Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Me (I legit have no shame for this)
Word Count: 6,893
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, It’s honestly just really sweet sex?, possible tears
Notes: So, talking to @minhosmeanhoe about doing something for the end of Teen Wolf and this is it. It’s hard to really express what this show means to me because it has changed my life. So much. So this is literally my rants, through Scott and myself, expressing what this show means to me, thanking it for everything it has done. The things I say are coming legit from me. This isn’t the end for us though. I will not stop writing for teen Wolf, for Stiles. It means too much to let it go away completely. So, just… enjoy my rant I guess. And me spilling my heart out about the show. And of Stiles. And me wishing Stiles was mine.
PS This is unedited. And I don’t even care. So ignore all my typos because I know they exist.
“Eleven.” Tim turned in his chair, confused. He wasn’t sure what the voice was talking about. It had been an exhausting couple of days— he wasn’t even sure who the voice belonged to. “Eleven,” Damian repeated. “That’s the eleventh time you’ve yawned in—” he put his book down and swung his wrist above his head to check his watch. “—three minutes. Is something wrong?” “If it’s bothering you, just go to a different room.” “I was here first.” In the grand scheme of things, no, Tim thought, you were not. He knew better than to say it out loud, though— Damian was eyeing him suspiciously from the couch, like he was ready to pick a fight. Tim had enough to deal with already. He bent back over his case notes. If he finished with them in the next hour, he would be back on schedule for the first time in months— he could go check that crime scene by the docks and visit with his informants on the South Side. Probably try the piers after that, and then… Tim stretched his arms over his head. And then he would… “Twelve.” Oh my god. Tim swung around again and glared at his little brother. Damian didn’t seem to mind— he was flat on the couch with his book held above his face, reading peacefully. “Did you sleep last night?” he asked, without looking up from his novel. “No.” “How about the night before?” “You know we have three other living rooms, right? You could have any of them to yourself.” “I’ll take that as a no.” “Leave me alone, Damian. I’m working.” “You should go to bed.” Damian turned slowly to look Tim in the eyes. “It’s not healthy to stay awake that long.” “I didn’t know you cared.” “You’re right.” Damian put down his book and pulled out his phone instead. “I don’t. Thanks for reminding me.” He started texting, ignoring Tim completely. Fine. Tim went back to his files, careful not to yawn— he really was tired. He just needed to power through it, was all. He’d be fine if he kept going, and maybe got some caffeine. He would give a lot for some of that just now. By a happy coincidence, at that moment, Jason stuck his head in the door. “Yo I made coffee. Does anybody want some?” Damian made the face he reserved for bat droppings, coffee, and Tim. “No.” Tim held out an arm. “Give. Now.” Jason handed him a mug and settled on the end of Damian’s couch. He watched Tim drain half his cup in one go (it was good coffee, okay?) very intently… too intently. Tim stared back at him. “What?” “What you doing?” “I’m waiting.” Jason grinned down at Damian, who was still focussed on his novel. “Waiting for what?” Jason just smiled. Tim stifled another yawn— the caffeine wasn’t helping. He felt incredibly tired, worse than before, even. His eyes kept closing without his permission. He laid his head on the table for a few seconds. He was… wow… wait… “That,” said Jason. “There we go. Mission accomplished.” Tim peeled his face away from the tabletop. “Did you just—” He stared at Jason incredulously. “Did you just drug me?!” “Don’t accept coffee from strangers.” Damian looked up from his book. “Okay,” he said. “Now take him to his room.” “Damian??” Tim couldn’t believe this. Of all the— He tried to resist as Jason scooped him up and threw him over a shoulder, but he couldn’t find the energy. They started down the hallway, with Damian trailing behind them, face still planted in his book. He knocked gently into the door frame on the way through and looked up to glare at the wall. “Listen,” Jason asked him, “do I want to know why you’ve got this grade of sedatives lying around?” “That, mostly.” Damian shrugged in Tim’s direction. “You’ve done this before?” Tim dangled helplessly on Jason’s back. “I swear to God I’m going to— Bruce! Help!” Bruce had poked his head out of a his own doorway. He squinted at the three of them like he was afraid to ask— Tim reached a hand in his direction. “They drugged me!” “Drake’s going to sleep now,” Damian informed his father, crossing his arms. “I’m…” Bruce apparently decided that he didn’t want to deal with it, because he turned around and walked back into his room, shutting the door behind him. “Hey!” Tim was— He wasn’t— How the hell— “Bruce, get me an antidote! Get me some different siblings!” No response. Tim tried to punch Jason in the back, but he was so tired that it barely made an impact. Jason laughed at him as they pushed through his door. “Keep trying.” He let Tim fall onto the bed. Damian handed him a blanket from the guest closet, and Jason threw it over Tim. “There. Go to sleep.” “I hate you so much.” “We wouldn’t have to do this if you would take care of yourself.” Jason held out a hand for Damian to high five. “Zombie squad out.” Damian ignored the hand. “No, Todd.” They turned off the lights and left Tim alone, seething in the dark. In thirty seconds he was asleep.
