see prue get hurt paige is on the opposite side bc she has literally never met any previous iteration of jack or prue and she’s like hello?? they’re in love?? and chris is like hi okay but like. the task at hand? and the girls are like no shh like trying to covertly spy on prue/jack/warren/sheridan/wyatt all playing in the solarium prue’s doing the telekinetic mobile thing again and jack’s expression of wonder is the same as his sons like !!!! and chris is like deadass i do not get it okay evil wyatt tho. but blah blah blah slow burn i think prue and jack would get married like s8. their wedding would replace paige and henry’s bc as mentioned before paige and henry having a wedding esp a wedding that early was like. dumb. but yeah. prue x jack brainrot. i’m mentally ill i love them so much.

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 5 years

Text

Bodyguard II: Familial Ties (Part III - Chapter 4) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

“What the hell?”

Brendon grumbled agitatedly under his breath as he watched you storm down the hallway, away from him. His muscles twitched as he fought off the urge to chase after you; the extremely heated agent in front of him made any attempt at it impossible.

Sighing, Brendon turned his attention to his best friend. “Spence-“

Your bodyguard was forced to swallow the rest of his words, as Spencer’s right fist collided with his cheek in a solid punch. White hot pain spread across Brendon’s skin, the damage from the punch coming off twice as bad since his cheek was still sensitive from the smack you’d given him mere minutes before.

The brooding agent closed his eyes and raised a hand to his jaw, flexing it to aid the stinging in his face. Again, he didn’t retaliate, because how could he? He deserved the punch – and the slap – and maybe even worse, and if the roles were reversed, Lord knows he probably would’ve lost his shit far worse than both you and Spencer combined.

“Deserved that,” Brendon mumbled, nodding before clearing his throat and facing forward again.

“No shit,” Spencer spat, wide-eyed as he tried to comprehend the complexity of the situation, “You’re a fucking dick, you know that? Do you have any idea what the past year has been like? The hell that (Y/N) and I have been going through?”

“I know-“

“No, you don’t!” the blue-eyed agent yelled, letting his anger spill over, “You couldn’t possibly know what it was like to lose-“

It was Brendon’s turn to interject now. “Really?” he asked with a frown, narrowing his eyes infinitesimally, “I don’t know what it’s like?”

Spencer shut his mouth and stared at his friend for a long while before looking away and shaking his head, exhaling shakily.

“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t need to, Spence.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know.”

Spencer ran his hands through his air frustratedly as he began pacing up and down the length of the hallway.

“What the fuck were you doing, anyway?” he scoffed, perplexed as to why the hell his best friend had thought it was a good idea to fake his death for almost an entire year.

Brendon held his tongue against his cheek for a couple seconds before taking a deep breath and answering. “I went looking for Mason.”

Spencer stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to stare at the other agent in blatant disbelief. “Mason?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Glancing out in the direction you’d hurried off in, Brendon clenched his jaw as his mind churned out possible locations of where you’d headed. As much as he wanted to tell Spencer everything and give him the answers that he deserved, you were his first priority. Finding you and regaining your trust was the only thing he cared about at this point in time.

He knew that Spencer would always be there with him and for him, regardless of how badly he fucked up. Your presence, however, was not at all guaranteed – and that was unsettling. The only way to ensure that you stuck around was to explain himself as best he could.

“Look, Spencer, I’ll tell you everything, alright?” Brendon held out his hands and arched his brows to show his sincerity, “Later. I just gotta-“

“She’s gonna kill you,” Spencer warned, arching his brows too and nodding, “She’s literally, legitimately going to kill you.”

“She’s not gonna kill me,” Brendon argued, shaking his head once before following your invisible footsteps.

Spencer scoffed. “Yeah, how do you know?”

“Because if she wanted to, she would’ve done it already.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Your voice rebounded off of the glass walls surrounding you as you marched the perimeter, going around in circles as you attempted to get your temper under control. The last thing anyone needed was another icy accident.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you growled, losing your cool and firing a blast from your fist against the door, shattering it into a million tiny pieces.

To hell with trying to calm down; what you really needed was to expel your rage, not subdue it.

But before you had the chance destroy anything else, the very person that was the cause of your anger appeared in the doorway, as gorgeously brooding and stone-faced as ever.

He opened his mouth to say something, and you immediately raised your fist, aiming it at him.

“I’m gonna kill you,” you said softly, just loud enough for him to make out.

As much as you wanted to yell, you were concerned that if you did, it would bring the entire building crashing down; that’s how inexplicably pissed off you were.

Brendon stepped over the glass carefully, entering the room with his hands raised in defence, indicating that he didn’t want to fight with you.

Good, ‘cause he’d lose.

“I know you’re mad at me – and you have every right to be,” he started, slowly making his way towards you, “And-“

“Where the fuck where you?” you demanded, not interested in his guileless attempts to win you over and calm you down; you wanted to know what was so important for him to do that he would fake his death and abandon you.

Brendon shut his mouth and breathed in deeply through his nose, coming to a halt a few feet away from you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t tell you the truth. At least, not the whole truth.

Mason was the one responsible for the murder of your parents, and Brendon was quite sure that revealing that The Phantom Warrior was his brother would not sit well with you at all.

“It’s…” he kept quiet for a beat, and then looked at you with a lowered head as he continued, “a long story.”

“You conned me into thinking you were dead for eleven months,” you retorted bitchily, squinting slightly, “I have time.”

“Trust me, you’re not gonna like what I tell you, (Y/N),” he said, kicking some stray pieces of glass out of his pathway as he moved even closer to you; no matter how repulsed you were by his actions, you couldn’t bring yourself to shift away from him, “So can we just leave it at ‘I needed to do something important’? Please.”

You felt every muscle in your body twitch. “More important than protecting me?” you whispered.

Brendon swallowed, gaze locked firmly with yours. Your eyes were filled with hurt so intense that he had to look away for a moment.

“You were in good hands.”

“Yeah, but they weren’t your hands,” you countered, once again finding your loud voice as you stepped up to the brooding agent, “Didn’t you promise you’d always protect me? Or was that just another lie?”

You were getting riled up again, and Brendon could see it. He reached out to touch you, to try and relax you, but you denied him and swatted his hand away.

“No, don’t fucking touch me,” you hissed with a frown, “It was a lie, right? Just like everything else. Just like everything you’ve ever said to me. Because that’s what you are.”

Your voice gradually got louder with each word that spilled from your lips, and your hands had taken it upon themselves to start shoving against Brendon’s rock hard chest.

“A liar! A fucking liar!” you yelled, starting to hit your fists against him as your breathing became ragged and tears started to form, “I can’t believe you would do this; you’re such an inconsiderate, self-absorbed piece of-“

You left your sentence unfinished and opted instead to let out a scream, your emotions boiling over in the form of angry yells and repeated punches to Brendon’s chest. He let you get it out for a couple seconds, before gathering you into his arms and pulling you close.

Before you had the chance to yell out again, he pressed his lips to yours, instantly eradicating your ability to use your voice.

You fought against his strong grip, trying to push yourself away as you frowned and groaned against his lips in anger. He wouldn’t budge or let you go; he only kissed you harder.

Eventually, you felt your resolve falter, and you gave into him, caving into the kiss with a small sigh. You tangled your hand in the hair above his neck, tugging on it harshly.

He pulled away a moment later, pressing his forehead against yours and still holding you extremely close. Breathing shallowly, you shook your head, pushing a sentence through your quivering lips as a few tears ran down your cheeks.

“I hate you!” you choked out.

He pecked your lips softly.

