#the clock arms were bent backwards but when i painted it it stood out way more than i liked it to so i changed it

[123goth]

The syndicated man

“Oh, I swear to God, if you don’t start spinning this goddamn instant, I’m gonna smash your glass in and make the toaster watch.” Gripping the edges of my microwave, tightly enough to feel its corners digging into my palms, I growled and gave it a hearty shake. This animalistic roar echoed off my kitchen’s green floors, and another mighty peal of thunder sounded outside.

A flash of lightning painted the room a strange shade of white-olive, the tile catching the glint, and all at once, I felt as though I were the god of storms, speaking my almighty willpower into the microwave that night.

The appliance whirred. It bent to me. And dully, the light came on. The timer blinked. And the leftover pizza began to twirl. And that was that. I sighed, deeply, slumping back against the countertop as the sky finally opened.

The patter of rain filled the building.

This routine could not have come from a sane man, I realized. Sane men did not anthropomorphize their microwaves. They did not threaten to kill their microwaves. They did not inflict psychological torture on their toasters.

Crash!

I jolted. It was that special time of night when the dude in the apartment above seemed to trip and knock everything over. Clank. Bang. Thud! Kaboom! I winced. Was he okay?

“Shut up!” My voice was hoarse. With a long-practiced motion, I pulled the broom from the nearby wall and gave the ceiling four good thumps. And then silence.

I caught my reflection in the oven door. There I stood, armed with a broom, with my shoulders hunched like the world’s worst action figure. I came with a super-hydraulic striped bathrobe, patchy facial hair, and a crooked lip, which healed badly after some guy clocked me in high school.

The microwave beeped. And leaning the broom against the wall, I tugged it open with a grunt to pull out the bubbling grease sponge I was going to eat that night.

I grimaced, knocking the microwave closed with my hip, flicking off the light, and dragging myself into the living room, where I dropped down on the sofa in front of the TV.

The sofa was old, covered in faded brown flowers, and in truth, the television was not much newer. I got them both at the same thrift store—although the attendant would not give me a deal. I wrote them a pretty nasty review that night.

But placing the plate on the cushion to my left, I scooped up the slice in one hand and shoved it into my mouth. My nostrils flared at the sour sensation on my tongue, my taste buds screaming: “No, no, not like this. Anything but this. Just drink actual poison or something.”

I dropped the pizza back onto the plate with a grunt. So much for dinner. I would starve to death.

Michael had been the cook. That night, two years ago, when I sunk into a chair at our kitchen table, my tie already undone, something was boiling on the stove. He had even arranged the alphabet magnets on the fridge to say cutesy shit like, ‘bake the world a better place.’

He did that a lot. I thought it was stupid and told him so, but he was good with words. And I wasn’t.

The little television on the counter was playing a Password rerun.

I should have said something that night. I should have said that whatever was boiling smelled great, or looked good, or that he had worked hard on it. But I didn’t.

“The prick finally did it, Mikey,” I mumbled instead. “He fired me.”

“Oh…oh, it’s okay! We’ll figure it out. You’re good at so many things. You’ll land on your feet.” And he draped two arms over my shoulders, squeezing them tight. But we did not figure it out, and I was not good at anything. And I realize now those were the only two times Michael had ever lied to me.

But screw him. And screw that job. And screw that fridge. And screw the fancy cheeses he kept in it. And screw how much rent that place was asking. And screw me for taking it out on him.

I sighed again. All I did these days was starve and sigh and fight with the microwave. And it was my damn fault. So, I would sit here and feel sorry for myself and mourn for the rest of my life.

Leaning forward, my bones creaking, I manually clicked on the television. Another flash of lightning sparked outside, and the screen came to life in a flurry of static and snow.

Click.

I moved through the channels, one hand on the dial and one on the antenna, twisting it left and right.

Click.

“Romance. The new fragrance….”

Click.

“Italia right in your microwave! New pizza from….”

Click.

“Welcome back to our 24-hour Buzzwords! marathon!”

I could barely see the picture through the fuzz, but the program was some game show from the 70s, complete with a mustached host in a plaid suit.

He dragged around a narrow, wired microphone and made his way through a bright studio, shimmering orange, utterly, sickeningly orange, while a young woman with a sparkling smile, the fabulous Carla, showed off a deluxe dinette set.

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms as I slumped back into the cushion.

And all at once came another mighty crash of thunder, a rumbling noise punctuated by dude upstairs, who dropped another pot, perhaps as startled as I had been by the sound.

The rain reached a climax as if it might break the windows. Something bright darted across the darkened sky, an airplane maybe. I wonder if it had been struck by lightning. And I cried out as, with a mighty surge, the television screen flashed and sputtered out, fried. 

“Oh, Christ!” I growled, throwing back my head. The microwave did this, I decided. It had gotten all its little technology buddies to act out.

I slammed the thing with my palm, once, twice, three times, each responding with only a hollow thud. And when this scientific effort failed, I climbed to my feet and dropped to all-fours to crawl around the television’s rear. The frayed carpet dug into my knees as I tugged the extension cord from the wall.

Well, at least it wasn’t smoking, I mused, something of a crude smirk finding its way to my face. Because this was funny. In a sad tragicomic kind of way, this was funny.

Even now, I could find humor in how utterly pathetic I looked, crawling around on my knees with my boxers hanging out, all because I wanted to watch lesser-known game show reruns.

“Work or I’m gonna go back in that kitchen and throw your commander out the window, you hear me?” Leaning backward and sitting on my legs, I waved the cord deliberately before the television screen. And with that, I ducked back down and plugged it into the wall.

I blinked. And all I saw was light, a strange, fluorescent glow that consumed every inch of my vision.

Oh my God, I thought. I’m dead.

I electrocuted myself, and I’m dead.

My feet were planted on the ground. I was standing. I had crawled around to plug the television into the wall, but somehow, I was now standing. And I could not remember getting up.

“Welcome back to Buzzwords!”

I blinked again, and at that moment. I realized the blinding light was not white at all, but utterly, sickeningly orange. And there I was, like a moron, standing at a podium with a smile plastered across my face.

In truth, I wanted to scowl or grimace or something, but I couldn’t. My muscles ignored me. And on their own, my hands came up to applaud.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m your host, Buddy Guy. And we have a great show for you tonight.”

The hell?

“Let’s meet our contestants and get the game underway.” Buddy smiled broadly and walked in my direction.

I found my mouth opening of its own accord.

“Hi, Buddy! My name is John Smith. I’m from Columbus, Ohio, and I want to say hello to my wife, Betty.” These words spilled from me as if rehearsed, without my input, as though I were a passenger in my head (or, as it turned out, someone else’s).

And the absolute worst was that I could not cringe. I could not roll my eyes. I could not grunt or groan at just how saccharine I sounded, nor at the fact that my name was John Smith.

“Welcome, John. Good to have you.” Buddy Guy moved past me like an automaton, introducing a waitress from New York and a wannabe actor, who lived with his beloved roommate William of five years in Los Angeles.

And if I had to choose someone to be from this panel, it probably would have been him, because then at least I would not have a wife named Betty.

But this could not be happening; it certainly was not happening. I was not miming the motions of John Smith from Ohio. It was not 1970-whatever. And so, I truly must have been dead.

This whole illusion was that thing, that thing where synapses fire because your brain is pissed about non-existence. And if I could turn my head, which I could not, I would have peered into the audience to look for departed relatives.

But John stared forward, and so did I.

“Tonight, our contestants are competing for a stunning new kitchen set. Tell them all about it, Jack.”

An announcer from offstage began singing the praises of the sparkling refrigerator, oven range, and microwave that appeared from behind a velvet curtain. The audience lightning-sparkedooo’d and ahh’d.

And by now, Carla had emerged to point at everything, but I barely saw her. Even from this vantage point, unable to move on my own, I could catch my reflection in the oven door.

John Smith was, well, a man, yes, but in a strange, overly generic way. He, and by extension, I, had an average build, brown hair, brown eyes, and a decidedly uncrooked lip, one nobody had ever socked in.

He was the sort of person you might see in a department store catalog, I thought, or in a stock photograph of an office: unassuming and smiley.

But I could not look long.

My head was turning as the unflappable Buddy Guy made his way once again in my direction.

“Let’s reveal our first puzzle,” the host smiled, and taking this cue, Carla pulled out a marker, as if from nowhere, and drew a crude approximation of a gallows on the refrigerator door.

Spinning in a little circle, red gown flashing, she then tugged open the microwave to allow a multicolored pile of alphabet magnets to spill forth from within.

It was just goddamn Hangman, I realized. And I didn’t even get to spin a wheel or anything.

“How about a letter, John?”

“V!” I cried against my will.

Oh great. John sucked at this game.

“Sorry. No ‘V’s.’”

And so, it went.

The waitress guessed a “Y,” and scored a few points. Fishing the letters from the microwave pile, Carla stuck the magnets to the fridge. The actor guessed a number in the form of a question.

I unironically said the phrase “Oh, gee!” when there were no “X’s.”

And at this rate, it took us two whole commercial breaks to get to the unimpressive:

Y_ _  M_D_  Y_ _ R  B _ D.  N_W  LI_  IN  I_

By now, the hanging man was missing only his feet.

This was hell, I thought. I had died, and I had gone to hell.

And I would be terrible at this word game forever, and that was my punishment for being mean to the dude in the apartment upstairs.

And writing that bad review of the thrift store.

And for Michael, who had only ever lied to me twice.

“I’d like to solve it, Buddy!” I grinned.

“Go ahead, John.”

“You made your bed. Now lie in it!”

There were buzzers and bells, and the audience cheered.

“That’s right, John. You made your bed. Now you’re lying in it.”

Buddy smiled at me, and for a moment, a crack appeared, something sharp and sinister behind his cheery expression. His lip twitched, and a flicking tongue, snakelike, nipped the lower part of his mustache.

“I deserve to lie in it, Buddy!”

And somehow, this was pretty goddamn funny. If I could, I would have laughed.

“Onto our next puzzle,” Buddy cut in as Carla knocked down all the letters, leaving them on the floor. She used her bare hand to smudge off the marker.

“Can I have a ‘Y,’ Buddy?”

Jesus Christ, John. How about an actual letter or something? Whatever happened to “A?”

I sighed internally. But to my surprise, Carla reached into the microwave and retrieved the red letter, placing it on the refrigerator door.  John did it. He got one. I felt excited for him.

I squeezed the podium. My hands were working, I realized, and so, overcome, I squeezed, just as tightly as I had the microwave that night, finding again the sensation of willpower.

But by now, Buddy was busy with the waitress and the actor, the former somehow earning a double penalty, which made Carla draw both a head and a body on the gallows.

But when play returned to me, I was able to speak up.

“What the hell is going on?”

The host narrowed his eyes, sniffing the air.

“Guess a letter, John.”

“I don’t know. An ‘A!’”

Sifting through the alphabet pile, Carla placed two magnet letters on the fridge, but she too was giving up her pretense. There was no pointing and smiling. She stared at me with a dour, annoyed expression, as if she could not believe my gall.

“It’s ‘Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here,’” I said.

Which was a cliché, but I was realizing now that if kitsch was going to be my hell, I could at the very least lean into it.

“Well, all right. Thank you for tuning in, ladies and gentlemen. After this important message, John will be moving to the bonus round,”

Buddy said to the camera. “Are we at commercial?”

No one responded. He marched over to me, twirling the microphone cord around his hand. I looked at it and realized it may very well have been the noose with which the poor loser might be strung up.

