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baddieladdie · 1 year

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You are my Best High - Part 1

The mineral taste of blood hung in my mouth as I panted so hard my throat ached. I flattened myself firmly against the wall adjacent to the doorway, out of sight of any gunners’ that may walk down the hall. Pulling some shells from a pocket in my fatigues, I reloaded Justice - my favorite combat shotgun, affectionately named by Penny from Covenant.

tink tink tink tink

The sound of the gunners’ boots echoed on the metal vault floors - louder and louder - as they approached the doorframe I hide behind. I willed my racing heart to still, my breathing to silent.

“Where’d that little bitch go?” A man’s voice. Pissed and murderous. “You are seriously fucked! You know that? You’re fucking DEAD!”

Good, at least he’s alone. I breathed in, mustering what courage I had, and jumped from the cover of the wall, facing the mercenaries - V.A.T.S. primed on the pip-boy on my wrist, Justice drawn and loaded. The V.A.T.S program inflated and deflated the bladders of my pip-boy, contorting my wrist until my gun was pointed directly at its target. The gunshots echoing down the hall. The body hitting the cold ground with a heavy thud.

“Whew, I could use some jet after that.” The familiar raspy voice emitted from the room we took cover in.

“From how I saw it, I was the one who did the shooting," I chuckled, holstering Justice.

“I didn’t need to.” Hancock shrugged, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a shy smile broke as his glossy black eyes scanned her figure. “Handled yourself pretty well, sister.”

“If you want a drug break...” I spoke softly, flirtatiously, picking up on his hint.

“That’s all you have to say, sunshine." Hancock pushed himself off the wall, stumbling slightly, his red frock cloak brushing past me. His smell, that of moss & patchouli lingered near ever so briefly. "Now there’s gotta be some Chems around here somewhere"

“I’ll read that terminal, you check the gunner for anything useful,” I jerked my head towards the terminal in the room we used for cover.

“Yeah, I can do that” He shot me a wink and waved fingers guns at me. I snorted out a laugh.

“Oh my god, just GO Hancock” I pushed him gently towards the body. He submitted, throwing his hands up in the air, turning away from me.

His smiles always felt slightly insincere. He rarely shared a true smile, the kind that causes wrinkles. The kind that you feel across your lips and share with your eyes. Surely, the mayor of Goodneigher, who created a safe haven for the lost, forgotten, and cast out would have plenty of reasons to smile.

With little effort, I hacked my way into Vault 95 terminal. There was a single folder saved to the desktop - “Observation Log”.

================================================

PRIVATE TERMINAL- IF NOT RGUTTIEREZ, LOG OFF IMMEDIATELY

================================================

**Observation Log**

Today marks the fifth calendar year since the residents of Vault 95 and I have moved into the Vault. This will be my first entry.

Today I will sneak out when all are asleep and open the stash of addictive substances that has lay hidden for the last five years. Isolation seems to have proved helpful when addictive stimuli are absent; now to see what such stimuli do the the social order we have created over the previous years.

================================================

“Hey Hancock,” I shouted, listening to the sound of his approach, “That closet the Overseer’s terminal referenced is REAL. And it’s fully stocked with untouched pre-war chems. You down for a treasure hunt?”

“Like you even have to ask, Damn right I’m interested. Let’s find ourselves the high of a lifetime.”

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

Hancock admired her toned features that filled out the army fatigues she wore. She picked it off the body of a gunner that was the same size as her. He promised to look away when she had changed, but he’d be lyin’ if he said he didn’t catch a glimpse of her perky breasts. She was, to him, the most beautiful creature of the wasteland. ‘Could be ‘case she had a pre-war physique, undamaged by a lifetime of radiation exposure.

But it wasn’t worth thinking about. Not unless she wanted to act on those flirty comments she dropped now and again during perhaps more-than friendly banter.

“Has to be just down here,” Her eyes were fixed on the glowing green map displayed on her pip-boy as she led the way deeper inside the Vault. That little piece of tech on her wrist made her a target anywhere. Vault dwellers were often naive, especially in understanding the value of the pip-boy. It was the difference between life and death. He couldn’t count how many times they were jumped during while traveling together. But she always managed to impress him with her skill in combat.

“Imagine us, here, in a place like this. Pretty sure the Vaults were built to keep riff-raff like us out. And look at us now.” He smirked, pride swelling in his chest.

They walked past the vault quarters and into the large, openness of the cafeteria. From there, stepping over debris and junk, she made her way to a blue-metal door across from a flipped over bench. She kneeled before the door, pulling a bobby pin from her hair, the stand falling to frame her face. Her features were smooth and delicate. Nothing like the course and scarred features his face had been reduced to. In fact, there was little out here in the post-nuclear wasteland that could compare to her.

“Keep an eye out, I’m gonna try to pick this thing.” He nodded, scanning the room for movement. In the shadows, he could hear the scurrying sound of radroaches against tile.

“Alright, just make it quick. I don’t think we’re alone,” He drew his sharpened knife.

Finally, the roach ran into the light. "HA! There you are!" Hancock lunged forward, thrusting the blade into its neck with a satisfying CRUNCH

“How’s that lock coming?” He asked, the flag tied around his narrow hips swayed with him as he turned to observe her work the lock.

“Almost….” Her face frowned as she focused.Cute as a button, that one. “Got it!” She smiled, springing to her feet.

“Someone knows their way around a bobby pin.”

“Let's see this infamous Vault 95 stash!”

“Heh, Alright! After you, doll”

The shelves upon shelves were stocked full with a staggering variety of chems and booze. Enough to keep the Goodneighbor Storeroom stocked for years.

“Well, I’ll be,” Hancock admired the dazzling display, a variety of drugs he recognized and few he had yet to try. He rubbed the dust off a barely legible vodka label. “Some of this could scrub the skin off a synth”

“Well, we might as well get comfortable. Care to join me in the dweller quarters?"

“Lead the way, princess”

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Part 2: Lover's High

Authors Note: This work may get some more edits, but I am satisfied with the progress made thus far. This is part of my Fallout 4 Companion One-shots (Romance <3 )

Thank you for much for your support, it means so much to me!

#john hancock #sole survivor #Vault 95 #Bethesda #AO3 Writer #FanFiction #Fallout 4 #fallout fandom #Fallout Fanfic #fallout #Hancock FO4 #tw: drugs #chems #alcohol #booze #tw: addiction mention

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incorrectfallout-4quotes · 3 years

Conversation

Sole: They’re not hostages. I prefer to call them ‘collateral friendships.’ I gave them 500 caps of my own money.

#sole survivor #fallout 4 #incorrect fallout quotes #incorrect fallout 4 quotes #source: brooklyn nine nine #submitted by little-sister-shotgun

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nightingaelic · 3 years

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@shotce

As soon as Eugenie caught sight of Libby Wen waiting inside the doors of Big Bend Tunnel, she laughed with joy and wrapped her up in a hug. Libby submitted to the display of affection, even joining in with a little chuckle. “Long time, no see, Eugenie. How are you? How’s everyone up at your compound?”

“Oh, they’re just great, Libby, and I’m glad to hear you ask.” Eugenie released the guard and straightened her ushanka. “I’m good, too. Better now that you’re at the helm, Kieran ‘n’ I had a rough run last time.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Yep, he’s takin’ a break for a bit to go visit his family and nurse that arm of his.” Eugenie shifted the pack on her shoulders and sighed regretfully. “Honestly, the man deserves it. He’s been good to me, even if he’s about as fun to talk to as a pile of scorchbeast guano.”

Libby nodded. “Bet you a drink he’ll be back too early, as usual. He just can’t stay away.”

“Well, neither can I.” Eugenie’s black eyes sparkled. “Shall we get moving? Deadlines, expected shipments, all that.”

“Right.” Libby raised her shotgun and turned to the other guards, a pack of part-timers looking for a quick cap. “Fall in! Same objective as always: Keep the brahmin safe while en route to the west end of the tunnel. Expect armed resistance, we always get some.”

“Same load as usual, premium arms and ammo headed up to the settlers crazy enough to colonize the Savage Divide,” Eugenie added. “Same reward at the end of the tunnel too, so keep us all in one piece and we won’t have a problem. And keep an eye out for anything we might’ve dropped on the last run, you get a bonus for those.”

“Everyone watch our back and flanks.” Libby slapped the closest brahmin on rump, and the caravan began to move. They made their way up to the watch station, where another guard was waiting to welcome them.

“Libby and Eugenie, together at last,” the gas-masked guard said, before growing too cocky and adding a wolf whistle. “I pity the Blood Eagle who decides to get on your bad side, ladies.”

“The only one gettin’ on my bad side so far today is you, ya hooligan,” Eugenie replied with a glare. “Anything to report, or are ya wastin’ the air in here?”

“Eugenie,” Libby warned, though she was smirking at the merchant’s spirited defense.

“What? Just protectin’ my best guard from vicious rumors.”

“There’s uh- it should be pretty clear today,” the masked guard stammered, before turning to face the yawning darkness of the tunnel.

“That’s what I thought.” Eugenie shot one last withering look at his back before prodding the brahmin to continue.

“He’s an asshole,” Libby confided, once the caravan was out of earshot of the entrance guard. “Keeps prodding me and Carver about whether we’ve ‘stopped dancing around and gotten down to business.’“

“That squirrelly kid you’re usually stuck with? Man, used to be a simple ‘no’ meant ‘no,’ and everyone backed you up on it.” Eugenie shook her head. “Unless you two actually are straying beyond business.”

“Pffft.” Libby rolled her eyes. “I don’t usually go for the squirrelly ones.”

“Is he a good partner, at least?”

“He’s fine. A little green, and I get the sense he’d rather be anywhere else when we actually run into some action.”

Action reared its head at that moment, when the group interrupted a band of Blood Eagles attempting to set up a blockade. The caravan guards dispatched them quickly, and Libby easily disintegrated the few concrete blocks the assailants had managed to lay down with a small charge.

“Easy now,” she called to the others when the rubble had cleared. “Don’t let them get the drop on us.”

“Huh,” Eugenie remarked when they were underway again. “Usually the ‘ghoul merchant’ heralds a louder fanfare. They must be saving their big guns for up ahead.”

Sure enough, the Blood Eagles had gathered their main forces in the high-ceilinged center of the tunnel to block their escape. Libby cursed and emptied shells into every body she saw, while Eugenie whooped and took potshots at the enemies’ captain from behind a pile of sandbags. The caravan managed to beat back the assault with only minor injuries, though the brahmin were as agitated as Libby had ever seen them, lowing nervously and knocking into each other. A part-timer raised the gate the Blood Eagles had constructed, and the supplies train moved forward.

“I’m always in awe of how much of a professional you are,” Eugenie remarked with an admiring glance at the lead guard.

“Thank the crew as much as me,” Libby said with a smile. “Drinks all around after our shift today. I know a vault dweller who makes a mean Blackwater Brew knock-off.”

“How’re your folks doing, Libby? How’s the rest of the Wen crew?”

“No changes there.” Libby shrugged. “My sister’s getting a little restless, maybe because of the example I’m setting by working out here. Mom would never forgive her if she left, too, but she’s going to have to face that decision sooner or later. I told her she has a place with Blue Ridge, if she wants it and is willing to work for it.”

Eugenie nodded. “That’s tough. I know what it’s like to decide whether to stay with what you know, what’s safe, versus taking a chance and heading out to see the world.”

Libby raised her fist suddenly and brought the caravan to a halt. “Watch our six. Something isn’t right here.”

“Oh, goody.”

Blood Eagles and their snarling mutts emerged from the shadows in a last-ditch effort to seize the caravan’s goods, and bullets flew. Eugenie pulled Libby backward just in time to avoid a swing from a particularly brave individual’s machete, and Libby ended the attempt on her life with a shotgun blast to the face. “Head for the exit!” she yelled, as soon as there was a lull in the gunfire. “Let’s move, double time!”

“Make a break for it, people!” Eugenie added. “Go, go, go!”

The brahmin didn’t need any more prompting, and the cows galumphed their way toward the western entrance as fast as their stumpy legs could carry them. Libby, Eugenie and the others pounded after them, and the light of the Ash Heap fell warm on their faces as more Blue Ridge Caravan Company employees pried the doors open.

“Well, thank god for that,” Eugenie said in relief, feeling her leather armor up for any punctures. “I’m alive, and I’ve still got wares to sell.”

“Mission accomplished,” Libby said breathlessly, hanging her shotgun over her back. “Let’s head outside everyone.”

“Thanks, Libby,” Eugenie added as the two of them brought up the rear. “Like I tell everyone who asks, things always run smoother with you in charge.”

“You’re a gem, Eugenie. If my shift were over, I’d say let’s grab a drink.”

In answer, Eugenie pulled a bottle of beer from inside one of her brahmin’s packs and popped the cap off. “Blackwater Brew, like you said. I’m pretty sure you and I know the same vault dweller. And don’t worry, I won’t tell Vinny if you won’t.”

Libby grinned and drank deeply. “You’re full of surprises, Eugenie.”

#fallout #fallout 76 #fo76 #blue ridge caravan company #blue ridge caravan #big bend tunnel #eugenie #libby wen #appalachia #drabble #drabbles

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Gifted

Title: Gifted (Sequel to Giftless)

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 50/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Imagine that you are Stark’s niece and you secretly share a strong relationship with Loki since he entered the crew. One day you get hurt so bad during a mission that you are about to die. Loki knows a spell that will save you and share his immortality with you but you and he will be linked forever sharing thoughts, pain, emotions…

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

You spent the next month bouncing between your classes where Loki hung out on campus with you when you weren’t actually in class, patrol, healings for the Avengers, and dance practice for the ball. It was a lot of work, but not the most you’d been through and being with Loki helped.

“Thor and Sif want to come visit,” Loki told you the day before the ball.

“Are they coming for the ball?” you asked him excitedly. It would be fun to have them there. They obviously knew how to dance and a ball was something the Asgardians could understand easily.

Loki nodded. “It will not be a problem, will it?” he didn’t want to upset Fury anymore than any of the rest of you did. You shook your head and texted Fury to let him know Thor and Sif would be attending the ball, and coming to town. “Great! Mother will be opening the portal for them in a couple minutes.” It was much easier now that you all had the portal spell to use that instead of trekking all the way to the bifrost.

"We should get downstairs, then,” you commented dryly. It had been a late start that morning and you had neglected to get out of bed so far. It was nearly noon. Oops.

You got out of the bed no matter how reluctantly and summoned clothes for yourself, a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt. You tied your hair back in a simple tail. You were getting stupidly fancily dressed up tomorrow so today was extra casual and lazy. At least that was the plan. Loki could just deal with you being lazy and casual today. He still pouted at you anyway. “C'mon, Lo. We want to be downstairs before our Lady Mother opens the portal,” you reminded him. That didn’t stop you from still having to grab his hand and physically pull him from the bed.

You were both laughing as you made our way downstairs to the commonroom where the portal would open. “What are you two up to?” Tony asked at your laughing, looking up from whatever he was reading. “It was so quiet with you sleeping in,” he teased.

“Thor and Sif are coming to visit,” you explained. “We need to be down here to greet them,”

“Why are they coming here?” Tony asked, more curious than anything. He liked Thor, so of course he didn’t mind that he was coming to visit.

