#(Her glasses have the blade out too! Wow the details <3 ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shirtlesssammy · 5 years

Text

7x13: The Slice Girls

Welcome to our last episode before hiatus is over. We’re knocking out another Buckleming episode. Natasha has some strong words at the end. Buckleming are the worst.

Then:

Oh, yeah, Bobby died, and I never watched that episode again

Now:

A white man™ sits quietly at his computer at home one night. He hears a noise and suddenly he’s getting sliced and diced in good old cold open fashion.

Sam and Dean are on the road. Sam’s driving so Dean can indulge in his “coping through season 7 juice”. He saved Bobby’s flask and we all know ghosts can’t inhabit personal items, *cough* *cough*. Anyway, Dean’s drinking his way through his grief and Sam’s working cases his way through his grief.

They head to the coroner that holds the cold open victim. AND, I’m sorry, but is Dean flirting with the coroner? I rarely rewatch Buckleming so when I find these forgotten moments in the wild I’m taken aback. I thought I knew the full extent of Dean’s little world, but wow, apparently not.

They learn that all the victims are male and there’s weird ritualistic mutilation with the bodies after they are dead. And any DNA from potential suspects doesn’t match anything human.

After the morgue, Sam wants to do more research, and Dean needs to blow off some steam. He decides to go undercover.

Later at a bar (It’s a fancy bar and Dean’s wearing his suit, so not like Dean), he chitchats with a woman (he’s an investment banker who speaks minimal Japanese) and she’s into it so she invites him back to her place.

While Dean works through his coroner frustration, the show intercuts it with another man’s murder. Bravo on the editing.

The next morning, the brothers head to the latest crime scene. Dean asks Sam if he made any headway on the symbol. “We’re gonna need an expert.” “Expert? Our expert’s dead.” OMG. OUCH.

At the crime scene, a friend of the victim’s stops by and Sam asks him some questions. It turns out the victim cheated on his wife a couple nights prior. The neighbor insists the wife wouldn’t have harmed her husband though. Also, whoever has been killing these men were big and strong.

It’s at this moment that Dean realizes that he forgot his flask at Lydia’s (his workout buddy from the prior night). He calls her but she hasn’t seen the flask and she hangs up.

She’s pretty busy at the moment --being really pregnant!

Cut to later at a very dangerous birthing session (way too many candles), Lydia is told that the “pain is an honor” and I’m not a mother but that is SOME bullshit there. Anyway, she has a healthy 3-4 month old baby she’s told to name Emma.

Sam and Dean head to interview the mayor of Sunnydale a professor with some knowledge on the sigil carved on the men. He wants money before he’ll talk. They pull the FBI card and tell him that they’ll put in a good word with the IRS and they want answers by tomorrow.

Dean is missing Bobby after that little exchange so he decides to head to Lydia’s to get his flask.

Lydia’s surprised to see him. Dean really needs that flask. She goes to get it and he follows her inside. He finds a baby (at least 12 months old?) and Lydia admits that it’s hers. Dean Bean goes into the room to see the baby closer (brb, off to read a few hundred domestic Destiel AUs to fill this giant hole my heart.)

Dean’s phone rings and it’s Sam. While he’s on the phone with him, Dean hears the baby and Lydia talk. Uh…

Sam heads to inspect the latest vic alone. He finds out a lot of the victims visited the same bar Dean was at a couple nights ago.

Dean’s staking out Lydia’s place, and watches as the women present at Emma’s birth arrive.

Sam calls and gives him grief for obsessing over the woman. Dean thinks there’s something strange going on and he’ll tell Sam when he figures it out. Sam tells him about the bar but Dean hangs up on him as Lydia’s door opens again. The women all emerge with what appears to be a 8 year old girl. Dean can’t believe what he’s seeing. “I hate when this happens.” Yes, fathering a monster baby is a bitch, Dean. He follows the women into a back alley warehouse.

Dean prowls down an alley, following the car full of women. (Hey, that sentence came out really creepy.) The women disappear into an unmarked building.

Later, Dean briefs Sam on the situation. There was nothing that screamed “baby” to him when he was at Lydia’s earlier. Now, Emma’s an elementary-school-aged kid, to all appearances. He’s suspicious.

Sam thoroughly mocks Dean for feeling like something’s off with Lydia and Emma. The professor calls, interrupting their conversation. He’s got info!

At their mysterious destination, five young (but slightly older) girls are offered pieces of raw (presumably) human meat and big ol’ glasses of milk. Yum! They’re instructed to complete their “blood missions.” Emma is hesitant to eat the meat. (And who can blame her? Blech.)

At the university, the “I’m super busy don’t talk to me” professor has managed to create a whole slideshow for the boys, who settle into one of the middle rows to watch.

The symbol is Greek. It’s a combination that symbolizes Harmonia and Eres, a goddess and god who begat the Amazons. The professor disparages the cartoon version of Amazons: Wonder Woman (them’s fightin’ words!). He describes Amazons as having little use for men. They procreate, then kill the male, cutting off several body parts.

Elsewhere, the head detective holds a hissing phone call with the head Amazon. It turns out that they’re buddies. They know that Dean and Sam are giant fakers and more than that, they suspect they’re hunters.

Back at their current hotel HQ, Dean digs through Bobby’s dusty old books and drinks from his flask. Sam info-dumps more lore. The Amazons were nearly decimated and bargained for Harmonia’s gift to grow their ranks. She made it so they mate, give birth in a few days, and then the child is mature in just a handful more. Dean realizes that he’s now a father, just as Sam grasps that as well. Use birth control, kids!

Back with the Amazons in training, they’re lectured about joining the ranks of the other women and branded with the symbol on their wrist.