“You’re not playing by the rules, John,” he said nonchalantly, beginning to use the wire to bind my hands together, tighter and tighter, around my wrists, his grip surprisingly firm.

“Hey! Hey!” I retorted, trying to pull away.

“Don’t be a jerk. You’ll make this harder if you resist.”

“But that’s my problem. I’m here because I’m a jerk. You can’t damn people and expect them not to be jerks.”

“Do you think you deserve to be damned, John?” the host asked me. He cocked his head to one side.

“I think your show is stupid. But I’m finding that making fun of it and John’s wife Betty probably won’t help me win it.”

“You can’t win it, John. The outcome’s already set. This marathon’s just reruns. Your life is just rerun. The same thing over and over forever. Wake up. Eat. Sleep. And you lose every time. So why should this be different, hm?” Buddy dropped his voice low, but all at once, the studio lights flared, and he spun around to face the audience. “And we’re back!”

The soundstage went dark. The cheers stopped, and it was just me and Buddy, caught in a silent spotlight. Another lamp, mounted on a ceiling somewhere in the expanse of shadows above us, shined straight down, casting the refrigerator, the microwave, and the letters, in its fluorescent glow.

“It’s just us now, John. This is the bonus round. You get four letters. You have one chance to go up and complete the puzzle. And that’s it.”

_  F _ R _ _ _ _  M _  S _ _ _

I cast my gaze at Buddy, wavering a moment, before stepping uncertainly forward into the expanse. Although I could not see the floor beneath my feet, just deep darkness, I felt its steady weight as I moved to stare at the blanks.

An eternity passed as I stared. And maybe it had. At this moment, in this place, seconds and minutes and moments, they seemed to mean so little.

I forfeit my soul.

That was it. That was the joke.

I had already done it, I knew. I had become so wrapped in the misery of my own making that I had forfeited my very self to it. And willingly.

Choice. That was it, wasn’t it? I, willpower personified, exerting it in every wrong direction. And so, moving for the pile of letters, hands still bound, I pulled them out the microwave one at a time.

I stuck the magnets in place, whispering the words aloud as they appeared on the refrigerator. And only then, with a definitive nod, did I step back to see my handiwork.

I FORGIVE MYSELF

I awoke on the floor beneath the TV with a sudden, painful gasp.

The dude upstairs dropped something. I stared a good few seconds at the ceiling. And with that, I pressed back onto the carpet and laughed, a full hearty noise, the television set’s extension cord wrapped around my fingers.

Wrestling them free, I checked my reflection on Paula sparked the screen to be safe.

And taking a few more steadying breaths, I moved for my apartment door. I tugged it open to poke my head into the hallway, craning it up the stairwell to the sole unit above mine.

“Hey, pal? Do you need help up there?” 

#science fiction

[fieryfantasybooklover]

Cast In Shadow And Blood - A Clace fanfic

Consider this a sign that I am, in fact, alive.

Taggs: @lily-chen-deserves-better @blackthorn-trash @mithriel-of-mithlond @brotherhalal-ariahs @julieandthefandoms @themostawesomehuman @zfoxdraws @hands-dripping-ink @insane---chaos @rainbow-sheepofthefamily @girlwhohatesstuff @tessagraycarstairs @imherongraystairstrash

Note - Clary and Jace are the main characters here, the others are just mentioned.

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Clary settled down into bed, sparing only one glance for the descending curtain of night that was chasing away the sun. Snow fell softly outside, silencing the world in a blanket of white. She turned to Jace, who had settled into bed beside her a moment before. “Good to see you here.” she said, grinning. “I was thinking you’d somehow managed to murder yourself using kitchen utensils, but thankfully you do seem to still be alive.” Jace grinned, handing her the bowl of snacks he’d gathered on his snack run. “You know me. I love to keep people guessing. You would know that most of all.” he said, chuckling. Clary, laughing, punched him playfully in the shoulder before leaning back onto the pillows. Jace grabbed the remote, settling in beside her. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Clary asked Jace, in that way where nobody could be sure if she was being serious. “I survived a literal hell dimension, I think I’ll be ok with some horror movies.” Jace replied, turning on the TV they had installed in front of their bed.

The next few hours speed by in a rush of buttery popcorn and melted chocolate and a myriad of scary movies. Some featured the paranormal or supernatural, others much more real fears like insanity and serial killers. By the time the clock struck 2 pm, they had watched enough scary movies for a lifetime and, though neither would admit it, were feeling quite on edge and jumpy. As the credits rolled for The Ring, Jace turned to Clary and exhaled deeply, letting all his nerves out. “Wow.” they said simultaneously, laughing in pure relief everything was right in the world. “I’m gonna go put everything away.” said Jace, standing, stretching, and grabbing the empty bowls. “Alright you do that. I’ll get everything ready for bed.” Clary replied, already flicking off the television and pulling the blinds shut. Jace returned within a few minutes, hands empty and tiredness gathering behind his eyes. It wasn’t long before both were settled under the covers with the lights off, facing each other and breathing evenly. “I love you, dork.” Clary said affectionately to Jace, kissing him. “I love you too.” he replied, hugging her close.

They fell asleep like that, happy and together and content that everything they had just seen was firmly within the realm of fiction.

Clary’s eyes fluttered open, making their way to the alarm clock. It read 3:05 am. Groaning, Clary slid out of bed and stood, making her way to the bathroom in the complete and utter black. It took her only a few moments to gather her surroundings and realize that something was very very wrong. What she saw gazing out the window was her first clue. There was absolutely no sign of life outside the Institute. No cars, or shop windows, or even a few people staggering their way home late. The snow was still steadily falling, blanketing every single surface. The pitch blackness of this time of morning covered the landscape, twisting and contorting it into something completely unrecognizable. By light, Clary could have navigated those streets with her eyes closed. But by dark, all her pleasant memories of the spot were gone and nothing could be seen or gleaned from the area. Put simply, the darkness hid things. And this darkness in particular seemed… dangerous. Parasitic. Permeated only by the faint glow of street lamps. And that light was certainly not enough to reveal anything the darkness could have been concealing.

The second clue that something was wrong was the silence. Outside the Institute and inside. Outside, the snow was silent as the grave and there were no night sounds. No animals, sounds of farawar life, or even the crackling of electric lighting. Inside, it was just as quiet. None of the sounds that were usually associated with a building so huge and old. The floorboards didn’t creak, no faint sounds echoed through the halls. The silence was eerie, and more than a little unnerving. By now, Clary had reached the bathroom and was quietly using the restroom and washing her hands. The splash of the water seemed deafening compared to the lack of sound. Darting out of the room and back to their bedroom, Clary realized the final factor in why everything felt so wrong.

The air. It was strangely... heavy. Somehow forceful, as if something was compressing it down. The air slunk around the halls, and Clary could not shake the feeling that not only was it weighing on her, but something was watching her. Trying to shake the feeling of unease, Clary slid back into bed beside Jace, closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. This attempt did not last long, and soon Clary popped her eyes open again. She quickly looked at Jace. He was still sound asleep. She sighed, flopping backward. “What I wouldn’t give to just be able to fall asleep and stay that way.” Clary thought, exasperated. It was just then that something shattered downstairs in the Institute. Clary sat bolt upright, eyes wide and heart pounding. Fear ran through every inch of Clary’s body. Pure, bone chilling fear that made her feel like she was disintegrating. Shook to her bones, Clary wrapped her arms around herself and tried to calm her shivering. “You’re just being irrational.” She told herself. “Maybe I left a window open and the wind knocked something over.” she rationalized, still shaking from head to toe. If the wind was the cause, you would’ve heard it from outside, a voice at the back of Clary’s mind whispered.

A chill descended on her then. Something so cold and gripping that it was like one thousand icy wolves howling to the wind before ripping you to shreds. Clary felt an icicle slip down her back and she launched to her feet, unsure of what to do. She felt her lips turning blue and her skin paling under the duress of the chill. Something thin and skeletal whipped through the room then, cloaked in a raggedy, torn robe. The terrifying sight of it burned itself into Clary’s eyelids. It was so quick and quiet that she could have convinced herself she was imaging it, except for the fact that the blinds were now thrown open and the window was cracked. Neither had been that way a split second before. Clary turned to Jace, shaking his shoulder and hissing his name repeatedly. “Jace! Come on Jace, wake up! I think there’s something here!” but he wouldn’t wake, and it seemed he was permanently stuck to the bed, Atleast, until he shifted and his neck snapped at an angle no human could survive. His face shifted to face hers. And that was when Clary screamed.

There was a painfully large grin on Jace’s face. His lips were stretched back from his teeth, and his face seemed to glow with an unholy light. He was unusually pale, as if all the color had been soaked from him. His eyes shone far too bright with something close to madness. All Clary knew for sure in that moment was that whatever was in front of her was not her Jace. Beyond that, she didn’t know. It must have read the question on her face, because it opened its mouth and hissed out something that was infinitely not human. Clary frantically searched her index of language knowledge for a translation, but found nothing. “See you soon.” it whispered, smile stretching wider. “You have summoned me with visages of horror, and now you must pay the price.” Jace’s body collapsed onto the bed. Within moments he was stirring, and Clary was frantically at his side. “Jace? Jace! Are you ok? How do you feel?” Jace pulled himself upright, rubbing his eyes and looking around confusedly. “What’s happening?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep. “Please just trust me. We have to go now .” Clary whispered, pulling Jace to his feet. He read the frantic nature of her voice and instantly snapped to alert.

The pair began running out the bedroom and down the hall. Jace knew little of the situation, but still flew through his brain for allies to call for help. “Simon and Isabelle? No, they’re on vacation in the countryside. Magnus and Alec? Fuck, they’re investigating a situation in Cincinatti there’s no way they’ll make it back on time.” as his list of allies ran dry, fear began to sink its claws into Jace. They were still running down the halls of the Institute, desperately trying to make their way to the doors. However, one blink of time and it was all over. Screams of anguish rang in both Jace and Clary’s ears, reaching a pitch so high both bent over in pain. There were brief flashes of blood, painting the floor, walls, and ceiling red. The entire building began to shake, as if something was gnawing away at the foundations. Wraithlike forms began to appear, empty eye sockets somehow still managing to glimmer with malice. Jace and Clary were desperate now, dodging the foes while still scrambling for the door. Then, one popped into existence right in front of them. They skidded to a halt, trying to turn around but it was too late.

The being reached one of its hands right through Clary’s heart and the other hand right through Jace’s. Suddenly, they were back in their bedroom, standing beside the bed. The room was cast in shadow and blood, faint rays of light revealing the room to be a horrible parody of its former self. Both Jace and Clary tried to move, but found instantly they were frozen and rendered completely immobile. They barely had time to exchange one glance that said so much before the specter appeared before them, reaching into their hearts again. And then, it twisted. Pain. Pain that made every past grievance seem like a paper cut in comparison. Blinding white pain, like a thousand explosions in one form. The pain of bones cracking and twisting and shattering into five million glass sharp shards. The pain of loneliness, of longing so deeply for someone to be by your side that you turned into a ghost yourself. The pain of helplessness, of being unable to move or cry out or scream or do anything as your death approached. So many shades of pain, twisted neatly up and forced right down into Jace and Clary’s souls.

The terrible finality hit them then. They were going to die. And nobody could save them. Eeking out a few moments of clarity, Jace and Clary turned their gazes to the other. “I love you.” the gazes said. “I love you, and I will love you from now until the moment time ends.”

And then, everything faded to silent, deep, nothingness.

