Uhhhhh, does anyone else think about Superbat dating/being friends as civilians? But Supes and Bats are at each other's throats when in costume, and they have no idea they even know each other in person.
Cue to them venting about their "co-workers" who are giving them a hard time. Because
"Bruce, could you imagine this? He was like, ignoring me the whole meeting, and when I tried to, you know, give some ideas and my opinion, he just stares and moves on like I'm not even there!"
"Well, first of all, that's very rude, and second of all, utterly unprofessional. Have you tried raising this issue? Why would someone hire someone like that?"
"Uh, no, I don't think I'm in a position to say anything to um— management, yeah, management. I mean, he does get his job done, I guess he just, I don't know, hates my guts? Well, the office runs smoothly with him, so..."
"Clark, he sounds like a dick. Next time you should just launch a keyboard up into his mouth or pens and make sure they leak onto his shirt"
"..!!!"
Or
"He's a dumb dumb idiotic moron! I don't know what else to call him, Clark. I give him a basic task, nothing fancy, and he does a complete 180 all. The. Damn. Time!"
"Huh, that bad? Why won't you write him up? Or, I don't know, have a meeting with him regarding his behavior?"
"I did! (Superman's chair is now a few inches smaller, and lights towards his room aren't working for technical reasons on the Watchtower) And it doesn't work because God knows what's up with him."
"Uhhh, you're the CEO? Fire him?"
"...I— can't fire him. He contributes a lot, and it's hard to find a replacement for him, but in the meantime... he works."
"...okay?"
Oh, but when they do reveal their identities to each other, it can be by accident—you know, a life or death situation—or just to show some respect. ("Oh, so what is it gonna be, B, keyboard or pens?" "How about your coc—?" smirks)
But that's for comedic purposes. The angst, however...ohhh, why would whoever is out there be so cruel to Clark, who only wanted to do his best for the world, to show him the face of his (friend/crush/lover) behind the cowl? The cowl, which from time to time, has reinforced his dislike and distrust towards him. That he's like a weapon that has a good heart ("..for now"). Because, yeah, Clark had lied to Bruce about being human, but how would he know that was Batman, the one who said Superman never set foot into Gotham (it was Clark who set foot, but does it really matter now because all Bruce probably sees is an alien with tricks and not a person he'd been so close to for years)?
It hurts. It hurts to look at Bruce's cold eyes and furrowed brows. Maybe, just maybe, Clark had thought that he might gain a friend or at least have a good relationship as coworkers. He didn't think that he'd lose it all in a minute. Clark is searching for something in those eyes, but they're so cold that he can't see anything (like they're made out of lead). He just flies out because the silence is too loud and Bruce's face doesn't register as "let's go home together now."
When he comes back to his apartment, it's so cold out there, but he's sure he hadn't mistaken it for the Fortress of Solitude. And his eyes burn, probably from tears—he hopes it's them and not lasers, because he can't bear to prove Bru—Batman right about him getting things out of hand due to his emotions.
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AltDes where they both find a wooden box when they were kids, finds out anything they put in it gets sent to the other so they send letters and things for the other and overall just being happy
To ensure that they won’t tell anyone about the box, the best time for them to find the box would be when Altaïr is eleven and Desmond is ten. And, to make sure that they can’t send something too large, the box itself would be as big as a ring box. Looks like a metal box without any opening and it only opens when they press their thumb on one of the sides.
To Altaïr, he acquired the box while he was looking over his father’s things after his death. When he opened the box, there was already a note inside it. He opened the note and it was written in the letters used by the Crusaders. The scholars in the master’s library had taught him how to read their alphabet and he had been learning new words with the books the scholars suggested he read so it was easy for him to read what the note said.
“I hate it here.”
Altaïr wasn’t sure what to think about this.
Did… did his father write this? Was this how he truly felt about their home?
About being an Assassin?
He knew that Al Mualim would be disappointed if he heard of this so he folded it back and returned it to the box, closing it quickly.