“They would like to attend the ball tomorrow,” Loki replied eagerly and a bit excitedly, which was strange for when he was speaking with Tony. He was usually more wary around your uncle.

Which sparked another question. “How do they even know about the ball?” you asked Loki, turning your attention up to him.

“Mother asked for an update about what was going on here, and if we’d heard anything from Balder. I mentioned that there was a ball coming up,” he replied, but there was something off about his explanation. It wasn’t a lie, not really, thanks to him you’d have been able to smell if it was. But he was skipping something.

You didn’t argue with him.

Yet.

But you did make a note that he was keeping something from you. It seemed so unlike him.

A minute later, the portal crackled open. You and Loki both stepped back from it to allow Thor and Sif to walk through. You greeted them with hugs as per usual though Loki gave them more formal greetings, until Thor squished him in a bone-crushing hug. “Welcome to Earth,” you told Sif, who hadn’t been to Earth in a rather long while, and never to the tower.

“Thank you sister,” she replied with a smile. She went over to greet Loki once he was free of Thor’s hug. Thor came over and gave you another hug. You didn’t get squished, since you submitted to it willingly. “Sister, we wish to go visit your parents to pay our respects,” Sif told you formally once she had greeted Loki.

You nodded, expecting that. It was their way after all. “Of course.” you looked over at Tony. “Do you want to come too?” you asked him. It had been awhile since either of you had been to visit.

He nodded. “Yeah, just let you go change.” He was wearing lounge clothes since today was supposed to be a lazy day..

“Need me to-?” you asked, offering him a hand. You had already used magic to change into a green sundress which was much more appropriate for visiting your parents.

Tony hesitated but finally held out his hand. “Fine,” he grumbled. You didn’t think he really liked anyone using magic on him, but it was a quick spell and would get you out of here sooner. With a flash of magic he was dressed and ready.

“Lo, take care of Thor, will you?”

“Of course, Sig,” he replied. You rolled your eyes. He was teasing you with your superhero name as a direct result of you calling him ‘Lo’ in front of his family.

You turned to Sif and offered her a hand. “Will you allow me to conjure you Earth clothes?” you asked her more formally than truly necessary. You didn’t know her as well as Thor and sometimes still found yourself unsure about her and about whether she’d appreciate your using magic on her behalf.

“That would be appreciated,” she replied with a smile. You relaxed then, and took her hand. You summoned her a very pretty maxi dress, which was very flattering to her figure. You took a look at her left hand, which was covered in the swirls of her own soulbond with Thor. You summoned a wedding ring set for her and slipped them on the appropriate finger. It was costume jewelry, but looked real enough for this purpose. You tossed the gold ring for Thor to him. He caught it and slipped it on, remembering it from the last time he was on Earth. “What is this?” she asked, indicating the rings.

“It’s a wedding ring set, the Earthen symbol that someone is married. The diamond ring is an engagement ring. Generally the man presents it to his lady when he asks her to agree to the Earthen equivalent of the soulbond. The plain bands are exchanged during the ceremony,” you explained. “I gave Thor the gold ring to wear last time he was here to protect him from admiring females,” you added with a grin.

She laughed at that. “I am sure the females were very entranced by his form,” she added, smiling fondly at her husband. You didn’t blame her. Thor’s physique was very attractive.

“Quite entranced,”

“Shall we, ladies?” Loki asked, drawing your attention away from discussing Thor’s body. You both laughed at him, but agreed that you should head out.

“You’re driving, Uncle!” you announced. Tony growled at you, but it was half-hearted at best. "I need to call the florist on the way anyway,” you reminded him.

“Fine, imp. I’ll drive,” Tony smirked and led the way out to where he was parked. You offered Sif shotgun, even though it was your to claim, but she refused, preferring to sit with Thor in the back. So you took shotgun and made a quick call to the florist. On the way, Tony, Loki, and Thor went into the liquor store to pick out something for your dad. You and Sif sat chatting in the car while you waited for them. You still weren’t of age and didn’t want to make a fuss with the store thinking Tony was buying it for you. “Thor tried to pick out an entire case of beer for dad,“ Tony grumbled as he drove you to the florist which caused you all to laugh.

"What!? It is a warrior’s drink!” Thor protested, making you all laugh harder.

Mary had your flower order ready when you arrived at her shop. It only took you a minute to go in and collect the flowers. The order went on your tab.

After that, you drove straight to the cemetery and to your parents’ graves. You and Tony went up first with your offering of flowers and alcohol and greeted your parents, apologizing for not visiting more often. You stepped back and Sif stepped up next, kneeling and murmuring a prayer. Loki was flipping the pages of a spellbook while she did. You looked over at him, but he was distracted with his spellbook. “Lo, you don’t have to do that-“ you started, but knew he wouldn’t listen as per usual.

"I would like to. Would you assist me?” he asked. You realized there was no arguing with him. He had a reason for wanting to do this. So you nodded and took his hand so you could recite the spell together. You kissed him when it was cast, but ran to greet your parents a moment later. You couldn’t help it. You got to see them corporeally again, even though they’d been dead for years.

You introduced Sif to them, and Thor properly since he could speak that day and hadn’t been able to last time. You caught them up on everything you’d been up to, while getting lots of hugs in. At one point, you noticed that all of the boys took dad off to the side. You and Sif tried to ignore whatever they were doing and mom helped by asking Sif something about Asgard to distract you both. You had a feeling mom knew what the boys were up to, but apparently you weren’t allowed to know.

“Did you get the message from Frigga?” Sif asked you while the boys were distracted.

You nodded, remembering that ominous note. “Did she have any other hints or warnings to go with it?“ you asked softly. You still hadn’t told Loki about the note and knew that you shouldn’t.

Sif shook her head, regret in her eyes. "No hints, but she said to ask for our help if you need it when the time comes,”

“What message?” your mom asked, looking between the two of you confused.

“Loki’s mom gets premonitions of the future. She saw something happen and sent me a warning,” you explained a little of it. Mom didn’t need all of the details of this. Not of this.

“I’m sure whatever it is, it will be ok,” she answered instead of pressing the matter. You was grateful to her for not pressing it.

“I’m sure it will,” you answered her with a smile and changed the subject to the next day’s ball.

You spent a long time talking with everyone, sitting on a picnic blanket by their graves. “Loki, if you don’t end the spell soon, Thor’s going to have to carry you home. And me along with you,” you told him. You had been feeding him power to maintain the spell and could feel the effects. Loki nodded, though he looked sad that it couldn’t keep it going. “Lo, that spell is insanely draining. You know that as well as I do. Don’t feel bad that we can’t keep it going. We got to visit and actually see my parents,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, Loki, the fact that you can give us this at all is amazing,” Tony said. We all just stared at him for saying something complimentary to Loki, but Tony didn’t acknowledge it.

You and Tony both said your goodbyes, with the usual bittersweet tears and promises to mom that you’d take care of each other. Loki ended the spell and you felt the backlash of power. You couldn’t stop it. All you could do was wrap your arms around Loki’s slim frame and offer your support so he wouldn’t collapse. Though you weren’t much better “I’m alright,“ he promised you. His power levels were so low. That spell was stupidly draining.

"Sure you are,” you replied sarcastically.

Thor stepped toward you. “Allow me,” he bid you gently. “Go say your goodbyes,” you nodded and let him take Loki’s weight from you.

“Thor! I can stand!“ Loki protested a moment later, when he was thrown over Thor’s shoulder. You laughed and made your way over to Tony so you could say your last goodbyes to your parents.

"Thank you for coming with us,” you told Sif as we walked back to the car.

“Thank you for allowing me to come pay my respects,” she replied formally, pausing her laughing at Loki, who had fallen asleep on Thor’s shoulder while arguing for his brother to put him down. He was adorable when he was so stubborn and pouty.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #gifted #Chapter 50 #nekoamamori

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sourwolf-sterek32 · 5 years

Text

Unforgettable Memories ( Daryl Dixon x Reader )

Summary: Y/N Grimes is Rick’s younger sister. You used to be in the military and have enough PTSD to last a lifetime. With Shane’s help you created the quarry camp and came across the Dixon brother’s in the woods. You bought them back to camp, but after that everything changed and you were still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Rick’s Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Blood, guts, language (just usual twd warnings), minor mention of sexual assault but not in full detail.

Chapter 8-

Bright white light seeped out from the door causing you squinted before the light faded and you sighed with relief staring at the now open shutter door. Daryl's arms around your body slowly releasing you as he stared at the door in shock before you pulled your assault rifle out, pressing the butt of the gun firmly against your shoulder as you began walking through the door. Rick and Shane right behind you as Daryl covered the back.

"Hello? Hello?" Rick called out, as you glanced back at the group making sure everyone was safely inside before you turned back around and scanned the large empty area. Quickly taking note of all the doors and exits you could find, however, it was the CDC which meant most of those doors and exits were probably locked and bullet proof.

"Hello?" A male voice suddenly called out and you quickly spun around towards the voice, aiming your gun towards the stair case as a man appeared out from the shadows. You noticed he was holding a semi-automatic rifle and you quickly took a step forward, trying to block the mans view from the kids behind you. "Anybody infected?"

"One of our group was. He didn't make it." Rick replied from beside you, his gun still aimed at the man as you eyed him suspiciously.

"Why are you here? What do you want?" The man questioned, his eyes trained on Rick when he spoke.

"A chance." Rick simply replied.

"That's asking an awful lot these days." The man said, his eyes glancing around the group and you knew he was contemplating what to do. But, you also knew if he fired one burst of the rifle, he'd be dead before he hit the ground, whether it would be from you, Rick, Shane, Daryl, Glenn, T-Dog or Dale, because all of you had a gun and they were all aimed at the man.

"You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission." The man finally said after a few seconds as Rick glanced over at you with a questioning look, but you nodded. He was clearly a scientist and you knew how to take a blood test from your time in the military, so if he started doing anything sketchy you'd be able to pick it.

"We can do that." You answered as the man nodded and with that you guys quickly grabbed your gear out the cars. Within a few minutes the man called out to someone named Vi, telling her to seal the main entrance as you guys followed the man into an elevator.

Nobody said anything for a few seconds as you all stood around in awkward silence, reminding you of what it was like to ride in a crowded elevator before the world ended. You and Rick stood beside the man, your hand resting over your handgun, not trusting the stranger especially while you were all in such close quarters and not to mention he was still holding an assault rifle.

"Rick Grimes." Your brother suddenly introduced, holding his hand out towards the man as he shook it.

"Dr Edwin Jenner." The man -Dr Jenner- replied, his eyes glancing over at the rest of you before he turned back towards the front of the elevator.

"Doctors always go around packin' heat like that?" Daryl questioned from the back of the elevator as you glanced over at him to find him leaning against the wall with his shotgun resting against his shoulder as he eyed the doctor cautiously, clearly not trusting him yet either.

"There were plenty left lying around. I familiarized myself. But you look harmless enough. Except you." The doctor said, glancing down at Carl who was standing beside you as your hand instantly rested on your nephews shoulder. "I'll have to keep my eye on you." He joked causing Carl to smile.

It wasn't long before the elevator stopped and the doctor lead you down a hallway into the main room called Zone 5. There were desks and computers set up inside the large area along with a huge screen on the far wall, but there wasn't anyone else inside.

The doctor eventually explained that he was the only one still in the CDC, making you wonder why the others would leave this place, but before you had a chance to ask any questions the man took you to a different room and took everyone's blood tests to make sure none of you were infected.

Once he was satisficed that nobody was infected he showed you guys to the kitchen. Before you even knew what was happening you were all sitting around the large kitchen table eating food and drinking and honestly just having a good time.

"You know in Italy, children have a little bit of wine with dinner. And in France." Dale commented as he began pouring everyone glasses of wine while the others all continued stuffing their faces full of food. You had already eaten a bowl of pasta and knew you should probably stop eating otherwise you'd make yourself sick, but you didn't know when the next time you'd get a feast like this would be. So you sat back in your chair with a glass of red wine and watched the others talk and eat.

You were sitting between Rick and Glenn while Daryl sat up on a bench on the other side of the table since there wasn't enough room on the table, but he didn't seem to mind as he drunk his own glass and you really didn't mind the view either. He was directly opposite you and had his handgun tucked in the front of his pants which was extremely hot with the little bit of skin you could see where his flannel was tucked up from the handgun. Oh God why were you checking him out? Had the alcohol already started to quick in?

"Well, when Carl is in Italy or France he can have some then." Lori said, snapping you out of your daydream as you glanced over at her to find her holding her hand over the top of Carls cup on the table as Dale stood behind her with the bottle of wine.

"What's it gonna hurt? Come on." Rick encouraged, reaching over Carl as he bumped Lori's shoulder playfully and you chuckled as you watched the woman remove her hand from Carls up with a shrug.

Dale grabbed Carl's cup and poured a bit of wine inside as he placed it back down in front of him, "there you are, young lad." He said as he sat back down in his chair beside T-Dog while Carl took a sip of the wine and immediately screwed his face up in disgust.

"Eww." He responded, poking his tongue out as he shook his head causing all of you to crack up laughing as Rick rubbed Carl's hair, unable to himself from laughing either.

"That's my boy." Lori chuckled, pouring his wine into her glass as you leant past Rick and handed Carl a can of soda that was sitting in the middle of the table.

"Stick to his, kiddo." You said as Carl's eyes lit up seeing the drink and he grabbed it.

"Not you Glenn." Daryl spoke up, as he stood up and walked around the table with his now empty wine glass, no doubt about to refill it. "Keep drinking, little man. I want to see how red your face can get." Daryl said, causing everyone to laugh again as Glenn sunk down in his chair beside you, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment, but at least he was laughing as well.

"It seems to me we haven't thanked our host properly." Rick called out, tapping the side of his glass with a knife as he stood up, glancing over at Doctor who was sitting on a chair a few metres away.

"He is more than just our host." T-Dog called out and you nodded in agreement.

"Hear hear!" Everyone called out, raising their glasses and nodding towards the doctor.

"Booyah!" Daryl shouted, holding up the bottle of wine as a few others mimicked his cheer and everyone went back to laughing and chatting amongst themselves.

You watched as Daryl began refilling his glass of wine, filling it higher than most people usually would before he glanced over at you catching you watching him. He gave you a small smile and titled the bottle towards you as he raised his eyebrows in questioned and you nodded.

"We're so gonna regret this in the morning." You commented as Daryl walked around the table towards you as he refilled your glass with a chuckle.

"Nah, ain't no lightweight." He muttered as you glanced up at him, his body millimetres away from yours as he leant over you to reach your glass and you had to quickly look away, not trusting your slightly intoxicated self in the slightest.

"And you think I am?" You questioned, a hint of amusement in your tone as Daryl finished filling you glass and took a step back.

"Dunno." He replied, looking down at you with an unreadable expression before he walked back around to the bench across the table and sat back down.

You watched as Daryl took a gulp from his new glass of wine before Glenn suddenly tapped you on the shoulder and you flinched, but quickly recovered as you looked over at him to find him looking at you with a sheepish grin. Oh God, he totally caught you eyeing Daryl.

"You have a crush on him." Glenn whispered, nodding in Daryl's direction and you felt your cheeks turning a shade of pink.

"I do not." You murmured, not wanting anyone else to hear this conversation as you took another sip from your glass.