Clary sat up in bed, sweat beading down her neck and terror whining in her head. Jace was safe asleep beside her, breathing softly and calmly. The alarm clock, the sole source of light in the room, read 3:03.

A scream built its way through Clary’s mind and body, working its way slowly up through her throat.

A voice slithered into her head, ominous and inescapable.

I am coming

#clace #clary fairchild #jace herondale #malec #sizzy #shadowhunters #tsc #fanfiction #megans writing #magnus bane #alec lightwood #simon lewis #isabelle lightwood

[wren-fell]

Stuck in Borderland

Chapter 8: Over the Edge

This is a shorter chapter. May need to take a break from this for a while, but we’ll see.

I really do appreciate everyone’s support with this story. It means a lot! :)

Warnings: Blood, death, language, weapons

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Their game arena was an old five-story apartment building that was shaped like a U with a courtyard in the center. Despite the lights being on the building was still creepy and unwelcoming. The railings along the outdoor hallways were falling apart and missing in some places. Paint on the apartment doors was peeling in long strips making it look like someone or something had clawed at every door trying to get in. Overgrown grass and gardens covered the courtyard making it far too easy for something to be lurking in the undergrowth.

Sayaka kept her head raised high as she followed her group of five into the lobby, although the click of her fingers picking at her nails gave her anxiety away. The laser grid flashed behind her as she entered, and she swore she heard the sizzle as it caught a stray piece of her hair. In the center of the lobby was a table with the usual stack of phones, but another table beside it made her stomach clench. A sign reading, “please equip a belt or your participation rights will be revoked.” Sayaka gingerly picked one up and put it around her waist wincing as the cold metal touched the bare skin above her board shorts. She clicked the buckle shut, and the belt immediately whirred and tightened to fit her shape. Sucking in a deep breath Sayaka cast a glance at Kuina and Chishiya. Kuina raised her eyebrows at her, but didn’t speak, and Chishiya walked over and leaned against the wall unbothered.

With a deep frown Sayaka surveyed the other participants all seemed to be seasoned players judging by the silence in the room. So far there were nine of them in total. The number made her stomach tighten remembering back to the buttons with the nine pictures from her last game.

“Registration is now closed. Game: Flag Tag, Difficulty: 6 of spades.” Sayaka felt relief wash over her, at least it wasn’t a hearts game, but the difficulty shot her stress level right back up.

“Rules: Every player will have two flags,” on cue the belts on their waists lit up and long flags unfolded at their sides.

“You must have at least one flag to win the game.

If you lose both your flags it is game over.

You cannot steal flags from other players.

But, you can steal flags from the taggers.” And there it was. There were taggers. Usually hulking masked individuals whose whole point of existing was to prevent them from winning the game by any means necessary.

“Avoid the taggers and outlast the time limit to win the game.

Time limit: 60 minutes.” Sayaka bit her lip. This was so simple, painfully simple. But simple meant complacency, and complacency led to stupid mistakes.  

“Players have a one minute head start.” The timer lit up all their phones as it started to count down. Everyone scrambled to get out of the lobby. Sayaka turned to look at Kuina and Chishiya only to find they were both already gone. They must have left before everyone else, she thought to herself as she headed into the hallway.

Going with the crowd was too risky when they didn’t know where the taggers were, she decided as she turned away from the stairwell to walk along the first floor. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. All she had to do was outlast the clock. That was it. Her phone chimed indicating the end of their head start. Putting the phone in the waistband of her shorts she kept walking.

The sound of a door slamming made her stop dead, as she tried to figure out where the sound had come from. Her head swiveled to the far right of the hallway as a looming figure with a yellow smiley-face mask walked out of the staircase. Sayaka could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips, as she stood frozen. Her mind racing she pulled off one of her flip-flops, and tossed it over the edge of the railing around the courtyard. It landed in the long grass without a scratch and she jumped over the wall after it. Crouching down against the wall Sayaka pushed herself as far into the corner and the grass as she could. Putting a hand over her mouth to stifle her heavy breathing.

She watched as the tagger surveyed the first floor. Don’t come this way. Don’t come this way. The tagger swung his head in her direction the large black eyes of the plastic smiley-face mask boring into her. No… His feet took long heavy steps that echoed around the complex as he approached her hiding place. Sayaka pushed her back further against the wall and ducked her head down. They have limited vision, unless he saw me he doesn’t know I’m here…

The footsteps were achingly slow as they closed in on her and Sayaka closed her eyes begging for her to disappear. The sound of running made her eyes open, and she tried to see where it was coming from without turning her head. A boy from the lobby ran out of the staircase just to her left and gasped when he saw the tagger. He made it no more than two steps when the pop, pop, pop of the bullets sang through the air. The boy screamed and there was a thud as he hit the courtyard wall, and a gurgling as the blood filled his throat. His torso sagged forward draping him over the wall less than six inches away from Sayaka’s face. Her hand clamped harder over her mouth as her breath quickened.

The pounding of the footsteps got closer and Sayaka bit her lip. The tagger paused right behind her, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as he bent forward to examine the boy’s body. She saw a gloved hand reach out, and her breath hitched in her throat. The body jolted as the tagger ripped the flags off the boy’s belt, and his head sagged closer to Sayaka’s face making her grimace.

There was another achingly long moment as the tagger stood behind her before his thudding footsteps began to fade away. She watched him disappear into the hallway leading back to the lobby and the left most stairwell, and she let out a breath.

Shakily Sayaka got to her feet and hopped over the wall again. She pulled her remaining flip-flop off and tossed it over the wall. If this was a stealth game she wasn’t about to have those stupid things slapping and giving her position away. She surveyed the first floor and considered her choices. The tagger went up the left staircase, so her options were the far right staircase or the one the boy had come from behind her. Slowly she looked over her shoulder at the body of the boy and drew in a shaky breath, “I’m sorry.”

She ran into the closest stairwell and up the stairs. “There are 45 minutes remaining.”

 Sayaka ran, bouncing between floor-to-floor turning every time she heard gunshots. She checked the phone, 35 minutes remaining. Letting out a sigh she put the phone back in her waistband, this was getting exhausting. She took a step closer to the balcony railing to look out at the rest of the floors. From where she was on the fourth floor she could see almost everything, but her vision swayed and shifted making her take a step back. She could see one tagger on the east side of the second floor, but she still wasn’t sure if there was only one. Her eyes swept across the fourth floor still empty except for herself. Looking up at the fifth floor she pouted when she saw Kuina and Chishiya leaning over the east balcony.

“So that’s where they’ve been,” she muttered. She could see Chishiya’s stupid smirk from here even underneath his hoodie, and he waved at her. With a grimace Sayaka raised her hand and flipped him off, that’s what he gets for ditching me.

Gunshots from the stairwell to her left made her jump, and she tore her gaze from Chishiya, “shit,” she cursed and took off down the center stairwell. She headed down peering out to at the third level and slipped out heading for the stairwell on the west side of the building. If she could get up to the fifth floor maybe she could meet up with Chishiya and Kuina although traveling as a group made them sitting ducks.

As she approached the stairwell she heard footsteps and skidded to a halt. Her feet slipped on the dust and dirt of the abandoned building making her lose her footing and fall backwards. The same yellow smiley-face came around the corner and looked down at her with the soulless eyes. Sayaka stared wide-eyed as the tagger raised his gun, the end of the barrel filling into her vision.

She placed her hands flat on the floor behind her, and swung her legs back over her head as the bullets bored into the floor where she’d been. Sayaka landed on her feet and pushed off again doing another backflip as bullets whizzed past her body. Landing with a thud she turned and dove into the center stairwell again as the bullets slammed into the wall behind her. She ran down the stairs towards the second level not looking back to see if the tagger was following her. The thud of footsteps echoing on the metal staircase made her wince, and she turned sharply onto the second floor.

That was the wrong decision.

Sayaka gasped when she came face to face with another tagger just as tall and intimidating as the other with a blue smiley-face mask. The tagger raised his gun, but Sayaka was just a second faster grabbing his hand and slamming it into the wall as he pulled the trigger. Sayaka felt the bullet whizz past her side just barely missing her. The tagger wrenched his hand out of her grip, and swung his other arm around to punch her. Bringing her arms up to protect her face with gritted teeth she widened her stance as the blow threatened to throw her off balance. She pushed both his arms away from her and brought her leg up hard in between his legs slamming her foot into his crotch. The tagger groaned and folded in on himself giving Sayaka just enough room to dive by him onto the second floor. She felt something tug at her waist and she risked a look over her shoulder as the tagger tore one of her flags from her belt. Her heart dropped, but she kept moving, she had to get out of here. More bullets whizzed past her head as she ran into the stairwell on the east side of the building.

“There are 20 minutes remaining.”

Sayaka rolled her head as she ran up to the third level, “fuck.”

She peered around the corner at the third floor. No taggers, just two players at the west end. Closing her eyes she tried to catch her breath. Gunshots rang out below her and she drew her eyebrows together, at least the taggers are distracted for the time being. Now that she had a moment to rest Sayaka looked down at her belt, and ran the flag that was left through her fingers. The red fabric shimmered in the fluorescent light, and she sighed. This flimsy piece of fabric was all that was between her and game over. Sayaka looked over her shoulder at the stairwell trying to decide where to go. Was the best course of action to wait and see where the taggers popped up or to keep moving and risk running into them?

She looked over the edge of the balcony at the courtyard considering running down, and hiding in the garden again. Her eyes scanned the courtyard. On the east side the boy from the beginning of the game was still draped over the wall, and in the center by the fountain was another red stain in the grass. No, the courtyard was too risky, the whole first floor was too risky.

The players at the other end of the floor started running and she raised her head to look at them. They were running towards her looking over their shoulder with panicked expressions. Not bothering to see how close the tagger was Sayaka turned around and ran into the stairwell and up the stairs to the fourth floor again.

“There are 10 minutes remaining.”

That’s it, she thought, all I have to do is outlast the clock. She ran down the hall towards the west side of the building. Just keep running. Turning into the staircase Sayaka heard screams from the third floor, and she gritted her teeth running up the stairs to the fifth floor.

“There are 5 minutes remaining.”

Just keep running. Sayaka ran out onto the fifth floor and turned in the hallway. She could see Chishiya and Kuina on the other side of the floor and she smiled. With five minutes remaining this was it. They had to hide until it was over. Kuina waved at her and they both started in her direction as Sayaka ran towards them. She passed the center stairwell, and dove forward as something yellow moved out of the corner of her eye. Bullets just barely missed her legs as she passed the doorframe. Landing on her hands Sayaka twisted and flipped over landing on her feet to face the tagger as he lumbered out of the doorway.

Kuina and Chishiya both stopped less than five feet behind her, and Sayaka glanced over her shoulder at them. They were cornered. If they ran the tagger would just shoot them. We need to outlast the timer, less than five minutes left!

Sayaka twisted her right foot into the ground and brought her left up kicking the tagger as hard as she could in the upper arm. There was a grunt and Sayaka lunged for him as he raised the gun again. Grabbing his arm she yanked him towards the balcony slamming his wrist against the railing and the gun clattered to the ground. As Sayaka was holding onto the tagger’s arm her head leaned over the railing the ground blurred beneath her making her grip loosen. The tagger took the opportunity to shove her off making her stumble backwards.

Quickly Sayaka regained her balance and deflected a punch from the tagger. She brought her leg up and slammed a knee into his stomach as hard as she could. There was a loud grunt and a “whoosh” sound as the air was knocked out of his body, and the tagger’s upper body folded inward. Sayaka turned towards Chishiya and Kuina her hair whipping her in the face, “RUN!”