And keeping the box with him to make sure no one would find it.
It started out as a heavy weight around his neck but he got used to it soon enough. Saying it was a memento of his father was enough to stop anyone from suggesting he stop wearing it. And, he always made sure to wear it underneath his robes so it wouldn’t bother him during training. A night after grueling training, he opens the box once more to look at the small note.
He blinked when he saw that there were seven more different notes in the box now, all small enough that folding them together didn’t even fill the box. He picked all eight and only after unfolding each one does he realize that the original note is no longer there.
‘I hate training.’
‘Mom left again.’
‘It hurts. I want mom.’
‘Dad hates me because I’m weak.’
All other notes were blank and the last three notes he read were barely readable, blotches of ink marred with dry tears that almost washed away the ink. Altaïr’s heart began to beat faster.
This… this couldn’t be his father.
He doesn’t know who ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ were but the writing themselves…
Altaïr knew now that they were written by someone young… like him.
And lonely… like him.
Unsure of what else to do, he placed the eight notes inside his journal and ripped a page off his journal. He ripped it to be as small as the other notes before he deliberated on how to write. Considering the writings all were written in the crusaders’ way of writing, Altaïr decided to write the same way. It… it looked strange compared to the notes he had received but it would have to do.
He folded the note and placed it inside the box before closing it. He waited for three seconds or so before he opened the box.
The box was empty.
.
.
To Desmond, he found the box while he was out training, the kids doing their daily run around the forest that hid the Farm. He had been lagging behind and the other kids had stopped trying to tell him to keep up. Desmond would catch up sooner or later.
Desmond fully stopped once the kids were out of view, taking a deep breath as he stretched. He wasn’t necessarily tired but… well…
He just wanted to take a break.
There really was no reason for it.
…
There was really no reason for any of this anyway.
He sat on a nearby rock and frowned when he felt something protruding under his left foot. He lifted his foot and blinked when he noticed that something was sticking out of the ground. Curious (and pretty bored), Desmond dug the ground until he was able to take the box. Desmond thought it looked cool so he put it in his pockets and started to jog once more to catch up with the others before they return to the Farm.
A few days after he found the box, his entire body ached from that day’s training. Tears fell from his eyes but he refused to make a sound, not wanting his parents to find out. He took the box that he had hidden underneath his bed, taped to the frame. He was just rolling it around his hands, trying to distract himself when he pressed his thumb a little harder than usual and it opened. He blinked and found it empty.
Maybe he just wanted to vent.
Maybe he just… he wanted to confess the darkness that had started to get a hold of him.
He ripped a small piece from one of the pages of the notebook he got from his mom and just wrote ‘I hate it here’.
He folded it and put it inside the box then closed it. He took a deep breath and placed the box on his chest as he stared at the ceiling.
It felt nice.
Confessing.
Then the dread crept up on him.
What if his dad found out about this box? Saw what he had written?
Desmond panicked and opened the box again, planning to take the note out and thro-
…
…
It was empty.
Desmond tried to look for the note, wondering if it had fallen from the box but he didn’t find anything.
Out of curiosity (and maybe he did think this dumb idea of his might work), he placed the box on the floor to make sure anything that falls out of it could be easily seen and placed another ripped blank paper in the box. He shut it closed then opened it as soon as he could.
It was empty.
He lifted the box and looked around.
There was no paper.
Desmond’s lips curved into a grin.
He has a magic box.
He has a magic box!
He did the same experiment two more times just to be sure.
Each time, the blank paper disappeared.
It was a freaking magic box!
Anything he put inside would disappear.
And…
And…
Desmond used it to confess his secrets so they would disappear afterward.
Then…
A few months later...
Just when he was about to put another secret (‘I pet the guard dogs’) inside his magic box, he blinked when he saw a small piece of folded paper inside.
He… he was sure all of his secrets had disappeared.
He flipped the paper open and tilted his head.