“I missed you, too.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

Taglist:

@arosebyname @avengertrash21 @tiffisnotnormal @darknessdancing @raversam @theieroenthusiast @the-ghost-of-hemingway @laerkers @peters-vlogs @hockeyswag-boll @username-number-01834 @untilyouburnallofthewitches @underscoredarcy @aminasmells @becausebands @converseskyline @vinyloider @attractiveugly @twentzyonepirates @tegan-eva @i-only-date-flower-boys @jishwatylrandtop @blueskiesbleakeyes @robinruns @hi-ho-and-hello @svintsandghosts @iamafishandigosplish @sunshineandapplepie @kealohilani-tepise @bookworm104 @sheridans-dynamos @justawriterinprogress @anotherwriterinprogress

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twiststreet · 6 years

Photo

Sicario 2: Day of the Triffids (2018): My whole “Oh I’ll see whatever-ass movie-- I just like the moviegoing experience” philosophy sometimes goes horribly awry, but you know, what’s the alternative? Not seeing fucking garbage? I don’t want to live in that world. Sicario 1 was my least favorite movie of whatever year it came out, though, and Sicario 2 is a top contender for this year...

For the first third or so of the movie, I was just sitting there like “oh well this is just pornography for morons again.” It starts out as an alt-right recruitment video for some Trumpian fascist shocktrooper type situation-- you know, dull “make sure to hate all minorities PS torture’s awesome and something that it’s good America does to defend this awesome country that’s not at all a declining empire of drugged-up gamer-nazi shitheads!” shit. Dumb shit that over-glorifies the competency of the numb-brains that we probably have running around out there. (It felt like the movie that stupid suburban people in Snow Crash would watch, the ones Y.T. would fuck with on the road, where I’d just feel bad for whoever enjoys that shit, how much their brain’s been polluted by jingoistic garbage). There’s action but none of it’s fun-- it’s just a shitty Call of Duty cut-scene. Like, the first third, it’s hard not to watch imagining some Ohio kid being like “Oh I want to be a Tier One operator” and then going and just signing up for ICE to be part of some baby-snatching hooligan fuckery... I grew up around kids like that anyways...

But then the rest of the movie descends into just incomprehensible pablum, so the rest of the time I wasn’t even able to think that much because I was just sitting there unable to understand why pretty much anything was happening. Nothing almost anyone does has any coherent motivation; none of it means fuck all-- there’s no fucking point to any of it; there’s almost no character shit going on; the title doesn’t even make any sense; it’s all just fucking garbage-- garbage!

The fact this is getting good reviews or the one before it got good reviews-- I just very genuinely think people want to feel good about themselves and not admit to themselves their very, very low levels of intelligence. So when they watch these they’re flatter themselves about how they “get" something about the Cartels or the Border or immigration or I don’t even know what, pretending that to avoid grappling with the reality that they’re just into braindead under-written horseshit movies about macho dudes wandering around deserts with guns, growling nonsense at each other. I really do think the good reviews, it’s dudes ashamed at their dicks getting hard at watching a deeply racist edition of Guns & Ammo Magazine: The Movie, trying to pretend it’s more than that out of shame. This movie-- ughhhhh. They hire Catherine Keener to do the most lame psuedo-deep-state banter, like straight out of some Marvel movie Nick Fury scene, just brainless shit; the psuedo-political content of this movie makes Air Force One look like a fucking hard-hitting documentary.

Basically, I hope a Cartel breaks screenwriter Taylor Sheridan’s fingers. A little Cartel I call our lord and savior Jesus Christ.

#movies i saw in 2018

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theblacklistscripts · 4 years

Text

2.19 Leonard Caul #62

[ Beep ] All units, shots fired at Euclid and Drake.

Officer: Echo 23 en route.

Officer #2: Echo 28 en route.

Copy.

FBI-issued plate-- 7-4-3-6-Uniform-Sierra-- under fire.

Possible officer involved in shooting.

One male confirmed down.

Repeat-- plate 7-4-3-6-Uniform-Sierra.

Officer under fire.

[ Gunshots ] Stay down! - You have eyes? - Fourth floor.

East side.

[ Gunshots continue ] Look out! Down.

[ Gunshots ] We got to get him out of here.

- Get in! - Let's go! [ Engine turns over ] [ Tires squeal ] Cooper, this is Keen.

Reddington is down.

I repeat, he is down-- shot and critical.

Shot? Where? Where are you? Euclid and Drake, headed southwest.

Lizzy, don't.

Reddington, stay still.

He's shot in the chest.

I'm gonna lose him if I don't get him to an ER.

Reddington's shot-- Euclid and Drake.

Providence? - No, University.

- University.

I'm trying to ping Agent Keen's phone now.

Are you secure? Unfriendlies? Unknown, but I'm gonna need an escort and backup.

What are you doing? Keen? Agent Keen? [ Monitor beeps ] Dial "star, seven, seven.

" - What? - Star, seven, seven.

[ Coughs ] What is your location? Who is this? What is your location? Mr.

Kaplan? What is your location? Capitol and M.

I don't know what Mr.

Kaplan has planned, but we need to get him to a hospital right away.

No hospitals.

I'm sorry, but we don't have a choice.

I'm not gonna let him die, and it can't wait.

[ Coughing, wheezing ] [ Cellphone rings ] Mr.

Kaplan? There's a warehouse-- Say it back.

Get there now.

We'll be waiting.

Who will? [ Exhales sharply ] Hold on.

Please.

Just hold on.

One of our men on Euclid is dead.

And the target? Hit.

Wounded.

Still in play.

They'll want to take our man to the ME.

That cannot happen.

Still alive.

I want eyes on any and all medical resources he has.

Get someone to the crime scene and find out how he got away and where he is hiding.

He's shot in the chest, right side.

Paramedic: Entered the intercostal in the eighth rib.

Absent breath sound in the right lung.

Nurse: BP is 60 over palp.

Pulse is thready.

Abdomen's distended.

I need six units now.

X-rays now.

Give me a tube.

Give me a scope.

He dropped a lung-- stat chest tube.

[ Gagging ] You need-- you need to find Leonard Caul.

Caul? Leonard Caul.

T-t-talk to Dembe.

[ Groaning ] You need to find him, Lizzy.

[ Gagging, coughing ] Get that line in.

Quick.

Stay with us.

Gone? What do you mean, gone? We instructed Keen to go to the ER at University.

Our people cleared the floor.

They never showed.

There's been an attempted assassination in broad daylight.

You know Reddington was hit, - and yet he and Keen have disappeared? - [ Door opens ] Well, that was certainly trial by fire.

Mr.

Attorney General.

Not for another week.

Not ever if the press has anything to say about it.

I'm up there spinning gold about all the great things Justice will do under my leadership when I've got an aide whispering in my ear about-- We just found out ourselves.

Harold, I was caught with my pants down, and as three ex-wives can attest to, it's not a pretty sight.

Keen's gone AWOL.

Why were they meeting in the first place? Were they working a case? I'm not aware of the nature of the meeting.

Harold, I don't need to tell you what's at stake here.

You need to contain this-- whatever it takes, whatever you need.

The full resources of my office are at your disposal.

- [ Cellphone ringing ] - Thanks, Tom.

Excuse me for a moment.

[ Ringing continues ] - [ Beep ] - Cooper.

- Reddington's in surgery.

- Surgery? Where? We've checked every ER in the city.

We're in a warehouse-- He has some sort of mobile crash team.

Dispatch units now.

Reddington gave me a name.

Who? Leonard Caul.

Who is Leonard Caul? He must know something about the people who organized the hit.

So Reddington knows who's behind this.

Whoever they are came after Reddington because they thought he had this device, the Fulcrum.

It's a blackmail file on a group, this cabal.

He told them he had it, and he didn't.

And they finally called his bluff and tried to kill him, and they will not stop until they do.