"Well, he clearly has a crush on you. You see him refiling any other girls drinks or offering them a ride in his truck?" Glenn asked, his voice hushed as he spoke and as much as you didn't want to admit it, Glenn was right. But you and Daryl were just friends right? He wouldn't like you more than that, especially not after your little episode in the truck.

Glancing over at Daryl you found him already looking in your direction as he quickly looked away, taking another sip of his drink and your heart fluttered. Maybe he does... God, this was stupid, it was like high school crushes all over again. The world was ending, he didn't want to waste his time with someone like you, right?

"Nasty bruise you got there." The doctor suddenly spoke up, bringing you away from your thoughts and conversation with Glenn as you looked over at the doctor in confusion before you realised he was looking at you. Oh, he was talking to you. "I'd hate to see the other guy."

"Yeah, you would." Shane responded, glancing over at you before looking at the doctor who frowned slightly, his eyes flashing around the table before focusing on you.

"I'm guessing you two are related? Brother and sister?" The doctor asked, motioning between you and Shane as you both laughed.

"Not by blood. But, he's like a brother to me. However, this guy-" You said, wrapping your arm around Rick's shoulders as he chuckled at your actions. "Is my pain in the ass older brother."

"Yeah, but deep down you secretly love me." Rick teased and you rolled your eyes, punching his shoulder gently as you sat back down in your chair properly.

"Very deep down." You responded causing everyone to laugh as Dale began telling one of his many stories while everyone continued to eat and drink, but you didn't miss Daryl watching you out of the corner of your eye.

Everyone was enjoying themselves and celebrating, but of course it all ended when Shane asked what happened to all the other doctors and staff that would have been in the building. The doctor told you about most of them leaving to be with their families and how the others basically committed suicide once the army base got overrun outside and with that being said the mood instantly died around the table.

Although the mood quickly lifted again when the doctor showed you guys the bedrooms where you could sleep and the showers that had hot water. Hot fucking water! It was like a dream come true.

You tried not to spend too long in the shower, remembering that the doctor had told you guys go to easy on the hot water, but you couldn't help it. It literally felt like heaven as you stood under the shower heat as warm water sprayed over your body.

You washed your body and your hair with the bottles of shampoo and body wash you found on the ground in the shower. You didn't want to leave the warm water, but you knew others still might need a shower so you reluctantly turned the taps off and you climbed out. You dried yourself with the towel before getting changed back into your usual army pants and tank top as you tied your army jacket around your waist.

You walked out into the hallway about to make your way to your bedroom for the night when you practically walk straight into your brother. "Whoa, you good?" You asked, grabbing his shoulders to keep him up right, noticing the bottle of alcohol in his hand and you chuckled realising that your brother was drunk.

"Yeah, just gonna go talk to Jenner." Rick replied and you knew he was trying his best to keep his tone straight, but you knew your brother and you knew he was far from sober right now.

"You want help walking over there?" You asked, your hand still on his shoulder as he shook his head.

"I'll be fine. Lori, Carol and the kids are in the rec room if you're looking for them. Goodnight, Y/N." Rick said, pulling you into a hug and you chuckled as he nearly tripped over trying to hug you. "I'm not drunk, I just tripped." Rick quickly covered up as he pulled away and you nodded.

"I'm sure. Goodnight, bro." You replied, trying to keep a straight face as you watched your brother walk off down the hallway in a line probably as straight as a fruit loop.

Shaking your head, you turned around and began heading towards the rec room that was located at the far end door of the hallway, wanting to say goodnight to Carl and Sophia before turning in for the night.

As you walked further down the hallway you saw the door to the rec room shut, but you could hear faint voices from inside. You figured the kids must have gone to bed and Lori and Carol were still up talking over a few glasses of wine.

You contemplated whether you should just go to bed, but you weren't tired and figured it would be good to hang out with the two woman for a while. But, as you opened the door you quickly realised that it wasn't Carol talking with Lori, it was Shane.

"Shane! Just stop. Get your hands off me." Lori's frighten voice ordered and your blood ran cold when you heard the tone in her voice and you knew something was seriously wrong.

You quickly shut the door quietly behind yourself as you walked further into the room and that's when you saw them. Shane had her pinned up against the wall, one hand holding the side of her face, the other hand making it's way down her pants. For a second you froze where you stood as you took in the scene, images from Afghanistan suddenly filled your mind, but you quickly shook your head. Now was not the time for that shit.

You could hear Shane whispering something to her, but you couldn't hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears as you quickly ran over to them. You didn't bother trying to tell him to stop as you grabbed the back of Shane's shirt and pulled him away from Lori.

Not expecting the man to actually fight back was a stupid mistake because the next thing you knew he had thrown you off him as you back hit the carpet floor, knocking the wind out of you as you gasped for breath.

You barely had a chance to even process what was happening before he grabbed the front of your tank top and yanked you back up to your feet. But you didn't give him a chance to do anything further as you grabbed his face, your nails digging into his skin and he quickly let you go, ripping the collar of your tank top in the process. You glanced down at your tank top the front of it ripped exposing your bra and skin, but that was the least of your worries.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" You shouted in a whisper, not wanting anyone else in the building to hear as you pushed Shane into the wall, your hand over his chest to keep him there. It was as if your voice had somehow gotten through to him because he quickly stopped fighting as he looked up at you in complete shock, like he only just realised who he had been fighting.

You glanced over at Lori behind you, making sure she was okay. Her eyes were filled with tears and you wanted nothing more than to just go over to her and hug her right now, but not until you ripped into Shane for what he just did.

"I got this, go to your bedroom. Everything will be fine." You said calmly looking over at your sister-in-law as she nodded and quickly rushed out the room.

"I-I... It wasn't what it looked like." Shane stuttered, as your head spun back around to him and he instantly shut up.

"Then tell me what it was, because it looked like you were sexually assaulting my sister-in-law or am I wrong? Because it sure as hell didn't seem like she had given you consent." You hissed, taking a step back as you took a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. Sexual assault was something you did not tolerate at all, you would have rather seen him punch Lori in the face than what he just did. If it was anyone other than the man you call a brother then you would have fucking decked him already.

Shane lowered his head guilty unable to look you in the eye, he had a couple scratches along his neck from your finger nails and you sighed.

"You're better than this, Walsh. You and I both know that. Whatever happened between you and Lori when you thought Rick was dead, that's between you guys. But, you have to stop this shit. I know you care about Lori, but she's married to your best friend! You have to get over it." You said, trying your best to keep your tone calm, but on the inside you were fuming. Fuck, you should have just punched him to knock some sense into his thick head.

"I know. I know. Shit, I fucked up. I really fucked up and I hurt you." Shane mumbled, looking down at your ripped tank tip before he quickly looked up at your face, realising that your bra and skin was now exposed. His face full of guilt and sorrow, but that didn't excuse him from his actions. Yes, he was drunk and yes, he was upset, but he should have never touched Lori like that, no woman or man should ever have to go through something like that.

"I'm fine, it's Lori you hurt. Now, if I catch you touching her or any woman like that again, it won't be a friendly conversation next time, Walsh." You threated, not giving him a chance to responded as you began walking away.

You could feel your hands starting to tremble at your side as memories from Afghanistan began to fill your find. You could feel your breathing coming out short and fast as you hurriedly made your way towards the door, just wanting to lock yourself in your room before you had a panic attack in public.

You untied your jacket from around your waist, walking out the room and into the hallway as you pulled the jacket. But before you could even attempt to do up the zip of your jacket you walked straight into a solid body and if it wasn't for a pair of strong hands around your shoulders you would have fallen backwards.

"Shit, sorry." You quickly apologised, looking up to find Daryl standing in front of you and you mentally sighed, grateful that it wasn't Rick.

Daryl shook his head about to say something, but he stopped when he noticed your tank top ripped. You quickly wrapped your jacket around your body not bothering to do up the zip as you covered your tank top and before you could even try make up some excuse Shane suddenly walked out the room you were just in.

He froze seeing you and Daryl standing out in the hallway. Daryl quickly looked over at you in confusion before glancing back towards Shane, the fresh fingernail cuts along his neck highly visible as he lowered his head and walked past the two of you. But, you could pinpoint the exact moment Daryl figured out what happened as his hand balled into a fist by his side. Oh this was not going to end well.

NEXT CHAPTER

A/N- Link in bio for Masterlist.

I will reblog with my tag list and if you want to be added to my tag list, just let me know in the comments below.

Anyway, I hope you are all enjoying this fic, I would love to hear your thoughts about it below. The next chapter will be up in a few days, but until then stay safe everyone and have a great day xx

#Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x Reader #The Walking Dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #twd #Norman Reedus #Rick Grimes #Shane Walsh #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine

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princesscyr · 4 years

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Gold & Venom: Chapter 1. A Fortnite Fanfic

Pairings: Midas/Yellowjacket Main characters: Midas, Yellowjacket, Jules, Fusion Rating: G (Might be mature later or something idk) This post includes: Authors note, chapter 1 Posted on: 28/2/2020 Submitted to: Tumblr, ao3, Wattpad

Midas didn’t think that his life could get any worse after The Agency blew up. The failure of the Doomsday Device he and Jules worked on was the big monkey wrench that foiled everything. So here he was, drifting on a small boat near Sweaty Sands. Two months ago he narrowly avoided getting eaten by a Loot Shark, turning the sea creature into gold in a last-ditch effort to get away. Whatever was left of The Agency after the explosion, he had given to Jules, in hopes she would rebuild it. Jules did not reject this as he thought she would have. Instead, she took the offer and gave him one last hug before she took off into the chaos. That was almost 3 months ago and the hatred he felt towards everything in this insufferable island just kept growing, and it was reaching its tipping point.

Today was day 87. Day 87 of drifting in the ocean, moving from his sleeping cot and back out onto the deck to see where he was. He could have made his way to the shore but that would be too obvious. Midas knew he was a wanted man and he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bounty on his head. He was a successful man, a spy boss for one of the most powerful agencies on the island. He ruled with a golden fist and he was both respected and feared. He could make armies crumble with his golden touch. He had all the money in the world and had all sorts of riches: jewelry, clothes, and even some of the most expensive things in the world. He took his power and used it to build an empire, and now he was nothing. Nothing but a shell of what he once was. A small man with a golden touch but no power, no riches.

He was getting used to the serene environment around him. From the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, to the sounds of seagulls squawking and looking for food. He reaches into his pocket for his smokes, he was a big fan of the Marlboro kind and pulled out his golden lighter. If there was one thing he was glad to have saved, it was his cigarettes. He would have lost his sanity if he didn’t have them. He could go without his scotch, certainly, but not his cigarettes. He had to ration his happy sticks, 1 stick a week. The black-haired man lit the cig before taking a long drag. He heaved a sigh, looking ahead.

“I need to figure out my next move, it has been almost 3 months, and I’m still at square one.” He speaks to nobody in particular.

He stomps out his cigarette later, moving back towards his sleeping chamber. That’s when it happened. In the distance, he hears what sounds like a motorboat revving its engine. Followed by another, and another. Growing a bit nervous, Midas reaches for the tactical shotgun he hid near his cot since he didn’t have his Drum Gun anymore. He cocks his shotgun, preparing for a potential attack. Soon enough, the sounds of the motorboats get louder and closer. Midas was ready.

His boat had been surrounded by motorboats, boats in black and purple colors. Some carried two henchmen, some boats even had three. Each one with guns at the ready, so he knew he couldn’t make a run for it. Those motorboats carried rockets. Within the chaos, Midas did not hear someone get off the motorboat until he heard a slow clap followed by a deep laugh. Midas turned around, gun at the ready.

Fusion puts his hands up, “Now now, goldilocks, you’re going to make a big mistake doing that. I just want to talk, whatever happens after that… well, the choice is yours.”

Midas growled lowly, cocking the shotgun again, “Speak and make it fast, Fusion.”

The blue flamed man motions with two fingers for the others to lower their guns. “Midas, I thought we made it clear that you needed to scram if you wanted SHADOW to forget about you. It seems you either misunderstood, or you have a death wish.”

“Jules said nothing about me needing to “get lost”, flame boy.” Spat the tattooed man, “I’ve been off the radar since the incident—how did you know I was here?”

“It’s not hard to find a lanky man that has a golden touch.” Fusion cackled, motioning with his fingers again for all guns to go up. “Take your pick, or would you like to ride with me?”

When Midas didn’t answer, Fusion moves closer, his blue flames leaving a light trail behind him.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Goldilocks. Either way, you’re coming back with us. Except one of those ways, you’ll be dead and I’ll have to explain to Jules why I had to kill her big brother. Get the picture?” his voice was taunting, as though he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Midas himself, given the chance.

Midas throws the shotgun down, making sure to keep eye contact with Fusion as he did so.

“Fine. I’ll bite. But I wish to talk to my sister. Alone.”

Fusion grins, the flames on his face lighting up from contentment.

“Sure. We’ll let you two have your family reunion, but no funny business on the way there, or you’ll become swiss cheese, goldie.”

Jules was not the type of woman who cowered to men, and her older brother was no exception. While she and Midas had a decent sibling relationship, Midas still acted as though he was better than her. It’s that cocky attitude that got him to this point. His arrogance caused the engineers to rush the construction of the Doomsday Device and the machine's eventual failure, resulting in the flood that wiped out the island. At the time of this, she was just an engineer who worked for Shadow that went behind the agency’s back to work with her brother.

Now, at the humble age of 18, she was a spy boss. She took The Agency’s remains to The Authority and rebuilt everything. Now she ruled with an iron fist, not letting people treat her like she was an arrogant child. She was the opposite of what her older brother had become. The last time she saw him was before the flood, and she neglected to tell him that he should never come back. To go far away and start a new life—that he will be forgotten by the agency if he did that. Deep down, she didn’t want him to go. He was the only family she had left.

To a stranger, one would think Midas and Jules were twins. The trademark black hair and the full-body tattoos, but Jules was younger than Midas, who was only 23 years old. Their personalities were opposites. Jules wasn’t very social while Midas was charismatic and confident. Midas resembled his father more in terms of behavior and actions while Jules was more like her mother with her grace and patience. Growing up together, Jules was more favored by her parents than Midas was, as she was the only daughter and she wasn’t a troublemaker like Midas was. Jules knew Midas held resentment for her, and whether or not he’d admit it, she knew he held it. She loved her brother very much, but she also resented him right back for blaming her over their parents favoring her, as if that was her fault.

Jules heard a knock on her office door which caused her to turn around in her chair with a sigh, taking her attention away from an engineering manual she was looking at.

“Come in.”

Four henchmen step in, two of which were holding a handcuffed Midas. Fusion followed behind them, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I did as you asked, Boss. Here he is in the flesh.” Fusion declared proudly.

Jules leans back in her seat, her eyes glancing over her brother as if she didn’t recognize him.

“Midas.” She clicks her tongue at the henchmen, who force Midas to sit down in the chair in front of her desk.

Midas hissed in pain, glaring at the henchmen.

“A bunch of incompetent monkeys. They swarmed me, I wasn’t doing anything. I was by myself enjoying the sea.” He sneers, glaring at his younger sister with disdain.

“Hey, aren’t you guys going to get rid of these cuffs, or am I some high-risk threat and you’ll throw me into a cell after you’re done with me?” Midas barked at the henchmen as well as Fusion, who were walking away.