It was a bit hard to read but he was sure the writing on the paper that was clearly not his said, ‘Hello. Did you get this message?’
Unorganized Notes (it was getting long):
Desmond and Altaïr start becoming pen pals. The smallness of the ring meant that they got creative with their folding and Altaïr learned how to mimic Desmond’s writing so he could write smaller.
Once Desmond realizes that Altaïr’s first language is Arabic, he suggests Altaïr writes in Arabic first then add a translation below it so Desmond could learn. Sometimes, Desmond tries to write in Arabic as well and he grins whenever Altaïr would add notes about his translation in his next letter.
They find out that anything they receive from the other that they put back in the box does not, in fact, return to the original sender. It just completely disappears. This means that Desmond’s ‘I hate it here’ that Altaïr had returned to the box disappeared.
They can only put small things in the box so Desmond usually sends Altaïr candies and other sweets that he can put inside (or break into smaller pieces). Altaïr would always feel bad because the smallest bread the bakery in Masyaf had were these small balls sometimes covered in honey. Desmond loved them so Altaïr try to get some regularly. The baker believes that Altaïr loves the bread so he always makes some for Altaïr.
Altaïr keeps the wrapper the candies had in a separate box, pressed between the pages of a book about the gods of Ancient Greece. Desmond keeps the flowers Altaïr sends him pressed in the notebook he got from his mom.
They do find out that they’re from different time period. Altaïr likes to read about the many things Desmond sees as mundane (like the fridge). They don’t really talk about Altaïr’s home because it always makes Desmond sad that they would never meet.
Desmond still runs away from the Farm. Because they don’t talk about Altaïr’s home, Desmond doesn’t know Altaïr is training to be an Assassin. Altaïr also doesn’t know that Desmond is training to be an Assassin and supported Desmond’s plan to run away because he knows how much Desmond hated that the Farm.
They continue to write to each other and send each other small gifts. Once Desmond got a job in Bad Weather, he would buy new candies and chocolates that he could send to Altaïr. Then he saw a small tube of toothpaste that’s for traveling and sent that too with a note to remind Altaïr to brush his teeth because of all the sweets he’d been sending. Altaïr is absolutely fascinated by the toothpaste and even asked Desmond to research it for him.
Desmond knows more things than canon in this one because Altaïr would request him to check stuff out. Mostly inventions Altaïr read from Desmond’s writings. Sometimes, weird information about things like what makes up the first iteration of toothpaste.
In the end, Desmond still gets captured by Abstergo but he had been wearing the box around his neck like Altaïr. He has an easier time synching with Altaïr but his first memory block didn’t end with Altaïr being stabbed. After Altaïr is stabbed by Al Mualim for his failures, the Animus glitches and loads a much earlier memory, ignoring Lucy and Vidic’s commands to stop.
It loads the first time Altaïr wrote to Desmond and only Desmond realized the importance of that memory.
Before the end of his imprisonment, Desmond nicked a few pages of the post-it notes from Vidic’s desk. He couldn’t find any pen or anything (they probably took out anything that could be used as a weapon… against them or on… well… Desmond wasn’t going to finish that thought). Left with no way to write, Desmond used his nail to leave an indentation on the post-it notes, knowing that Altaïr would figure it out. He… he needed to make sure… He placed three notes in the box and took a deep breath before he went to sleep.
As Desmond relived Altaïr’s memories of trying to find the traitor in Masyaf, his heart began to beat faster when he saw that Altaïr climbed the highest tower in Masyaf to sit there. Altaïr had told him about how he usually reads Desmond’s letters high up so no one could sneak behind him.
Altaïr frowned when he saw the blank colorful papers then he used his Eagle Vision. Desmond’s nail-written words glowed white and both Altaïr and Desmond could clearly read the paper. Distantly, he could hear Lucy tell Vidic that the Animus can’t properly load the message and that it was glitching too badly.