Hi Everyone ( ^ 0^ )/ I say thank you for all those who have liked my work, reblog, etc. Right now I’m just going to post a Gravity Falls fanart that I’ve colored, if you want to see my work before coloring you can look it up on my Tumblr. I’m sure I’ve posted it.
This is Fanart GRAVITY FALLS episode WEIRMAGEDDON part 1
[XPCVEAOQFOXSO part 1] a.k.a [WEIRDMAGEDDON part 1]
note: that watermark reads “REICHI” my OC name (original character)
Once more, I say thank you very much, see you next time.
Frankly, Tim was having a terrible day. He’d broken his wrist a week ago, which meant no patrol, and he’d finished all the work he could do from home. He was going stir-crazy— wandering aimlessly around his apartment, checking and rechecking his equipment. In the end he’d driven to the manor, hoping for something to do, but the house had been empty all night. He’d clicked through Netflix episodes until the early hours of the morning, fallen asleep on the couch, and woken up exhausted.
At least Dick wasn’t doing any better. He called to check in while Tim was headed downstairs, complaining about a streak of murders in his neighborhood that he hadn’t been able to solve. Tim put him on speaker when he hit the kitchen, set his phone on the counter, and nodded to Damian, who was already at the table. Damian didn’t look up from his newspaper.
“Drake. You look half-dead.”
“You’ve looked worse.” Tim pulled the pancake mix from the shelf and turned around in time to see Damian slowly lower his paper, clearly scandalized. Tim decided he was too tired to care.
“We need to work on your sense of self preservation,” sighed Dick. “Hey, Damian. Try not to stab anyone.”
“No promises.” Damian glared pointedly in Tim’s direction and went back to his paper.
“Anyway, Tim, listen— I have to go. I’ve been awake for forty hours, and this isn’t getting any easier.”
“Have you considered taking a break?”
“This was my break.” Dick stifled a yawn. “I’ll be fine.”
Tim figured he probably would be, until he saw Damian’s eyes narrow. Uh oh. As Dick clicked off the line, Damian folded up his newspaper and made for the door. Tim followed him into the hallway, grinning. He was pretty sure he knew what was about to happen.
“So what are you going to do to him?”
“Go away, Drake.”
“Slip him sleep meds? Break into his apartment and badger him into submission?”
“You’re not going to physically fight him, are you?”
“No.” Damian swept inside his bedroom, slamming the door in Tim’s face. “Mind your own business.”
“Damian, c’mon, I just want to know if I have enough time to make popcorn.” No answer. Tim leaned against the doorframe, listening to Damian clatter around inside. “If this is about what I said in the kitchen, I’m sorry about the dead joke.”
Damian’s voice came out muffled behind the wood. “No you’re not.”
Okay, fine. He wasn’t. “Seriously, tell me what you’re planning to do.”