When he doesn’t get an answer, he looks back to his sister with a ‘uncuff me?’ face.

Jules shakes her head, “I’m not removing those cuffs just yet. You and I are going to have a chat and you’re going to listen to what I have to say.”

Midas scoffs, “Oh please, you think because you’re the big spy boss now that you think you’re better than me? Because newsflash, doll, you’re not.”

“Maybe you’re right. I neglected to tell you before the accident that you need to leave this island and never come back. To start a new life on your own. We were willing to forget about you. Instead, I showed weakness by hugging you, because I was afraid you’d die. That’ll never happen again, however, so don’t worry.” She answers him, straightening up in her chair, her expression void of any emotion.

“I know there was a catch to that. There always is. You’d send a spy after me to make sure I stayed away. But guess what, Julia?” he leans forward in his seat as well, smiling perfectly so she can see his teeth both gold and white, “You’ll never get rid of me. You will always be that scared little girl who runs to mommy and daddy whenever something goes wrong. You have no good qualities about you except for your engineering. But I know you. I know you better than you’d like to accept. You’ll make a big mistake by not killing me.”

Jules clenches her jaw, standing up to make her way over to him. Compared to Midas, she stood at 5’3”. He was a good 6’5”.

“A mistake, maybe. But I think you can redeem yourself here. You are a poor excuse for a man, Midas. You always have been. You’re insufferable, cocky, and you hide behind your golden world to avoid any backlash. In reality, you’re just a lonely little man with a crumbled empire that’ll never get rebuilt. So here’s what we’re going to do,” she starts as she reaches into her utility belt for the cuff key.

After she frees Midas from his cuffs, he rubs his wrists before looking at her again as though he was waiting for her to finish speaking.

“You’ll be working for me. You’ll be seen but not heard. No missions. Think of it as an internship, but you’ll be paid and have free room and board here. You’ll do all the filing, transcribing… you’ll even have your own office. You’ll take orders from me and anyone who is above you in ranking and you’ll do exactly as you’re told. You will also be safe here, as you’ll be doing low profile jobs around this agency. Nobody outside of our agency will know you are alive and well. Along with that, you will also be an overseer for the engineering wing, you’ll supervise any work they do. You’ll keep track of their progress and I expect the report on my desk by 6 PM on the dot. Every. Single. Day.” She drawls out the last part of what she says, as though Midas was incompetent.

“And if I don’t accept your lovely job offer? It is lovely by the way, I never knew my work skills would bring me to this point of my life,” he comments sarcastically, almost insulted that he’d be offered such a basic job in the first place.

“If you don’t accept, then you’ll be in a nice 5 by 7 cell with no privacy, the henchmen will watch you piss, poop, eat and sleep. I’m sure that’s not a very comfortable outcome for you, Midas. I won’t lie, a lot of people here want you dead, but I’ve managed to convince them to spare you just this one time. I strongly suggest you take me up on this offer.”

Midas goes back to glaring at her, “So you’re going to hold everyone's resentment of me over my head as a way to get me to join you? Are you mad, darling?” he snaps at her.

Jules shrugs, “I think my proposition is really good, Midas. Think about it, you get to live. You’ll have your own office and own space to sleep. All you have to do… is do as you are told.”

Midas looks away from her, trying not to pout. Even if he had nothing, he was being offered immunity and any sane person would accept that over being stuck in a room with a few agents who are ready to kill, and they’ve killed for a lot less.

After a few moments of silence, Midas huffs, “I suppose I can accept the offer. So long as you give me a tour of this place. This building is a lot bigger than what The Agency once was.” He counteroffers, to which Jules gives him an accepting shrug.

“I can give you a tour of our agency. Bigger is an understatement, though.” She says with a hint of pride.

The Authority was made in Jules’ image of Midas. Its walls loomed over the surrounding mass of water, the building overlooked Salty Springs. Before the big flood, Jules had a foolproof plan to surround the building with high metal walls, to prevent severe flood damage. When the flood came, some water did get into the perimeter of the walls, a few feet away from the building. The building, while it looked small from an outside perspective, the inside was huge. With over one hundred rooms and underground bunkers, The Authority can function smoothly as possible. Recruits were trained in the training wing, where they receive intense training in a classroom as well as the sparring gym. Classes start the moment sunrise begins and ends at sunset, every single day. There was a cafeteria within the training wing for the recruits to replenish their hunger after long, hard training hours.

As Jules leads Midas down to the training wing, Midas could feel all eyes on him. He knew he was deeply hated around here but at the same time, he felt a sense of superiority and safety. He was safe. These people can’t do anything, so long as he stays on Jules’ good side. Surely, he could get away with some things, right?

“You’ll be proud to know that I have used your methods of training for these future agents, Midas. These agents have an equal opportunity to succeed with the trainers I have personally hired. Your dream of an ideal system hasn’t died.” Jules explains casually as the two siblings pass by a group of chatty recruits, who all greet Jules with respect.

“Good afternoon Boss,” one of the groupies greets her with a smile and a nod of his head.

Jules returns the gesture, “Afternoon, recruits. I’m assuming you are heading back to class now? Lunch just ended didn’t it?”

As the groupie and Jules talk, Midas couldn’t help but feel eyes on him from the rest of the small group. They were off to the side, whispering and gesturing towards him.

So even the recruits know who I am, huh? He thinks to himself.

He was used to that kind of treatment. Anywhere he went, if he wasn’t met with respect, he was met with fear. Unsettled glances and people afraid to look him in the eye, for they too, were under the ignorant belief that looking him in the eye means they’ll turn to gold. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have a fanbase of his own, though. Women who admired him for his good looks, his charismatic personality, and overwhelming confidence. He used to remember getting love letters every week when he’d pick up the mail for The Agency. Some letters were sweet, nearly flattering to him while some were… concerning. Creepy letters such as how they wanted to have children with him or help him run his empire. Midas had no desire for having a love life, much less offspring. He was a monster, or at least he accepted himself as such, and bringing a child into the world would just be bringing in a smaller monster of himself.

Midas crosses his arms, giving the whispering groupies a stone-cold look.

“Do we have a problem here? A reason you feel the need to stare me down?” he sneers, causing them to stop whispering, some squeaking in surprise. “N-No sir,” a girl speaks up, “We were just admiring your tattoos. They l-look nice.”

Jules looks over at the sudden commotion, sighing as the group trembles at Midas. “Midas, stop it. People are allowed to look at you. You have tattoos for heaven's sake!” she hisses at him, gesturing him to come beside her.

Midas huffs, mumbling a thank you to the girl who spoke up for the compliment, but he wasn’t biting easily.

“Let's go. I’ll show you one of the classes that’s on right now. You recruits have a good day now. Train and study hard!”

Jules leads Midas down a side hallway away from all the commotion. The hall was quiet as the recruits were already in class. Jules walked up to one of the classroom doors and knocked three times before letting herself in. It seemed that Jules had walked in on the middle of the instructor teaching the class more advanced attack movements. The instructor, whose name was Riptide lit up when he saw her.

“Everybody, what a wonderful surprise! Boss Jules has stopped by to say hello!” there was a cheery tone to the bearded instructor's voice, one could assume he held her to the highest regard.

The class, which consisted of 12 men and 12 women, grouped by twos, all greeted their future boss. They were in the middle of a battle exercise, where Riptide was showing his recruits how to properly body slam somebody. However, when Midas stepped in behind her, the teacher visibly tenses up to which Jules gives him a curt smile as if to reassure him that all was well.

“This is my older brother, Midas. He will be working under The Authority now. He will collect any mission files you give him, as well as answer any questions you may have during your time in this agency.” Jules explains to the class.

“Hello everyone, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Midas greets, bowing respectfully.

Of course, the girls in the class were trying to contain their excitement, all except for one. Midas made immediate eye contact with the quiet girl, eyebrows raised with mild surprise. He was usually used to every girl fawning over him. She seemed disinterested, just nodding her head at him in acknowledgment.

Curious… he figures, clearing his throat towards his sister, “Shall we continue with the tour, doll?” he asks Jules, who nods and says her goodbyes along with good luck to the class.

The girl’s eyes never left Midas though. Her gaze followed, almost like she was curious but also not interested in the hype about him. He gave her a curt smile and a nod before following his sister out, to which the girl sighs and rolls her eyes after his departure.

Jules continued the tour by showing Midas where he would be working which was a decent sized office space with a big desk and dual monitor set up. There was enough space on the desk to put nice decorations.

Shame, Midas thinks to himself, I don’t have any of my belongings.

“Oh and,” Jules pulls Midas out of his thoughts, “We can provide decorations if needed. I know you’re picky but you could always gold coat them if it’ll make it more bearable for you.”

Midas shrugs, “it's fine, I’ll make do with what I have.”

“Well, the last stop is your room. It’ll be far away from the other agents, mainly for your safety. You’ll get a keycard similar to the ones you gave your agents, which only you will have access to your room, plus the authorized areas you’ll need access to as well.” She motions in front of herself so he can walk ahead.

Two flights of stairs later and Midas lost his breath at the top of the stairs, at the sight before him. This area was the dormitory, with its halls beautifully decorated with gunmetal wallpaper, along with a furry black carpet. Near the stairs, he sees a sign that says, “No food or water in the hallway, please preserve the carpet.”

“Do people follow this sign?” he asks, actually chuckling to himself that a sign of this caliber had to be placed.

“No, but I believe it’s not a problem so long as I don’t see it. We kept that sign up for Chaos Agent when he was still alive, as he did monthly inspections. So no, no one follows the rules here, Midas. Just don’t get caught, simple as that.” She replies as she leads him down another long hallway.

Towards the end of the long hallway, there was a door. Jules swipes her keycard and when the door beeps, she opens the door, revealing a presidential suite type room. Midas stopped in his tracks when he saw exactly how big it was.

Though empty, the room had a lot of space. This included a walk-in closet and a walk-in bathroom, the bathroom is a bonus for Midas because he sure didn’t feel like risking his life every night here to go across the hall just to pee.

Jules pats his arm, “Just because things are bad right now, doesn’t mean I’ll treat you any less than family.”

Midas gives her a small smile, his heart swelling up slightly at that.

A knock on the door gets both sibling's attention. Two henchmen stood in the doorway, holding boxes.

Jules politely excuses herself, leaving Midas to take in the room some more. He could hear them murmuring and whispering to one another before Jules takes one of the boxes with a kind smile and guides the henchmen away.

I don’t understand why she’s being so nice to me, Midas thinks with a slight frown, I don’t even deserve this act of kindness, especially from her.

He stops trying to think about it, he’s not here to make amends with her. But his mind insisted on thinking about it. He’s here to get back what he rightfully deserves. His empire that crumbled too early. It has always been this way. Don’t take anyone’s kindness, you never know what their true intentions are until you’re too far in, was a quote he learned while growing up. His father was a good example of this, his constant reminder towards Midas that he owed him everything, simply because he brought him into the world.

What about Jules? A question formed in his head, she was never told she owed father anything at all. It was always me.

He ends up reacting angrily by putting his hand against the wall, the area around his hand turning into solid gold. Every wall of the room followed suit until the room was all shiny gold. This included the floor, the door, the closet, and the bathroom.

She is so, so lucky she never has to be me, and that’s what angers me the most, his mind seethes.

Midas, still angry, heads back to his new office. He wanted to get a feel for it, maybe even add a golden touch to it. As he used a temporary keycard to get in, his eye lands on 2 boxes on the desk with his name on it. He approaches the desk, curiosity getting the best of him. Inside the boxes were a lot of his belongings, some damaged by the water, but the rest were in decent condition because of the gold touch.

Reaching into the box, his anger was replaced by a sudden pang of sadness in his stomach. He pulled out a picture frame of his old agent team. Skye, Meowscles, and Maya, the ones he was the closest to. They were all posed for some goofy picture they took at Retail Row a few months before the disaster. The water had damaged the photo, making Midas’ face look warped and distorted, while the rest of the photo was in pristine condition. He frowns at this, but the pang in his stomach only grew more when he pulled out a folded note with some water damage. He figured he wouldn’t be able to make out the words on it because of the water, but opened it anyway, curiosity piquing his interest.

Midas,

By the time you have received this or find it or whatever, I’ll already be gone. I want to say thank you first and foremost for raising me all these years. You found me when I was only 11 years old. You weren’t much older than me and I still looked up to you as a brother. You gave me hope when nobody else did, and that is why I need to write this. Your selfish actions involving the Doomsday Device has left a trauma that will never heal. How could you be so selfish, Midas? Why did you think using that device would be a good idea? I know you had good intentions—you wanted to end the chaotic storm once and for all and you figured that device would be the solution. It wasn’t, because many people died. People lost their homes, jobs, anything and everything you could think of. I risked my life to protect you, just so you could activate that fucking thing and now I see that it wasn’t worth it. Don’t try to look for me, because you won’t find me. I’ve gone far away. There will be no point in sending someone to make sure I’m okay because there is nobody left. They all died with the flood. The flood you caused. You did all you could to help me, and I, you. To think, we could have celebrated my 17th birthday had you not set off that device. I’m sorry if this has come off harsh or it is too long and you don’t have the patience to read it. I love you very much, but you have caused such deep pain for me that I fear you. I truly fear you. I thought I knew everything about you but it seems like I don’t. Do you feel any remorse for what you’ve done? I beat myself up for thinking like that, thinking that the man I looked up to as my father could be a cold-hearted murderer, but that’s all I can think of. That’s why I’m writing this to you. I don’t know where Maya, Meowscles, or Tina are. They may feel differently about you as well.

I don’t wish any ill-like things to happen to you, but you will be alone if you continue to act the way you do. Whether or not you leave the island and make a new life for yourself, that’s your choice. I know I promised I’d stay by your side forever because that’s what friends do, but I can’t live with myself doing that for you. I hope one day you open your eyes and realize what a monster you’ve become, and that you can fix yourself before you end up alone forever. Nothing is worse than being in a room full of people and still feeling so alone.

Goodbye, Midas. You did so much for me, and I’ll always appreciate that.

-Skye

Midas didn’t even realize his hands were shaking violently as he read the note. Every word brought pain to him as if he was shot. He didn’t notice he had turned everything in that box to gold until he had thrown it at the adjacent wall, causing a loud crash.

“How could you be so appreciative of me and then turn around and call me a monster?!” He yells to nobody in particular.

Tears clouded his gold eye but he tried his hardest to not cry.

“Crying is for the weak, and I’m not weak.” He tells himself, clenching his golden fists tightly.

Stop showing emotions, you fucking coward, a voice in his mind scolded him.

Midas bitterly snorts, “I will.”

Take back what is yours and rebuild your empire. Kill anyone who gets in the way. You have nothing to lose, after all. Jules doesn’t care about you, if she did, she would have left you alone instead of exposing you to this shit, the voice sounds almost taunting to him.

He tries to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm down and ignore the whispers drilling in his head, but the voices became the only thing he could hear. He couldn’t hear his breathing.

You will rebuild a new agency. You just need to overthrow Jules. There are a lot of agents here with potential. Those who do not join—well, you could always make new statues.

He wasn’t going to let another person cross him again. While he loved Skye like a sister, the feeling of betrayal was strong right now. She assisted him with this device and she wants to turn around and make him out to be the monster? If she felt that way about him… how about Meowscles, Maya, and Tina? Perhaps that’s why there’s no letter from them. They couldn’t face him, while Skye could stand up to him. Perhaps Skye spoke up for them.