The first one read “Is it July 1191 now? If it is, wave your left hand twice right now.” and Altaïr was confused by it but he raised his left hand to wave it twice. He looked around and Desmond could feel Altaïr was trying to look for him or any sign left by Desmond.
Then Altaïr looked at the second paper and it read “Templars got me. I’m seeing your memories.”
The third paper says: “I’m seeing your memories of July 1191.”
That’s as far as I got. The idea is: Desmond and Altaïr use their ‘connection’ to change the past. Desmond doesn’t feel it at first then the ripples start showing the more he changes Altaïr’s past.
Inspired by House of Wax and so many wonderful slasher headcanons and fics, I thought I'd try to make one myself. I don't know about the ending though, left it on a cliffhangar for now but tell me what you think. Reader is afab. Part 2, or just fixing the ending?
Warnings: Violence, Gore, Swearing, Bullying, maybe bad writing
House of Wax Sinclair Bros. x AFAB! Reader
It was supposed to be an easy kill. The idiots were snarky, petulant, arrogant pricks that acted as if the world belonged to them. They never seemed to understand the respect that ought to be given to things, people, and especially seemed to have never heard the word 'no'. A spoiled bunch of children who belonged in Hell, which they'd be taken to after becoming living art for the House of Wax in Ambrose, Louisiana.
But human nature has an instinctual life thrive, and these kids respected neither the living nor the dead, their self-preservation helping them like some cheat code against the premeditative, vicious Sinclair twins.
They were a pack of 4, one girl, three guys, the girl siblings with one, girlfriend to one, and the third an apparent classmate, all three of them not having influence but never stopping their degenerate behaviour. One by one they were picked off, leaving only the girl and her boyfriend behind, the boy severely injured compared to the girl.
When her boyfriend began to fall behind due to his injury, she screamed at him to get up, hurting the ears of everyone around them. Bo and Vincent were determined to silence them, the elder twin already wielding a trusty knife as he stalked towards them from a corner, savouring his upcoming kill.
The girl yelled angrily at her boyfriend, blaming him for all of 'this' happening, and her boyfriend started yelling right back about how she was ungrateful and that they needed to work together to get out alive and she was wasting time. More like a waste of oxygen.
She huffed like a little kid and glared at her boyfriend, turning her head after seeing something in her periphery, screaming bloody murder at the sight of Bo. He smirked sadistically as he quickened his pace, frightening the girl.
In her panic and pure self-preservation, she dumped her injured boyfriend (who honestly was still pretty mobile, just a little slow) and ran away, screaming.
Bo caught up to the boyfriend who was in a small amount of shock, before struggling to get up, his shin stabbed by a screwdriver Bo kept on him. The boyfriend stupidly tried to stand up by forcing his weight on his injured leg, stumbling and costing himself valuable time to fight back. He huffed and tried again, this time using the proper leg. Only it was too late, and Bo kicked his injured leg, sending him falling once more.
The girlfriend ran and got to the centre crossroads of town before Vincent stepped out of the shadows, long black mane trailing behind him as he slashed one of his beloved dragon knives across her body, slicing her hair as she just barely dodged out of the way. Vincent advanced, his boots stirring the sand as the girl whimpered pitifully and tried to run only for him to send a well-aimed kick at her abdomen to send her sprawling on the ground, spine brushing against the dirt as she crawled backwards on her hands, trying to put some distance between her and the artful killer.
You watched from inside one of the apartment complexes, where just underneath the commotion was going on while you were safely tucked away. You were a last resort in luring them there but not in capturing them, as the two men were far more capable than someone new, at least that was the reason; truth was they could never stand you being there in direct harm's way. Luring has no problems but capture? No, they couldn't bring you into the crossfire.
You grimaced as the boyfriend struggled with Bo, who was overpowered by the lean kid due to his sudden adrenaline and testosterone rush that helped him fight, tripping Bo (and you hated to admit it but you might have snorted at that) and wrestling with him for the knife. The kid was quickly losing the upper hand as Bo squirmed and wrenched his hold off enough to nearly stab him before the boyfriend did the one thing no man should do in a fight with another:
Kicked him where the sun don't shine.