Sam summarizes all their victims as rich, successful businessmen - perfect for the Amazons’ gene pool. (REALLY is that the mark of “good” DNA? Really??? Fuck that. There’s so much wrong here I could write a whole damn book on it.) Sam wants to know why Dean got picked. Dean confesses that he pretended to be an investment banker. While Sam judges Dean heavily, papers move mysteriously in the room, exposing a single sheet. Sam pulls out the EMF and it wails at him. Skeptic Sammy points out power lines and a breezy window. Dean thinks it’s Bobby’s ghost.

Sam picks up the exposed paper, written in Greek, and brings it to the professor to read. Meanwhile, Dean stays where he is, holed up in their room when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Emma! She tells him that she needs his help and that she knows she can trust him because he’s her father.

Dean’s on guard, but Emma says that she was trapped with the rest of the Amazons and ordered to do terrible things. There are tears in her eyes as she describes getting branded. Dean quietly lets her in.

Emma asks for Dean’s help to leave town. “I know you don’t want me,” she tells him. (I throw a rotten banana at the screen. How DARE this show.) She begs for his help in finding normalcy.

The professor - who is doing some really LATE office hours - excitedly tells Sam that the Amazon child is meant to kill the father, not the mothers.

As Sam leaves the university, the detective from earlier stops him with a single, very strong hand. He notices her Amazon brand and she calls him by name - she knows she’s a hunter. She hurls Sam down the stairs and pulls out a sword, but Sam whips out his gun and shoots her in the chest before she can kill him. So apparently a bullet works just fine.

Emma continues to make a case for freedom. When she says she’s hungry, Dean heads over to check out the fridge.

Emma pulls out her Amazon blade while Dean’s back is turned and Dean whirls around and confronts her with a gun. Emma argues that it’s her place to kill him. Furthermore, she calls Dean on his hesitation - he won’t kill her. “You haven’t killed anybody yet, Emma. Walk away,” Dean pleads.

Emma says she doesn’t have a choice just before Sam breaks in and points a gun at Emma. She flashes him a shine of smug monster-face before pleading with Dean, one more time, to help her. Sam shoots her and kills her while Dean looks on in horror.

A little while later, Dean and Sam sneak into the old building Dean tracked the Amazons to. It’s abandoned.

They drive away to the next case. Dean acts optimistic: they’ll find those sneaky Amazons and kill ‘em dead next time. Instead of rallying, Sam goes off on Dean, shouting at him about his hesitation in killing Emma. “She was not yours. Not really.”

Dean smiles mirthlessly. She was his child, even if she wasn’t his daughter.

Sam (in a thoroughly OOC way, in my opinion) blows right past this enormous minefield of emotion to tell Dean that he’s off his game. First losing Cas, then Bobby have sent Dean into a tailspin. Sam caps off his inspiring speech with “Don’t get killed.” Thanks, Sam. Good talk.

Natasha: Hi, hello, I HATE this episode. Dean’s lost Cas and Bobby and then this show has the GALL to lob a child at Dean and then CHIDE HIM for not wanting to kill her. Meanwhile, Sam belittles Dean’s hesitation and parallels it to the necessity of his friend Amy’s death. Do you know how dirty and awful I feel every time I think about Amy’s death? DO YOU? And she’d actually killed multiple people by then. We never talk about that one time Dean accidentally fathered a child and Sam killed her mid-conversation, and I can only assume this remains a deep and terrible scar on their souls. I’d forgotten the “breeding” detail but that paired with casting choices make this episode a big pile of YUCK for me.

______________________________

Quotazons:

“Didn’t match anything human” usually seals the deal for me

Nice decor. Very early slaughterhouse

It's a flask, not the holy grail

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 7x13 #the slice girls #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 7

37 notes · View notes

wham-bam-alacazam · 5 years

Text

Elvira Martin : Laid Bare

Name: Elvira Martin Sex: Female Nickname(s): El - This was a nickname given to her by her ex-husband Nate. She still really likes the nickname and it has a lot of icky sentimental feelings attached to it.

Ellie - A term of endearment given to her by Cait Age: 27 Sexuality: Bisexual Height: 5 foot 10 inches Weight:145 pounds

Skin tone: Elvira is very pale. She works hard to maintain her pale appearance, wearing long sleeves and carrying around a parasol to block out the sun. Scar(s): Elvira has a scar along the side of her face. It started about half way down her forehead and runs down by her eyebrow. It’s deep and left over from her days in the military doing field work. A suit of power armor exploded and metal blasted everywhere. She has a few other places on her stomach, arms and legs where the metal scarred after being removed.

Tattoos: She has one tattoo of a planchette on her high thigh that is very gothic and dark

Eye color: Brown Hair: She has straight bangs and a bob of dark black hair. She maintains it very well. Whenever she can, she does her best to wash and tend to her hair. Impairments: She needs glasses for distance. Accent/Voice: Her voice is very smooth and regal. She speaks like she is always in charge. She keeps a tone like she owns the place, whatever dump that may be. Makeup: Her makeup is heavy and always on. She wears sleek winged eyeliner that is somehow always perfectly straight. Her shadow is a dark base with purple around it and under her eyes. Her brows are filled in to keep that thin, arched look. She wears a little blush high on her cheeks but that’s about it. Her lips are always a bright, bold red color with a maroon lining. Freckles/Birthmarks/Etc.?: She had a mole on her forehead that pokes out from under her bangs.

Clothing: When she’s not in her armor, she wears a tux or a sleek black dress that she’s sewn together herself. Her armor is a vault suit with whatever she can find over it. She often wears a militia hat. She always wears her glasses. Weapon(s): Her signature weapon is a modified black baseball bat that’s been painted with her own intricate and ornate white detailing. It also has razor blades wrapped around it. She likes going in fast and hard. If she needs a gun, its a shotgun or a submachine gun. She’s also been known to use knives when need be.