Never again. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

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baseballbitch116 · 5 years

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Surprises

Pairing: Shane Walsh x Rick’s younger sister

Request: “Can you do a Shane Walsh x reader, where the reader is Ricks sister and she’s pregnant with Shane’s child?”

Word Count: 1416

Warnings: none - angst and fluff

Masterlist

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Rick was anything but stupid. He knew his long-time friend well enough, and he knew his sister well. He knew that they were hooking up behind his back, and that they thought they were being oh so slick about it. But he knew. He certainly was not happy, but he also respected that Y/N is an adult and can sleep with whoever she pleases. It isn’t his place.

So he carried on pretending as if he didn’t know. And it didn’t come to light how seriously involved you and Shane were until the dead suddenly arose. When Rick stumbled into camp, unbeknownst that his family was here, was when he discovered just how much he had missed in his time in a coma.

You were standing back, no longer paying attention once you saw that Andrea and Glenn had returned safely. Your attention was occupied by your nephew Carl who was becoming distraught about Andrea and Amy reuniting - clearly he is missing his father, your brother. You stand beside Lori, a comforting hand on your young nephew’s shoulder, listening along to your sister-in-law trying to assure him that his father is at peace and he will see him again one day. You looked up, locking eyes with your Shane, exchanging a knowing look. He runs a hand through his hair and starts to head over, until his eyes land on something. You follow his eyes and feel your heart drop. Standing just a few yards away, with an expression as if he had just seen a ghost, was Rick.

You stare at him, unable to move, feeling your eyes tearing up and your vision go blurry as Carl screams “Dad!” and takes off toward his father - suddenly back from the dead. Your gaze returns to Shane, taking slow steps toward Rick as he hugs his wife and son, the three of them crying.

“Y/N,” He mutters when you get close enough, opening his full arms to group hug you as well, which you gladly accept.

Fortunately, Rick did not notice right away - which gave you a few hours to think of how the hell you were gonna tell him. You didn’t think that he had any idea that you and Shane had been hooking up before the world had gone to shit. So to suddenly tell him that you are pregnant with his best friend’s child, during this shit storm with no government or hospitals or anything... Is not going to be fun.

If you had to guess, you were probably about three or four months in - so not too noticeable, but also not unnoticeable. You avoided wearing tank tops or anything remotely tight or short, despite how hot it has been. Shane was the only one that knew your little secret, so you were hiding it from the entire group. He seemed to keep his distance from you for the next few hours after Rick arrived, obviously not ready to explain the situation to him.

At the end of the night, the group set up a small fire. You sat on a log, Glenn to your left, and an empty spot to your right. Typically, Shane sat beside you, but tonight he stood off to the side with his shotgun, looking out for any walkers.

You glance over to him a few times, missing his company, but knowing that it probably isn’t a great idea to tell Rick yet. You haven’t even fully discussed what the two of you were. You were friends with benefits before the world basically ended, and he did come to get you when it all went to shit, but you hadn’t discussed if you were his girlfriend or just the girl who knocked up. You had been acting like a couple, and the group sort of assumed that you were his girl, but you were a little unsure - especially now that your brother was here.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you saw Shane make eye contact with you. He cocked a brow, seemingly asking if you were alright without actually speaking. You sit up a little and nod, returning your gaze to the fire and vaguely listening to the story Dale was telling. You look over at your brother, holding Carl and Lori in his arms as he listens intently. He looks happier than you had seen him in a while, and it brought you peace. You were so happy that he was alive.

You heard a noise and are taken aback when you see Shane sit down beside you, placing a hand on your knee and giving you a small half smile. You smile at him and feel a wave of contentment wash over you. You’ve got everything you need now, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

You looked up and saw Rick looking between you and Shane - but he didn’t look angry. He actually had a weird look, almost a smile. “So, when were you guys going to tell me?” He speaks out of nowhere, his gaze on Shane. You gulp, not expecting him to say that in front of the group. He still doesn’t look angry, and you are fairly surprised. You look to Shane, who doesn’t look all that shocked, and he shrugs.

“Didn’t know how t’.” He responds, and you see your brother nod.

“I knew from the beginning.” Rick says, and your eyes widen. You thought you had been so good about hiding it! You put your face in your hands and groan and you hear a few laughs around you.

“What even are you guys?” You hear Andrea ask, and you feel your heart speed up a little. She asked the question you were too scared to ask him yourself.

You lift your head and nervously look at Shane for an answer. All he does is smile a little at you, his thumb rubbing your knee. “You’re my girl. Right?” He says confidently, waiting for your confirmation. You feel your face heat up and nod, leaning your head into his shoulder and smiling at your brother. He returns the smile and ruffles Carl’s hair.

“Looks like Uncle Shane is actually your uncle now.” He mutters to his son, who laughs.

“We’ve actually got some news...” Shane says, catching you off guard. You sit up and look at him. “It’s fine. Rick?” He asks, standing, offering your his hand and nodding off away from the group. Rick looks confused but stands and follows you and Shane away from the others.

“What is it?” Rick asks, his face confused and uneasy.

“Uhm... So, I know it isn’t exactly good timing. And certainly not planned... But, I, uh...” You ramble, attempting to get it out. You see Rick’s face drop and realization hit him.

“You’re... pregnant.” He says, not really asking. You feel your eyes tear up and nod. He rubs the back of his neck and sort of glares at Shane, and you feel your nerves growing.

“It’s not like we didn’t try to avoid it. It’s done... I can’t do anything about it..” You mutter, standing a little closer to Shane, who puts his hand on your arm comfortingly.

“She’s gonna be fine.” Shane says, certain of himself. Rick doesn’t speak for a moment, but nods a little.

“I’m gonna be an uncle.” He finally mutters, a tiny smile forming on his sad face, and you nod through your tears.

“Uncle Rick.” You say, taking a step toward your brother and wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. He hugs you back and you feel the fear replaced by his comfort.

“It’s a damn good thing you didn’t knock up my sister if you were just messing around.” Rick said to Shane when you pulled away. Shane chuckles and looks down for a moment before his gaze falls on you, making a face you don’t recognize.

“Nah, I love her.” He smirks, looking at you sideways, laughing when he sees your jaw drop.

“Oh my God!” You squeal, throwing your arms around Shane, kissing him sweetly. “I love you too, Shane.” You whisper, hugging him tightly, overjoyed that he said that. It was the first time, you had no idea that he felt that way for you!

“Good, you better.” Rick jokes when you pull away from Shane, and the three of you laugh, heading back over to the fire to rejoin the others, your fingers interlocked with your boyfriend and father of your child...

---

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in future work for TWD/Rick/Shane

@sourwolf-sterek32 @fangirl-juchan @twdeadfanfic@loudlydarkcollective @rhyatt-deauxtreve @icantstopreblogging @wintersoldiercalypso @fangirl-juchan @twdsunshine @twdfanfics @walkingdeadfan25@twdeadfanfic @multiefandamn @fandomtrash99 @twd4lifee@fandomscalling @dangerousgreene @fangirl-juchan @sourwolf-sterek32 @tv-show-shit @itsmysticalmystery @lokilover2000-blog@humongousttreecookiehoagie @trash-heep-queen@fictionboysruleprimary @harry-titss @littlemissconfused123@negansviolentdelights @lightblindingme @twilight-brunnhildc @writtensecretswithin

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comebackseasonisamess · 5 years

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When He Comes Back

Mark Lee x Reader | ft Lee Taeyong as the adjuvant | angst, slight horror

Word Count: almost 2k words

Summary: It’s been two years since Mark vanished, and you haven’t been ok since.

Sequel to Waves And Adventures

A/N Finally. This fic has been the bane of my existence. I swear I wanted it to be normal but I guess my stressed brain didn't like that idea... Not edited, so if there are any plot inconsistencies feel free to tell me.

A golden hue lights up the inside of your room. The birds chirp outside like they do when the weather's clear.

You pull the sheets up, over your ears and block out the signs of the morning. You open your eyes and all you see is muted colours, fading into the obscure.

It's the two year anniversary of Mark leaving. Two years since you last saw him, huddled under the broken stairwell, a look of pure terror across his face. Two years since anyone saw him, since you've actually smiled, since you've been able to pass a day without thinking about him.

As your mom pounds against the door, yelling at you to get up, that it's a new morning and your little sister needs a ride to school, you sink deeper into the safety of your bed. You can't stay there forever, you know, but a few extra minutes won't hurt.

When you can finally force your muscles to lift you off the bed, you place the least amount of care in your appearance. Sweats, a t-shirt that used to be, no, is, Mark's, and a pair of scuffed runners that before you used to garden in find their way on your body. You sweep past the desk where you kept your makeup and jewelry. The desk was gathering dust, and everything had passed the expiry date.

You walk out the door, gently closing it and walking quietly down the hallway to the kitchen, where your sister sat at the island, eating cereal. She had a habit of taking too much cereal, and leaving the stuff she didn’t eat as well as the milk in the bowl.

“Come on, let’s go,” you told her, pulling the car keys from the hook nailed in the wall. You gesture to the main door, turning slowly on your heels as you ambled towards it, head tucked down and shoulders slumped to the front.

You slide into the car, adjusting the seat of the family car to fit your size, and turn the key in the ignition. Your sister slithers into the shotgun, slamming the door behind her and clicking in her seatbelt before turning her attention to her phone.

You drive in silence. Silence is good. Silence leaves you alone in your thoughts, to think about times when you were happy and with Mark. Silence leaves you to think about the coming day, about what you’re going to do, what you’re going to see, who you’re going to meet.

You pull up to the front of your sister’s high school. She jumps out of the car, thanking you and running up the stairs to get into the entrance.

You drive the car back home, and within minutes your mom runs out to go to her job, and you’re left alone in the house.

You decide to take a shower. You strip out of your clothes, and twist the knob to the spout until the water comes out scalding hot. You step into the water, scrubbing at your skin with blunt fingernails. You open the shampoo bottle, and pour out a dollop of it. You run it through your hair, then rinse and repeat with your conditioner. You close your eyes and lean against the shower wall, feeling drowsy as time seems to go by faster.

When you’re dried off and dressed up again, you put on a pair of hiking shoes, before commencing a journey to the last place you saw Mark: the abandoned red house by the cliff.

A year and a half ago, while trying to find Mark, you ended up wandering from the house and into the neighbouring community, which was situated maybe a half a kilometer away. That was how you found out there was a way to get to the house without crossing by the raging ocean and risking falling in.

Plugging in your headphones to make the journey seem to go by quicker, you stick to the side of the road with your entire body slouched forward.

As if the day could get any worse, the sky had been grey for a while, and it had opened up to let rain pour down on you.

You’re wearing a windbreaker with no hood, so you hope to get there sooner rather than later. A cold during the springtime is never appreciated.

Pressing on, you avoid all puddles and before you know it you reach the house.

The house looks the same as it did last year. An eary, ominous sense surrounding it the red paint still as bright. The lights look as if they had just been changed and the door was opened by an inch.

You suck in a breath, realizing that this entire year you had been preparing for this. He promised you, after all. You push open the door, releasing a timid ‘hello’ from your chest.

“Hello, darling,” a voice purrs from the darkness. Eyes glowing like a cat’s, Taeyong prowls towards you. “It’s been a while. You look good.” His eyes seem to glow even brighter.

Your heart pounds louder, and your breathing picks up. “Two months, I think.”

Taeyong’s malicious smile slinks up his face. He can tell you’re nervous and don’t want to be around him. “Precisely darling. I’m sure you want to see him, don’t you?” His voice is like velvet to your ears.

You nod, trying to hold eye contact with him. You don’t want to back down from him, holding his gaze a non verbal way of stating that you were equal to him, that you would not submit to him.

He slides in closer to you, wrapping a cool arm around your waist, while playing with the zipper of your coat. “He’ll be here soon… Maybe he’ll let me have a taste of you…”

“Taeyong…” you commence, “While we may have known each other for a year now, I’m not giving anything to you.” You place a hand on his arm, pushing it lightly off of you.

Taeyong’s eyes gleam. “Are you ready to face Mark?”

You swallow thickly. You wonder if he will still like you, even if you’ve changed so much in two years. What had been your strengths, had long since been sapped from you, leaving an empty husk of a human being with nothing but sadness in them.

You think back to that day, two years ago. The house had seemed normal, well, as normal as an abandoned house could be. There was dust in the corners, a musty scent in the air, and an emptiness of all things personal. There were furnishings, a sofa, armchairs, chairs, a table for eating and faded ultramarine drapes.

You walked through the house, flashing your phone light in all the dark corners of the rooms. All the while, Mark had told you he had a funny feeling about the house, and stuck close to you, sometimes gripping your hand to steer you closer to the entrance.

There had been a creaking from upstairs, and the clicking of fingernails against plaster. You had looked at Mark, and the two of you had slowly backed out of the house, only to find the exit blocked, and nowhere to go.

The being that eased its way down the stairs turned out to be something out of a horror novel. A creature romanticized in present-day pop culture, represented with sparkling skin or a strong sexual appetite, or under the radar beings with magical powers. A vampire. A real vampire, with wickedly sharp fangs, and vermillion coloured eyes, its fingers more like claws than nail and blood and bone and skin. Its mouth twisted grotesquely, and it lunged for the both of you, flying forward in the blink of an eye.

So Mark held off the devilish creature, sacrificing himself for you, breaking open a window so you could escape and leading the vampire through the house. The last time you saw him, he was curled up into himself, under the stairs, eyes wide with fear but also something else, maybe a promise to see each other in the next life.

You had run out after that, calling the police, telling them that you and Mark had gone exploring the abandoned red house by the coast, and that there was something in there that had tried to kill you, and if they didn’t come quick it might just kill him. When the police arrived, they did find traces of Mark’s blood everywhere. Splattered around the stairs, spotted on the floor leading to the sea, but after that they lost all trace of him. There were no leads, just you, a traumatized victim. So the case became cold quick and they gave up.

The following year, as a promise to yourself, you went to visit the red house again. This time, you had searched up everything possible about vampires, any and every weakness according the many cultures that featured them in their myths.

But this time, no demonic entity came. Instead, there was Taeyong, who presented his apologies for the insanity of that crazed beast. “Not one of ours,” he had said. “A new one, a fledgling, never been taught how to control himself. Or how to respect others.”

And so you came to know that Mark was alive, or at least, still present and walking and talking on this planet. But as a vampire.

Taeyong was not someone who you could just trust. Yes, he was a general help to you, and you later found out that not all vampires spent spring break hiding in an abandoned building. Some of them, the in control ones, could go out, could spend time with humans, could pass off as them. So you and Taeyong would meet up in the park, the playground, the library, the bookstore, wherever, to discuss Mark’s progress and whether or not you could meet him. But he was still a vampire. He lived off of human blood, though he told you he hadn’t killed anyone in over four hundred years by draining them. There were times where he could act downright creepy, calling you ‘delectable’ and that ‘It is a shame that Mark has set his attention on you.’ The way he sometimes touched you sent shivers up your spine.

And as it was, just shy of two months ago, Taeyong told you that Mark could meet you, and he wouldn’t jump on you and drain your blood the instant he saw you. So you spent many a sleepless night, thinking about this day.