Or at least he tried to, but in the dark and atop a moving opponent it would be hard to tell where to aim, but he did knee Bo hard enough in the thigh that the man released his grip on the boy who ran as fast as he could to his now ex-girlfriend.
The girl was struggling, Vincent gripping her head after she kept squirming away and painfully clutching her by her brunette tresses as she pleaded with him to not kill her, yelling obscenities just before Vincent was shoved aside by the boyfriend who had stupidly come to the deserter's defense.
It wasn't a good push but surprising and placed enough that it worked to push the masked man away. Then he swung his knife at the boy, who fell to the ground with blood gushing down his arm.
The girl stood to try and run again, but Vincent caught her once more, and she screamed for help as Bo reappeared, tackling the downed boyfriend. The boy and the girl yelled out pleas and obscenities, the twins not heeding them, as they prepared them for the fatal final blow.
Seeing their end seemed to have flipped a switch.
The boy screamed and launched himself at Bo, who was not only startled by the scream but also taken aback by the boy attacking him, this bleeding ghoul who leapt upon him and bit his arm, his teeth latching onto the jumpsuit as his hands turned into fists and beat his attacker furiously on the head, Bo grunting in pain a few times before yelling out as the boy left a hit that'd surely result in a black eye.
The girl seemed to have taken the same route. The knife glinted in the lights of the abandoned town before she too began screaming like a banshee, her hands reaching out to claw at Vincent, blood running down his hands as the girl's nails pressed at his wrists, paining him until he staggered back and she leaned up, punching him in the throat then kicking him between the legs, screaming profanities at him as she climbed atop him and slashed at his neck, her nails leaving grooves of scraped skin bleeding on his throat, the man behind the mask gasping for air.
You could only look on in horror as the brothers suffered continuous beatings from these children turned ghouls from a horror film, bruises blossoming and making themselves known, cuts and scrapes irritated by the sand underneath them.
The lights of the gas station began to blur as the two fought to keep their heads and regain control, feeling their opponents' attacks lose intensity as adrenaline and blood declined.
The blur of the lights brightened as weights seemed to be lifted off them, first Bo seeing light, and then Vincent feeling cool shadows and claws ghost his skin as light violently entered his one eye.
A dull whack sounded through the air, the rush of wind resistance against something solid as a pained cry echoed from...somewhere, but they couldn't see what it was, only knowing they weren't the ones making those sounds as they struggled to sit up to see what happened.
Another howl of pain followed by a high-pitched screamed curse as another impact sounded, a continuous rhythm that had them muddled and confused. The two blinked the blood and sweat away from their eyes as they watched the scene, their awe turning terror.
Standing in the lights of the gas station was you, in all your glory, swinging something at the two teenagers. The boyfriend yelled and swung a fist which you dodged and struck him in the ribs with some metal weapon, him clutching his stomach and reeling as you used the weapon to pry the dagger out of his shin, leaving him helplessly bleeding. His girlfriend let out a battlecry before trying to tackle you, which ended up with the girl backside on the ground. The boyfriend was somehow up again, and you whacked his head, which sent him falling on his knees, delirious from everything he'd endured before you dodged a clawed hand from the girlfriend, who tried to grab you only to receive a compound broken arm, blood erupting from where the bone poked through the skin. She was in agony, her boyfriend clawing at you in a weak impulse before you slammed your weapon into his neck, slicing through his jugular and killing him in moments, his blood choking his airways as he perished. His girlfriend swiped at you again, scratching at your shin to get you to fall before you turned to her, hair unkempt from fighting as recognition glinted in both pairs of eyes.
"Y/N?!"
"Gretchen?"