She made it no more than two steps when a hand clamped down on the side of her face, and she was slammed head first into the wall. White spots burst across her vision and she felt every muscle in her body let go as she dropped with dead weight. Sayaka’s head lolled to the side as she sat crumpled against the wall. She felt something warm running down the side of her face.

Am I… her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to open her eyes, am I dead? Her vision was blurry, but she could still make out the white tile of the hallway floor. No… I’m not dead… Slowly she tried to turn her head, but she felt like her body was made of stone.

The tagger in front of her took a step forward, and Sayaka felt her heart pound harder in her chest. Her eyes darted to Chishiya and Kuina they were both standing staring wide-eyed at the tagger. There was nowhere to go, running was a death sentence.

Sayaka’s eyes widened, they’re going to die.

The tagger bent forward to grab his gun. They’re going to die.

He stood upright, and Sayaka’s fingers twitched. You have to move.

Slowly his arm raised as he pointed the gun at Kuina and Chishiya. Move!

The Tagger’s finger tightened on the trigger. MOVE!

Sayaka slammed her arms into the back of the tagger’s knee. He pitched backwards as bullets buried into the ceiling. With teeth bared Sayaka slammed all of her weight into the tagger. He stumbled backwards hitting the balcony railing that tilted outward from the weight, and she kicked the wall to propel herself forward. There was a loud crack as the railing gave way.

“You’re coming with me!” She screamed and they both tumbled over the edge.

Sayaka’s hair whipped around her as they fell, and she held tightly onto the tagger. He raised the gun and Sayaka’s eyes widened as she felt the barrel press into her shoulder, but they were out of time.

With a sickening crack the tagger hit the stone patio of the courtyard. Sayaka bounced off the tagger’s chest as the impact reverberated through her. She was sent flying her arm wrenching behind her. Sayaka opened her mouth to cry out, but her head slammed into the stone and everything went black.

#stuck in borderland #alice in borderland #Alice in borderland oc #Really like this chapter #tbh I think I'm fading out of my AIB phase but I want to see this story through just may end up going on hiatus #The cliffhanger thoughhhhh

[roswellwrites]

Kinktober Day 6 Fill - Spanking

Pairing: Brahms Heelshire/Reader (M/?)

Tags: Slasher x Reader, Brahms Heelshire x Reader, Brahms Heelshire, Spanking, Gender of reader is kept neutral, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019

Word Count: 1529

It had been a long day.

It had been such a long day.

You had woken up around eight that morning, not all that much later than usual, to find Brahms already waiting for you, dressed and impatient as he rushed you from the comfort of your bed. 

You made breakfast, washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, cleaned the living room, made lunch, and done the dishes a second time, all while balancing Brahms’s tedious schedule.

Brahms himself had been terrible, in a perpetually bad mood all day, frowning and scowling as he critiqued you endlessly on everything from your table etiquette to your cooking to your less than stellar posture.

What a brat.

“Brahms, get in the shower,” you said now with a roll of your eyes, lifting your coat from it’s hook by the front door and moving to slide your arms inside. “I won’t tell you again.”

“No,” he huffed, his arms crossed over his chest defiantly and his voice high and childlike behind his porcelain mask. “I already told you, I won’t do it unless you come, too.”

“I don’t have the time to play, Brahms, I’ve got to go out and empty the traps.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, drumming his long fingers impatiently against his bicep. “Well, when will you be back?” He asked. “That’s not all you have left to do.”

With how incredibly short his fuse was today, you wondered how long you had until this spiraled into a full blown tantrum. 

“Brahms, with the way you’ve been acting today, I don’t even know if I’m going to come back,” you snapped, doing up your last button and dropping the hem of your coat with a glare. “Maybe I’ll call a cab, head into town, find me a nice bed and breakfast to stay at...” you trailed off, brows furrowed in irritation. “Maybe they’ll let me sleep in.”

This, of course, was the wrong thing to say.

“You can’t leave me!” He screamed, voice cracking from the effort of it as he snarled suddenly from behind his mask. “I’ll kill you before I let you leave me!”

You could feel something in you snap, and you opened your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You know what, Brahms, you’ve been a real asshole today.”

“You can’t speak to me like that,” the man growled, taking a large step forward now, moving as if to cage you against the door with his body.

“I’ll speak to you any way I damn well please!” You snarled back. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as your own anger began to build in earnest now, your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. 

Brahms was a mess of an adult, quick to anger and quick to take said anger out on those around him. You had seen him shred paintings, tear down curtains, smash anything and everything he could get his hands on, leaving you to pick up the pieces after the storm of his anger had passed. 

He had threatened your life many times by now, something that had been startling to you at first, and before the two of you had really settled in with one another, you had spent many nights lying awake, fearful that your life may end at anytime.

You reached out, placing both hands on his chest as you pushed him away with a scowl.

If he was going to act like a child, you were going to treat him like a child.

“Bend over,” you snapped, slipping immediately into your most stern voice, your tone brooking no argument.

Brahms deflated immediately, whether it was the order itself or the tone you used with him, you weren’t sure. “What?” He asked, suddenly bewildered, his voice small as any anger he held left him like a candle being extinguished.

“You heard me, Brahms. Bend over.”

“I- I don’t-“

“Put your hands on the back of the sofa, spread your feet shoulder length apart, and bend over.”

“But-“

The first slap of your hand as it met his clothed thigh was a surprise for both of you.

Brahms froze, his entire body going rigid at the action.

You had thought about this, of course, fantasized about it even, itching to put the man in his place as he threw tantrum after tantrum without consequence or remorse. 

Brahms had grown up without discipline, that much was clear to you, his parents choosing instead to lock him away within the walls and attic rather than deal with his explosive anger and concerning attitude towards others, out of sight and out of mind.

You had been incredibly patient up until this point, tolerating the outbursts and occasional death threat, having yet to actually lay hands on the man with an actual punishment in mind.

The second slap was just as hard if not harder than the first, and you could feel your palm stinging.

There was no protest from Brahms, no whining, and you took this as a sign that you had gotten his attention. You brought one hand up to grasp the back of his neck, pressing him downwards until his chest connected with the ornately carved wood that made up the back of the vintage sofa.

Brahms was boneless under your hands, pliant as he allowed you to maneuver him where you wanted him. His breathing was hard, his chest rising and falling heavily, a noticeable blush creeping across his collarbone and up his neck to disappear under his mask.

Your hand slipped from the back of his neck to trail the length of his spine then, fingers dancing across the warm wool of his cardigan.

His pants and underwear came down easily, and you dragged them to rest halfway down his thigh, rubbing an appreciative hand over the swell of his ass. You could hear his breath hitch as you flipped the hem of his cardigan up so it rested on his lower back, heard his breath stutter in his throat as your hand dropped lower, scratching up the back of his pale thighs with sharp nails. 

This was the Brahms that was your favorite, the submissive one, docile and still like a kitten that had been caught by the scruff of its neck.

You moved to his side, one hand finding the unruly tangle of his greasy curls, content merely to run your fingers through it for a moment before gripping it suddenly, hard enough to have him gasping and moving his head in your direction to loosen the tension.

The steady rise and fall of your hand as it connected again and again with bare skin of Brahms’s ass was loud, completely drowning out the sound of the grandfather clock as it ticked some ten feet away, the only other sound in the room besides Brahms’s harsh breathing.

Your entire hand was red by now, aching, perhaps more red than than the flesh of Brahms’s ass as he remained bent obediently, fingers clenching the back of the carved sofa in his white knuckled grip.

This continued for some time -a glance at the clock had told you that it had been nearly fifteen minutes at this point- the sharp slap of your skin on his enough to have him writhing under you.

After a particularly hard strike, you watched as the man cracked finally, diving long fingers between him and the furniture to wrap his hand around his leaking member.

“Ah ah~” you said, catching his wrist easily in your hand and stilling his movements. “Naughty boys don’t get release.”

He made a broken sound then, twisting his hand within yours and bringing long fingers to your wrist. “Please,” he begged desperately. “Please, I’ll be good- I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

“Will you get in the shower?” You asked. Your hand found his hair again and you jerked him back against you none too gently, his back pressed now to your chest and his neck arched backwards.

“I’ll do anything!”

“Good boy, Brahms,” you cooed. You reached around his body then, wrapping your fingers around his length. pleased when the man made a strangled sound low in his throat and arched wildly, thrusting forward into your hand. You began to stroke him slowly, teasingly, your body draped along the length of his back as he pressed backwards against you. You moved your hand from his hair then, sliding it against his throat and pressing your palm flush to his Adam’s apple, using the action as leverage to pull him closer.

He came suddenly and with a groan, hips stuttering forward as his slick seed coated your fingers. 

There was a moment then where he simply stood there, shoulders still hunched over the back of the sofa with his chest heaving as he came down from his high. Brahms gave a sigh behind his mask as he turned to you, arms wrapping around you to pull you against him as he buried his face in the top of your head. 

You allowed this, standing patiently as he nuzzled and pressed against you, needy.

But only for a moment.

“Now, about that shower, Brahms.”

#slasher x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire #kinktober #kinktober 2019 #roswell writes #did i mention how incredibly behind i am on these kinktober prompt fills #like i had to restart this twice #the first two attempts were with Freddy instead of Brahms but they didnt work out

[fullmetalscullyy]

day 3 - driving home for christmas | chris rea

the magic of christmas time - royai advent calender

24 days - 24 oneshots | with angst, fluff, and everything in between | both canon and au

a collection of christmas themed oneshots to celebrate royai | chapter prompts based on my favourite christmas songs

read on ao3

i'm driving home for christmas

oh, i can't wait to see those faces

Roy’s thumb tapped impatiently on the steering wheel of his car. The other hand was pressed against his mouth, his forefinger curving around his lips as he stared at the stationary red rear lights of the car in front of him. The radio hummed in the background and Roy sang along absentmindedly, lost in his own world.

Snapping out of his reverie, Roy straightened to make himself more comfortable and sighed. Just one more mile. One more mile to go on this traffic then he was plain sailing all the way home. Excitement bubbled inside of him at the impending surprise he’d give his family. He grinned to himself, all too proud of his little plan.

They didn’t know he was coming. They thought he was stuck in South City for the holidays with work, unable to get away and return home. With a little bit of smooth talking, he’d arranged with his boss to return home for the day and come back on the 27th December. It would mean double the work when he returned, but it would worth it. It would always be worth it for them.

He just had to get through this last pesky mile. Glancing at the clock in his car, the red LEDs crept closer to eight o’clock at night. It had taken him an hour to travel the last mile. Hopefully this one was quicker. He prayed it was. He wanted to go see them before they retired to bed for the night.

Roy snorted to himself. They were always far too excited for Christmas Day. There was no way they’d be asleep before ten.

Traffic was slow moving but it picked up and within ten minutes, he was at a steady rolling pace, which sure beat sitting stationary for the last twenty minutes. Movement to his right caught his eye and Roy looked over at the man next to him. He was younger but appeared to be far more irritable than Roy about their current situation. His long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, his fringe falling across his burning eyes. His expression was set in annoyance. When Roy had glanced over before, he’d even noticed the guy’s eye twitch. That kept Roy amused for long enough.

To his left there was a couple. The man’s glasses caught the headlights every so often, reflecting off them and catching Roy’s eye as he’d idly glanced around him in boredom. His wife or girlfriend was sleeping in the passenger seat, and from the angle, Roy could see she was pregnant. Every so often the man would glance over at the woman, smile, and give her hand a squeeze before returning his own to the steering wheel. It was incredibly cute.