“I’m going to ask him politely to go to sleep.”
“That’s it?” Tim pulled away from the wall, disappointed— and maybe a little irritated. He knew from personal experience that if he went that long without sleeping, Damian started pulling out sedatives. As tired as he was of Damian’s over the top interventions, Tim had always assumed they were over the top because that’s how Damian did things. From the right angle, he was almost being nice. But if he wasn’t going to do it to Dick…
“How come you don’t—” Tim cut himself off as Damian’s door swung open.
“Because Grayson values my opinion and me as a person, so if I ask him to take care of himself, he will. Because Grayson listens to to me.” Damian swung his laptop bag over his shoulder, shot Tim a look that said (very clearly) unlike some people, and marched back up the hall.
“That’s not…” Tim stood for a few seconds, arms crossed, then hurried after Damian. “Okay, that’s not fair. I listen to you. Or at least I would if you ever asked me for anything.”
“I do,” said Damian. “You don’t.”
“Since when?” Tim couldn’t remember ignoring any requests— Damian didn’t talk to him that often, and most of what he did say was insulting. Tim could remember a few comments about his life habits, sure, but no questions. Damian never asked.
Alright, maybe that was Damian’s version of asking.
“Fine.” Tim caught up with Damian at the front door, while he was fishing for his keys. “I’ll pay more attention next time.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “I’m thrilled. Can you drive me to Grayson’s apartment?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Finally, something to do. He’d been lying around for days, and he was starting to feel like dead weight. Useless. Anyway, Tim wanted to see how this played out— Dick was stubborn, and Tim wasn’t sure that he would cooperate as easily as Damian predicted. He was as much of a workaholic as any of them.
The time had come for Harry and his daughter, Jesse, to return to Earth 2. While saying goodbyes, he feels troubled parting with you and asks you an unexpected question…
You stared at Harry, mouth agape. Did he just…?
Judging from the look on everyone else’s face, there was no denying what just happened. The dickish - yet not evil - Harrison “Harry” Wells had just proposed to you; though, by the sound of it, the proposal had been more of a direct command rather than a question.
Glancing between him, his daughter and everyone else in the group, your brain scrambled to find the correct response to the situation. When it couldn’t, you were just left, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.
“Umm…” You started off, hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves. “I don’t…know…?”
He didn’t seem to like that answer.
Reaching out, he cupped your face with a firm and decisive hand. It wasn’t gentle; but, rather, a needy and demanding gesture that wanted to claim you as his own.
A protective one that didn’t want to share you with the rest of the world. Holding your gaze under his sharp blue eyes, Harry drew you close and stroked your cheek with his thumb.
“Marry me,” he repeated once more. “Because I won’t take no for an answer…”
Before you could respond once more, he dipped his head down and crashed his lips against yours. Your heart beating wildly, it took a full second for the moment to register in your head.
But when it did, you found your body reacting to his touch - taking a step forward and kissing back the man, whom you cared and grew to love in the short amount of time he stayed here.
Lightheaded and out of breath, you two finally parted, only to be met with surprised faces; though, with the high you felt from kissing Harry, you hardly cared.
Planting one last kiss on your forehead, he slipped his arms around you and hugged you fully. Nuzzling against your neck, he couldn’t help but release a sigh of relief.
(Another) Modern Au // Nessian (what else would I write about?)
Three months. Three months. Three months. Three months. Three months. The words kept repeating themselves as Nesta stared at the bright white walls. She felt like she was in a mental hospital, that she was in a dream. This couldn’t be happening. Her cancer was back and she had three months to live. Three months. Three months. Three months.
“Nesta, I know this is hard-,”
“Wait, you’ve had cancer too and were told you only had three months left to live?” Nesta snaps interrupting her doctor before she can finished her sentence.
“Well no but-,”
“But nothing, you don’t know what this is like,” Nesta says, shooting up from her chair and grabbing her bag. “I guess this is it then. See you at my funeral. Oh wait, I won’t because I’ll be dead.”