Her horror turned to anger as she tried to spew venomous vitriol at you: "Fuck you, you murderous fucking whore, go to fucking Hell-"
She didn't get to finish her sentence as you brought your weapon down, slicing into her heart through brute force alone. She stared up at you, blinking owlishly, as you spoke to her during her last moments: "I'll see you there, but you're going first. Say hi to the devil for me, won't you?" Your voice was calm and collected, your posture the graceful stature of a predator, before you retracted your weapon, her body falling to the ground.
Red pooled at your feet, rivers of blood flowing to the ground as you crouched over their bodies. Bo and Vincent watched you slowly rise to your feet, your weapon in hand, the light shadowed by your presence as you stood in front of it, casting your silhouette in a near-divine glow: You were a god, and these two were your sacrifices.
Your clothing was modest but fair for the Louisiana summer, and there was only a small handprint of dust marring the otherwise clean fabric. There were only light scrapes and bruising on whatever skin you had exposed, which meant you were relatively unharmed. The blood on you wasn't your blood, but it painted you, dripping dark red across the skin of your cheeks, a little on your face and arms, looking both beautiful and terrifying: ethereal.
The brothers stared at you dripping in all your gory glory, into your eyes, and for a moment they flinched.
Your eyes held nothing. The glow in them that you'd usually have in seeing them was gone; they were cold, a bitter winter that promised nothing but the worst.
No emotion, no sense of catharsis- an inhuman blankness.
They looked back at the victims, how horrifyingly bludgeoned their necks were- even with their size and stature compared to yours, you took them down with fierce grace and poise, like a choreographer.
Bo audibly gulped. Vincent trembled.
Your eyes would haunt them in their dreams as you jutted your chin at the bodies before leaving, your weapon, a crowbar, dripping blood upon the earth as you let the boys deal with the bodies.
You helped the twins gather their victims before you drove them home, where you bandaged the twins up, who were steadfast in silence, only grunting and groaning when they were pain. With Lester, they disposed of the bodies while you cleaned things up and went to bed.
The next day, you woke up, startled awake by a knocking at your door, Lester's familiar voice calling out from behind the door.
"Hey Y/N, breakfast's ready for ya! C'mon dow'nstairs!" you could already feel his beaming, polite smile as you groggily woke up, opening the door to smile at him as he chuckled at your bedhead before patting your shoulder, waving you towards the dining room.
Coming down the stairs, the men come into view, Vincent at the stove and Bo setting up the table along with Lester. You quickly padded over to them, rubbing at your eyes, happy to see them. The twins didn't seem to notice you until you cheerfully asked them what was for breakfast.
Vincent spun to face you, his mask barely keeping up as his hair swished harder than a whip. Bo turned to face you at nearly the same time, his eyes widening at you before nodding, seemingly as frozen as his twin before giving a half-smile. "G'mornin', darlin'. Sleep well?" he asked, his Southern accent spilling into every word he said. His eyes regarded you curiously, as though not only waiting for an answer but trying to figure it out before you said it.
"Yeah, I did. And you?" you asked out of politeness. Bo, grunted a low 'fine', a cigarette between his lips as he gathered a buttered roll and a peach as he made his way out to the garage. While Bo's greeting had been curt, you didn't question as to why it might have been, as the result of questioning Bo was too unpredictable and he probably had a bad day from the beatings the kids gave him; the bruises marring his jaw looked terribly painful.
It made you a little more proud of coming to their defense.
Speaking of which, his twin Vincent hurriedly placed breakfast down and walked back to the stove, stirring something around absentmindedly. He was making pancakes, the Aunt Jemima mixture and syrup on the counter next to him ready for storage as he decided he was done making them.
You greeted Vincent, who seemed to flinch before nodding in your direction, not meeting your eye. You reasoned his mind must still be wandering on art he would make out of last night's assailants, which would require quite a bit of thought on the artistic man's part.