Unless we find Leonard Caul.

- There's nothing on him in the system.

- [ Monitor beeping ] According to Dembe, before Fitch died, he told Reddington to find Caul, that he would have information about the Fulcrum, the cabal.

Reddington asked Aram to trace a call to an apartment, but when they got there, Caul was gone.

All they found was blood-- no body.

Well, he didn't tell me what it was for, and I, uh, definitely didn't ask, but I could probably still pull up the location.

All right, Keen.

We got a team on the way.

Stay safe for 15 minutes, and you're home.

We need to find the tear.

What are his vitals? Nurse: BP is 90 over 60, pulse 140.

I'm giving pressors and more fluids.

I need another unit of blood.

[ Monitor beeping ] So, Aram traced that call to an apartment at 3130 Sheridan Road.

The name on the lease was an alias, but there was a police report filed by the apartment manager who found blood in the home.

So we pulled the admission logs at the nearby ERs.

Three gunshot wounds, six cases of domestic violence-- And one guy who comes in with his two fingers in a ziplock bag.

- Leonard Caul? - He didn't leave a name.

There were cops in the ER, and when he saw them, he left.

How can you be sure it's the man we're looking for? We can't.

But he left his fingers behind.

I want any surveillance from that ER.

Interview the doctors on call.

Contact Metro PD, see if they ran the prints.

[ Monitor beeping ] We've got company! Protective detail.

[ Camera shutter clicking ] We've got units securing the perimeter and a chopper inbound to evac the patient.

No, we're not-- [ Gunshots ] What the hell?! The Bureau issues Glocks or Sigs.

Whoever these gentlemen are, they're not FBI.

There will be more.

How long before we can - What's his status? - What? His status, what is it? Can he be moved? No.

M-maybe.

I don't know.

I need a definitive answer.

We have to go now.

Go? We can't go.

If we move him, he'll bleed to death.

We just now found the compromised artery.

We still have to cauterize it before we can close him.

So do it.

That was his job.

Does anyone here have surgical training? Two years, Fresno State.

You're up, Fresno.

They're coming.

Yes, I responded to their message, but we don't have more than 15 or 20 minutes.

at least 30 minutes to close this tear.

You have 15.

No.

Absolutely not.

Liz: Nick, please.

Liz, I haven't heard from you for three years.

I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice.

Find another doctor.

I had another doctor.

- Great.

Use him.

- I can't.

Why? Did you turn down his marriage proposal, too? Listen to me-- a man is going to die if you don't help us.

I'm begging you.

Where do you want me to go? What are you doing here? I live here.

I didn't know where else to go.

Over here.

Woman: BP is 70 palp.

Pulse is critical but stable.

This is for you, Liz, not for him.

The protective detail is at the warehouse.

There's no sign of Keen or Reddington.

The shooter at the first crime scene, the EMTs who were taking him to the ME, they never showed.

There were three bodies found at the warehouse-- two men posing as FBI and Dr.

Mark Child, Chief of Surgery at Georgetown.

- [ Cellphone rings ] - Agent Keen.

Are you safe? - [ Gun cocks ] - Who's with you? Just us-- Ressler, Navabi, Mojtabai.

And who dispatched the detail? The DC field office.

That must be where the leak came from.

- Where are you? - A safe house.

Give me an address.

We'll send our own men now.

Reddington's team is here.

We're secure.

How is he? He's I don't know for sure, but it's bad.

What do you need? Tell us, and we'll do it.

I need you to find Leonard Caul.

I thought you'd be gone.

That was the plan.

Then I thought maybe if I stayed, I'd have a shot at a normal life.

Does Nik have any idea what you've gotten him into? He's not a part of this.

He's just a doctor.

Reddington's a bad man, Liz.

He's bad for anyone who comes in contact with him.

He's bad for you.

His world, this right here, unless you get out, this will devour you.

It doesn't matter if he's bad.

What matters is he has answers about me, and I'm staying until I get them.

Well, maybe I could help you get those answers.

I doubt that.

Liz, I know a lot more about Reddington than you think.

The bullet nicked the right lung.

I was able to reinflate it with a chest tube, and we'll start him on a prophylactic antibiotic.

What about the bullet? That's the problem.

It has a percussion cap, which causes it to essentially explode.

By some miracle, it didn't.

If I try to remove it, if I touch it the wrong way It's like there's a land mine inside him and you're asking me to dig it up.

Can you do it or not? We were never formally introduced.

I believe the only time we met you were in her kitchen, making coffee in your underwear.

Well, if it's any consolation, she dumped me, too.

Can you do it? You may not remember, but I worked my way through school-- nights, weekends, and I still had to take out loans.

I busted my hump, and I am still $376,422 in debt.

Can I do it? Absolutely.

For $376,422.

I know who he is.

I don't why he's here or what you have to do with him, but I know.

$500,000-- unmarked, untraceable.

Mr.

Reddington insists on being prepared for all contingencies.

Shall we continue? Navabi: We checked with NCIC.

The prints they ran on our eight-fingered mystery man were a dead end.

No criminal record, no background checks.

He wasn't in their system.

But he was in Mossad's.

Leonard Caul's real name is Joseph McCray.

He's former CIA.

Last-known photograph dates back to 1981.

Ressler: He was part of Operation Harwood, a covert surveillance unit run out of Managua to keep tabs on the Sandinistas.

The Agency knows who he is, but they won't say.

Classified.

We can't find him because his job is to blend in.

He's basically eyes and ears-- nothing else.

He may as well have been a ghost.

Harwood was run by a woman named Helen Jubal.

Senate Intelligence Committee shut it down in the wake of Iran-contra.

Tom Connolly was legal counsel.

You think Connolly can get her to talk? I'll ask him.

We've been trading a few favors lately.

I could be arrested for even acknowledging Mr.

McCray exists.

As luck would have it, I know a few people in law enforcement.

[ Chuckles ] Tommy said you were a smooth operator.

He says you can help me find Leonard Caul, or the man you know as Mr.

McCray.

Haven't spoken to him in years.

Is that a fact? Well, the unit broke up.

He didn't take it well, became-- Ms.

Jubal, let's cut to it, shall we? McCray was an agent of yours.

He's in trouble, on the run.

The next Attorney General has given me carte blanche to inquire as to his whereabouts.

Anyone obstructing that inquiry will have to answer to him.

He came to me recently, said he'd gotten himself wrapped up in some kind of business with Raymond Reddington.

Hmm.

That's what this is about-- your hunt for Reddington.

Ms.

Jubal, tell me where he is.

He's scared, hurt, had no place to go-- I'm assuming because of Reddington.

If I tell you where he is, do you promise to use that information only as a means to find Reddington? You have my word.

[ Sighs ] [ Monitor beeping ] Dembe: Elizabeth.

In Bethesda, there's a small second-story flat.

In the flat, you will find a desk.

The middle drawer has a false front.

Remove it, and you will find a silver case along with a key.

This is about the Fulcrum.

Yes.

You still have it.

I do.

This case, the key I need you to bring them here to Raymond, to Leonard Caul.

That's why Reddington wanted us to find Caul, because he can decipher the Fulcrum.

He's gonna be okay.

This flat Raymond can never know you were there.

Do you understand, Elizabeth? - I would go if I could, but I can't.

- [ Lock disengages ] I can't leave him alone.

Raymond must never know you were there.

Where are we with this thing? According to Agent Keen, Reddington is in surgery.

It's touch and go.

In surgery? Where? What's their location? I'm not at liberty to say.

I suggest you take the liberty.

We have a lead on Leonard Caul.

Helen Jubal tipped us to a safe house in Alexandria.

My people are looking into it.

That's not what I asked.