“Nesta, why don’t you take this. This might be something you will be interested in,” her doctor says, handing her a pamphlet.
Nesta glances at the cover before shoving it into her bag. “I don’t need grief counseling but I’ll be sure to give this to my family since they’ll be needing it,” she snaps, exiting the room, ignoring her doctor who was calling after her.
She wiped blindly at the tears that were threatening to fall. She wasn’t sure if they were angry tears or if they were sad tears but either way she did not want to cry over this. She wasn’t worth it.
She didn’t cry when she told Elain, who burst into tears and clinged to her sister tightly.
She didn’t cry when she told Feyre, who looked at Nesta in pity and told her everything was going to be okay.
She didn’t cry when she told Feyre to watch over Elain, since she wouldn’t be able to anymore.
She didn’t cry when she broke up with her boyfriend, Tomas, because of it. Heck, that was the only good thing the cancer gave her.
She certainly didn’t cry when she told her dad, who was so busy with work that he probably didn’t even hear her.
“What’s this?” Feyre asks, picking up the crumpled piece of paper and flatting it out. Despite the complaints of Nesta, both Elain and Feyre took turns coming over to Nesta’s apartment to make sure she was okay. “Grief counseling?”
Nesta paused from the box she was going through. “My doctor told me I should go so I can come to terms with my death sentence.”
There’s a pause and Nesta thinks that maybe she shouldn’t be joking about her death. “You should go,” Feyre states.
“Why? I am already going through my things so you don’t have too, I am pretty sure that means I’ve come to terms with it,” Nesta retorts, throwing some old drawings into a trashbag.
“No, I think your just doing this to keep your mind off of it. I think you should go and I think Elain will too,” Feyre says. Nesta understood the threat behind Feyre’s statement.
“Don’t call her,” Nesta warned, before sighing in defeat. “I’ll go once. When is it?”
“Tonight!” Feyre exclaims with a bright smile. “How perfect is that? Do you need me to drop you off?”
“No, mom, I think I can drive a car fine by myself,” Nesta snaps.
“My name is Bretha, and I will be your counselor,” Bretha says, from the podium in the front of the room. “How about we go around and say our names and why we are here.”
Nesta took of sip of the stale coffee they offered to hold back a groan. She had sneaked in late and took the empty seat in the far corner hoping no one would notice her. “Is this your first time here?” someone whispers leaning over towards her.
“Yup, is it that obvious?” she responds, as people around the room state their names and reasons for being there. She can’t help but roll her eyes.
“I’ve been coming here for a month, I am glad to finally have someone here who’s finally under the age of forty. Wait, That sounded harsh. I am sorry for the circumstances of why your here but I am glad to have someone who doesn’t go to bed at nine to talk too,” he whispers, scooting over one seat so he’s right next to her.
“My circumstances?” she asks, slightly confused.
“Yeah, obviously someone you know died to make your come here,” he says.
She frowns, wasn’t this supposed to be for people who are dying? She looked down at the pamphlet that she was gripping in her hand. She was in the right building. Room 103. She glanced towards the door to see 102 on the door. She was in the wrong room.
“I am sorry, did I touch a nerve? I didn’t want to come here but I had too with my line of work. I didn’t even know my mother before she died but I had to go through this program to get cleared to work,” he says, “So who died?”
“Aren’t you a little forward?” Nesta ponders, but she liked the fact that he didn’t know she was dying. She liked that he treated her like a normal person and didn’t look at her like she was about to break.
“Cassian?” Bertha calls out, the boy I was talking too turns to the front of the room. “Care to tell us why you are here?”
“I believe everyone already knows who I am since you just said my name and the same people have been coming to these meetings for the past month,” he annouces. Bertha glares at him. “Fine, fine. I am Cassian and I have been sober for- oh wrong support group. I am Cassian and I am here because my mother died and I need to get a paper signed that says I won’t have a mental breakdown.”
Bertha lets out a loud sigh, “And you? Your new, correct?”