Suddenly, the car in front sped up and took off down the road. Roy grinned and punched it into gear, leaving his makeshift companions behind, already forgetting about them because he was finally on the way home.

The rest of the drive was effortless. So not to ruin his surprise, he parked at the kerb a few houses down. Pulling out his phone with a grin, he approached his decorated house. Lights illuminated the gutters above their windows. They were never big decorators, but Roy always loved the lights on the front of the house. It wasn’t too gaudy like some of the others in the street. It was simple and classy, just like them, Roy had snickered.

One other decoration caught his eye, and Roy smiled to himself. It was a painted sign, hammered into the grass, politely asking if Santa could stop at their home and deliver presents. That was a sign he hadn’t seen in a long time. He’d painted it with his mother when he was a child, hence the chicken scratch writing.

Angling his phone perfectly through Snapchat, he pressed down the button to record a video. “Wow, someone has been busy decorating,” he stated, unable to keep the grin out of his voice. He had left for the hot South City before they’d decorated, and Roy had hated it. It was his favourite part of the preparations. Decorating the tree was his job, but this year he’d had to sit it out because he was away. It crushed him more than he cared to admit, but nothing could be done.

Well, except his impromptu journey home arranged this morning.

Ending the video, Roy scrolled through his friends to find the perfect people to send it to. He didn’t have to go far, and his eyes lit up with his excitement when he spotted the names. Hitting send, Roy leaned back against the front of his truck and waited.

Two minutes later, the porch light turned on and the front door opened in haste. A figure stood there for a second, glancing around. It was hard to see in the dim light of the night, and the contrasting bright light from the porch, so all Roy could make out was a silhouette, but Roy knew it was her.

The figure ran down the path and onto the street. Grinning, Roy pushed himself off his truck as his wife ran towards him. As soon as she was close enough, he spotted the happy-crying expression on her face. She hit him with such a force he staggered backwards as her arms were thrown around his neck. Roy caught her by the waist, then wrapped his arms around her tightly and gave her a squeeze.

“You came home,” she whispered.

“I’m home,” he chuckled, far too pleased with how his plan had turned out. He’d been planning on surprising Riza this whole time and the payoff was worth it.

“When? How? Did you just get back now?”

“Yeah. Right now.” Roy pulled away and brushed her fringe from her face. He bent his head and kissed his wife after being unable to do so for the last two weeks. That had been an incredibly long and boring two weeks, but he’d made it.

“So… You’re home for Christmas?” Her whisky eyes stared up at him in earnest, her mouth parting in anticipation, hoping he would confirm it.

“I’m home for Christmas, Riza. I drove back all day.”

Riza pressed her lips hard against his, and Roy eagerly reciprocated, holding her tight.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “You’re really here.” Tears of happiness welled in her eyes again and Roy swiped away the pesky ones that had fallen with his thumbs.

“I’ll always come home to you,” he whispered quietly in her ear. Riza’s grip around his shoulders tightened.

“Mum?” a voice called down the street and Roy grinned.

“Hey, Mia,” Roy called to her.

“… Dad?” she gasped, then said it again, but this time it was close to shriek.

“Whoa, Mia, what –?” their eldest, James, asked in concern, also appearing on the porch as his sister sprinted down the path and onto the street. “Hey, Dad!” he called with a grin, waving. James took a moment to put on a pair of shoes – the only sensible one out of the three, apparently – and made his way over to them. “You made it,” James grinned.

Roy beamed at them all as Mia hugged him tightly around his waist, not letting go, Riza gripped onto his arm, and James hugged him awkwardly above Mia. Roy had wrapped his free arm around James’ shoulders, hugging him back.

“I made it.”

#royai #royai fanfic #royai fic #the magic of christmas time #royai advent calendar #emma writes

[harrieatthemet]

Holiday: Ch. 4

A/N: so glad I got this chapter out of the way. The next three are fucking amazing you guys are going to be IN comPLETE AWE. 

“Snow!” Penelope cheered, thrusting herself from the car onto a snow pile.

“P,” I whined, “You’re not dressed for snow, can we just get inside?” 

“Where’s Dad’s car?” Brayden asked, looking to me for an answer.

He was out of luck, because it seemed that we were both wondering the same thing. A part of me was starting to grow impatient and a little testy when I pulled up to the driveway in the rented escalade, seeing that there was no cars waiting for us. Then I remembered about his nightclub endeavors, and was sure he was hungover enough to have missed his flight. 

Brayden pummeled through the door, yelling into the empty house to hear himself echo. Penelope snickered at her older brother, slithering her way between Brayden and the entrance so she could shout as well. Quinn, latched onto my side like always, wiggled out of my embrace and went teetering off into the house. I lagged behind, admiring the beautiful villa.

The outside had initially taken my breath away, being that it was built entirely of grey and beige stone. The pine trees that surrounded the lot were beautiful, covered in fresh snow that gleamed from the outside lights. Walking in made me smile a little, as the place was so warm and cozy. The foyer, much like every other room in the house, was decorated and colored in earth toned themes. A beautiful round glass table sat in the middle of the foyer, where a big bouquet of flowers sat proudly. Above it hung a long, dainty glass chandelier. The stair well was winding, and along the wall hung a few different paintings and pictures of the ski slopes. The kids had made way to the room where the biggest TV sat on the fireplace, which was made out of brown and white rock and ran all the way up to the second floor. The long, L shaped sofa was a cooled pistachio color and a few furry white blankets were draped over the couch arms. Off that room was a deck, which held a stunning view of the little town of Vail and even more breathtaking view of snowy covered mountains and ski slopes. As mad at Harry as I was right now, I had to give him props because he had truly outdone himself. He even went as far as having someone pick out one of the tallest, fullest Christmas tree. It stood proudly near the fireplace, decorated with even a few colorfully wrapped presents sitting underneath. I had to threaten the three eager kids to keep their hands off, and that they were only to be open on Christmas morning. 

They spent most of the day admiring the house. Quinn was in absolute awe of the Christmas tree, and even sat in front of it for nearly an hour while he just looked up and stared. After hours of relentless begging, and incoherent whining, I hastily agreed to let the kids take a peek out at the snow. I sympathized with them, because growing up in LA and not having the opportunity to do snowball fights or make snowmen kind of sucked. Throughout the entirety of the day, I found myself constantly answering ‘where’s daddy?’ questions, or having to run to the door to ‘check if daddy was here’. I didn’t mind, all it really did was make me feel bad. When Harry and I split and he moved out, I went out of my way and bent over backwards to make sure that I could accommodate every one of the kid’s needs. I tried to make everything as normal as possible, regardless of the circumstances. But, there was nothing I could do to fill Harry’s shoes. They adored their Dad, he was a superstar to many but at home he seemed to be the biggest superstar. 

Later on, once the kids were sick of eating just chocolate and goldfish, I had cooked up whatever I could scavenge from the kitchen. The room was silent, forks scraping across the plates the only sound that could be made out. Looking distastefully down at his plate of carrots and chicken, Brayden aimlessly pushed around his meal with his fork. Penelope was shoveling her food into her mouth as fast as her little arms would let her, and Quinn was practically falling asleep in his plate. 

“Not hungry, B?” I chirped, taking a bite of my own food.

“Where’s dad.” He sighed, flicking a piece of chicken.

I shifted uncomfortably, because I knew I couldn’t give him the answer he was looking for. In all honesty, I had no idea where Harry was. I was hoping that he was on a plane here, or better yet even in a car here, but there was no way of knowing for sure. And I didn’t plan on bombarding him with texts and calls, because I was sick of having to beg him to be present. 

“On his way here.” I lied.

“I’m tiiireeeed.” Penelope whined, tears brimming her eyes.

My eyes flickered over to the clock, where it was nearing almost 10 pm. Quinn, who was slumped over in his seat already overcome by sleep, was starting to stir awake and I knew if I didn’t get him up to bed I’d have a colossal meltdown on my hands. So, I urged the older two to head up as I carefully scooped Quinn up. The exhausted toddler gave me a bit of hard time as I tried to tuck him into my bed, squirming and being fussy since he was forced to sleep in a new environment. Once I lulled him back to sleep, I headed down the hall to get Penelope and Brayden tucked in. The two were keen to share a room, especially since they heard about finally getting to sleep in bunk beds. I walked into the room, and the two were sitting at the window that overlooked the driveway. My heart sunk a little, as I know they were both looking forward to spending the week with Harry. 

“Bed time chickies.” I stated in a sing song tone, leaning on the archway of the door.

“Mama,” Penelope yawned, “I want Daddy to sing me to sleep.” 

“He’s too busy with work Penelope, stop being such a baby.” Brayden snapped, pushing himself off the window ledge and sulking towards the top bunk.

“I’m not a baby.” Penelope pouted, eyes glassy with tears as her feelings got hurt.

I pursed my lips at Brayden, having had it with his snippy attitude and short remarks. However, I didn’t want to scold him since I knew he was only lashing out because of Harry. Sometimes, Brayden tended to take Harry’s absence personal. Though old enough to get a better understanding on how divorce works, he was still at a young enough age that he didn’t realize or comprehend just how demanding Harry’s career was. Hell, I’m 30 and sometimes even I didn’t always have a good enough understanding when it came to Harry’s career. 

“Daddy,” I started, tucking Penelope in with her favorite stuffed bunny, “is very very busy, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. And when he gets here, he’ll read you a million bedtime stories and sing you to sleep every night. Promise.”

Penelope nodded her head, snuggling up with her stuffed animal before flailing around to get comfortable. I stood on my tippy toes to get a peek at Brayden, who was lying on his side and staring at the wall. I put my hand on his back, rubbing in circular motions to let him know everything would work out ok. All he did was pull the blankets up higher, tucking them between his neck and shoulder.

Once I made way out of their bedroom and into the hallway, I let out a long tired sigh. All the traveling and attitudes I had dealt with today was enough to push me over the edge, and I wanted to do some unwinding before I headed to bed. So, like I usually did after a day like today, I headed towards the kitchen to hunt down any bottle of wine I could find. The kitchen was bare, probably because I had yet to head into town and go shopping for food for the week, but after rummaging through every cabinet and shelf in sight, I finally came across a bottle of Cabernet and started to get giddy. 

Sinking in to the chocolate leather seat in the open living room, I tilted open my laptop screen before settling in. My glass of wine, which I had filled up much past generously, sat precociously in between my middle and index finger as my eyes glazed over a few of my work emails.

The house was cold, even though the fire roaring only mere inches away from me had been on for the past two hours. The white fur rug felt good beneath my bare feet, and even tickled a little. Though I had been in a bad mood for majority of my first day here, I did appreciate how beautifully decorated it was. My sour mood had taken away my ability to appreciate the scenery, even. The tall, wall length windows gave the perfect exposure to the beautifully frosted mountains off in the distance. Living in LA made me appreciate the way the snow sparkled in the iridescent light of the moon, it was what I loved most about growing up in New York. There was no city skyline or groggy lights off in the distance, just beautiful mountains and hills plastered in snow. 