Faction Affiliations: Elvira is very much so a lone wolf but she was wrapped into working with the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel. She doesn’t support or stand for much of what the Brotherhood does but she can’t help but feel secure in the familiar feeling working in a military setting with power armor.

Stats Strength: 5 Perception: 5 Endurance: 4 Charisma: 7 Intelligence: 8 Agility: 3 Luck: 2

Perks: Big Leagues 2

VANS

Sneak

Hacker 2

Locksmith 2

Local Leader

Science! Addictions: Alcohol Loves:

The dark and mysterious

Honest people

Being Goth

Working on power armor

Likes:

Alcohol

Tinkering with weapons

Shotguns

Cats

Neutrals:

Comics

Morals

Armor

Faction discourse Dislikes:

Being blood soaked

Her hair being ruined

Classical music

Super Mutants Hates:

People with alternative motives

Being disrespected

Rads

Working for free Fears: Assaultrons- She had worked with too many in the past and know exactly what they are capable of, making them a huge fear of hers.

Turning into a ghoul- While Elvira has nothing against ghouls, she hates to even think about turning into one herself.

Disappearing- Elvira is terrified that she will disappear one day. That people will just forget about her and that she’s not important. Quirks: She makes a ‘tch’ sound with her tongue whenever she is thinking or judging someone. Whenever she is anxious or worried she’ll play with her hair. Backstory: She met Nate in the army. She was working in engineering with power armor and he was a soldier. They married young due to pressure from their families. They weren’t really happy but because of pressure from their families, again, they stayed together. It was a toxic relationship on both sides but it all happened behind closed doors. They tried to look normal. Had a kid. Went to block parties. Smiled and waved. But neither were happy. Nate wanted to have a kid. He wanted so badly to have a kid. Elvira didn’t. They ‘had trouble’ having a kid. Their trouble was El continuing to take her birth control. When she finally found out she was pregnant at 26, El panicked. She tried to hide it from everyone, denying it to herself. But eventually she began to show and the jig was up. Looking back, that was the only time she never fought with Nate, purely because of how doting and kind he was being, she didn’t have enough energy to fight with him. After 9 months, she had Shaun. She wanted nothing to do with him and had severe postpartum depression. She wanted to get rid of it. She couldn’t raise a baby. It was Nate baby. Not her’s. She spent days in bed, doing the minimum she could with the baby. Eventually Nate called a doctor to the house to help and they did. She shook the depression and coped with it, but she never got rid of the feeling that the baby wasn’t hers. Of course, it was hers, but it felt so foreign. She started working more and more, trying to stay away from home and Nate ended up staying home with the baby. She got questions about it at work, wondering why she came back so fast but she avoided them all. Whenever she came home, she would always fight with Nate. He was disappointed in her mothering skills. He was angry that she was never home. That she wasn’t a wife anyone. She wasn’t ever a mother. He was the one always putting Shaun to bed and waking him up and changing diapers, giving 2am feedings. She hadn’t even tried to breastfeed. They would scream at each other. She had to work. She didn’t want this. It was his fault that she couldn’t leave. His crazy religious family. It was his constant nagging and complaining that drove her to work herself to death. Elvira ended up cheating on Nate and it came to a snapping point in their relationship. That brings it up to the bombs and the events of the game. She’s slow about trying to find Shaun because she never really wanted a kid but there was always that nagging sense of motherly duty that drove her to find him and the guilt of there being a baby out there alone with a stranger. Although, she was just as much a stranger to him as anyone else. Lover’s Embrace Quotes:

“Wow you were loud enough to wake the dead.”

“I did say I’d try anything once..”

“Ow…”

“Nothing could capture this moment”

“Remind me to bring more candles next time we have a seance at the witching hour.”

“Breakfast in bed, my dear?”

Relationships Codsworth: He had always been kind to her, despite seeing the failing marriage he was involved in. He stuck around after the war and helped around the settlement because he found that he enjoyed helping people and serving. Elvira turned him over to Preston where she knew he would be happier serving. Dogmeat: Good boy. She keeps him safe at him in Sanctuary. He stays at the house and is a lap dog. Preston Garvey: Preston and her are close but it is a very business like relationship. She thinks that Preston is too uptight and too driven. He had no goals outside of the Minutemen. But it worked out for her so she sticks around. She enjoys rebuilding the Commonwealth and bringing something other than violence around. Nick Valentine: She and him have very similar humor and get along well. They go out for drinks often. She appreciates his efforts to help her find Shaun and his sympathetic ear that he often leans. He understands. Piper: She gets on her nerves. She’s too peppy and sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong. But she’s doing the right thing. Cait: Elvira gets very attached to Cait after saving her from the Combat Zone. She feels like they were cut from the same cloth. She helps clean her up and takes her all over the Commonwealth with her. They get romantically involved.

John Hancock: El and Hancock are bros in the first degree. They are very different but they go together very well. She is always ready for a drink with him. They can talk for hours and laugh and joke forever. Robert Joseph MacCready: Elvira likes how she can make MacCready squirm. He’s got a personality where she know how to mess with him and she does. She doesn’t like how weak willed he seemed to be. Paladin Danse: If Preston is uptight, then Danse is… something else. She regrettably works with him often but that doesn’t mean that she enjoys it. She tries to make the best of it but they clash heads just as much as she did with Nate. She and Danse will scream at each other until the world’s end. But when push comes to shove there is one big difference between him and Nate. El will take a hit for Danse. They have a connection on a deep level. A loyalty to something bigger than themselves, even if Elvira’s is gone. Possibly a romance here? Deacon: Little shit is everywhere and El laughs at it. She picks up on his lies quickly and plays into them. They are trouble with a capital T even if he gets on her nerves. Maxson: El and Maxson run circles around each other. They both have very dominant personalities but they don’t clash. They circle each other like dangerous and hungry lions.