I asked for the location of Reddington.

He's right to keep us out of the loop, Reven.

You know the protocol.

If there's even the slightest suspicion of a leak, information is need-to-know.

I trust Agent Keen.

After the Harbormaster? I'm beginning to regret sweeping that under the rug.

She kept this Fulcrum secret, a blackmail file on some nefarious group, and then she gave this file to Reddington? I don't know that she gave it to him.

I appreciate your loyalty to Agent Keen, Harold, but you have to admit there's a possibility she's being completely manipulated by Reddington.

What if the reason he chose her in the first place is because he wanted to get his hands on this thing? What if that's the real reason he turned himself in? I don't believe that.

All this talk about some personal connection between Reddington and Keen, why he chose her, some shared history-- What if Reddington doesn't care about Agent Keen and it's all been a manipulation? - [ Cat meows ] - [ Gasps ] Hey, sweetheart.

Hi, kitty.

[ Cat meows, purring ] [ Camera shutter clicks ] [ Monitor beeping ] The doctor says you did well.

Elizabeth?

She's fine.

You need to go to my flat.

I'm taking care of it.

You were right, Dembe.

I should've told her.

I understand why you didn't.

[ Scoffs ] No, you don't.

[ Chuckles ] The blessing of an honest man.

She still hasn't found Caul.

She won't.

But if she looks for him, he'll find her.

Man: Hello, Agent Keen Why don't we go back inside and have a little chat? Tom: Don't take it.

You take that money, and he'll have his hooks in you.

Trust me, it's the last thing you want.

I'm not a criminal.

I've never even gotten a speeding ticket.

Don't take it.

When I heard you two were getting married, I was happy for her.

People said you were okay, a teacher.

Later on, they told me you were planning to adopt a child and start a family.

Guess you two decided to go another route.

Liz: I won't take you to Reddington.

Yes, you will.

You tried to kill him in the street today, at the warehouse.

The cabal tried to kill him.

It's what they do-- eliminate their enemies.

You're Leonard Caul.

Reddington sent you to find me.

What's your connection to Reddington? Alan Fitch.

I believe he wanted us to meet.

Shortly after Reddington contacted me, there was an attempt on my life.

That's when I knew I could trust him.

When someone tried to kill you? Yes, the cabal-- to keep us apart.

I've been in hiding ever since, watching, waiting for a signal from Reddington that it was safe to meet.

He sent word earlier today.

He was shot earlier today.

I know.

He sent word after through you.

He knew you'd be watching.

I don't like having the FBI running my prints, accessing my covert files, talking with my former CO.

When I saw that happening, I knew it meant one of two things.

You either want to arrest me or talk to me.

Which is it, Agent Keen? [ Sighs ]

Tell me what you know about the Fulcrum.

Is that the interface?

You don't know how it works.

If you trust him, Agent Keen, you will show it to me.

It's what he wants.

[ Latches click ] He gave you a key.

Tom: You know, that day at the hospital, the day Sam died, I think about that day a lot.

I worked for you two years-- we never met.

You were always this shadow, moving from place to place, talked about, but never seen.

And then there you were.

To see you sitting there after I'd betrayed your trust, gone to work for Berlin, I was terrified.

I sat there listening to you threaten me, threaten anyone who could hurt Liz.

And all I could think was you You are the one who hurts Liz the most.

She's here in this right now because of you.

And I know I played a part in that, and I'm not saying I didn't, but Trying to fix that.

So I told her the truth about us.

I'm telling you this because I don't want you to be confused about my part in any of this-- you, Liz [ Sighs ] All of it.

I'm out.

I'm done.

There's a device-- it's called a "bubble module.

" It's the size of a quarter.

[ Rustling ] Smartest person I know couldn't figure out how to read this.

That's because he didn't have the ciphertext.

[ Beeping ] How did you get it? - I didn't get it.

- [ Keypad clacking ] I wrote it.

[ Whirring ] First time I saw it, I was speechless, too.

Some of the names on that list, people, they're CEOs, Defense contractors, intelligence officers from China, India, all over the world.

Those names you saw, those are just the beginning.

You worked for Fitch.

He was part of it.

He'd been cut out of the loop.

Director didn't trust him.

That's why Fitch reached out to me.

The Director? Yes.

Clandestine Services.

Wait-- are you telling me the director of Clandestine Serv-- Yes.

Keep driving.

But we're here.

Keep driving.

We're compromised.

You're surrounded.

- Where are you? We're close.

I don't know how many, but they're coming, and you need to be ready.

Reddington-- what's his condition? He's better.

But he's gonna get us all killed.

I'm calling for backup.

I got hostiles at Crescent to the north, more to the west.

Give me a gun.

You don't want the help, I'm happy to leave.

It's okay.

Cooper: Keen, where the hell are you? Talk to me.

What's going on? Our site's been compromised.

I don't know by who, and right now I don't care, but Reddington's inside, and he can't be moved.

I need you to send units now.

Agent Ressler, notify HRT.

I want Hopkins and his team only.

Copy that.

We need to go back.

You're outnumbered.

We have to go back and help.

There's nothing you can do.

They're going to kill Reddington.

They're gonna kill everyone.

I-I can't just walk away.

Yes, you can, and if you know what's good, you're going to keep walking.

What does that mean? The Director never believed that Reddington had the Fulcrum.

The moment Fitch died, it was only a matter of time before the Director called his bluff.

That's it.

What? Agent Keen, what are you thinking? Director: Make it quick.

I've got the National Security Council waiting.

How much resistance? I don't care what it takes.

I want the target eliminated.

[ Monitor beeping, footsteps approach ] Go.

We have a situation.

What are you doing, Kate? Keeping you alive.

like a rusty can There's nothing you can do here.

I'm not leaving you, Raymond.

You need to go.

Find a way out.

I'll be fine.

And if I'm not, you know what to do.

But you won't be able to do it unless you leave.

] Man: President approved it, as well.

Yes, I-I understand that.

Excuse me.

I'm sorry, but there's an agent here to see you.

Oh, not now.

It's Elizabeth Keen.

She says she has information about something called the Fulcrum.

Thank you.

We are going to have to postpone.

The President is expecting us to get back-- The President will have to wait.

If you'll excuse us.

That will be all.

I admire your nerve, Agent Keen, barging in here like this.

But I'm afraid it's too late.

Liz: Well, then you're gonna have to read about this in tomorrow's New York Times.

[ Device whirring ] The Fulcrum.

You didn't think Reddington had it.

Well, here it is, and it tells quite a story-- political assassinations, terrorism.

[ Gunfire ] We know who you are, what you've done.

You called Reddington's bluff, and you lost.

Call it off.

I told you it's too late.

Pick up the phone right now and call it off.

[ Grunts, breathing heavily ] [ Receiver clicks ] You have no idea the enemies you just made.

I'm afraid I do.

You can keep that.

We have copies.

I never saw it before.

Saw what? How much you look like your mother.

Lizzy.

We've cleared a wing at Sibley Memorial for you and your medical team.

Cooper will oversee your security personally.

Lizzy.

When I hired Tom Keen-- Don't.

There's nothing you can say.

When I hired Tom Keen, it was at a time of profound transition in your life.

You'd already left behind the relative safety and innocence of youth.

Sam's care as a father had served you well, but you'd outgrown him.

A-and I knew that [Inhales sharply] eventually my life would jeopardize yours.

So, in an admittedly presumptuous and ultimately futile effort to keep you safe, I hired Tom simply to be there as a friend of a friend to look after you from an arm's length.

When I learned that your relationship had become intimate, I fired him.

I should've removed him, but you were already in love with him.

And Tom, he shifted his allegiance to Berlin in part to protect himself from me, but also because it allowed for an inextricable intimacy and commitment to you.