You look at Taeyong, who has released his grip on your waist. You look at your nails, bitten to the quick, and your mismatched socks.

Suddenly, Taeyong perks up. “He’s here…” he hisses.

A fluttering is heard through the open windows, and the gentle thud of the window being pushed into the wall. There’s the sound of footsteps above you, and then the gentle ease of stairs.

You turn around, glancing at the stairwell, see the the red Converse, and nearly stop breathing.

Mark comes into view, full bodied, skin a tad fairer than the last time you saw him. He smiles. “Hey.”

#mark lee #mark lee angst #nct mark lee #nct angst #nct paranormal #nct supernatural #nct horror #nct scenario #mark lee scenario #nct vampire #nct vampire au #mark lee vampire #mark lee vampire au #nct u #nct 127

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theredalice · 5 years

Text

Here is a work in progress for a fic. since I can find literally nothing with Hancock and shotgunning, I’m stepping up. If you have found fics with Hancock and shotgunning, please for the love of god send them to me.

Also please note that I haven’t done any drugs or a shotgun and I'm only working with the materials I can find and use. But those materials aren't drugs

(feedback is welcome!)

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

"It's just... I've never tried chems.”

“Would you like to? Obviously, there must’ve been some curiosity if you actually took me up on my offer.”

You mulled it over in your head, thinking hard on what you were about to do. Before the war, before all this, you would’ve probably said hell no and never had approached Mayor Hancock at all. But it wasn't before the war. After being frozen for over 200 years, you outta try something new.

“Sure, I’ll give it a go.” The mayor chuckled and pulled a red inhaler out of the pocket of his frock. He tipped it to you and you stared at it, confused. You knew how to take an inhaler, but if asthma medication was now a drug, you wondered what else changed over 200 years.

“What, never seen Jet before?” you shook your head and blinked at the object.

“I’ve seen inhalers and I know how to use them, but I just... dont know if something’s changed about how to take them.” Now it was Hancock’s turn to be confused. He glanced down at the object and then back to you. Something dangerous tugged on the corner of his lips.

“Do you... want me to show you?” You shivered at the drop in his voice and your mind went silent. All you could muster was a nod as you searched his dark eyes.

"Open," he commanded, and instantly your lips parted. He didn’t break eye contact as he brought the Jet to his lips and inhaled deeply. He took a step forward and put his hand on your jaw, bringing his face closer to yours. You felt your breath hitch in your throat. He was so close. So close you could almost kiss him. His lips brushed yours and he slowly exhaled into your mouth. You inhaled the smoke as deeply as your lungs could bear and held it for just a moment before exhaling. Hancock breathed in the smoke and pursed his lips to the side, blowing it out. "That a good one?" He rasped, his gravelly voice doing wonders to your body. You mustered a nod and glanced to the inhaler still in his rough hand. He followed your gaze and locked eyes with you again. "Wanna 'nother hit?" You nodded again. A smirk danced on his lips. "A nod ain't gonna do it, sister. You want some'a the goods, you're gonna have to tell me just what you want. You're gonna have to earn it."

You swallowed as a rush of heat flooded your body and rose to your face. "May I please have another hit... sir?" The last word came out as a whisper. His smirk grew wider.

"Sir, huh? Never pegged you for that type, but it’s a welcome discovery." He took the inhaler to his lips and huffed. If you could get on your knees you would. Something overwhelmed you- the urge to submit completely to the Ghoul in front of you. He pulled your face to his with the hand still on your jaw. Slowly- almost painfully so- he exhaled into your mouth, his lips pressed ever-so-slightly to yours. You took in his breath with a want that almost consumed you, getting lost in the black sea of Hancock's eyes. You held the vapour in your lungs and looked at Hancock's still parted lips, despite the fact that he stopped transferring the drug to you. If he could detect copious amounts of radiation by smell, surely he could tell just how much your body ached for him.

He pulled away from you slowly. You suppressed a whine and he cocked a grin. "If you want any more, you're gonna have to earn it. Show me that you can take a hit yourself and we can talk more. Although," He chuckled as his hand slid down your jaw and dropped to his side, "I wouldn’t mind giving you some lessons." With a wink, he turned on his heel and walked back into the State House, leaving you standing in the alleyway, dumbfounded. Slowly, you made your way out of the ally and towards the Hotel Rexford, where Nick stood with his arms crossed. Once he caught your figure in the corner of his eye, he practically leapt from his spot on the brick wall and over to you.

"Hey, where were you? I've been looking all over for you!" He looked into your eyes and worry coated his features. "Hey, you alright there, doll? You look a little... out of it." He placed a hand on your shoulder and looked around, suspicious. He looked back to you, yellow eyes glowing with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. "Did you go out drinking or anything? Did anybody do anything to you?"

You blinked at him, suddenly aware that he was actually speaking to you. You saw his lips moving and heard words come from his mouth, but just now your brain caught up with you and processed the past minuet's events. "No, I'm alright Nicky. Nothing happened." At least nothing I didn’t want to happen, you thought. He looked at you, disbelieving. He stared at you for a while, almost like he was... scanning you? After he blinked, his featured softened and he removed his hand from your shoulder. "Alright, doll. It's pretty late. Whaddya say we get some shut-eye, huh? Come on, I already got two rooms booked for a night." You nodded and followed him to the entrance and looked up to the balcony where Mayor Hancock gave his speech that earned yourself some Jet and found the man himself standing there again, staring down at you with that damn smirk spread across his face.

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justfangstvdto · 6 years

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“Unlikely Allies”

3 Year Anniversary Drabble #1

Prompt: “What do you mean trying to work with him? He tried to kill me!”

Pairing: Kol x Salvatore!Sister, Damon

A/N: The nonnie that requested this suggested this could be set in the Open Coffin verse (I squealed when I read that btw), and while it´s not totally set in it, there are a few little references to one of the events happening there ;) Hope you enjoy!!

Your name: submit What is this?

The air was more than tense in the livingroom you once called home.

You just proposed the ludicrous idea for Damon to team up with you and Kol, to resolve the dooming white oak stake issue that´s on the horizon. Despite your constant problems, right now, Damon is the most logical resolution for it. Stefan of course as well.

“What do you mean trying to work with him, Y/N? He tried to kill me!” Damon yells the glass in his hand dangerously close to breaking.

“If I wanted you dead, you would be,” Kol states, his voice dangerously calm.

“So you don´t want me dead, is that what you´re saying?”

“Jesus Christ.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, annoyed “Of course he wants you dead! Is there a single person who hasn´t wished you were dead?! Just.. get the hell over it, goddammit.”

“Wow thanks a lot, sis..”

“Listen,” You take a deep breath before continuing “I´m not thrilled about this either, but can we at least try to make this work?”

“Fine.” Damon agrees more or less voluntarily. You share a nod and he walks off before he can change his mind.

“This was a bad idea, wasn´t it?” You turn to Kol.

“Most likely.” Kol snakes his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close while you make your way out of the house “Bring that shotgun of yours, just in case.”

#kol x reader #tvd #tvd imagine #the vampire diaries #tvd drabbles #3 year anniversary celebration

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myriadimagines · 6 years

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We Are, Unfortunately, Family

Gotham One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Jerome Valeska

Other Characters: Jeremiah Valeska, Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle, Alfred Pennyworth

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence

Request: “I don’t know if you write for them but if so could you do a one shot where the reader is Jerome and Jeremiah Valeskas younger sister and she gets kidnapped by someone who wants to get back at them for something and they rescue her, take her home, help her calm down and coo over her despite not really getting along? thx.” — anonymous

Word Count: 1,779

A/N: I kinda thought about doing something like Jim brings the reader into the precinct but then thought that was too mild, then I thought about getting the uncle from the diner to kidnap the reader but it didn’t fit in, and then I ended up doing a plotline with Bruce. Sorry it’s not exactly kidnapping but I hope it’s still okay!! And I feel like this turned out a lot better than I thought it would.

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!!

Your name: submit What is this?

From the very beginning, your family had always been chaotic. Having the Valeska name attached to your identity had always been somewhat troublesome for you, and no matter how far you tried to stray from your family, it seemed embedded in your genes that you were a Valeska through and through. It had started with your mother, who spent most of her days nestled in the influence of alcohol instead of being sober. Eventually, your older brother, Jerome, developed into a bit of a menace himself, constantly harassing his twin, Jeremiah. You’d watch from the back of your trailer as Jerome would torture Jeremiah. You even watched, silently clutching your blanket in fear, as Jerome lit a match before tossing it under Jeremiah’s bed, breaking into maniacal laughter as he did so. Eventually, Jeremiah was taken away, hidden and sheltered from Jerome’s insanity, and you never saw Jeremiah again.

The peak of the escalation seemed to be when Jerome had killed your mother. You had always suspected Jerome was capable of such a horrifying act, but when he was finally incarcerated for the crime, you felt as if something had been taken away from you, ripped from your core as it left an empty, gaping hole. You had already lost one brother, and now you had lost your mother and other brother in one fell swoop. Despite the insanity bubbling within your family, they were still your family, your blood, and now they were all gone.

You had considered searching for Jeremiah, yet he was so well hidden to the point where it seemed like he had vanished. You visited Jerome once in Arkham, and while he was delighted to see you, you couldn’t bring yourself to see him again. The only person you seemed to visit your mother, kneeling by her gravestone as you imagined yourself talking to her ghost.

You were forced to continue, make a living for yourself. You jumped between small jobs, waitressing job after waitressing job, holed up in a tiny apartment crammed between the drab buildings of Gotham. You dropped your last name, hoping to forget the traumatic events within your family. No longer y/n Valeska but just y/n. No longer the sister of a deranged psychopath, but simply a girl trying to survive.

When you heard Jerome had broken out of Arkham, you lived in fear that he would find you, try and drag you into his mad schemes, or worse. You’d watch the news of Jerome wreaking havoc on the streets, making Gotham city as crazy as he was before he was stabbed. Somehow, he was brought back to life, only to eventually be sent back to Arkham again. You barely had time to finally breathe easy when he escaped again, and this time, somewhere in your gut, you knew he was coming for you.

—

The knock at your door made your heart jump into your throat. You looked up, already scrambling to find anything in your apartment you could use as a weapon, as you called out, “Who is it?”

“Bruce Wayne.” the voice responded, and you froze. It certainly didn’t sound like Jerome, but why would Bruce Wayne be visiting you? Frowning, you cracked the door open slightly, where you could see Bruce standing in your doorway. He offered you a small smile as he leaned closer and asked, “May I come in?”

Still on the defensive side, you asked, “What do you want with me?”

Bruce straightened. “I have some questions about your brother, Jerome.”

You gulped at the mention of your brother. Quickly, you denied, “I don’t know anything, Mr. Wayne. Jerome isn’t-”

“I know you’re trying to hide from him.” Bruce interjected, and you pressed your lips together. “I was doing some digging, and I found out you’re his sister. I’m trying to stop him, but I need your help.”

“Look, I don’t wanna be dragged into any business involving Jerome.” you shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

You tried to slam the door, but Bruce was quick to stop it, keeping it slightly open as he pleaded, “Please, y/n.”

Deciding there was no way you’d be able to convince Bruce to let it go, you turned around and sprinted, heading for your window. Bruce rushed after you as you yanked your window open, quickly climbing down the rusty fire escape ladder. You could hear Bruce yell your name as you managed to jump down into the alleyway. You sprinted for the street, but as you rounded the corner, you felt a striking pain at the back of your head, knocking you unconscious.

Bruce jogged up, his eyes widening when he saw you on the floor. Looking up, he scolded, “Really, Selina?”

“What?” Selina replied defensively, chucking the remnants of the glass bottle she had used to hit you aside. “We need her to stop her freak of a brother, and her running away isn’t helping us.”

“Whatever.” Bruce waved his hand, digging his car keys out of his pocket. “Let’s just get her into the car and get out of here, before someone sees us.”

—

You startled awake, gasping for breath as you looked around at your unfamiliar surroundings. You were in an expensive looking room, with old paintings hung up around the walls where there weren’t shelves filled with various books. Your eyes finally focused to see Selina perched on the armrest of the couch in front of you, her head tilted as she ran her hands over her whip. You could see Bruce by the fireplace, talking to someone with hushed whispers.

“We need her to give us information on Jerome, Alfred.” Bruce insisted.

“But did you really have bloody kidnap the poor girl?” Alfred responded, his eyebrows furrowed as he glanced over at you. “She’s probably scared out of her mind-”

“Or maybe she’s just as crazy as her brother.” Selina interjected, looking over her shoulder at Bruce and Alfred. Shrugging, she added, “You never know.”

“Please, just let me go.” you begged once you realised you had been tied to your chair. “I don’t know anything about Jerome, and that’s the truth. I visited him once in Arkham after he killed our mom, but that’s it!”

Bruce and Alfred exchanged uncertain looks as Selina narrowed her eyes. She suddenly got to her feet, cracking her whip against the floor as she loomed closer to her. Bruce was quick to rush in front of her, grabbing her arm as he silently stared at her, warning her to back down. Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly flopped onto the couch.

“Now what, Bruce?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “If she’s telling the truth, then our lead has gone cold.”

Still determined, Bruce brought up another chair in front of you as he asked, “Do you know anything about St. Ignatius?”

The name seemed to resonate within you, a whisper you had heard from a private conversation, but the context was missing. You closed your eyes, trying your best to remember, before letting out a defeated sigh.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know.” you responded. “It sounds familiar, but I just… I can’t remember.”

Bruce searched your face, his eyes scanning over your own before he finally nodded, deciding you were telling the truth. He reached forward to untie you when he heard the sound of a loading shotgun, as well as a voice that was all too familiar to everyone in the room.

“Oh, Brucie!” Jerome yelled, before appearing in the doorway of the room, Jeremiah at his side. You gasped upon seeing Jeremiah, a face you hadn’t seen in years, and you could see his eyes widen when he realised you were tied down. Something in Jerome’s eyes darkened as his smile stretched wider, his voice low as he growled, “Kidnapping my little sister is a bit dark, even for you, don’t you think?”

Selina and Alfred lunged into action, rushing to fend off Jerome as Jeremiah quickly sneaked away from the action towards you. Bruce stared at Jeremiah in confusion as he stammered, “What-”

“Jeremiah!” you exclaimed. “Help me, please, get me out of here!”

“Sorry about this.” Jeremiah looked apologetically at Bruce, and confusion washed over Bruce’s face before Jeremiah hit Bruce across the face, hard, with a gun he had kept concealed, knocking Bruce unconscious. Jeremiah stared in shock at Bruce’s fallen body, before he scrambled to untie you, his fingers clumsily undoing the knots as you watched Jerome fire his shotgun in various places, causing Alfred and Selina to duck to avoid the gunfire. Once Jeremiah had untied you and you had gotten to your feet, Jerome fired a bullet through the nearest window, causing it to shatter.

“Well, this has been fun.” Jerome grinned as you and Jeremiah made a beeline for the opened window. “I’ll show you mercy, just this once, after you guys saved me from my uncle.”

Before Alfred or Selina could react, Jerome waved goodbye before running after you and Jeremiah. The two of you had jumped into a stolen van, and Jerome jumped into the passenger seat as Jeremiah stepped on the accelerator, driving you far away from Wayne Manor.