Lester kept you company as Vincent placed the pancakes down on the table and left to the basement, the door shutting closed on silent hinges. You talked to Lester, asking about his morning and the things he had to do for the day, which was mostly work with roadkill and some greenery that was usual for his job, before he checked the time and scrambled to get out in time for work. He tipped his hat to you in thanks for helping him prepare, calling out he'd be back for lunch before he hightailed it out of Ambrose.
You took the initiative to wash all the dishes, and to plan something for lunch seeing as the brothers were all a little busy today, leaving you pretty much free reign unless another hapless traveler came by. You started out with the dishes and did some odd cleaning around the house before it was noon, leaving an hour for you to prepare a salad, some eggs and sandwiches for the boys. You figured Lester would come into the house and find his portion, but the twins usually were so buried in their work and didn't say anything about lunch so you'd have to deliver it, and it was not too bad a day for a walk.
You stepped outside, the breeze ruffling your clothes as the sun peeked through fluffy white clouds of the Louisiana summer. Even with it being a deserted town, it smelled really lovely with the flowering bushes dotting the town, a gentle Western gale ruffling the trees to shade your walk from the house.
You stopped at the garage first, a few meters closer than the House of Wax where Vincent would probably be at this time. You walked through the open garage door letting out the near overwhelming scent of chemicals and petrol, where you spotted Bo's shins sticking out from the underside of his truck, hoping to make improvements on the old vehicle constantly. You grinned at the idea of playing a prank but remembered that this was Bo in a not-the-best mood so you'd have to save it for another day.
Rapping your knuckles on the car, you hear a dull thunk and a curse as you stifle your own giggles behind your hand, knowing you'd surprised the man. He wheeled himself out from under the car before catching sight of you, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you standing above him as he scrambles up to retain his dignity. "Well, what're you doin' here?" he questioned low, brows furrowing as he wiped his hands with a rag before cleaning up his tool. "Somethin' wrong?"
You smiled at him and shook your head, lifting a basket into view before leaving a paper bag on his workbench. "I made lunch, I thought it'd be easier for you to eat it here since I know you're probably really busy. How's the truck going?"
"Good, good. Just a few things to fix up" he sighed, looking at you through the corner of his eye before you turned to catch him. Nodding, you gathered the basket as you apologized for taking his time, and hoping he enjoyed his food. You didn't understand why he seemed to be in such a hurry to make himself scarce under his car, consistently cleaning the wrench in his hands.
You walked over to the House of Wax, where Vincent was as you'd suspected him, scoping out another area for the new victims while cleaning up any damage yesterday's victims had done. You grimaced as you saw one of the works, a stunning rose bouquet carved by Vincent ruined on the dining table, fork-like marks in some of the waxed-over faces of the sitting people. It was tragic enough to have the dead encased and displayed but the sacrilege of others never failed to sadden and enrage you further.
Knocking on the door, you called out for Vincent who jumped at the mention of his name. He whipped round to see you, wondering why you were here with a tilt of his head reminiscent of a cat. You smiled up at him before lifting the basket, letting him see the bag inside.
"I made lunch for you since I know you'd probably be busy with a project. It's mostly cooler foodstuffs so don't worry if it gets cold, just please make sure you eat it, okay?" you asked, giving him a smile as he nodded in both thanks and understanding, watching you move the bag into your hands before you seemed to look for something.
"Is it okay if I leave it on the table? I know you wanted to fix it, or I could leave it in the basement for you" you suggested, before Vincent shook his head, using his hands to sign that he'd rather have it on the table.
You nodded and placed the food down on the far side of the table which seemed to have the least damage he'd need to fix, before waving over your shoulder and wishing him good luck. He watched you leave before you saw him through the window, giving him another wave as you jogged back to the house to get out of the sun, basket still in hand as you wondered why he saw you off rather than return to work, but it was still upstanding of him to do so.