Media

spotify playlist: x

images: x x

writing: x x x x x

fic: x

pinterest board: x

6 notes · View notes

topimagines · 6 years

Text

Inferno

Violence

Summary: Where do people go when they die? Well, for the least lucky people in the world, hell is waiting. But what happens when these people do go to hell? And how did you end up there?

Warning: death, hell, mentions of religion, language, smut ish, its fucking long lol, i love brendon urie

A/N: do not repost any work on this blog without explicit permission from me or Alissa. also, in case anyone is curious, I’m an atheist. I also gave a birthday for y/n because it already had a lot of insert shit. and note my not so subtle allusion to tom holland and harrison osterfield.

Part 1// Part 2//Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6// Part 7// Part 8// Part 9// Part 10

You and Tyler finally reached the floor you were staying on, the penthouse of the apartment building. The living room was very large and open, the carpet almost too white to be possible. All of the furniture was golden yellow, including the appliances in the open plan kitchen. There were two giant doors on either side of the living room, and on the farthest side from the door, there was an entire wall of glass. There was an extravagant chandelier hanging overhead, casting a yellow light on the room.

"Wow," you muttered, looking around the apartment.

"Pete definitely helped fix up the place," Tyler said in awe, he had never seen such a beautiful room in Hell. You walked further into the room before taking a seat on the lavish gold couch. “He always was good at interior design.”

"I guess we should get comfortable, we could stay for a while," you said, "and you can fill me in on some of that 'need to know' crap."

"What do you mean?" Tyler asked, taking a spot on the couch across from where you sat. He obviously knew what you were talking about, he wasn't stupid. He knew you wanted history, and possibly an explanation of everything that had happened in the last three days.

"Where is Josh, and what was he?" You asked, after a beat of silence.

Tyler's eyes widened and he looked at you in disbelief. How the fuck does she know that? He thought to himself. He took a small breath before formulating a response, "I’m not answering that.”

“So you’re back to keeping secrets?” you asked, “bullshit, Tyler! You know so much about me, tell me what the fuck happened!”

Tyler took a deep breath before sighing, “okay, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. It started after that car accident I told you about, and after I made it through every circle.”

Tyler walked back into the club, the music only adding to his head ache. He had to cut through the dance floor to reach Brendon, the man sitting alone at the far end of the room. His white shoes and coat were covered in blood, but somehow that wasn’t the worst thing in the dance floor of the club.

“Ah! Tyler, my boy, it’s so nice to see you! Did you do as I asked?” Brendon greeted when he reached the table.

“And then some,” Tyler answered, taking a seat across from the man in a plush, red booth.

“I knew you could do it, I fucking hate politicians,” he said, sly smirk on his face, “now, I have one more job for you, then you’re home free for a few weeks.”

“Yeah?”

“Your partner already knows all the details, he should be getting here about now,” Brendon said, “oh, look! There he is! Over here!” Brendon waved a man with yellow hair poking out from a hoodie walked over, the hood covering most of his face, but it was obvious he had a sly smile on his face, and a blade sticking out from under the waistband of the hoodie. He sat down next to Tyler and he took his hood off of the top of his head and showed his face.

“Josh?”

“Hi, Tyler,” Josh greeted. His smile wasn't the same as it used to be. Brendon seemed to be doting on Josh, bragging about his reinstatement and his natural skill that Tyler could tell was definitely not as natural as they were making it seem.

A woman walked up to Brendon, a smile on her face, “Hey, baby. Is this them?”

Brendon nodded, holding his arm out to lead the woman into his lap, “Gentlemen, this is my wife, Azrael.” Josh nodded in her direction and didn’t look her in the eyes, and Tyler said a small hi. “Azrael, this is Josh and Tyler.”

“Ah, we’ve been waiting for you both.”

“Can I finish tomorrow, I’m tired,” Tyler interrupted his own story and scratched his head, not bothering to hide his yawn, “I promise, I’ll finish it in the morning.”

“It’s only seven o’clock, Tyler,” you complained, “at least tell me what the job was.”

“Then I can go to sleep?”

“yes,” you whine.

“To take care of the overcrowding in Libitina.” You looked at him expectedly, waiting for him to further explain. But he was already laying back on the couch and pulling his hood over his head.

Cool, leave me hanging... again.

So you left the room, and went to bed.

You knew you were asleep, but you weren’t in the same spot Brendon first visited you at. You were at the entrance of a cemetery that you recognized as a very famous one in LA. You had visited it once or twice to see some famous graves.

“This is where I was buried,” a voice said. You turned and saw Brendon standing next to you with a blunt in his mouth and a black suit, as opposed to the red one you saw last time.

“Really?”

“No, I was actually buried in Las Vegas,” he stated with a chuckle. Suddenly the scene in front of you was blurry and you were in front of another cemetery, not recognizing the entrance. “oh, I’m right over here.”

“So you’re basically the ghost of Christmas past?

He chuckled, but didn’t say anything, only led you down a small trail and in front of a shiny, granite headstone. He took a long drag from his blunt and blew it toward the grave, somehow it felt like a sign of respect.

Brendon Boyd Urie

April 12, 1973- October 28, 1994

Loving Husband, Son, and Singer

“My wife, well his wife, changes my headstone if it ever erodes too much,” he stated, “she is on the fast track to heaven, so I won’t get to see her. She’s the one that found me, after I dropped like a fly.”

“Are all couples like that?” you asked, “one gets sent to hell and the other somehow never goes?”