—

You silently followed Jeremiah as he led you through a complicated maze of grey walls, trying your best not to flinch as Jerome danced behind you, occasionally spinning his shotgun around as he hummed to himself. Jeremiah finally let you into a room, and you threw your arms around him as you gasped, “I’m so happy to see you again.”

Jeremiah awkwardly hugged you back, a smile settling on his face to finally be with his sister again. Behind you, Jerome cleared his throat, as he grumbled, “Well, aren’t you happy to see me too?”

Slowly turned around, you forced yourself to look upon the face you had been so scared of for most of your life. However, tonight, you didn’t see the face of a psychopath, which the news constantly painted him as. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, you just saw your brother.

Throwing your arms around Jerome to hug him too, you said, “Thank you guys for saving me. Together.”

“Well of course!” Jerome chuckled, pulling away and squishing your face in his hands. “Anything for our little sis!”

“We are, unfortunately, family.” Jeremiah added, casting a quick, disappointed glance at Jerome before turning back to you. “And despite me and Jerome’s differences, you will always have us to protect you.”

“Aw, look at us!” Jerome threw his arms around you and Jeremiah, squeezing the two of you uncomfortably close to him. “One big happy family! It’s like my dream come true!”

tags: @purityimagines / @bohemian-nygma / @myfriendmagislit / @thefirst-galaxy ↳ want to be added to the tag list?

#gotham imagine #jerome valeska imagine #reader x jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #gotham #gotham one shot #jerome valeska one shot #jerome valeska #imagine #imagines #reader insert #oneshot #one shot #fanfic #fan fic #💜

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superninjaviolinist · 5 years

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The Girl With the Black Dragon Tattoo, Chapter One

Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by other people that aren’t me.

SPOILER WARNING : This fic begins at the beginning of Season Five and will contain spoilers for all subsequent seasons.

CAUTION: The following is rated DSLV. It will contain strong language, sexual situations, and violence. Eyeball to device discretion is advised.

My name is Evangeline Chung, thirty-five years old. Long black hair, 5’6”, athletic (but not bulky)…

Currently collared and chained to the Throne of Hell like some kind of dog.

The situation sounds terrible, I know, but it could be worse. I mean, the deposed King is on the other side, similarly bound, being treated as if he were a dog, right down to the “Heel! Sit! Lick the floor!” commands. All I’ve gotten so far are gentle strokes to my hair and face, reminders from Lucifer of why I’d submitted to being bound. See, contrary to popular belief the Devil isn’t a demon; he’s an archangel. It means whatever body he inhabits on Earth must belong to a willing participant; those are the rules for heavenly denizens (by contrast, demons can swoop down the throat of whomever, or whatever, they want). They call them their vessels or, more crudely, their meatsuits.

His current vessel is the man, no, the angel who fell in love with me, and I fell in love with in return.

Castiel owed me a big fucking explanation for why this had gone down. There had to have been other options, something that would have prevented this scenario where Lucifer was keeping his little brother’s vessel hostage against my and the Winchesters’ good behavior.

Ah, Sam and Dean Winchester. If it weren’t for them I would have never been anywhere close to this mess. I mean, sure, I would have probably ended up a drained corpse in the middle of a vampire nest, but that’s neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is this: the warm, oh so familiar hand of Castiel is resting on my cheek, and if I don’t submit to Lucifer’s every demand I get to watch my lover and my friends die slow.

This is so fucked up. And it all started with a chance encounter six years ago in Garber, Oklahoma.

I made it into Garber at the same time as the men I had so lovingly dubbed the Douchebag Trio: Steve Bose, Reggie Hull, and Tim Janklow. We had history. At that point in my life I was unabashedly promiscuous. I know now that it was a product of the trauma I’d experienced, but at the time I’d convinced myself that it was my body and I was going to do whatever the fuck I wanted with it.

The four of us used to have a pleasant working relationship, but after I’d begun sleeping with Reggie I discovered that the man wanted more than just sex. When I blew him off the other two turned Mean Girls on me and suddenly we were no longer friends. I swear to God, men can give teenage girls a run for their money in the bitchiness category.

If I’d known Bobby had called these guys I’d’ve shrugged off the request. Well, maybe not. I might have loathed these assholes, but a) no one deserves the kind of brutal end demons were apt to give, and b) I owed Bobby Singer my life. Kind of made me obligated to fulfill any and all of his requests.

The four of us ended up squaring off in front of one of the local dives, Hoyt’s Bar, where Bobby had said the informant was working. “Run along, girly,” came Tim’s opening salvo. “Don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

“Go to hell.”

He and his cronies exchanged amused smirks. “Aw, she wants to play with the big boys.”

“Maybe we should let her play,” Steve suggested. “And when we’re done, she can kiss all our boo-boos better.”

Tim and Steve guffawed while Reggie and I got busy glaring at each other. “C’mon,” he said finally, “leave the slut alone and let’s go.” As I followed them in, I considered how funny they’d look headless.

Hoyt’s Bar was almost cliche in appearance. Wooden tables and walls, sports on the television, darts, pool, and alcohol. The Douchebag Trio was settling down at a table where a tall, well-built, shaggy-haired young man was joining them. I sat nearby and flagged the blonde waitress for a beer.

“Bobby called,” Tim said.

“And?” asked the stranger.

“You were right. Major demon block party going on.”

That was the first time I laid eyes on brooding, empathic, guilt-ridden Sam Winchester. Bobby had outlined the man’s fucked up situation. Sort of. Something about Sam and his brother separating. Made me wonder about what happened. I mean Josie, my sister, and I didn’t talk because… well, there were plenty of reasons, first and foremost being that she spent most of her time either drunk or high. Her normal state of mind didn’t make for very stimulating conversation.

I was too busy brooding over my family and finishing my beer to notice that the other table was looking at me. Reggie cleared his throat. “What?” I snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “I said: you coming with us?”

“Who’s this?” Sam asked.

“Eva Chung,” Tim answered for me. “Thinks she’s a hunter.”

“Yeah?” I threw back. “I bet you think you don’t have a micro-peen. We all have our delusions.”

The three I knew bristled, but I saw Sam lift his hand up to hide a smile. It made me warm up to him. A little. “I’ll come,” I told Reggie.

We all stood. “Good luck,” Sam said quietly.

“Beers are on you when we get back,” Tim said amiably.

“Yeah, you bet,” Sam replied halfheartedly. “And it was nice to meet you,” he said to me. I gave him an appraising look from head to toe before smiling in acknowledgment. Nice body. Handsome. Maybe when all this was done… Unfortunately, there were demons to check on first.

We headed outside and towards the Douche-mobile. Steve was Tim’s best friend, but I sincerely thought that Tim kept him nearby because the man had the sweetest setup in his camper. It had all the bells and whistles: stove, fridge, shower, bunkbeds, even WiFi and charging stations.

I grabbed my sword and its sheathe, a samjeongdo that was given to my grandfather after World War II, out of the saddlebags of my Yamaha before joining the others. Best place to sit was Steve’s dinner table where Reggie was already perched. We ignored each other.

“Got your ching-chong weapon from your ching-chong ride?” Tim asked from the passenger’s seat. I gave him the finger.

Why don’t I have a gun like the rest of these mouth breathers? Frankly, it’s a matter of finances. Bullets cost money. Well, okay. Not a lot of money, but enough. It also involves flashing ID’s and possibly credit cards; both dangerous things to do when your job involves killing creatures that wear human faces. I’ve heard some hunters carry around a bullet forge and use scrap to make their own. I went my own way and sprang for a collapsible bow. Arrows are retrievable, bullets are not.

Okay, I think I’m painting myself as some kind of cartoon heroine, with my Asian weapons and all. Trust me, it’s all either practical or a product of my upbringing. Growing up in a Korean household in San Francisco sort of slates you for certain stereotypes: you eat kimchi, you play the piano, and you learn to be frugal. I did ballet and gymnastics, and after I started hunting I discovered that the flexibility and athleticism translated well to sword fighting. It was a natural progression to my current state.

Reggie checked the clip of his gun while Steve and Tim argued about the destination. I peered out of the blinds. Usual nighttime small town streets. Woods in the background, no people. Peaceful and pleasant if you didn’t know what creeped about in the shadows.

Eventually Steve pulled into the parking lot for the Hawley Five and Dime, one of those twenty-four hour knockoffs of 7–11s. I looked curiously at Reggie. “Cashier is a demon,” he explained.

“And?”

“Trap him,” Steve called as he pulled his shotgun from under his seat. “Make him tell us what’s going on.”

“Here,” Tim said as he tossed me a spray can.

“Where?” I asked.

“Doorway. We’ll drive him out.”

I nodded and the three boys headed inside. I got out of the van a few minutes afterwards, ducking low so that the demon couldn’t see me, and did my job. Star, circle, scribbly runes.

While I was painting I smelled sulfur. The yellow powder had been liberally dusted onto the doormat. At least Larry, Curly, and Moe had gotten the location right, but something struck me as wrong. I got down on my hands and knees to peer a little closer. Was it me or was that too much sulfur for just one demon…? My hackles rose. I stood up and cast my eyes about. Nothing. Yet.

I drew my sword from its scabbard. This didn’t feel good, not one bit. A shotgun blast echoed inside the store and killed the opportunity to do a quick recon. Moments later, a scraggly young man bearing black eyes came pelting out of the glass doors. He smacked into an invisible wall and went down. It was almost comical. “Bitch!” he yelled at me.

Nobody likes name calling. I stabbed the thing in the shoulder. Demons can be hurt, despite rumors to the contrary, and I’d had my sword blessed by Pastor Jim (rest in peace). I had the demon shrieking by the time the others made it outside. I twisted the blade just for the hell of it before jerking it out of his flesh.

The trio just grinned approvingly. Sadists. “Now you got yourself some options,” Tim said down to the demon. “You tell us what we wanna know and we don’t let the young lady here stab you no more.”

“Fuck you,” it spat.

Tim nodded at me. I was loathe to take orders from him, but for this I’d make an exception. Into the other shoulder went my steel. A good, long howl erupted from the demon, but when I pulled my blade out again it started laughing.

We all glanced at each other uneasily. “What’s so funny?” Steve demanded.

“You came here because Sam Winchester told you about us, didn’t you?” The voice came out high and thready: this guy was riding a teenager. “I figured by now no one would be listening to him.”

“Why not?” asked Tim.

“Say please.”

I jabbed the thing in the eye. “Why, please and thank you,” Tim said over the wet sound of its eyeball popping from the socket.

“Why do you think he’s here?” the demon screamed as I whipped the orb off my blade. “Because he and his brother are having marital issues? He’s probably trying to get another fix of demon blood. Got himself addicted to the stuff. Made him feel good and strong. Strong enough to pop Lucifer’s box for us.”

The others were looking flabbergasted by the revelation. I merely frowned before uttering, “Demon’s lie.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he crooned at me, “not all the time. In fact, I’ll even give you another truth, just because you’re so pretty.” It stood up, blood seeping from both shoulders and the empty hole in his face. “I’m not alone.”

There was a wet thump and squelch. We all looked at Steve. His eyes slowly drifted down to his stomach… where a woman’s lacquered nails were now protruding. Their owner yanked them out and spun Steve around before plunging her fingers back in.

And then she pulled.

Whenever I’d been told about a body being “torn apart” I’d always imagined the sort of bloody explosion on a video game. Random pieces of meat flying every which way, no recognizable pieces, red spattering randomly everywhere. But it wasn’t like that. Not at all.

Steve folded over, his guts literally spilling onto the concrete with a splat. Blood emptied out of his body in a steady stream, saturating his organs with a thick, crimson liquid. God, the smell. Piss and shit and copper all at once in a horrible concoction that caused bile to rise up in my throat. And he was still alive. We watched, horrified, as he tried to put his intestines back, desperately scraping and scooping at the mess and gurgling for help.

We all stepped away. The female demon licked blood from her arm, her eyes black from iris to sclera. In another moment there were eight more of them.

Ten demons against three human hunters. We were fucked.

Acknowledgement : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “Free to Be You and Me” (SPN 5.03).

#Supernatural #ofc #fanfiction #fanfic #Crowley #Castiel #Dean #Sam Winchester

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alleycatwrites · 6 years

Text

V. Tired

“Do you remember…..”

She trails off, uncertain. There’re words she wants to say, but she is unsure if she should say them. Context is everything, and she always second guesses herself. She isn’t certain if the tone is right in her voice, or if she heard theirs correctly. She can’t get inflection, or mood, or state of mind. Culturally, she can’t be sure that it is appropriate; if she has gauged their relationship correctly. Should she be speaking at all? Is it burdensome? Is it too much? Not enough? There is a measurement system here, a formula that nobody recognizes as such, but always uses.

The sounds that rested on the tip of her tongue shrivel and this time, she does not bumble her way into a cover sentence or fumble with nonsensical stutters. This time, it all grinds to a crashing halt. This time, the words simply die.

She feels her chest clench with the solid ache of failure as her eyes wander back from the corner of the room to look at her co-worker, who has paused mid task.

She looks away.

There is only silence.

‘I’m tired,’ she thinks to herself.

She looks it, too. There are shadows beneath her eyes, and wrinkles collecting at the corner of her mouth and in the furrow of her brow. Her hair is thinning from where she pulls it back out of her face, and her bones ache. Sleep helps, sometimes, and so does caffeine now and again, but not much. This is different. This is bone level;soul deep.

‘I want to stop.’

Her fingers ball into a fist at her side, hidden beneath the table. On top, dice are scattered over hard cover books and loose character sheets. This is supposed to be her fun night, her time off. She’s supposed to be enjoying herself like she does on this day every week.

But some nights, more and more, it feels like she’s going through the motions. She keeps trying to find a way to let out whatever is festering inside her, to work through it and overcome. She’s worked until her body has given out;her joints aching and legs shooting pain through her day in and day out. She’s tried changing patterns and behaviors, escaping her routine to do something new. She’s tried talking about it with close friend and family, tried seeking help. In her younger years she tried for years to work with a therapist, tried taking pills, tried everything.

She keeps trying, keeps going.

But she is so, so tired.

More and more she thinks about stopping. About running away on a pointless quest, spending all her savings to travel like she said she always wanted to. She doesn't even know if she still wants to, or if it’s a way to prolong the final solution, the stop she can’t take back.

She thinks about it, has six or seven plans laid out, but she’s scared. She always scared, always afraid, but this… this isn’t another social failure. This isn’t disappointing someone. This isn’t a house on fire because she didn’t check the stove three times or lock the door twice.

This is the long nap; the forever goodbye. It is the simplest, most selfish, most permanent fix for her dilemma she can think of.

It lingers, in the back of her head. People would heal. People can move on. That is life. They can keep going.

She doesn’t know if she wants to.

“Roll initiative.”

Her free hand reaches out to pluck a black dice up without thought, and an idle recall passes through her head. It’s an interesting character her friend made. A hyena with bangles of gold, fierce and unrelenting. She thinks of how delighted she was to listen to him tell her of it; how smart and kind he always is to her.

She rolls the dice. A bronze four stares back at her.

“Mod six,” she says, forcing her lips back over her failing teeth in a smile.

Under the table, her nails bite into her palm.