You neared the house and caught a familiar smell, rounding the corner to see Lester's truck. While the omen was not the most favourable the company it brought was much appreciated. You stepped through the doors and saw Lester almost finished with his food, munching on a few leftover pancakes in between bites of the sandwich. How he managed to stomach the combination of flavours was astounding, to say the least. You ate with him and asked how work had been, the two of you in amiable conversation before he remembered he had to leave, this time on schedule as he drove back, saying he'd be late returning. With dinner in mind, you quickly whipped out some ingredients and packages and prepared steak with veggies, mashed potatoes and gravy in a style the brothers taught you, before setting the table for 4. Knowing they'd be late you cooked it slowly, and it was 8:30 when you finished, past sunset. You waited until 8:45 for the brothers to come for dinner, occupying your stomach with some snacks before you decided to simply eat and go to bed, tired from the day. Washing your dishes, you turned off the lights before heading off to your room.
Sleep evaded you however, and you found yourself sitting up in your room reading a book in candlelight, hoping the dim lighting would let you sleep better. Unfortunately for you, the book was fascinating and rest remained elusive. In an effort to induce it, you lay down on your mattress, closing your eyes, enveloped in blankets as you laid in wait.
Bo and Vincent slowly entered the house, taking off their shoes and quietly walking in. The lights off, they entered into the dining room to see food was ready for them, and you were out of sight. Bo entered first, taking off his shoes, Lester and Vincent tailing him.
"-they literally slaughtered the kids. Stood over their bodies like it was nothin'".
A pause, before a reply: "Yeah, was like for the first time, they enjoyed killin'".
"C'mon, ya think they'd really fuck around wi' murder like that 'less somethin' happen?" came a calmer, younger voice.
"They attacked us-" "You mean them kids were handin' yer ass back ta ya-" "Shut the hell up Lester or I'll beat your ass for ya; now as I was saying, them kids attacked and Vincen' an' I were fightin' back when Y/N just came the fuck outta nowhere and started beatin' the snot outt'em with a fucking crowbar, and then guess what?"
"What?"
"They slashed open 'em fuckin' kids' necks with the end o' the crowbar. You know what the fuck, how does someone slash open someone's throat wit' a fucking crowbar?!"
"Holy shit" came the awed whisper of someone who was absent.
"Yeah".
A few heavy moments passed between the brothers, silence accompanying the barrage of thoughts in their heads.
"I'd never wanna be on the receivin' end o' that kind, I know fo' sure no one'd make it through that kind o' action" the absentee spoke again.
"The hell ya mean?" an incredulous voice asked.
"I mean, can you imagine how long Y/N'd kept that strength in? If they turned it on us, what'd stop 'em?" the voice scoffed, as though it were a fleeting thought, but it still sent a shiver through the other conversers.
Hands moved with soft urgency. 'Do you think they'd ever hurt us like that?'
"Naw, they wouldn'. 'Sides, Y/N's with us. We can take anyone, even 'em if needed" a shadow of doubt was far too visible in his voice.
A masked man nodded, all three of them deciding to eat dinner that was left over. Only one voice complained about the food having cooled, but it was just put in the microwave to heat up. The brothers ate in silence, conversation neglected where it should be present.
They'd never know how they left you staring up at the ceiling, sleep a perished thought, as the world seemed to crack at the seams between three brothers and a wrathful woman.
Few could say they'd made the Sinclair brothers fear for themselves.
Silence. There’s only silence. The wind blows so softly that it cannot be heart. The earth is nothing but dust and the skies are grey as ash. There is nothing to see here. There is nothing here but emptiness.
Call out. Call for someone, anyone, to hear you. But nobody can hear you. There is nobody to hear you. There is nothing here. There is only silence.
Oh? Are you still here? There’s nothing here to see. Nothing to hear.
Hmmm? You want me to create something? Something that will fill the emptiness? That will break the silence? ... Perhaps I will.
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even after showing Lena the videos, Lex still has to tell her “Kara danvers is supergirl” because if he didn’t he would have died and lena 3 PhD luthor would have been left to call Kara to laugh about lex’s new video editing software he used to make her look like supergirl