“No, only the people you’ve met so far, sometimes both get sent to hell and they live out torture together, or they go to heaven,” Brendon explained, “And then there are the people who both go to purgatory and have a blast trying to get to heaven together. It’s like the ultimate team building exercise.” Brendon sat down at the feet of his grave, knowing that his body was decayed right under him.

“How did you die?”

“Rock star lifestyle,” he sighed, “I was a bit of a partier, and one day I got involved in the wrong shit and my body couldn’t take it.” He turned to a random stone and put out the blunt, leaving it still sort of smoldering as he backed away.

The scenery changed once again, Brendon sat in front of you this time on a headstone, “You probably don’t recognize this place, but we’re in Ohio.” Brendon moved from the headstone and showed you the name on it.

Tyler Robert Joseph

December 1, 1987- June 5, 2007

Gone too soon. God bless his soul.

“He was never blessed,” Brendon laughed, “it’s a sick irony of dying, these people don’t know we’re down there, don’t know that most of the people don’t stand a chance.”

You looked at Brendon, his eyes clouded in something you hadn’t thought would be there, ever.

Regret.

“Brendon,” you started, “what happens when hell gets too crowded?” He whipped his head to look at you, surprised by the question. “And please be honest, I’m tired of people fucking lying to me down here.”

“If they have improved over time, they have a shot to get into purgatory,” he stated, “and if they do something horrible, even for Hell, the get sent to a place called Libitina. It’s like a prison for the damned to stay and rot.”

“What qualifies as that bad?”

“Not a lot, sweetheart,” he said shortly, “we have one more stop, then you can ask all the questions you want.”

The scenery changed for a final time and you recognized immediately where you were. You wrote in your will that you wanted to be buried in a cemetery in London next to Tom. Brendon led you to the two fresh grave, grass not even grown on the patch of dirt the headstones were on.

(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N)

October 5, 1997- January 22, 2023

Forever resting with the love of her life

Thomas James Hosterfeld

June 1, 1996- January 22, 2023

Forever resting with the love of his life

“You got your wishes,” Brendon said, “you didn’t end up with him as your families had hoped, but I’ll tell you that he is on the third tier of Purgatory.”

“I’m glad, if anything, he deserves it,” you sighed. There was a silence between you and Brendon, and you took the moment to sit sown in the grass of the cemetery. Brendon let out a quiet chuckle and sat next to you, playing with the grass below his fingers. He took out another blunt and lit it up before inhaling the smoke.

“Want a hit?” he asked. You shook your head, waving it away.

“Is this all? You’re gonna leave me to talk to Tyler?” you asked, lowly, “all he ever does is lie to me. He never tells me anything.”

“Well, Tyler lies about a lot of things,” Brendon sighed, “he doesn’t like letting people in. But that’s his story to tell. It hasn’t always been in his favour.”

“Do you let people in?”

“If they let me in,” he answered. You looked over at him and saw him looking back at you. He leans forward and catches your lips in his, giving you a sweet yet hungry kiss. He was more tender than Tyler, taking his time to savour everything about your lips.

He trailed his kisses down your neck, quickly finding your sweet spot on your neck. You let out a moan as he nibbled on your neck, rolling your head to the side to give him more access.

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he said in your ear before biting lightly on your ear lobe.

“How so?” you asked, cutting it off slightly with a moan as he attacked the collar bone peaking out from under your shirt.

“I see everything, you and Tyler, the kissing, cuddling, and I hate seeing him touch you,” he said, moving his head to look you in the eye, “not when we keep having these times together at night, and he’s got you all to himself every day.”

“Then I’ll stop,” you said, “now touch me before I have to wake up and look him in the eye.” He laughed lowly, a cocky smirk appearing on his face.

“Sweetheart, you know I control these dreams. I can make them as long as I need,” he said. He reached for your hips and guided you to sit in his lap, his bulge evident as you ground down on him, “I can feel you soaking through those jeans, darling.”

“Then do something about it,” you groaned. You leaned in and nibbled just under his jawline, “do hickeys show when we wake up?”

“If you want them to, kitten,” he answered, rolling his head to the side to show more real estate as you sucked a hickey into his neck.

“Good, wanna show everyone what I did,” you moan, grinding down harder on his dress pant clad cock. Brendon’s hand wandered down into your pants, and moved your underwear out of the way to feel your wetness. You moaned when his fingers brushed over your clit.

“So wet, from just kissing your pretty neck,” he said cockily, sliding his fingers into you and pumping slowly, watching you writhe on top of him. You groaned, and reached down to unbutton your pants and pushed them down as far as you could. Brendon noticed your struggle and pushed you down so you were laying on the ground under him.

“be patient, my sweet girl, we have all the time in the world.”

You laid with Brendon in the grass, your head laying in his chest. He put back on his pants and boxers, but let you have his shirt and jacket to cover yourself after he ripped your shirt.

“Now I have to wake up without you there,” you said, tracing circles on his chest lightly, “what am I gonna say to Tyler?”

“You don’t have to say shit to him, sweetheart,” his chest rumbled as he spoke, “sure, you’ll wake up with my suit jacket and shirt on, but I set up that penthouse just for you. Say you found it in one of the drawers.”

“I’m covered in hickeys, Brendon,” you giggled.

“you fell off the bed, you’re clumsy,” he laughed. You giggled and poked his chest with your nail.

“Is it always gonna be like this when we reach you? Is that why you want me?” you asked.

“It can be whatever you want and more, baby,” he said. He started sit up, holding you so you didn’t get hurt somehow. “It’s time to wake up now, babe.”

“But I want to stay here, with you,” you whined.