‘I’m tired,’ she thinks distantly. She considers going to the woods, wrapping a blanket around her head to negate the spray, and forcing lead through her skull. Four is a bad number, a sign.

A hyena. A friend.

Fear.

‘Keep going.’

---

When she was little, her parents used to take her to church. She remembers lots of things from these stucco temples of wood and plaster. She recalls singing songs of praise she didn’t understand, remembers stories of people with unwieldy names, and being one of the best at reciting passages on command.

In modern times, she knows what happened there was a type of conditioning. It was indoctrination, in a way, though good or bad she cannot say. Though she does not practice faith, some grains stand out still. She went for a very long time, after all, and recognition does not equate negation.

It may have been where she first considered the soul.

In this religion, souls went to heaven or hell. Very black and white. Later she would learn different religions and study separate faiths, or lack thereof. She would consider such things as reincarnation and ascension of self, purgatories and nonexistence. But back then it was simpler. Either you were were saved or you weren’t, and there was a scale to measure such things, though she does not know if it is or was ever agreed upon that humans should know it. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, yes? Judge not lest ye be judged.

And no one, no man save for perhaps Job, was or is perfect.

But souls. That sense of identity, everlasting and beyond physical matter. She learned it there, likely. A thing that was her without having substance.

Later, that idea would be challenged in some intro to philosophy class at a community college. Was there an immortal self, or an egocentric grey matter piloting a beautiful mess of a biomechanical machine?

She can’t say. She doesn’t think anyone can. There hasn’t been enough research, enough data. By definition, a conceptual or spiritual self such as this denies being quantified, and therefore a tidy summation and reasonable answer cannot be (currently) reached.

A query: If she dies, by self or happenstance, is there something after?

Following queries: How does the concept of an after apply to her in the event of a termination of self? Of a happenstantial death? Of indirect causation compared to of complete accident?

There is no answer, she thinks, for it cannot be concluded there is a such self in the first place.

---

When she was eleven, her mother tried. She remember it. Remembers the substance abuse before and after; the treatments that didn’t work.

It’s one of those silvery fish, molded again and again and again.

She tried to shape it, but she could only ever forget details. She couldn’t change the foundation of this memory itself, only those little things that made the shape of its fins and tail. She isn’t sure she ever truly wanted to forget it.

She knows it was warm outside, and there was pea gravel in the backyard. She remembers a shout, of trying to ignore it, but fear and guilt mingled inside until she submitted and went inside.

She remembers her father and mother. Remember the barrel of a shotgun, flat black with no gleam. Remembers all these little details as her heart thudded in her chest as she cried and cried and cried as her parents wrestled on the bed. She did as she was bade. She called the cops.

And at some point she looked up, into the mirror that lay parallel to the bed. She saw herself, though she can’t remember the exact face she wore.

She just remembers thinking that she got it, why crying was so bad. It was useless here. It did nothing but fade her words and steal her breath. It didn’t help.

She remembers thinking not again. Never again.

---

That promise, too, she broke.

Good or bad, she cannot say.

---

Sometimes, she feels for pulses. On herself, and on others. She’s seen to many corpses; knows the sound of a death rattle and the smell of those in decay. She knows the stiffness of the newly dead, and the liquid pliancy of those days passed.

There are many traits of death she is familiar with, many qualities that mark that other state.

Yet something about a pulse draws her unconscious mind. A steady rhythm that drums beneath her feather light fingertips. She innocuous searches for it without meaning to, ghosting her hands across her lovers neck and sliding her knuckles along her sisters wrists.

Alive, it says.

Here.

Still going.

Keep going.

---

Everyday, she considers. She thinks on it.

But there's a hyena. A friend. A fear. A pulse.

Little things.

She keeps going.

#creative writiing #writing #reason #metaphysical #nonsense #tw #trauma #suicide #child abuse #stress #creative writing

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sometimesfrancis · 6 years

Text

30 days of DID system asks: Day One

Describe your system.

My system is medium-sized. The core group is a group of six, three married couples. Nora to Francis, Gilda to Harvey, and Grace to Richard. Then there’s the whole internal family system, bearing in mind that all three couples have acted in a parenting (or sibling, in the case of Duella and Nora and Francis, because Duella is older) role to all the children in the internal family system, there are also littles of Nora and Francis, called Boom and Little Francis. Lord Ryan is their son, he’s ten. Gilda and Harvey have Duella, I’m not sure how old she is. but I do know she’s like a sister to me. Then Grace and Richard have Francis as an adopted son. Francis is 25 this fall. I’m not sure how old Grace and Gilda are, you know what they say about a lady and her age. Richard is eighteen-- I know it’s weird that Francis is Richard’s son even though Francis is older than Richard. To explain this, Richard imaginably fought in world war two, but for some reason he stayed eighteen. Harvey is the second oldest, at 125, and Hanora is 319. Harvey, as a changeling man, has some vampiric abilities, but using them costs him his life experience, and Hanora is part gnome. Among other racial qualities, she has very sensitive pointy ears, and songs can get stuck in her head for days at a time. When I keep hearing the tune (that is to me a schizophrenic hallucination,) we say that they’re hearing it “In the gnome caverns”. Luckily for me, this means that Hanora has her own body in a place she personally believes in, so she never argues with me about haircuts/hormones or clothes. She just dresses up her gnome doll however she wants to, and in return I’m not allowed to say that the gnome caverns are part of a “headspace.” They are a fairy tale, and personally Hanora believes in them.

While I don’t have many great historical memories from three-hundred years ago, Hanora has friends who have come to help me for no reason other than my being Hanora’s son, like Thomas Blue, who taught me everything he knew about becoming a lawyer, which permitted me to put the Joker on trial when he came to my apartment asking for help. Hanora has been married several times, first to Victor Fries, a long long time ago, when I was in high-school, then, when I was in college, she married an introject of my high school friend and crush Charlie O’Connel (I hope he sees this.) I turned 23. Harvey had been out of his coma for a year and five months. We met a man at Alchoholics Anonymous who invited us out for non-alchoholic beers and pool and pinball at a local bar. His name was Henry. One night, walking home from the beach, I introduce myself to him as the name “Harv,” and tell him I’m a multiple personality. He takes it all pretty well. We talk about getting married. I’ve used my vampiric abilitties since then so I don’t have the same timeline I had when I was dating Henry, but I wanted us to be gay lovers.

Back to my mother Hanora’s love life: She broke up with Henry when his schizophrenia got out of control. I was put away in a nursing home, where there was an implied familial relationship between Harvey, Duella, Francis, Richard, and Nora. Nora got married to Richard when we thought he was on his deathbed and she didn’t want him to die alone, then to a factive of Michael Fassbender (a marriage which lasted only one night before we had to admit Michael to the asylum,) then to a factive of Nick D’Agnostico from Gotham, who has his own alternate personality of Harvey. She was married to a factive of Aaron Ekhardt for one night, who similarly has a Harvey introject. Lucky for me my introject of Charlie is still in my life, and he’s always very respectful. Sometimes they roleplay a game-of-thrones era fantasy where Nora is a shy noble lady and Charlie is her knight. Her last marriage was to a factive of Brandon Flowers, who is also part gnome, but he looks like Owen from Torchwood for some reason. Sorry, the last man is a gnomish man, I know that for sure, and I don’t always understand gnome customs. Suffice to say, she calls him Brandon, but he looks like Owen. Finally, she’s been escorted home several times by John Barrowman (another factive obviously) who honors his role as army captain from the doctor who universe. And my mother’s introject is dating Nathan Filion, making him a father-in-law type figure. His factive helped set her up with Nick D’Agnostico.

Speaking of the Doctor Who universe, I once wrote a very immersive episode of doctor who fanfiction called “Adam and Fate,” and in it the eleventh Doctor gets admitted to the psyche ward I was in at the time, well he formed an introject, surprise surprise, and although he was dressed like the eleventh doctor he wanted me to call him Matt Smith. To help pass the hours I would daydream silents behind every door, and this was the same hospital stay where my Robert Downey Jr. Factive went out for a game of cards, he’s in love with Aaron, who was very akward with me at the time, because I once said “Joker’s Daughter!” and punched him in the balls.

This was around the time a very malevolent introject of my oldest brother appeared and tried to take Francis into his headspace permanently, I remember Francis throwing water over himself, one of his defence mechanisms, and I remember Aaron: He asked for an apology for my holding a hot zippo lighter to my face to feel the burning so we put some lotion on. Aaron and Robert are in love, and he’s on again off again with Maggie Gyllinhall , who acts like a big sister to me. At the time he was still convinced that I was brain-dead from my death at the end of the Dark Knight era in my life, which is actually from when I was eight years old and fell down a flight of stairs, but I recreated my trauma in a shared dream-space and it translated to getting thrown off a building. I was actually put to work in a daydream factory, and my subconcious submitted certain scenes to the Dark Knight. I don’t want to believe that completely but here’s another perspective I will ask for my father-in-law Victor to help me rather than Francis:

According to Victor I have a trauma that could be categorized, a blow to the back of the head, and I didn’t make the dark knight but I came from it because there’s an applicable cause of death involved.

Thank you Victor. Let’s get on with describing the system. In my job at the daydream factory that’s where I first met The Scars of the Architect, who takes on the appearance of the Joker from the Dark Knight. They plugged me in to a modern machine: A PC, and architectural drawings appeared on the screen. This is part of how the Joker got his scars. Then there’s another Joker, his full name is Jackson P. Fitzgerald and he looks like a Joker-colored version of Michael Jackson. The Joker isn’t the only black villain in my system, there’s also Dr. Ivy Green AKA Poison Ivy who looks like a young Whoopie Goldberg, but I never claim to be trans racial or anything like that the alters know that they are only an influence on me and I’m glad they help me include races other than white bread in my stories. But there is a lot of white bread coming right up:

THE ASYLUM

In my headspace I live in a version of Arkham Asylum that has gone through a period of mental health reform. My first alter from the asylum was Dr. Jonathan Crane Sr, and I saw him experimenting on his children out in the backwater countryside south of Gotham. This all happens in Gotham City Indiana, by the way, which is on the map where Gary, Indianapolis, and Michigan City are so they’re north of some swamplands which turn into farmlands and south of the lake the city is very much a part of my system and my first introduction to it was Johnathan Crane’s old shack out in the country where(TW BONDAGE) he strapped his kids down to a chair in the garage and injected them with fear toxin and made them watch horrific videos, these are the Benson siblings, Elizabeth, Crowley, and Johnathan Jr. They all have wide white eyes except for Jr, whose eyes are very soulful and dark, and they all have SI scars again except for Jr. who is the black sheep Crowley has cuts on his arms from a carpenter knife and he chews fear weed while Elizabeth smokes it in her cigarettes and she has burns on her hands.

I follow the action one night, old lady Benson is worried about Crowley always cutting his arms so she takes him to the asylum in their rusty pick-up truck, well he spooks in the parking lot he grabs a shotgun from the back of the truck and escapes into the woods. Where the ambulance driver says “Don’t worry, Batman will catch him.”

BATMAN

Yes, I have an alter of Batman in my system. He started as a foil for me to fist-fight in a bar he sliced up my face pretty good I wake up with blood on the pillow. I go through plots trying to bring Batman the psychiatric help he needs, enacting a similar plot on my best friend Bruce Wayne, who is like Batman by day, similarly rageful, similar sizes and face shapes too but Batman is obviously funded by the military and Bruce isn’t smart enough to sneak out every night dressed in black leather without getting caught by his butler, but these are my two friends Batman and Bruce. I’ll talk about Batman first, I get a gang together one of these days I put some plastic explosives in an elevator shaft and I threaten to take the building down if Batman doesn’t go in for treatment and Jim Gordon intercedes saying we both need help well that bastard Batman jumps off the roof and vanishes into the night, but I go down the driveway to Arkham Asylum in Jim Gordon’s car he drops me off at the gate he says it’s up to me so I throw my coin into the woods and I’m walking one way or the other when an ambulance stops me and the driver manhandles me I punch him until he stops moving the Joker climbs out of the back and says “So you pulled off your first plot. What do you want the newspapers to call you?” And the scarred side of my face smiles and says “Two-Face.” I’m thinking Acid-Face or Coin-Voice but this is what the scarred side of my face says to the Joker and the Joker says “Two-Face it is!” and he climbs in the driver’s seat and he crashes the ambulance into the gates with the driver unconscious behind the wheel and meanwhile in the back I find my friend Bruce and he says “CALL ME BATMAN” so great Bruce Wayne thinks he’s Batman that’ll be the day.

RICHARD

I’m in the asylum when I realize I have a brother, adopted by the same old lady, Gertrude Dent. His name is Richard and he’s vegetative from the lobotomies. This is when the story really starts to cook. We get kidnapped from our cells one night by Harleen Qunzell posing as a nurse she takes us away to the parklands surrounding the asylum and says we’re in Poison Ivy’s Garden now. I’m Harvey AKA Lillian Valley, my brother’s are Francis aka Hawthorne, Creeping Charlie AKA Morning Glory, Poison Oak, and Patrick Isley we’re all a tribe out there in the park I rarely get into trouble but I get into trouble rarely I’m given a motel room to sleep in after a certain therapeutic period among the plants. Arkham Outpatient Treatment: Lodgings Included.

This next memory is from Francis, we do share some memories. I overheard a lady bullying her teddy bear in the bed next to mine back when I was in the nursing home and someone woke up he said “I’ll steal that bear!” and Francis said “Calm Down, Harv.” He’s easy to recognize with the scars from stress on his face and then a Harvey woke up and said “What did he say just now?” And Francis says wow youre keeping him on a pretty tight leash well it wasn’t long after that he woke up in one of poison ivy’s green-houses and she said something like “What are you doing coming back to life?” And he turned out to be called Richard. Richard Richardson is the name he wrote on the ARkham Asylum intake forms.

HARLEEN

So Harleen comes into my room and asks if I’d like to be part of an experiment like I said kidnapped so they put a mitten on my burned hand and moss in my head to regrow the brain matter that got damaged in my massive back of the head concussion and the subsequent ECT that happened only in Gotham City which is like we all know imaginary but so was the moss and I’m a better man for it and as I came round to reality I realized I had a roommate they had put me with this other man Dent-- Richard Dent, criminal turned whore, WWII veteran and semi-immortal like me, I don’t know the details of his age but he’s one of Jupiter's sons and for all the time he’s spent in prison he’s only eighteen years old to this day. Sorry twenty-two he aged up a bit earlier this year when he took his wife Grace home their anniversary is July 25th I’d better remember that

So Poison Ivy really cleaned up the asylum with Harleen working under her and Johnathan Crane doing anything to get his license restored they made a pretty ship shape asylum the doors are unlocked the walls are white and the uniforms are grey. I remember Harleen’s first experiment with me she said there was a fifty-fifty chance I would revert back to my old personality and she gave me my coin back and I threw it in a lake. This is a recurring theme with me the coin represents my reliance on the god Janus to make decisions and with every major step toward rehabilitation I have to leave the coin behind so I started over in jail with Jonathan Crane observing me I told him I was a changeling and if I didn’t get twice as much food then my twin brother would starve so he gave me double portions and I’ve always been indebted to the man.

#harvey dent #batman #actuallydid #actuallymultiple #actuallyschizophrenic #actually did #actuallydissociative #actually multiple #did #plural #actuallyplural #plurality

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