And so you were married.

And I couldn't stay away any longer.

A confluence of peril had entered your life, and I wanted to be within reach, to have influence.

I turned myself in to the FBI to point you toward a truth that inevitably you would have to discover for yourself.

Is that all of it? Some of it.

Why couldn't you just have said yes? It wouldn't kill you to lie just once to make someone feel good.

Director: I understand you're conflicted.

Lives were lost today.

But the work we do is important.

[ Liquid pouring ] We help provide peace, stability.

Children can go to school, families to church without fear-- or certainly with less of it because of us.

And you wanted to be a part of that.

It's a solemn responsibility and, on days like today, a heavy one.

And few people are capable of honoring that responsibility.

You are-- we know that, and we believe in you.

We also know that we asked you to betray a friend.

Well, you want a seat at the table.

Now you have one.

Came as soon as I could.

[ Breathes deeply ] I think you're right.

[ Voice breaking ] Reddington What happened today I think it's gonna devour me.

What I said [ Sniffles ] What I meant was that it would devour most people.

It's not gonna devour you.

You said you could help me find answers.

Yeah.

I think I can.

Tell me what you know about Reddington.

#The Blacklist #scripts #leonard caul

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welcometoavaloncove · 7 years

Photo

You may have heard of him, Oliver Reagan. He’s the brother of one of those girls that went missing… Anyway, he kinda looks like Tye Sheridan and is currently a high school junior, but in his free time he looks for an escape from everything going on in his life.

Walking the Streets

Olivia was born into an already big - and still expanding - Catholic family. This might not seem like a bad thing, but with his dad being former Marines and his mother a devoted Catholic, there was a lot of pressure put on the kids. His dad would take no nonsense and expected the kids to only speak when spoken to, and his mother expected them to follow the rules of the Bible down to the last one. They always had to pray at meal times and before bed, and had to do to church on Sundays. And being one of the youngest in a family with nine kids ranging in ages from eleven to twenty-nine was no picnic, sure his eldest brother was out of the house by the time he was four, and his eldest sister by the time he was eight, there was still six of them living underneath one roof with overbearing parents.

Of Some Old Ghost Town

The first time tragedy struck was when their parents were involved in a car crash that took their mother’s life. The second time was when their father was released from the hospital. Oliver’s eldest brother had come home from college to take care of the family while all this was happening, and still stayed after Harold was released. The two of them butted heads, and Oliver’s never been one to stay out of things, so he often got in the middle of their heated debates. The third time tragedy struck was when their father banned religion from their household. He blamed God for taking his wife, so he said they would no longer practice Catholicism in that house. This came as a shock to Oliver and his siblings, seeing as they’d grown up practicing the religion and their mother was so devoted to it. Oliver himself felt like their father was betraying not only God, but also his mother. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one. The night Harold declared that, Oliver’s brother, Will, the oldest of the his siblings, stood up and said that if Harold thought so little of their mother to ban the thing she loved the most - besides their family - then he would no longer be apart of their family. He left that night and Harold then declared that if Will didn’t want to be part of the family, then he wasn’t. Now Oliver was never extremely close to Will because of the almost twelve year age gap, but he soon found out just how much he relied on his older brother. Because it was Will that Oliver would go to when he was having trouble with school, or bullies, or girls. Because Jackson never seemed like he’d understand Oliver, and the Edwin never wanted anything to do with his siblings, not even his twin. And then Tori, Thea, Kate, and Grace were girls - and Grace was younger than him - so he never felt like they could give him advice like Will could. So the ten year old finally noticed just how much he really relied on his older brother.

I Tried to Believe

And that was probably when tragedy number four hit the family. They all started to fall apart. Family dinners meant nothing anymore, and Oliver hardly saw his siblings besides in the hallways at home or at school. He found himself missing the old days, even if his parents had been overbearing and things always had to be in order. He found himself missing family dinners, and going to church on Sundays, and the little picnics they’d have in the summer. He missed having a curfew and having rules enforced, because their father had pretty much given up on trying to keep his kids in line. And he missed his siblings, especially his older sister Thea, he always thought she was weird, but when she moved in with her boyfriend at sixteen, he found himself missing her. The only time things started to look up was when Oliver met Lauren, she was kind of like his light in the darkness and he felt like she saved him. Now for number five, as if the family didn’t have enough problems already, on Halloween night 2007, their was a big fight between his father and older sister, Caitlin. And then that night, when Caitlin didn’t come home, Oliver felt like something was wrong. The next morning it was all over the town, six girls had gone missing, and his sister was one of them. He was sure the entire family thought she had run away, she was a seventeen year old with a shitty home life after all. Oliver blamed his father for yelling at her, blamed his mother for leaving them here with him, and blamed God for taking his mother. He tried so hard to stay on the right side of things, but soon he found himself skipping school and using drugs. It seemed like no one noticed but Lauren, because she was the only one who ever paid attention to him. But when he was on drugs, he said and did things that weren’t very nice.

His Statement:

“Isn’t it obvious? They ran away. They made a pact and just ran away, simple as that. They were unhappy, they made plans together and took off. End of story.”

His Secret:

Does drugs and is supplied by Rick Monroe, also deals to his girlfriend, Lauren.

Connections:

Reagan Family:

Oliver isn’t very close to his family anymore. They all used to be very close, until his mom died and his dad went off the deep end. Now Oliver barely ever sees them. He’s still fairly close to his eldest brother, Will, and occasionally talks to his other siblings. Their family may seem perfect on the outside, but it’s definitely not like that behind the scenes.

Lauren Reynolds:

Lauren was like Oliver’s saving grace, she was his light in the darkness and could always make him feel better no matter what. It wasn’t until after he started using that he started acting differently towards her, and even got her hooked.

Taylor Kingston:

Taylor is not his biggest fan. She was skeptical about him from the beginning, and now she full out hates him for what he’s doing to her best friend. Either way, she might just be the person that can help him kick his habit and win Lauren back.

Mason Sullivan:

Mason and Oliver used to be really good friends, but since Oliver’s mother died, Oliver hasn’t talked to Mason very much.

You’re in luck! Oliver is open!

#tye sheridan fc #tye sheridan #tw drugs #oliver reagan #reagan family #open #male #open male

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marvelxqueens-blog · 7 years

Text

Persuasion: chapter 8- Safe house?