Nesta looks up to see Bertha staring at her. She didn’t know what to say, she couldn’t say that she was dying. “I am Nesta Archeron and I am here because…” she paused glancing pleadingly towards Cassian.
“I think that’s a littler personal, Bertha. We should give the girl some time to get to know us before we ask her to tell us her life story,” Cassian annouces. Bertha frowns but turns away from them and continues on with the meeting. “You okay?”
“Was it a husband? A boyfriend?” he asks.
“Boyfriend,” she quickly mutters not wanting to be on the subject of death anymore. Funny how she didn’t want to talk about death when she was a support group for people grieving.
“I’ll see you next meeting?” Cassian asks, when the meeting finally ends. They were walking out into the parking lot together.
She hears herself say yes before she can even think it through. Cassian made her forget and made her feel like the world wasn’t as cold as she once thought it was. Shame, she realized that with only three months to live.
What do you guys think about the new series? I swear one day I’ll stop writing fics and actually do prompts.
A/N: With some of these imagines I tend to incorporate GIFs into the main drabble itself. This is something I used to do a lot in my very early days of writing fan fiction and would put pictures in with my hand written sheets.
Richard walked into the small bar which was situated at JFK airport, gesturing for the barman to acknowledge his presence amongst all the other travellers.
Richard’s flight was in just under two hours and he had already cleared check in and security. A double whiskey sounded good, something that would take the edge off his apprehension of meeting up with you back in England. Alcohol seemed to be the only thing that numbed his pain, and so far he had been drinking every night since your initial rejection in London.
He checked his phone, hoping that he would have some kind of indiction from you as to how your meeting would work out. Unfortunately, to his disappointment, there was nothing. You had not contacted him.
Richard took the whiskey he ordered from the barman and downed it quickly, feeling the red hot liquid slide down his throat. And then he opened your Facebook page for the millionth time since your quick departure from the London hotel you had stayed in with him. No update. There had been no trace of you on social media; Facebook, Instagram or Twitter, all of which he followed you on. His thumb hovered over your Facebook profile picture and then he opened it, making it larger and looked at you, praying that you would realise how much he adored you. Your profile picture was a selfie you had taken and then put through a Snap Chat filter, giving you cat ears. You were beautiful without the filter.
On the flight to London, Richard couldn’t sleep even though it was overnight, taking him into London for around 7:30am. All he could do was think of you, feeling the nerves build in his stomach the closer he got to you. Your reactions to him had shown that the outcome of this meeting was probably going to be a complete split of friendship, because he knew that there was no way he could keep you in his life knowing you loved each other and were not prepared to act on that.
You waited in your flat for Richard’s text to say he was at the local train station. Everything was prepared; your rooms were all tidy, cleaned, and your spare bedroom was set for him.
The wait was unbearable, and you knew that having him staying in your flat was going to be emotionally crushing and draining. Then your phone rang.
You met Richard at the train station, seeing his tall figure waiting for you at the main doors leading in. He smiled at you weakly as you approached him, and you looked away, unable to hold his gaze.
Things remained silent between you both as you took a taxi back to your flat. You sat apart, a good half a foot between your bodies. And then Richard broke the silence. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking towards you.
“Been better, but I’ll be fine,” you replied, never looking at him.
Richard insisted on paying the taxi driver and pulled his small suitcase behind him, following you into your flat.
“How long are you going to keep this up?” he asked you suddenly, stepping into your living room behind you. You turned around and narrowed your eyes.
“Keep what up?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Being silent, not even looking me in the fucking eye! Treating me as though I don’t exist!” Richard snapped.
You needed to get away and dashed past him, only to feel him take your hand, drawing you back. “I came here for us to talk this through,” he said, his voice low, dripping in frustration. “I may as well have just gone back to New York and forgot…” Then his voice trailed off and he looked down, a lump in his throat. You distinctly felt his hand tighten in yours. “I need you…Look at me, please…Just look at me.”