“I know, but the sooner you wake up, the sooner you head out and you can see me at my club,” he said. He leaned down to kiss you before he stood up. Everything around you dissipated as he stretched his limbs.

“Will I see you again, next time?” you ask him as the wind picks up.

“Of course, baby,” he said, turning around and kneeling to meet your eyes, “and remember, Tyler doesn’t touch you anymore, my lips are the only ones that can be on you.”

“Bye, Brendon.”

You woke up in the big soft bed of the penthouse apartment, having a new appreciation for the soft sheets under your body and bunched in your hands.

You swung your feet over the edge of the bed and stood to look at yourself in the mirror that was on the closet of the room. You were, indeed, in Brendon’s suit jacket and red button up, but it didn’t look too bad on you.

In fact, you thought it was kind of cute.

You made your way out of the room and saw Tyler sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. You walked over and poked him in the face, “Tyler, wake up.” You attempted one more time before turning on your heel and taking the first big thing near you, a metal abstract sculpture of a human, and dropping it on the floor. Tyler jumped awake and you looked at him innocently.

“What the fuck?”

“Finish the story, no breakfast until then,” you stated. You sat on one of the couches and looked at him expectantly.

“Alright, well, Azrael told us they were expecting us.”

“You two are going to Libitina to eradicate these people,” Brendon stopped paying attention to Azrael long enough to slide a manila folder over to the boys across from him, “then do what you want. But I want my blades back when you’re done.” Brendon went back to brushing his fingers through her hair lovingly, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and kissing her neck.

“Obviously,” Tyler said, but Josh had a look on his face that made him uncomfortable. Something told him that he would be getting into trouble like he used to when they were alive and Josh wanted to go do something crazy.

“Then one thing led to another, and Josh started a rebellion that lasted half of a decade,” Tyler explained, “he was a hell hound in a humans body. The pure personification of evil, worse than that of the devil. He wanted to overthrow Satan and free all of the Damned into earth, heaven, and purgatory.”

“Is that all?” you asked, “Where is he now?”

“Libitina.”

“The place all the bad, bad people go?” Tyler never answered. He got up and went to take a shower, not before turning to you.

“Want to come with me?” He held a hand out for you to take.

You thought for a second, knowing you promised Brendon that you would not start anything with Tyler. But it was Tyler, the man who was leading you through hell for nothing but pride, and had suffered so much. He opened up to you, even if it was poco a poco. So, you nodded with a broad smile and took his hand, letting him lead you to the big shower.

You hardly expected to be reaching the most beautiful circle of hell. You didn’t know that there was such a thing. But, you and Tyler walked down a long gravel path with green grass on either side, a large creek came into view with a man leaning against the post of a magnificent bridge of dark wood and golden railings on either side. The man was shorter than the bridge and had a black hoodie that you swore was Thrasher brand.

Hm, didn’t know they had brands in hell.

When you approached the man, you noticed that his body was covered from head to toe, including his hands, which were tucked comfortably into his pockets, and he had two feathered wings on his back, tucked so close together and compact, it was almost like he was hiding them from you.

"That's Pete, he's a harpy," Tyler explained, looking toward the man expectantly, "He's probably here to help us through the rings of Violence."

He didn’t seem to be paying attention to you as you and Tyler walked up, his head parallel with the ground, not letting you see his face. When he finally heard your footsteps, he looked up, sending shivers down your spine with his yellow eyes. When he saw you, he stood up taller and rolled his shoulders out before putting his hands together and dropping them in front of him. A stark contrast from the red-scale eyes you had seen so far. When you took a closer look, you saw small tufts of feathers poking out of the bottom of the hood.

"Hey," he greeted, looking between you and Tyler, and after a beat of silence, stuck his hand out to introduce himself, "I'm Pete, guardian of Violence. It's nice to finally meet you, my lady."

Tyler's eyes widened and he cleared his throat, hoping you wouldn’t notice his formality, "This is (Y/N), Pete. She's the girl Brendon wants."

Pete's expression matched Tyler's as he realized his mistake, "Oh, my bad. Thought you were someone else." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly and waited for Tyler to reprimand him like he used to, but nothing ever came.

"We should get walking now, we have three rings to get through at one time," Tyler said. Pete nodded and turned on his heel, leading you across the bridge. The bridge was way longer than you expected, but it the shortest ring of Violence, so you couldn’t complain about the creaking below your feet as you walked. One you had looked down, you saw creatures swimming up and down, and a large one that looked very scary. "That's Leviathan, he doesn’t like Acheron, so he stays here," Tyler explained.

"Oh cool, another hell creature I have to know about," you said, sarcastically, "what next, are there hellhounds?"

"Oh, they're in the circle Brendon occupies," Pete answered from ahead of you two, "He made them cuter."

You all walked in silence for what seemed like ages, walking across this bridge seemed easier than going through the other rings, but you knew it was too good to last. It was hell, after all. Tyler seemed to be walking on eggshells, any splashing spooked him, he refused to look up at Pete or at you and walked so cautiously that it seemed like he wasn’t even on the bridge with you. He seemed to be off in his own world.

Your mind, however, had started to wander. You thought about your life, trying to figure out what you did that sent you down here on this... adventure?

"You really shouldn’t do this, (Y/N)," Harrison said, "You love Tom, how do you think he'll react when he finds out?"

"It's just a girl, he won't care," you reasoned, looking up at Harrison with glassy eyes, your speech slightly slurred, "He has a girlfriend, if anything he should be thrilled! I'm finally getting some and forgetting about him!"

"There's a difference between forgetting about him and moving on,” Harrison muttered, “come on, (Y/N), let’s just go home and watch x-files.” He reached for your hand, but you pulled it away from him quickly and blew him off, claiming you were a big girl and you could take care of yourself.