Pietro Maximoff x OC [warning: there is a detailed panic attack in this chapter, so if this is upsetting don't read after the star (like this *) and then restart reading after another star(*)] "The news is loving you guys. Nobody else is." Maria Hills voice is sympathetic, but it does nothing to ease anyone. I've separated myself to a corner of the jet, the rest of the team have followed suit. There's no jokes, no smiles. Everyone's inside their own heads.. The atmosphere severely melancholy. Tucking my legs up to my chest, I sigh heavily. I desperately need to rest, but I feel so wired. My hands are still shaking so I wrap my arms tightly around myself. "There's been no official call for Banner's arrest, but it's in the air." I flick a glance at Bruce. He looks shell shocked and I would hate to be in his position right now. I know my own nightmares are nothing compared to Bruce's experience at the hands of Wanda. He's a doctor, a scientist. All he wants is to help people. He's been manipulated by the maximoff girl to hurt so many, to become the thing he hates, and Bruce probably blames himself. I wish there was a way to help, but the only thing I can do is not use the only thing I have, my abilities. I couldn't risk accidentally...bringing the hulk out again. My abilities are similar to some of Wandas, but I won't use them for the same reasons as Wanda. I don't understand why she's doing this, if the Maximoffs only want revenge on Stark- why join Ultrons side? He wants so much more evil than just Starks end. "How's the team?" "Everyone's...we took a hit." "We'll shake it off." "Well for now I'd stay in stealth mode. And stay away from here." "So, run and hide?" "Until we can find Ultron, I don't have a lot else to offer." "Neither do we." "Hey, you wanna switch out?" "No, I'm good." "If you wanna get some kip, now's a good time, 'cause there's still a few hours out." Clint says, flicking an overhead control. Puzzled, I raise my head. "Where are going to?" I ask confusion lacing my voice. "A safe house." "What is this place?" "A safe house." "So we're told ." I mumble but follow anyway. For a second I stop, watching the worlds mightiest heroes trudge up to the quaint farmhouse. It's a strange sight, and oddly humanising. They look like an ordinary group of adults (if you ignore the superhero outfits). No power, no fight, no choices. I have a conflicting urge to either laugh or cry. "Kat? You coming?" Tony calls from the door of the house, pulling me from my thoughts. "Yeah," my voice cracks and I cough to cover it, jogging towards the house. "Honey, I'm home." Clint calls into the house. Honey? Perhaps this is the woman who is always clear is Clint's thoughts. "Hi." I blink back at the woman who just walked into the room. She looks nervous but a warm loving aura radiates from her. "Company. Sorry didn't call ahead." The woman looks shocked like she can't believe it's real. The couple share a kiss, startling the group. We stand to the side, unsure of what to do with ourselves and not really in the mood for group conversation just yet. Pulling on a stray piece of hair, that has escaped my ponytail, I shuffle on the spot. "This is an agent of some kind." Tony says plainly. I nod mutely, head tilted. "Guys, this is Laura." Clint says pulling away and looking at us encouragingly. "I know all your names." She smiles embarrassed, her eyes looking at the guys one at a time. Steve and Thor nod, Bruce smiles uncomfortably, and Tony flashes a smile and a small wave. Finally she looks at me, her eyes connecting with my own. I smile gently but a buzz of electricity flows through me and I quickly look at the ground. A shot of anger sparks, I hate how I can't even look at someone. Great first impression. I didn't ask for this.. "Oooh, incoming." Two children thunder into the room and Clint squats down to hug them. "Dad!" The kids squeal, bombarding Clint Barton with hugs. Dad...of course. Suddenly it all clicks into place, Clint's thoughts and images of a house and children in his head. He might have kept it a secret but he can't keep his mind of them. This brings a soft smile to my face. "Hey sweetheart r! Hey buddy! How you guys doing?" "These are...smaller agents" Tony says, trying to convince himself. "Did you bring Auntie Nat?" "Why don't you hug her and find out?" Natasha says stepping out towards the little girl. The work dedicated agent lifts the tiny girl, ruffling her hair affectionately. The rest of us watch the scene enfold. "Sorry for barging in on you." Steve says politely, ever the gentleman. "- Yeah, we woulda called ahead, but we were busy having no idea that you existed." Tony barges in. I slap his arm gently, giving him a Quick roll of the eyes. "Yeah, well Fury helped me set this up when I joined." He pauses slightly." He kept it off SHIELD's files, I'd like to keep it that way." We all nod understandingly "I figure it's a good place to lay low." Natasha and Laura start to have a convosation , but my head snaps to the side where I hear a cracking sound. Thor looks at me and Steve sheepishly as he scuffs the broken Lego house to the side. Looking at the broken home, I bite my lip. It's dangerous for us to be here. This innocent family are in danger with us being here, and us. My powers are out of control and seem to be growing, Wandas visions have made us all unstable. (*) Quickly blinking back a flurry of tears, I can feel my heart rate increase, my breathing laboured. The room feels stuffy, like all the air has been used up. I can't think. I can't breathe. I can see Natasha talking to Laura, but I can't hear her words. But I can hear everyone's thoughts. Like a sea, crashing over me. Drowning, drowning in my own ability. Turning on my heel I dart out the door again, running down the path. Looking around, the trees swirl. A deep red liquid pouring over the landscape. "B-blood.." I wheeze, desperately raking my hands rough my hair. Suddenly a weight falls gently on my shoulder and jerk away. My mouth gaping, chest heaving. "Your alright Kiddo. C'mon deep breaths, your safe here. Everyone's safe." Tony's voice is calm and low, I'm the only one to hear his helping words. I remember Tony telling me of his anxiety attacks, it makes sense that he know how to help me. I focus on Tony, on the real objects around me not in my head. Slowly I manage to shudder out a breath. Then two, three, and four. (*) A trickle of tears fall through my eyes as I collapse into Tony's chest. I feel him wrap his arms around me, his chin resting on my head. "I'm sorry Tony..I'm so sorry..." I whisper pulling away, and wiping my face of tears. "It's alright kiddo. It's alright." • Sitting on the grass, the sun falls on my face gently warming me. From my spot I can see Tony and Steve cutting up wood in silence (I'm choosing to ignore the thick tension that seems to be growing with every chop of the axe). Letting out a happy sigh, I count my breaths. My spirits have lifted a bit, after relaxing for a while. The team has dispersed around the farm, Thor leaving completely. "Thor didn't say where he was going for answers?" Tony asks, pausing in his work. "Sometimes my teammates don't tell me things.I was kinda hoping Thor would be the exception." Steve answers, moving to get more, only looking briefly at Tony. His actions seem more forced now, or maybe it's just painfully obvious after hearing the tone of his voice. Sensing an upcoming argument, I wipe my hands on my jeans just in case I need to use my powers long distance. "He'll be back, and he'll explain himself." I say quietly, convincing myself. "We don't know what the Maximoff kid showed him." "I don't know what she showed you, I just know it made you do something stupid." Steve looks blatantly at Tony. ""Earth's Mightiest Heroes." Pulled us apart like cotton candy." Steve mutters, shaking his head. "Seems like you walked away all right." Tony says, looking at Steve. Cap stops and looks back up, a single eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry, Katie? Clint said you have a bit of a talent with children.." "Yeah, I used to help my mother at the nursery.." I say, giving a small smile. " is you wouldn't mind could you try and get Cooper to come out from the barn. I was going to try and ask Tony to look at our tractor and I don't want Cooper in the way, I would go myself but I was baking.." "It's fine, seriously. I would love to help." I say and stand up. I turn back to the Steve and Tony, when a strong wave of anger hits me from there direction. "Is that a problem?" "I don't trust a guy without a dark side." Tony says, before chopping his axe down forcefully. "Call me old fashioned." "Well let's just say you haven't seen it yet." Steve says darkly. "You know Ultron is trying to tear us apart, right?" Tony laughs. "Well I guess you'd know. Whether you tell us is a bit of a question." "Banner and I were doing research." Tony says, all joking gone from his voice. "That would affect the team." Steve Carries on moving more wood, but Tony has stopped and is walking closer to Steve. I stand up, ready to step in between if it gets more dangerous. All I can feel is tension, anger and sadness from the pair. "That would end the team. Isn't that the mission?" "Isn't that the "why we fight," so we can end the fight, so we get to go home?" Tony argues, his voice sharp. Suddenly Steve rips apart a block of wood with his bare hands. I clap , and start to walk away to the barn. "Every time someone tries to win a war before it starts, innocent people die." Steve says, then softly "Every time." "Cooper?" I call, cupping my hands around my mouth. The barn is in front of me. The door is open, and inside everything is silent. A dusty beam of sunlight shines in from the window, illuminating the tractor. Perhaps he is playing on it and can't hear me? "Cooper? Where are you..." I say in a sing song voice. Is that creepy? "Miss Sheridan, you made it. " Jerking around to my left, I laugh out loud. "Fury! You nearly gave me a heart attack." I clutch my chest dramatically, then smile looking at him in the eyes. Nick Fury has been the only person I don't feel an electric buzz from my powers when I look in his eyes..or rather- eye. My only guess is the fact he only has one eye, as strange as it seems. But I don't understand my powers to begin with so I can't begin to understand the anomalies. "I just wanted a private word with you and in a moment Stark, before I talk to the others. Mrs Barton was willing to help me." Hearing this I smile, I'm liking Clint's wife more and more. "What's up?" "I've been informed that you have been discovering new powers, I just wanted to check if you are ok both mentally and physically. Being a Superhero can be tasking, I don't try to understand, but you are our youngest member and newest. I would understand if you were having problems. I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion "I'm..I'm fine." "I also have gotten word that a few days ago you had a visitor. Your brother to be precise." "How- how did you know about that? Only me and... Steve. Of course." "He was concerned for your welfare Sheridan, he said you seemed upset and wanted to know more about this man. When we couldn't bring up any information on him, this started alarm bells ringing." "Nothing at all?" I ask, tugging on my hair. "Presumably, our data has been wiped. We are trying to track your brother at this moment-" "We?" I interject "who's 'we'?" "S.H.I.E.L.D or rather what remains of it." "Fury, be careful. My brother..he mention...he's HYDRA." • Tony stark stepped into the barn, looking around the room, making his way over to the tractor. "Hello, dear." He cooed, crouching in front of it. "Tell me everything. What ails you?" Stark checked around, searching for the nonexistent problem. "Do me a favor." Fury said, stepping out of the shadows, me trailing behind him. "Try not to bring it to life." "Ah, Mrs. Barton, you little minx." Tony laughed shaking his head. "Ooo, can you actually bring it to life? Because Clint's face would be hilarious." I said, smirking. • Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters owned by marvel or the plot of age of ultron etc etc.