Tears fell down your cheeks as you looked up at him, becoming lost in his blue depths that you adored so much. You saw the pain and tears in his eyes also, and he sniffed, trying to push the grief away. Then he picked up both of your hands, putting them to his face and kissed them. “I love you, and I wish you could see it. But if you can’t, then I need to walk away. There’s no way I can continue, even if just as friends. It’s killing me. We love each other and it’s just too much pain.”
“Then maybe this has to be goodbye, Rich,” you whispered.
sat there, staring at your computer screen. You had just finished
watching Jack’s video, titled, ‘Say Goodbye’. You felt a shiver go
down your spine, finally snapping out of your trance-like state.
“Wow… Robin did amazing job editing that… For a second
there, it felt like Anti was real,” you mumbled, running a hand
through your hair. Standing up, you tossed your phone on your bed,
debating on going to shower. Shrugging,
you decided against it and flopped down on your bed by your phone.
quickly plugged it in, pulling YouTube back up. You started scrolling
through your subscription feed, seeing that Jack had uploaded a new
episode of Subnautica, you smiled. You tapped the video, to play it,
when your screen went solid green, then cut to black. You raised your
eyebrows. “What the fuck? That’s never happened before…”
Trying to unlock your phone, you failed. With a huff, you tossed the
device back down, going back to your computer to try to watch the
soon as you clicked on the video, your computer monitor did the same
thing that your phone had done – bright green, then black. You
looked down at the tower, seeing that your computer was still on,
just unresponsive. You turned your monitor off, then back on, only to
see awful screen-tearing. You winced at it, turning it off, then back
on once more. This time, the screen-tearing was gone, but everything
groan, leaning forward to hit your head against the corner of your
desk. When you looked back up, a small green pixel had appeared in
the bottom corner. You wanted to scream. Your brand new monitor had a
dead pixel. You clicked on the video nonetheless, only to have your
eardrums practically blown out by a loud, almost mechanical
screeching. You all but slammed your hand down on the power button on
the top of your tower, trying to turn off the machine. Finally, the
sound stopped and you were left staring at a blank monitor. “Fuck
this. I’m going to bed.”
you went, it felt like you were being watched. It had escalated to
the point where you could sometimes see someone standing there, in
the corner of your eye, but any time you turned to look, it was gone.
You had started hearing things as well – it started with footsteps,
but no one was there. Now, you could hear doors being shut in your
small apartment, heavy footsteps, and occasionally you could hear a
faint giggle. It felt like you were going insane. You hated being
alone in your own apartment, and desperately wanted someone to stay
with you constantly, but when they did, the noises and shadows still
occurred, but you were the only one to notice them.
The only thing that had really changed were the nightmares. Two weeks in
to the noises and shadows, you had started having nightmares. They
were all the same. You would wake up in a small, dimly lit room,
usually tied to a chair. You would feel the panic starting to bubble
up in your stomach, then you would feel it – someone watching you.
You’d hear the giggle again, but this time, you would hear words with
the giggling. Sometimes the voice would say, “I am here now,”
the tone taking on a very unstable, almost glitchy sound. Other times
it would whisper, “Say goodbye” as if it was telling you to
bid someone farewell, even though you knew that only you and the
voice were in that small room.
had not gotten better since the cursed day that Jack had uploaded
that video. You had been excited for it at first, finally getting a
full glimpse at AntiSepticEye, but now you hated it. You wanted to
blame the video for what had happened to you, but you couldn’t find
it in yourself to blame the green bean that was JackSepticEye. You
desperately wanted to believe that Anti was fake – just an
alternate personality for the sake of interesting YouTube videos,
like Dr. Schneeplestine, Chase Brody, and Jackaboy-Man. You felt like
Anti WAS, in fact, a real entity, and his goal was to torture you.