I downed my first glass of wine, a bit jet lagged and wired from my more than eventful traveling, and decided to treat myself to another before I did a lap around the house. The red wine splashed at the rim of the glass as I wattled into the kitchen, admiring the woodsy feel of the room. I wasn’t an outdoorsy, rural type of person, but the vibe of the place Harry had arranged for us to stay in was extremely cozy and gave off a warming sense of comfort. As I took a polite swig of my alcohol, I heard the door at the front of the house start to fuss as someone fumbled with the door knob. I peered at the clock hanging above the dining room table, and grew a little uneasy at the fact it was almost 2 am and there was someone trying to get in. Tip toeing quietly and cautiously into the hallway so I could peek into the foyer, I waited to see who would walk in from the outside of the house. I caught a glimpse of a familiar pair of Gucci boots step onto the shoe mat, and felt a small twinge of relief as I realized it was only Harry.

But it wasn’t only Harry, it was Harry arriving an entire 12 hours later than he was suppose to. Making sure I was quiet enough to go unheard, I made way back down the hall and into the kitchen to put my wine glass down. Harry would always bitch me out for drinking, probably because I became a little mouthy when I was under the influence and he couldn’t stand it. I did my best to head out of the kitchen and get to the staircase without him catching me, but I hit a creaky floorboard in the sitting room and he overheard. 

I tried my best to make it seem as though I had just woken up, and was heading towards the kitchen for some water or something. However, my half empty bottle of wine that sat beside my open laptop insisted otherwise.

The click of his boots against the floor grew closer and closer before he was standing a few feet away from me, appearing in the archway that connected the foyer and the sitting area. He had on that black coat, as he almost always did when I saw him, matched with a white pullover and black skinny jeans. I snickered for a moment, to myself, because I felt like he only ever wore the same four articles of clothing. His hair was a little messy, and even standing all the way across the room I could see the slight bags under his eyes. I’m sure all the traveling he’s been doing was starting to take a toll on his body. 

“Oh,” Harry breathed, “you’re up.” 

“Mhm.” I purred agitatedly, my lips pursed as I watched him shimmy his coat off.

“S’nice place, huh? Snow’s pretty, and I like how-“

“Why are you just like, slithering in here all hushed and unannounced? You were supposed to be here hours ago.” I was tripping over my words, all the alcohol rushing to my head and making me a little dizzy.

“Had another interview added to my itinerary, so I had t’push my flight back. Didn’t think anyone would be up, s’why I didn’t call.” He murmured, covering his mouth as he yawned.

“Well the kids went to sleep late. They stayed up waiting for you.” I stated dryly, leaning over and shutting my laptop closed.

“Did y’tell them I was working?” 

“Yes,” I hissed, “I did Harry. I told them, like I always do. Think that excuse is starting to get a little tired, don’t you?”

“Here we fuckin go” He whined in annoyance, letting out a cold laugh before throwing his coat at the table.

“Yeah here we fuckin go is right.” I mimicked, “Exacts words I said while I scrolled through every single picture of you with a different bottle girl and every other girl with a pulse in whatever fucking nightclub you were drinking yourself stupid at.” 

“Fucking hell, Ella! Why is it when I tell you I work it becomes such a bloody issue! It’s work. I went out with a few producers for work.” He spat, walking out of the foyer. 

“You know,” I started, “it wouldn’t be an issue for me if you were actually working. You clearly think I’m a hermit or just a fuckin idiot, like I don’t see the pictures on the internet every time I open my phone! Harry with this girl, Harry with that girl, Harry at the club blah blah blah.”

My voice started to rise, and I could feel the temperature of my body start to go up with it. As my blood started to boil, Harry looked over at the coffee table and caught a glimpse of the wine bottle. Rolling his eyes, before running his hands over his face, he took a long deep breath in before shakily letting it back out.

“You’re bloody drunk.” He sighed, walking over closer to where I was standing.

“No.” I lied.

“M’not having this fight with you now. Not when you’re what, three glasses deep? Four even?” He retorted, picking his coat up and placing it on the coat hanger near the door.

“I’m not-“, I was abruptly interrupted by a hiccup, which didn’t play into my favor, “Stop trying to deflect. You’re never here, ever. Do you not wanna be around? That it? ” 

“Ever stop t’think maybe this is hard for me?” He scoffed, voice raising, “Think it’s easy coming around and feeling like I don’t belong? Have no idea what it’s like f’me feeling like I have to get to know my own kids, and missing the big things. Y’think I enjoy missing everything, being alone in one place while my family is in another? ”

“You’ve got all those groupies to keep you company.” I hiccuped.

“Go to bed, Ella. Drunken fuckin mess.” He mumbled, turning to walk out of the room.

“Don’t-” I took a sharp inhale, pondering if I should say what I was thinking, “be mad at me because you care about your career more than your ki-”

“GO TO BED.” He bellowed, his voice carrying throughout the house.

I took a step back, my hands crawling into the sleeves of my sweater as I curled away from him. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip before gnawing down at it, closing his eyes for a minute to collect himself. He truly didn’t care to raise his voice, and he often felt guilty when he did. It was my fault, I provoked him in a way that wasn’t fair. Knowing him for so long, and having been in love with him for most of my life, I knew which buttons to press to get him going. It was unfair of me, especially since he was clearly exhausted. But I wasn’t going to apologize for it, at least not now. It was something I had been wanting to confront him about for some time, but never had the balls to do it. I guess the alcohol gave me a little courage.

Penelope, with the worst timing, appeared behind Harry. Her hair was ruffled and messy as she clung to her ratty bunny, her favorite stuffed animal she carried around with her everywhere. With flushed cheeks and wet eyes, I could tell she had been woken up by our argument and gotten scared. Standing quietly behind Harry as he settled himself down, in her yellow nightdress, she let out a small sniffle to make her presence known. Harry twisted his back, looking down and frowning as he saw Penelope stand there with her shoulders hung low.

“I had a bad dream.” She whimpered quietly, bowing her head down and staring at the floor. 

“I’ll put her back-“

“No,” Harry dismissed, gently whisking P off the floor and swinging her onto his hip, “just go to bed, alright?” He mumbled.

I stood there, in the middle of the sitting room, and watched as Penelope rested her head on his shoulder before sticking her thumb back in her mouth. She began to doze back off as Harry scuffled towards the stairs, walking at a pace slow enough to not wake her but quick enough to get away from me. 

#harry #harry imagine #harry imagines #harry live on tour #harry smut #dad!harry #harry one shot #harry x reader #Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry fluff #harry fic #harry fanfic

[rocky-alex]

A Hunter’s Life For Me

Note: For this chapter I urge you to listen to Berlin, by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, HAPPINESS, by NEEDTOBREATHE, Libella Swing, by Parov Stelar, and Walk On Water, by Thirty Seconds To Mars. In that order. Just trust me.

Word count: 2557

Warnings: Torture, unintentional self harm, mentions of blood. Yeah kinda gruesome chapter. 

Pairings: OFC(Jules) x Dean, Reader x Sam 

A Hunter’s Life Masterlist

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Chapter 6: It would be easier to walk on water, than to win this fight tonight

I was vaguely aware of something making a sound somewhere around me. Unconsciousness was still pulling on my mind, and oh boy, I really wanted to just let it suck me down again. I didn’t want to live through another second of this. I’d held on for… wait, how much time had passed? The thought that several days had passed and I was still in the dingy little room made a panic rise in me, which was enough to pull me the rest of the way up. That’s when I realised that the sound I heard was coming from me. I was… what the hell? I was laughing? I opened my eyes and saw the demon infront of me, and suddenly remembered what I’d thought was so funny before he clocked me over the head. I took a rustling breath, feeling blood trickle down my throat.

“I thought you demons had more to offer. Or are you just not happy to see me?” A flash of movement and the wind was knocked out of me. I bent over, coughing, wanting to throw up from the pain of the fist hitting me in the stomach.

“What makes you think I haven’t been holding back?” I looked back up, meeting his eyes, a mad grin stretching my face. “Because you would have done much worse by now.”

Sam POV

Dean didn’t realise it himself, but Sam saw that Jules getting taken was really getting to his brother. One might even say he was slowly going crazy. After two whole weeks of searching they had come up with absolutely nothing. They knew it had to be demons, because of the case they’d been working on. Y/N hadn’t been able to help, setting off a big fight between her and Dean. She wasn’t telling them anything knew, and it infuriated both Sam and Dean. They’d even gone so far as to summon and trap Crowley, something that had become decidedly more difficult over the years.

“Hello, boys. What can I do for you today?”

“Where is she, Crowley?” Dean skipped right past the small talk.

“Where’s… who?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know who we’re talking about.” Dean’s hand twitched, wanting desperately to shoot the snarky demon out of pure spite. The older Winchester had gotten edgy and more trigger happy after about three days of looking for Jules.

“I’m afraid you for once have me at a disadvantage.” Crowley looked at the two brothers. “Well, if that’s all, would you be so kind as to let me out?” He gestured to the devil’s trap under his feet. “We all know the alternative would get terribly messy.” Dean went to throw himself at Crowley, probably to strangle the smug asshole, but Sam caught him, knowing it would do them absolutely no good.

“Look, we know demons took her, alright?” Sam was still holding onto Dean, not trusting that he wouldn’t go after Crowley again. “And you know everything the demons do. So where is she?” Crowley smirked.

“As riveting and amusing this conversation is, I have better things to do. So what’s it going to be? Will you let me out or will I have to do it myself?” Sam felt the hope slowly leave his body. Crowley was right, they couldn’t hold him indefinitely, he was going to get out, one way or another. going against every fibre of his being, Sam slowly bent down, taking out his knife and scratched a break in the paint on the floor.

“Always a pleasure, Moose.” Crowley was gone.

“Dean-”

“Don’t fucking say it, Sam. Just don’t.”

“No, you can’t do this anymore.” Dean was pacing the room, pulling his hair like going bald would mean living another minute.

“So what?” Dean stopped, facing Sam. “We give up? Let her die?”

“Of course not!” Now Sam stood up from his seat on the bed. “But I don’t know what else to do. We’ve done everything we know how, and more, and we still haven’t found her. Even a tracking spell didn’t work. If the demons have her, they are more hell-bent than ever to keep us from finding her.” Dean laughed, but it wasn’t out of joy. He started pacing again, and Sam threw his hands in the air, exasperated and downright done. They really had done everything. What absolutely boggled Sam’s mind was how the magic had failed. They’d done everything right, bending their morals left and right, and still nothing.

Out of nowhere, Dean’s phone started to ring on the table. Dean obviously didn’t care, so Sam picked it up, not recognising the number. Something in the back of his mind told him he had to answer.

“Hello?”

“… Sam?” Sam’s eyes widened. “Is Dean there?” He let the phone drop from his ear and held it out to his brother.

“Dean.”

“What?!” He looked at the phone in Sam’s hand, then up at his face. He took two quick steps and all but ripped the phone out of Sam’s hand. He held it up to his ear, and Sam heard the air leave Dean’s lungs like a popped balloon.

“Jules?”

Jules POV

I didn’t know what day it was, or even what time. It had all blurred together into a jumble of light, dark, pain and fear. I opened my eyes, not seeing anyone else in the room. That was new, they’d always kept at least one demon in the room with me. I tried to move my arms and pain shot through my limbs. They hadn’t untied me even once since they brought me here, and my body was locked and stiff after being in the same position for who knew how long. I worked through the pain, feeling the ropes give a little more each time I moved my hands. The only mercy I’d had in this place was that the demons hadn’t noticed the ropes slacking. I caught the rope on an edge and worked it over.