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phoebehalliwell · 3 years

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Do you think W&S would ever go looking for their fam? Or like go find their cousins if they find out that the hailwell name like MEANS something in the witch community? Also??? How could they like bind Wyatt’s powers? Isn’t he like super powerful, like you think that he’d have fits of accidental magic like in HP? Like he’s so powerful that the bind doesn’t really work?

okay So i think warren and sheridan definitely tried to find their family just like a couple times you know once when they were kids just googling the last name halliwell seeing the article about like halliwell family died in explosion and going hope that’s a different halliwell lmao and then like again after prue unbinds their powers and gives them kind a ghost mom crash course on like you’re witches i think they’re like hey what about the rest of our family and i think prue just genuinely doesn’t know i don’t think the halliwells had time to shoot her an email like fakin r own deaths @ nexus c u l8r like. prue is genuinely unsure where her family is and i think warren and sheridan definitely probably found their burial site their grave they probably tried a seance to talk to them which instead signalled some monster of the week to come after them bc like that was just a neon sign saying we’re charmed!! we’re in the charmed line!!! and they have just like. never been able to get in contact with them and they don’t know what to think other than they’re all dead because like. their mom’s dead. from what jack told them about their day to day live back in the early aughts it was just like constant demons. so like. you know who’s to argue with the piles of evidence that screams Everyone You Know Is Dead!! and i think warren and sheridan have a really complicated relationship with death because like. they’re young hip in their twenties they have superpowers and cool friends but like. i think both genuinely believe that they’re not going to make it much past thirty, because like. look at the entire halliwell line. it’s been completely decimated. like being a witch is a death sentence they genuinely believe that they just kind of opt to ignore it for the most part because like. i mean. what are you supposed to do with that really like psychologically like. okay again a bit more on their #tragicbackstory is that i think when their powers were first unbound they were kinda hyped bc like i mean man that’s cool as fuck and i think they definitely told their close friend who kind of became their guy in a chair and they were all like yeah we get to save the day we get all these cool new things like i think they viewed magic as something fun. bc like, it is. and i don’t think demons came of out the woodwork immediately but you know eventually monsters started to pop up and together like the three of them would save the day and then like turn in their english essay due at 11:59 like it was a perfectly good balance it felt good like they were kind of completely ready to live this life until one adventure or another and their friend dies. not peacefully like painfully and they can’t help but feel it’s their fault bc here they all were chasing magic and now their friends dead. and it’s a whole thing at school too it’s a whispered tragedy they have a vigil all that his face is everywhere and it just kind of scream at them like i’m dead!! i’m dead and magic killed me!! and it really sours everything because like yes they can try to contact ghost mom about it but um. ghost mom. as in dead. and then on top of that prue’s whole side of the family is dead too. and magic is really just starting to look like a death sentence. so yeah. #tragicbackstory

in regard to wyatt’s powers like. i mean the charmed ones Thee Charmed Ones grew up completely sans magic, and we also saw that phoebe presented powers in the womb, so we were still working with a very high caliber of magic here. i think you can fully just bind powers and have that be that. like in hp where ~weird, mysterious things~ happened around harry he still fully was a wizard. he always had magic there was nothing to suppress it all he had to do was learn a way to hone and control it. but it wasn’t like there was some miracle situation that Unlocked his wizardry potential it was always there and it manifested in different ways, whereas for like the girls growing up on gen2 growing up, like if your powers are bound, you literally have no access to them, nor do you have any reason to like. believe you have powers you know like this gen2 is being raised almost Exactly like how the og p3 were just like normal people.

#i also don't think warren or sheridan have ever met any actual witches #like obvi all their friends are witch practioners #but they've never met anyone who could id the halliwell name for what it meant #i mean like. in the show it took us 6 whole seasons to get like other actual witch characters #like i don't think their insanely common #nor do i think the knowledge like the last name specifically is super widely known #bc like. again if the charmed ones tapped out after s7 magic school kind of never gets reopened #so no one is there to teach that history #and then i do just like have vague plans to try to bring them back to the line like get their hands on the actual book of shadows #which in turn like. like i think they'd have to go to the manor which the girls definitely sealed the shit out of w every conceivable spell #but again since warren and sheridan are blood they could probably get it which would alert p3 #and then kick off the whole next phase #but i really like the fumbling part and i have a lot more i want to do while they're still really diy witches #and also just from a character perspective a lot of kind of just how they are is shaped by the fact they both def think they're gonna die #so once it's revealed like hey! you have family of witches who are over 50! that kind of. it changes that obvi #and offers a whole bunch of new stuff but not nearly as interesting to work with as being plagued by death #warren halliwell #sheridan halliwell #w&s #💌#next gen #charmed next generation

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marvelxqueens-blog · 7 years

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Persuasion -chapter 3: Starks deal