Part of you wondered that if, IF, Anti was real, did that mean the
other personas were real too?
heavily considered checking yourself into a mental institution at
this point. The hallucinations had only gotten worse, as well as the
dreams. Almost a month ago, the nightmare changed. Instead of the
giggling and whispering sounding all around you, it had been right in
front of you, and you finally saw the source of the sounds. He was
hunched over a bit, at first, a dark hoodie adorning his slender
figure. The hood had been pulled up so that you couldn’t see the face
of your tormentor, but on the third night of seeing the figure, he
removed the hood. You didn’t know what to expect, but seeing Jack was
not it. His once lime hair was now an emerald green, his ocean-like
blue eyes were now pitch black. His ears twisted into a delicate
point at the ends, and the once-empty holes were now filled with
black plugs. On his pale, slender neck, there was an open wound – a
large and deep cut, that at first glance, you thought was caked with
dried blood. Upon closer inspection, however, you noticed that it was
a thick, black, almost gooey-looking substance. Your dream-self
physically shuddered. You had woken up in a cold sweat that night,
and you had decided that you needed help.
soon as it was a decent hour, you called the therapist’s office down
the road from your apartment complex, making an appointment. Refusing
to drive with your lack of sleep, however, you called on your mother
to take you to the appointment. It took some convincing her boss to
let her have the day off, but she did so successfully. When she
arrived, her worried expression made you want to vomit. You had only
ever seen her this worried a few times, and each time was because of
a hospital visit with either you, one of your siblings, or herself.
She was happy nonetheless that you wanted to get help though.
had felt like three hours had passed from the time that you arrived
to the time that the doctor actually came out and called your name,
greeting you with a kind smile and motioning for you to follow him
into his office. He seemed like a kind, older man, who simply wanted
to help you. It took almost an hour to explain everything what had
happened to you over the past year, and the doctor nodded solemnly,
promising you that he would help the best he could. He wrote you a
prescription for some medicine that would help you sleep, as well as
some medicine that would help reduce your paranoia. He highly
recommended that you have a close friend stay with you to monitor
things for the next three days.
your mother dropped you back off at your small apartment, she
insisted on coming inside. She was even more worried at what she had
found. An almost empty fridge sat in your kitchen – due to your
condition, you had been fired from your job, so you didn’t have the
funds to restock it. Your TV, game systems, and computer sat
seemingly untouched for the past year, the thick layers of dust
proving her correct. She frowned, hugged you, promising that things
would get better now, then she left. You pulled your phone from your
pocket, calling the closest thing you had to a best friend – your
brother. He denied your request to stay over for the next three days,
however, as he was busy with work. You felt your heart dropped when
he muttered an apology before ending the call.
lie still in your bed, waiting for the effects of the medication to
kick in. Unsurprisingly, you were back in the small room, but things
were slightly different now. There was no eerie giggling, no
malicious whispering of cryptic messages. You weren’t bound the worn
wooden chair in the center of the room – you were standing in front
of it, facing you. You heard footsteps, but they were not heavy and
threatening like before, they were soft, as if the owner was trying
to sneak up on you. You quickly spun around, only to see nothing
behind you. The footsteps had stopped when you had turned, leaving
you in silence again.Your wary eyes studied every corner of the room,
seeing nothing. When you turned back to face the chair, you almost
jumped out of your skin. The man you had begun referring to Anti was
now sitting in the chair, leaned forward with his elbows on his
knees. The hood was pulled up again, hiding his face. His thin, bony
fingers were laced together, and his leg bounced silently. Suddenly,
he stopped. You heard the faint giggling again, only to have it grow
louder as he leaned back, shrugging the hood off.
all said my name…” The sound of his voice was rough, yet it
clearly gave away the instability of his being. “You all wanted
more…yet here I am, and you think you can just visit the shrink and
I’ll just *POOF*
Is that it?!” The sound of his voice bounced off the walls as he
stood quickly, the chair falling behind him. In an instant, he was in
your face, his bony fingers now wrapped around your throat. He shoved
you against the wall, his grip tightening. You felt the breath leave
your body. He began to laugh again, this time it was not a faint
giggle – it was a full on cackle full of malice. It grew louder as
his grip tightened, the rough stone of the wall digging into your
back as he pressed you harder against it. Darkness started to ebb in,
clouding your sight of him, when he leaned forward. His face was so
close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breathe when he
whispered, “Say Goodbye…”
Author’s Note: Firstly, I apologize for how long this came out. I didn’t know it was going to be this long, believe me. Secondly, there is actually two parts to this part. It came out far longer than I had thought, so I had to sever this part into two parts. The second part to this will be Part 6, which will leave off right from the end of this.