I sat like that for hours, expecting one of the demons to show up at any moment. The one who’d tortured me the first time came back the most, seeming to enjoy my pain like a junkie enjoys his next fix. Finally, to my extreme surprise, the rope snapped. I sat there in disbelief, expecting to wake up from a new kind of torture. When that didn’t happen I tried to bend over to get to the ropes holding my feet to the chair’s legs. And almost tipped the chair when my chest caught fire. It had to be fire, nothing else could hurt this bad. I bit my tongue so hard I felt blood start to trickle down my throat and over my chin, doing my best to hold back a scream that would have demons descending like bats out of hell, pun definitely intended. I held as still as possible, waiting for the pain to lessen before moving again. When it finally ebbed enough for me to let go of the bite of death I had on my tongue, I hesitated before moving again. I shifted slightly, and the pain wasn’t as bad. Moving as slow as possible, I finally got my arms down to my feet and untied the ropes. Standing proved a new challenge, and I fell twice before managing to keep my balance. How fucking long had I been in that chair? My body felt completely useless. I got to the door and gripped the handle. And stopped. What if it was a trick? What if the pain I’d gone through to get here was intentional and the demons were enjoying seeing me do it to myself, giving me hope along the way?

No. If I thought like that I’d never get out of here. I twisted the handle, wanting to cry in joy when it twisted and the door opened. Moving carefully I managed to get out without the door squeaking. Outside my torture chamber I was met with a corridor. I looked left and right, seeing nothing to indicate which way was the exit. I’d been unconscious when they brought me here, so I had no way of remembering the way in. Fifty-fifty chance it was. Always go left, a little voice in my head reminded me. I went left.

My instinct proved right when I finally got my first breath of fresh air in days. The little voice in my head nagged at me that it couldn’t be this easy. If this were a movie, the villain would soon appear before me, plucking hope from me like you’d pluck feathers from a chicken. I looked around, trying to adjust to the light. It looked like the sun was going down, but it might as well have been high noon in the Sahara Desert for all my eyes were concerned. I blinked, covering my eyes with my hand. I heard the door close behind me and jumped. It was too quiet all of a sudden, like my ears were just now registering the silence.

“To be honest, I expected you to get out of there much sooner.” I screamed and fell backwards, trying to get away from whoever it was that had said that. I looked around, catching sight of a short man in a black suit and trench coat.

“Who are you?!” My voice came out sounding suspiciously like a hoarse cat.

“Name’s Crowley, love. I’ve got to say, I’ve so been looking forward to meet you.” My heart was pounding. The light had finally stopped hurting my eyes, and I looked him over, seeing his eyes flash red. I knew it.

“You’re a demon.” No question.

“More than that, sweetheart,” The endearment, although I doubted he meant it as such, made my heart clench. He leant forward, as if he were sharing a big secret. “I’m the King of Hell.” Oh great.

“So you’re the devil.” His face tensed.

“I wouldn’t say I am.” Ouch, did I hit a sore spot?

I braced myself against the ground, barely feeling the scrapes on my hands, and stood up.

“I take it you’re in charge of the demons who kidnapped me?”

“Ah yes, I’ll need to have a little chat with them. As far as first impressions go, I assume this one falls on the bottom of the list.”

“You could say that…” Crowley laughed. Asshole.

“Now, Jules, I want to discuss a few things with you. Shall we?” He held out his hand. My eyes narrowed.

“Pardon my french, but why the fuck would I go anywhere with you?”

“Now don’t be like that, dear.” I didn’t answer him. He sighed.

“I see the Winchesters have rubbed off on you.” That caught my attention, and fear started to build inside me. He knew them. More than that, he knew where to find them.

He saw the realisation on my face and grinned, still holding out his hand, so sure I would take it.

“Now, come along.” A realisation that I was completely at his mercy and had no way of escaping hit me like a freight train. The fear reached an all time high, and I felt something start to explode inside me. I had to let it out, or I would die. Letting loose a scream, I threw my arms out towards Crowley, feeling the explosions move through them and hitting him like a grenade. Before he could even blink, he fell to the ground in a pile of completely mangled limbs.  

Breathless, I fell to my knees. Red smoke started to rise from the broken body, drifting up and away. Crowley. He wasn’t dead, but he also wasn’t here with me anymore. There was something wet running down my cheek and I realised I was crying. I’d truly thought I was going to die. I had no idea what it was that had saved me, but for now I was grateful as fuck that it had.

I had to pull myself together and get away from here. I got up and walked around. The building I’d come out of was relatively small and had a small dirt road leading up to it. With darkness coming fast it was easy to hide among the trees lining the road. Soon enough I stumbled out of the trees, where the small road met a bigger one. There were cars driving all along it and I threw a hand out, trying to stay on my feet. Blackness was starting to creep up in my vision, but I fought it off, desperate to get as far away as possible. A car stopped and a woman stepped out of the driver’s seat, reaching her hands out to catch me as I stumbled forward.

“Are you okay?” Do I look okay, lady?

“Yes, I’m fine,” I lied. “I just really need a ride.”

“What happened?” she asked as she led me to the car, tucking me in the backseat.

“Camping accident…” I mumbled. She looked concerned, but refrained from asking anything else. Thank god. She got back in behind the wheel and started driving down the road.

“Where are you headed?”

“Nearest gas station would be great.” I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Thank you,” I said in a low voice. She smiled, still looking worried.

Turned out, demons weren’t that good at frisking people. I couldn’t believe it when I felt my wallet in my pocket and could pay the clerk for the water, crackers, spraypaint and salt I’d picked out at the gas station. Next was finding somewhere I could protect myself. I was in the outskirts of a small town, and it only took asking four different people, all of who seemed to want to avoid me, to get directions to the nearest motel. Walking down the main road I felt exposed, like several pairs of eyes were watching me constantly. I had no idea if someone around me was a demon, if they had already found me, or if I was just simply losing it. I wasn’t as far away as I wanted to be, but my body couldn’t take much more. For anyone not on the run from demons a stop at the nearest emergency room would be preferable to a rundown motel, but I couldn’t bring myself to be in such a crowded area. All I wanted to do was get somewhere alone and put up protections, lest the demons find me again.

At the motel I got a room as far away from the others as I could, and barricaded myself in there. After spending a whole hour drawing devil’s traps and lining the doors and windows (and the walls) with salt, I sat on the bed, staring at the phone sitting beside the TV. During the walk from the gas station I’d realised that I didn’t have Dean’s number. Or Sam’s. I had no way of reaching them. And the phone kept taunting me. Unwanted thoughts kept intruding in my mind, and I couldn’t stop them. Why hadn’t they come for me? Why had I been forced to endure days of torture in that tiny room, with next to no hope of getting out? Why hadn’t Dean found me?

I started crying and fell back on the bed. Eventually darkness took over and I blacked out.

@carryonmyswansong

Note: I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for it to be so long before I updated again! I’m sitting up at 4:30 AM to get this out (don’t worry, I start work late tomorrow) and I actually really like how this chapter turned out. 

I’ve seen all the new followers I have and It bring me so much joy you have no idea! :D I love all of you, and thank you so much! If anyone wants to be tagged in A Hunter’s Life, let me know :P

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural reader insert #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester x oc #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural oc #original female character #a hunter's life for me #motels won't cut it anymore

[lit-works]

Heroes For Hire: The Gang Wars trilogy

Book 1: After Midnight

Chapter 10: Washington Square

The arch was located in the center of Washington Square Park. The small, rectangular park sat near the heart of Greenwich village and the home of Doctor Strange. The arch itself stood at 86 feet tall, and was 30 feet across. It was constructed from nearly 700 tons of white marble.

It had become a foggy, cold night in Washington Square park. Ahead of Luke Cage and Iron Fist in the gloom of night sat the arch. By the wooden scaffolding running up one side, it looked as if the structure was in the process of being renovated.

Embracing warmly, two young lovers sat upon a stone bench beneath the glistening light of a street lamp. Not far away, a bell tolled the hour-- midnight.

Danny Rand had donned his vigilante costume, donning the apparel of The Immortal Iron Fist. His costume was essentially a jumpsuit, but of soft velvet-like material. It was black in color with single gold stripes running up both sides, and emblazoned in gold upon the chest was the symbol of Shao-L’ao the Undying. A great mystical dragon, and the source of the great power of the Iron Fist. The very same symbol had become permanently singed i to the flesh of Danny Rand’s very chest the day he became chosen as the new Iron Fist. Like his previous costumes his newer suit sported a very high collar of gold, and over the top half of his head he wore a golden sash, with holes for his eyes cut into it. Forgoing comfort for appearance Danny wore a simple pair of yellow High-Top Nike Jordans Air Max 1’s. The kind of shoes you could pump more air into with a button on the tongue, and Danny kept them thoroughly inflated for pressure resistance.

“Isn't that so sweet.” Danny audibly sighed and pointed out the young lovebirds in the park.

“Yeah, and i could be at home getting me some of that from Jessica. Instead I’m out here with you, looking for goons.”  Luke replied.

“I know! Isn't this great??!!” Danny asked, visibly excited by the prospect of a fight.

As the two of them looked over the park for any suspicious behavior, a figure moved from the shadows to stand boldly beneath the Arch. The figure wore a long coat and a fedora. From the distance it was hard to tell, but had he not just seen him back at the roaring 20s, Luke could've sworn the figure looked like Hammerhead.

Suddenly, the air crackled with electricity and the pungent odor of sulphur and four more human shapes seemed to appear out of nowhere to stand beneath the arch. They immediately surrounded the figure in the long coat.

-

Beneath the Arch Man Mountain Marko of the Silvermane branch of the Maggia family had been standing at the ready. He wore a long coat and fedora, as he was the only one with a stature similar to Hammerhead’s. When Hammerhead had received the note from Mister Fear, he had hired Man Mountain to pose as him and attend the parley. The sepia glow of streetlights refracted through the dense fog and gave the small tunnel an eerie luminescence. Shortly after the nearby clock tower tolled the twelfth hour he figured that perhaps this Mister Fear had gotten a little scared himself. So, since it didn't seem there would be a meeting he prepared to leave. Bit as soon as he stepped away from The wall beneath the Arch a strange blue electricity began to crackle in the fog around him. In flashes of blue light strange figures appeared around him and circled him quickly.

Marco could see the malignant intent in the eyes of these figures. As they circled him one of the mysterious arrivals let out a horrifying peal of laughter and loped at him. This horrific being appeared to be a Scarecrow, like one had been stolen from a farm upstate. The scarecrow man wore a blood-stained burlap sack over his head, crazed eyes twitching about behind torn holes. It's green and black flannel and black pants were also torn and splattered with blood. Strangely enough straw stuck out from the sleeves of his flannel and leg of his pants, going into his white gloves and black boots. In those white gloves was gripped the wooden handle of a rusted pitchfork, its needle-point tines pointing at Marco’s stomach.

However, the Scarecrow was only one of the frightening apparitions to have leapt out of the fog at him. To the right of Marco stood a woman, who had also come with the strange electricity. Her long black hair and dark eyes seemed to fade into the partial darkness around her, as well as the black leather outfit she wore, that revealed much skin. It seemed simply a pair of leather pants with 2 straps that wound up and over her shoulders and around her torso to only partially cover her breasts. The terrifying thing about this woman was that she was levitating, and not only that but appeared to be entangled in bright gold thread that billowed and waved,  coming out of her very own back like the skeins of thread were hair.

The other two mysterious attackers completed the circle around Marco, and were exactly identical to each other. Their bodies were obscured by heavy and baggy black cloaks. Both of their faces looked out from under hoods with faces painted like skulls.