Pietro Maximoff x OC The air was strangely thick on the jet. Sure, we'd succeeded. We took down a hydra base, captured Strucker, Finally got the sceptre back. But a small voice in the back of my mind, told me something was wrong. It whispered worries in my ear, and it could be my paranoia but it looked like the rest of team felt it too. I guess it's just after fight jitters, but my whole body felt wired. A classical piece buzzed quietly from banners direction. It may calm him, but the almost unhearable noise became impossible to block out. Everything felt twice as loud. My blood was pounding in my ears, tiny thoughts spiralled in my mind. Suddenly I sucked air through my teeth, startled. Some of the words I could hear, weren't my own. Blindly grabbing at them, they only seemed to drift through my hands like smoke. Clenching my fists, eyes scrunched, I probably looked like a mad women. Honestly, I felt like I was. "Who was that girl...and the quick guy.." "At long last-" "I did that...it's my legacy.." "I never saw him coming? That punk!" "Stop." I thought "this is wrong, intrusive, rude." Twisting a strand of my hair around my index finger, I closed my eyes and tried to empty my mind. It was a cluttered mess up there, impossible to shift through easily. My head fell back against the head rest. What was happening to me? I heard her approach Bruce Banner with my eyes closed. 'Hey the lullaby worked better than ever." Black widow whispered "Just wasn't expecting the Code Green." He muttered, looking at the ground. "If you hadn't been there, there would've been double the casualties," she insisted "My best friend would've been a treasured memory." My eyes flicked to Clint Barton on a makeshift aid bench, to my left. That man... "You know, sometimes exactly what I want to hear isn't exactly what I want to hear." Bruce replied. "How long before you trust me?" Natasha was staring at Banner, eyes full of sorrow and a glint of love, who avoided her direct gaze. I could read them like a book. Natasha trying to let him to let her in, Bruce pushing her away for her. Suddenly I felt intrusive, their conversation felt intimate. But it was like watching a crash. You want to look away, but you can't tear your eyes off it. "It's not you I don't trust." "Thor, report on the Hulk?" Natasha pivoted in her crouching position. "The gates of Hell are filled with the screams of his victims." Banner let out a low grumble, head in his hands. Black widow shot Thor a glare(I'm so glad I'm not Thor right now) "Eh, but, not the screams of the dead, of course, no no, uh..." He stuttered. Looking around helplessly. Catching eye contact with Steve, we both stifled laughs, grinning. "...wounded screams, mainly whimpering, a great deal of complaining and tales of sprained deltoids and, and uh...and gout." He finished, looking at Steve who smiled shaking his head and returned to looking at the sceptre. "Hey Banner, Dr. Cho's on her way in from Seoul, is it okay if she sets up in your lab?" Tony questioned, from the cockpit, surprising me, "Uh, yeah, she knows her way around." "Thanks," Tony turned back to the controls, speaking to J.A.R.V.I.S "Tell her to prep everything, Barton's gonna need the full treatment." "Very good sir." The robotic system replied "Jarvis, take the wheel." Humming "Jesus take the wheel" I followed Tony over to Steve and Thor curious. "It feels good, yeah?" Stark asked, looking at Thor "I mean, you've been after this thing since SHIELD collapsed. Not that I haven't enjoyed our little raiding parties, but..." "No, but this, this brings it to a close." Thor's voice was deep, but I noticed a hint of uncertainty. Like he was trying to persuade himself. After all, for someone who lived on Asgard he certainly spent a lot of time here. "As soon as we find out what else this has been used for."Steve said, his brow slightly furrowed. "I don't just mean weapons. Since when is Strucker capable of human enhancement?" "Banner and I'll give it the once before it goes back to Asgard. Is that cool with you?" Thor shrugged and nodded. Twisting my hair, I watched Stark. I had a bad feeling about him meddling with Loki's sceptre...we already knew about it mind controlling power. We didn't need Stark messing about with it, he was already to interested in my ability and he didn't know the half of what I could do now. Ever since we got back on the Jet Tony had been different, reserved. Not like him at all, but a man who had just witnessed something that shook him. He was acting normal now, but it's easy to fake a smile when your world is cracking at the edges. For using my eyes again I realised Stark was staring right back at me. Blushing I lowered my gaze back to the sceptre. It was truly beautiful, almost calling to me, A shiver ran through me, much like the ones I get when I use my ability, as I stared into the swirling blue glow. My hand started to lift towards it, realising I snapped it back. "I mean, just a few days until the farewell party. You're staying right? "Yes, yes, of course. Victory should be honored with revels." Thor nodded. "Yeah. Who doesn't love revels. Cap'n?" "Hopefully this puts an end to the Chitauri and Hydra, so. Yes, revels." When I looked back at the three, Steve and Tony were both looking at me. Both with very different expressions in their eyes. Turning on my heel I walked quickly over to Clint's side, my steps shaky. • When we landed, Dr.Helen Cho and her team rushed Hawkeye away in a blue of uniforms and rapid medical speech in Korean. A pang of worry shot through me, as I watched from the top of the ramp. Maria Hill strode up towards me, sending me a quick smile. At least she was finally comfortable with me (or more like my 'gift'). "Lab's all set up boss." "Uh, actually, he's the boss. I just pay for everything, and design everything and make everyone look cooler." Stark said smugly, waving a hand at Captain America who was now making his way over to Agent Hill. They began walking out, but when Steve passed me his hand touched my elbow, looking at me. I looked straight ahead, at another pair of brown eyes watching me also. "Kat, I need to have a word." The sceptre. How could I have been so stupid, I would need to reassure him or regain his trust. "Ok," I finally looked up at him, my voice wavering "um later, I think Agent Hill needs you right now Cap'" shrugging off his grip, I flashed him a quick smile before walking over to my bag. The jet was quiet for a moment. Then the quick footsteps of Steve jogging after Maria Hill. "Okay so here's the deal." Starks voice said from beside me. His voice startling me and ear piece. Bending to pick it up, I fumbled before finally standing back up. "Swapsies!." Tony grinned at me Shaking my head, I picked up my bag. "What are we swapping?" I said suspicious. "You tell me your gossip, I tell you me your gossip. For a teenage girl your not very...teenage girly. Isn't this what the kids to these days?" Laughing I started to walk away, looking over my shoulder. "Theres nothing I want to hear from you, Stark." "What about the enhanced, Sheridan." My steps faltered. How did Tony know I was thinking about them, him. The blue blur.i could still hear his husky voice. Glaring at myself, I turned back. "Fine." I grumbled. Tony's grin grew. "Great! Who's first?" "Tell me about the twins first, I'll answer your question after if you do your side of the deal." I smirked, crossing me arms across my chest. "You drive a hard bargain, Kat. " he strolled up to me, a blue device in his palm. "Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Twins. Orphaned at ten when... a.. A shell collapsed their building." Tony's eyes flicked down, as if in shame "Sokovia's kind of in the middle, easy to miss when your driving through it. He's got increased metabolism and improved thermal homeostasis. Her thing is neural electric interfacing, telekinesis, mental manipulation. A bit like you but more floating objects and controlling and on the wrong side. File says they volunteered for Strucker's experiments." By now we were inside, Heading to The room Dr Cho set up with Hawkeye. I shot Stark a look "What file?" I asked. Grinning at me, I already knew the answer. "S.H.I.E.L.Ds. They updated their system after my last hacking adventure, but what with it technically being hydra and falling, it was hardly a challenge, more like a crossword." He said, making hand gestures (what looked like snakes and other one that just looked like he was flailing but I guess it was S.H.I.E.L.D collapsing). Laughing, we started walking up some stairs. When we got to the top, Tony stopped before entering. "Okay my turn missy," I tried not to look shifty "what was that whole trance thingy with the sceptre? Your not possessed right? No grudge going on?" "You should have really asked me that, before you started giving me secret information. But no I'm not possessed. " I sighed " To be honest, I don't know what happened. One second I was staring at it, the next it was like I was being drawn into the blue. "Interesting.." He mumbled, scratching his goatee. "And in the fight," I rambled on "my powers..developed? I don't know, there was white mist and I was going to try and break a bunker with it." "Did it work?" His eyes sparked with interest. "I didn't find out, Clint got hit and the enhanced.. Pietro.. Distracted me." His name sounded weird on my tongue, like a secret, a sin. "I don't know, the spectre and maximoff - maybe you just have a liking for blue misty things" he winked, turning into the first aid room, "Hey! You can't just say that and walk awa-Don't walk away from me Stark!" I growled running after him. "Stark- oh hi " I smiled sheepishly, at the group gathered with Clint and Dr.Cho. Twisting my hair I made my way over to Hawkeye, while shooting a glare at Tony Stark. Sticking his tongue out at me, I rolled my eyes giving him a "I'll get u later" look. • DISCLAIMER: I don't own marvel etc etc.

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