“I’ll be fine, Harrison,” you slurred, giggling at something in your head as a girl reached for you, equally as drunk, and started to drag you away, “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby! Don’t wait up! Get some while you’re here.”

“(y/n), stop daydreaming,” Tyler said, breaking you out of your trance like state. You didn’t realize you were at the end of the bridge, and, in addition, the end of the first ring in violence. You looked ahead and saw, finally, the true reason the ring was called violence. There were people, the damned, running around picking raspberries as harpies flew over their heads, talons out, picking people up, clawing at their faces and hands.

Pete didn’t stop, he continued to lead you toward a ginormous building, completely ignoring the pleads of mercy all around you. You kept your eyes down, looking at the path under your feet.

When you looked up, finally, you saw the entrance to the building.

“Libitina, in all her glory,” Pete said, his voice bored. The doors were already open, and it looked like someone forced it open.

“Is it… supposed to look like that?” you asked. Tyler nodded, looking reminiscent.

“A long time ago, someone broke out through the doors and Brendon never bothered to fix them,” he said. Suddenly, sirens rang through the air and both Pete and Tyler stood up straight, “now, that isn’t supposed to happen.”

The boys charged in, leaving you at the door with a shocked expression. You had a feeling that you’d need to use Eveningstar. You ran in after them, but the place was far too big and you found yourself at the wrong place at the wrong time. You got lost in the winding halls, listening out for voices, but they were all drowned out by the piercing siren.

You were pulled into someone’s chest and a knife was held to your throat. A silver handle was held by a tan hand and you knew. Morningstar.

“I suggest you keep that pretty little mouth shut, unless you want to disappear,” a gravelly voice said in your ear. He turned you toward two forms, Pete and Tyler. They writhed in their spots, trying to move but they couldn’t.

“How did this happen so fast?” Pete groaned.

“revenge makes the damned powerful, Peter,” the man behind you laughed, “especially when the bitch that put me here is near.”

“What?” you asked.

“Shut up, Muriel!” the man spoke.

“That’s not Muriel, Joshua!” Tyler yelled, “Muriel would know better than to come back.”

“Then why are you guarding her, who is she?” Josh said, ending with a laugh. He truly thought you were this Muriel person.

Angel. Demon. Whatever.

Your mind reeled. Why would he thing you’re Muriel? Joshua held the blade harder against your throat, leaving you to gasp for breath without letting it cut into the skin. Joshua looked down at you, his gaze clouded with pain and loss, and when you locked eyes, he seemed thrown off. The sharpness of the blade eased up as he was sent into a whirlwind of old emotions.

"(y/n)! Do you remember the view? Remember what you said when we looked out of Joe's window together?" Tyler said from his spot, locked in place. He couldn’t move his legs to reach you. Josh must have been practicing his biokinesis after all these years. You knew exactly what he was talking about. Azrael's blade was digging into your side in this compromising position.

"I said that you almost forget we're in hell for all eternity," you answered in a weak voice. You slid one of your hands away from the hand holding a knife to your throat and down your side to the shadow-casted blade. You unsheathed it and moved it from your side to slightly poke Josh's, "We were so enthralled, we didn’t hear Joe enter the room."

How did you know how to stab Josh with this blade without killing him?

You stabbed the knife into his side and felt the blade on your neck ease up. But, you moved too quickly and the blade dug into your neck and cut you. You fell on your side, landing next to Josh, facing him.

Both you and Josh passed out. Tyler finally broke free and ran to you, pulling your body into his lap.

“No!”

“Hello, Gabriel,” you greeted the angel, smiling gently at him as he brought you in for a hug, “I missed you.” Brendon had crossed arms, watching you and his brother interact with each other. He never knew he could be the jealous type.

“I missed you too, Azrael,” Gabriel squeezed you tight before the hug ended and pulled away.

“What’s this about you not taking the mistakes from limbo to purgatory?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that,” he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Dad is being a pain lately, and forcing us to kill off forgotten souls.” Brendon rolled his eyes, of course his father would do that, he was never the most considerate ruler.

You shook your head. Of course, he was trying to do that. Hell was starting to get crowded, you could only imagine what it looked like in purgatory and heaven.

“More people are going to hell than ever, heaven isn’t even that full,” Gabriel explained, “We’re filtering all the people we can into heaven from purgatory but they’re moving slower than ever.”

“I suppose this is means for revolution again?” you sighed. The last time there was a revolution in hell and purgatory, your son had died in the hands of your brother, Muriel. You could never be really mad at Muriel, he was doing what he thought was right, but now more than ever, you missed your dear Josh.

“How? Last time I took care of all the revolutionists last time,” Brendon spoke up, taking your hand after he saw your face fall. Gabriel shrugged.

“There are two new souls coming, and one of them is going to start a revolution,” Gabriel looked you in the eyes, his golden orbs reassuring. However, it wasn’t reassuring enough, “One of them is Joshua.”

You groaned at the red light shining above your head.

“What the fuck happened?” you asked. Tyler and Pete were sitting, having just seen exactly what happened. You looked down at your body, you were wearing the same red dress you saw in your dream.

Nightmare? No, definitely not a nightmare.

Memory.

Josh came too soon after, looking at you with a hopeful sparkle in his eyes. It was quickly gone, however, when he realized it was no longer a dream.

“Lady Azrael,” Pete said, moving to kneel.

“I didn’t believe Brendon when he said it was you,” Tyler muttered.

You stood up, a little unsteady on your bare feet, as opposed to shoes you were wearing, on the rough concrete. You stepped toward Josh, who was holding his side with on hand, and holding Morningstar in the other. You reached down and took your blade.

Huh, maybe it did belong to you.