In an instant Marco realized that there had indeed been an ambush planned to take out Hammerhead. But Hammerhead had been smart and seen it coming. Hammerhead’s fortune was not Marco’s. Scared witless by the strange group attacking him he withdrew a tommy gun from where he had been holding it hidden beneath his coat. It was Hammerhead’s personal Tommy, and was intended to send a message. Marco lifted the gun and opened fire, holding down the trigger and attempting to hose down the enemies with gunfire. He spun on his heels, spraying lead wildly in a circle.

-

The muzzle flash from the Tommy gun light up in the night. The two lovers sitting on the stone bench nearby screamed in fear of the sound of the gunshots, but only cowered in fear in each other's arms. Iron Fist leapt backwards and took cover behind a stone statue, looking around the corner to the Arch. Luke assessed the situation, realizing the couple was in grave danger. The man in the coat was shooting everywhere, ricochet alone could claim them as casualties. They did not deserve to die, and so Luke acted. Luke also leapt, but he into the way of stray bullets that could have taken the life of the couple. The bullets hit his impenetrable skin and fell harmlessly to the ground, he stood in front of the couple facing them and trying to make as much of a shield of himself as he could. “Nice night, ain't it guys?” Luke asked the couple. Then, he turned his head to see what had become of his best friend. Once he noticed Iron Fist safe behind the small statue he locked eyes with the man and gave him a nod of affirmation.

-

On the opposite side of the Washington Square Arch two costumed men had been standing in hiding. One was in a full mechanical power-suit, painted green and bared a cybernetic stinger proportionate to the wearer's body. This was Mac Gargan, better known as the supervillain The Scorpion. He had received his powers, nickname, and power-suit from a procedure designed to endow the human subject with the adapted powers of an animal, which was chosen as a Scorpion to be the perfect predator against Mac Gargan’s original prey Spider-Man. The Scorpion had been hired with a partner by Hammerhead to defend Man Mountain Marco and kill whoever staged the attack.

That partner was The Eel, or Edward Lavell. He had been just another good for Hammerhead before he acquired the special suit of a supervillain of his name whom had been slain by the Gladiator. The suit gave him super-powers akin to the abilities of the animal. With it he could produce electricity, as well as direct it and resist it. It also armored him slightly and gave him an enhanced radar sense. Given that he had already been under the employ of Hammerhead he had been asked personally by the boss to take these assassins out.

When Marco opened fire The Scorpion and Eel hid to avoid being shot, but kept a watchful eye on the events, waiting for their chance to strike with the element of surprise.

-

In the late 1600s the lot that was now the Washington Square Park had once served as a burial ground to beggars and the anonymous dead. Later in the 1700s it became a popular dueling grounds and a venue of public executions. Several of the gallows trees still stand. Hundreds of corpses laid moldering beneath the soil.

Atop the scaffolding that ran up the side of the renovated arch a tall ominous figure stood, in a thick black cloak. In one hand it shook a velvet bag of assorted animal bones while the other hand spilled blood from a vial into various patterns on the ground beside the scaffolding, chanting in creole all the while. He was using voodoo black magic, more specifically Necromancy, his specialty. Having studied the stolen book, ‘A Madman’s Mutterings’ this stranger's own powerful magical abilities had been enhanced even further. Feeling the magic take hold and the power flowing through his veins he transferred energy into the earth of the park. Into the empty shells of former humans lying restlessly beneath the dirt. In his mother tongue he summoned the forgotten dead to come forth and conquer, come forth and kill. Heeding the call of Black Talon those who had been in an eternal slumber began to stir…

-

Screaming long and loud as he finished his full circle, Marco suddenly had his Tommy Gun torn from his hands by the powerful swing of the Scarecrow’s pitchfork. Reaching into his coat again Marco withdrew a knife and thrusted it blade over hilt at the scarecrow. Contorting his back so that he literally bent over backwards the scarecrow dodged the knife and then planted one hand down to finish a full back handspring, free hand still clutching the pitchfork. Scarecrow laughed vilely once again.

“Let's keep that coat closed shall we?” the strange woman attacker beneath the arch shouted.

With a flick of her hands Marco’s coat seemed to be fusing completely closed around. Fabric weaving together and making it a seamless garment more akin to a straight-jacket with his arms trapped inside. Frantically straining at his coat his screams became muffled as the fabric of his coat now began to cover his mouth and nose smothering him. The length of the coattail then tightened around his legs, slamming his knees together in a loud crack as Marco fell to the ground in a cocoon of killing fabric. His screams became quieter as he lost his breath, squirming at their feet.

The Scarecrows maniacal laughter was interrupted this time when the Scorpion’s massive prehensile-robotic tail swung into the chest of the woman attacker and slammed her bodily into the wall of the inner Arch. Her eyes glazed as all the wind was knocked from her lungs in a gusting exhale. She had felt at least a single rib snap in the blow. “Let him go, bitch!!” The Scorpion screamed at the woman, keeping her pinned against the wall with his tail.

In the secondary ambush the two men with the skeletal face-paint had been positioned low to the ground to avert Marco’s gunfire and saw The Scorpion and Eel charging.

Both of them simultaneously reaches inro their own cloaks and withdrew what appeared to be eggs, but when they struck the wall and ground before The Eel the burst to spread a highly corrosive acid stopping the eel short. With his momentum the Eel had to jump over the acid and nearly fell in the landing. Taking advantage of the Eel’s misstep the Scarecrow moved to gore the Eel with his pitchfork. But suddenly Iron Fist launched directly into the Scarecrow’s back with a flying spin-kick that landed squarely between his shoulders. The scarecrow sprawled in a heap face first onto the ground.

-

Shortly after Luke had watched Iron Fist going running into combat he turned to see what had unfolded. He was encountered and surprised by a Skeleton. In the twilight night he thought it was a trick. Perhaps an illusion from a projector like he had seen once on Scooby Doo. But as the skeleton walked there was the sound of bone on asphalt. A shaft of streetlight collided on the skull to reveal a dusty lump of what used to be eye. It was a skeleton, just as tall as the one's Biology teachers held in classrooms but moved as smoothly as a well-conditioned athlete. It's head swivelled as if surveying the scene with its coal black socket and hearing with just the ghost of it's ears. Luke shifted his weight to his back foot and the loose gravel crunched beneath his loafer. The skinless arm of the skeleton pointed in his direction and its teeth gnashed as it hastened its stride towards Luke. When Luke looked around again he saw that the skeleton was one of many closing in on the arch and his locatio. In uncoordinated fashion. “Get up! Stay Close!” Luke commanded of the couple who whimpered but shuffled behind him quickly.

At least 80 Skeleton had exhumed themselves from beneath the grass of the park, turning the well-manicured grass into a field of holes and churned earth. The mass of them blocked the path between Luke and Iron Fist. As the pointing Skeleton reached Luke, Luke brought his large fist down on the Skeleton’s skull shattering it into fragments and sending the lot of bones clattering to the ground. Another approaching from the side was broken apart by Luke's forearm smashing  its ribcage into powder. “I'll try to make you a path out of here! Be careful!” Luke shouted to the two innocent lovers behind him.

-

The two face-painted men jumped up from their prone position. Shortly after acquiring the Eel costume, Edward Lavell had first tasted defeat at the hands of Power Man and Iron Fist when he had been attempting to break his employer Hammerhead from behind bars. The moment he saw Iron Fist he became furious and shot a direct blast of electricity towards Iron Fist. In an instant Iron Fist narrowly dodged the blast by leaping into a roll to the side of the tunnel where Scarecrow had first appeared. The Eel was preparing Another electrical attack when the scarecrow leapt up from where he had been knocked to the ground and continued his attack on the Eel.

Iron Fist saw the nearly unconscious woman pinned to the wall by The Scorpion and moved to her aid, as he believed the scorpion would kill her. As he charged at them he lifted his hand and channeled his chi into his hand to make the Iron Fist, transforming his hand into a weapon of immeasurable strength and power. Once he was close he jumped up and kicked off of the wall, bringing the Iron Fist directly i to The Scorpions solar plexus and pummeling him into the ground with concussive force. As he slammed into the earth the Scorpion released his tails hold on the woman who slid down the wall behind Iron Fist. Scorpion fell immediately and completely unconscious. In a show of power he then held up his mystically glowing fist before him and at the two Face-painted villains.

-

Hundreds upon hundreds of bones and piles of its dust lay mounded across the park where Luke Cage obliterated each Skeleton that approached him or his charges. The couple had been made a clear path to the edge of the park where they were able to escape harm's way. They scaled the fence and ran into the night towards their homes at the behest of Luke Cage, their savior. His suit now caked in bone meal Luke plowed through the remaining skeletons that blocked him from the arch. Arms cutting them down, feet crushing bone and splintering teeth. Steadily taking them all down he made his way to the Arch.

-

The Eel looked into the Scarecrow's eyes before he prepared an electrical attack to launch at it. But, as he looked into the scarecrows eyes it lifted a hand and blew a strange black and violet powder into his face. The eel began hacking and coughing, stumbling back towards the wall. His vision was becoming blurry, and the sounds of struggle between Iron Fist and the two face-painted men echoed off the marble. When the scarecrow laughed his wicked laugh it became the only thing he could hear, at a deafening volume. He looked at the scarecrow whose features seemed horribly distorted and terrifying to look at. The powder had been a specially concocted formula that targeted the adrenal glands of all affected living things it was administered to, causing sensory overload and triggering a panic attack in its victims. The Eel felt a tingling in his hands and feet that quickly became a numbness as his heart began to race. Dizziness brought him to his knees as he began to scream in fear of impending doom, screaming so hard his chest hurt and he struggled to breath. The scarecrow slowly walked towards the kneeling Eel and picked up his Pitchfork as he approached.

Iron Fist adeptly dueled the two face-painted assassins who were now both wielding knives. He parried their blows with strikes to their wrists and always stepped toward them pushing them back towards the wall, kicking their legs. His still glowing fist disarming them as he implemented it to break the blades of their knives by punching it as they swung them at him.

The Scarecrow spun his pitchfork and then aimed a blow to disembowel the Eel. As he brought it back he laughed, but when he went for the thrust he was brought short and accidentally slipped losing his grip on the pitchfork. He looked over his shoulder to see Luke Cage had grabbed the very end of the pitchfork. With his other hand he clobbered the scarecrow on his head and knocked him to the ground out cold.

Iron Fist then used the Iron Fist to punch one of the face-painted who flew backwards and smacked the back of his skull into the face of his partner, whose head swung back hitting the wall and then headbutting the back if his partner's head again. Heavily concussed both men were rendered unconscious.

The brawl seemingly over Iron Fist and Luke Cage approached each other and gave a celebratory fist bump. Both men just smiled at each other as they tried to catch their breath, weary from battle. Remembering the injured woman Iron Fist ran over to where she had been when he freed her from the Scorpion's pincer. As he walked towards her he could feel a charge in the air. “No! They're going!” Luke shouted.

“What?” Danny asked confused as he then watched a bluish flash of light claim the woman and all her associates and vanish. The woman, the scarecrow, and two men in paint were gone. Disappeared in the all-too-familiar lightning with the smell of sulphur. Had they been in the open and within view they would have seen a flash of light from the top of the arch as well. Luke and Iron Fist still stood beneath the arch, they ripped apart the cocoon of clothing to reveal a scared but still alive and coherent Marco. He had never been happier to see a pair of superheroes in his life. They began to ask Marco some questions in exchange for saving his lives as the sound of an approaching car carried on the nights air. Luke had called Misty Knight  to spread the word of what had happened and their new prime suspects.

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