Daily reminder: This fanfiction series is an angsty horror story. It’s dark and there’s nothing remotely happy about any of it. This chapter in particular is centered entirely on the events of “Say Goodbye”. As such, there is an uneasy sense of dread that gets dragged out throughout the story. Knives come into play and nearing the climax, there is a detailed bloody scene that could be disturbing to some readers. You have been warned….Enjoy!
3:17 P.M. – exactly forty-three
more minutes until his execution.
The weakened Irishman stared
at the watch as he delved deep into thought. Slowly but surely everything that
had happened back in October was coming back to him in fragments. He could
remember the excruciating headaches, and how at times, he thought he had been
losing his mind, convinced he was hearing and seeing things. The nightmares –
he could never forget those. Those had permanently scarred his brain; those
weren’t getting forgotten anytime soon unfortunately.
But what had happened close to
Halloween? What caused him to be where he was now – in a pitch-black, glacial
prison cell with his brutalized wrists and ankles linked to the wall? How had
that unstable, insidious manifestation managed to gain control over him and his
mid-morning sun glinted in the light drizzle, steadily being sprinkled from the
cloudy skies above. As the pair of you walked, hands clasped tightly together,
occasionally jumping over puddles that had formed the night before, in the dips
and crevices of the cobbled streets.
the corner, a strong smell of fish assaulted your nostrils, while the seagulls
incessant squawking pierced at your ears. Newt’s grasp on your hand tightened
slightly, bringing it to his lips, and placing a gentle kiss to your simple
wedding band, that he had given you only a year ago, a sad smile on his
his battered brown leather case between large feet, he began rummaging about
his pockets with his spare hand, he pulled out a slightly crumpled letter. “don’t
open this just yet love, or we’ll both be in tears.’ He chuckled lightly as he
pushed your hair from your eyes, leaning into his gentle touch, placing a chaste
kiss to his work worn palm, before taking the letter from him.
you’ll be careful?’ you requested
wearily, as he gave you a slightly mischievous smile, ‘I always am
love.’ You snorted “oh I think that bite scar on your waist, begs to differ.’ Giving
his slender waist a light squeeze, “it wasn’t his fault. He was treated so
poorly by humans .’
the final warning to board the ship bellowed through the misty air, ringing in
your ears, and cutting off newt’s lamenting. Dread filled your stomach, at the sound,
as tears pricked your usually bright eyes. Of course you were thrilled and beyond
excited for Newt, this journey would be the making of him, you knew that, and reminded
him of it whenever he had doubts about this adventure. With all of the will in
the world, that wasn’t going to stop you from missing him. His silly habits, that
lopsided smile, those sea green eyes that twinkle when he laughs, his warm cuddles,
and gentle touches and his boundless kindness.
began to grow in your chest, as the last stragglers began to clamber on board. Kissing
in public wasn’t something that you and newt did often, but these were special circumstances,
stares be damned, you grabbed newt by the lapels of his coat and pulled him
down to meet your lips, in a desperate slightly watery goodbye kiss. You poured
all of the love that you processed for this caring, irritating man into the
kiss, with the blind hope that it might be enough to last.
pulled away all too soon, pressing his forehead to yours, “I love you, more
than you know. Please don’t forget that. I promise I’ll write as often as I
can.’ His own eyes gleaming with tears, as he reluctantly let your hand go, he made
his way up the gangway and onto the ship, giving you one final wave, before he
ducked his way inside.