“You never know who you’re threatening,” you said. This act was coming so natural.

“Go ahead. Finish me off, wipe me from existence,” Josh said, barely able to speak now, “you have to know that these wounds don’t heal.”

You did know. Somehow. Maybe Azrael was telling you, deep down. But she was also begging you to not take her son, your son, away again. The pain was too much.

“I’m not going to finish you off, Joshua,” you said, squatting down to take both blades, the one in his hand and the one in his side, away from him, “I’m going to take this blade out of your side, and I'll heal you.”

“Why?”

“What kind of mother would I be to leave my son lying, in pain.”

#brendon urie smut #brendon urie fanfiction #brendon urie #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie x reader smut #brendon urie x reader #tyler joseph #Josh Dun #pete wentz

134 notes · View notes

tales-from-exo-planet · 6 years

Text

ARIZONA | PATHCODES VOL. II

ACT II. - “circles of influence”

Length - 8, 875

Mood - palliated, lonesome

Pairing - Chanyeol x Reader

“Can we just talk? Can we just talk? Talk about where we're goin' Before we get lost, lend me your thoughts Can't get what we want without knowin' I've never felt like this before I apologize if I'm movin' too far Can we just talk? Can we just talk? Figure out where we're goin' Yeah, started off right I can see it in your eyes I can tell that you're wantin' more What's been on your mind? There's no reason we should hide Tell me somethin' I ain't heard before Oh, I've been dreamin' 'bout it And it's you I'm on So stop thinkin' 'bout it”

“Talk” by Khalid

________________

*Creak*

*THUNK*

*Knock Knock*

You looked up from your desk where you were jotting down notes from your previous appointment in your day planner to see the office mail clerk waiting just outside your door.

“Hi, are you _____?” He asked, breaking eye contact with you as he ruffled in his bag for the touchpad, gesturing to you with the stylus to sign, when you nodded yes.

He took a step inside your opened office door, reaching down to pick up the box and help it over the threshold before standing again to hand you the touchpad upon which you quickly signed your name. He bent again, after stowing the touchpad away in his satchel, to lift the wide set brown paper box up from the floor.

“Th-thank you,” you said, grunting slightly as you adjusted to the box’s weight as it transferred from his arms to yours.

He nodded, muttering a nonchalant “no problem” as he left, ambling down the hall the same way he had come to your office.

Please let this be it…

You glanced at the shipping label, and slowly smiled at the name you recognized.

“It’s here,” you exhaled, placing it on your desk gently.

Without bringing your eyes away from the name on the shipping label you reached for your drawer, quickly pulling it open to retrieve your scissors.

You carefully applied the blade to the packaging tape, taking care not to push down into the box for fear of scratching the contents within.

And as you peeled the packaging away, the brown paper box coming away cleanly as you easily sliced through it with your scissors, your heart swelled within your chest, tears blurring your vision.

“You’re here,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking eye contact with the box for a brief moment to return to your open office door and close it.

Inside was the leather bound hard case now embroidered with three sets of initials, your late father’s being first, yours being second, and your son’s being the last.

You fingered the embroidered letters, tracing them with the pads of your forefingers in an infinite loop, closing your eyes as you recalled their faces, and their voices.

Taking a steadying breath you reached for the latch, and lifted the top of the case, and gasped at the sight of the slate gray and white typewriter you had been longing to see.

“Pop,” you whispered, amazed that the typewriter could have been restored to this extent. It looked just like the photograph you remembered from the catalogue.

“It’s impossible. It’s like it’s brand new again. Just like Pop kept it,” you felt a giggle rising as you touched each key, remembering the way he used to sit at his desk on weeknights and you’d sit beside him watching his fingers fly, the swirl of the floral scent of Yaupon holly tea and crisp, warm paper luring you closer and closer to the desk.

“Pop, it’s happening now. We’re doing it Pop,” you took another breath and exhaled sharply, feeling the strength go out of your legs as you descended abruptly into your office chair.

The waves of grief washed over you again, and since you had practiced and were prepared for their onslaught, you held on, counting down the seconds you would allow yourself this morning with your hands over your face.

The sobs subsided as you counted down closer and closer to 10 to 9 to 8 to 7 to 6 to 5 to 4 to 3 to 2 to 1.

And then…

You let your hands fall to your lap where you brushed your open tear stained palms against your thighs and released an ever deeper exhale.

“Ok boys, let’s get to work,” you said, removing the envelope that had been carefully taped to the top of the box after wadding up the brown paper packaging and tossing it into your waste basket.

“May these items make their way to you safely and find you at peace. With these items now restored and delivered to you, may your journey to healing truly begin,” penned in elegant handwriting by someone who had chosen to remain anonymous. Though without a name written you knew already who had sent the package.

*Knock Knock*

“Yes?” You asked, approaching your office door again as the secretary, Margo, who had knocked entered, her heels scuffing the threshold of your door at her abrupt entry.

“Hi, just wanted to let you know that your 2:00pm is here. Should I send them down to the studio or were you starting in your office?” She asked, her eyes bright as she leaned in and waited for your response.

“If you don’t mind sending them in to my office here, I think we’ll start here today,” you said, coming from around your desk to approach your baby grand piano as you awaited your third client of the day, hearing the whoosh click as Margo ducked back into the hall.

To think back again on where you had been the past couple of years while standing in the freedom of the present was jarring every time you turned to see the photographs of your late son and father framed in black and white on your desk. From time to time as you worked with your clients you would look back at your desk, seeing their smiling faces encouraging you, and urging you forward. It was no different today as your newest client, Camila, entered, and the writing session immediately began.

Camila was newly signed to your company’s label, and as all the artists were who were signed, she was a promising singer-songwriter in the making. Your goal was to help her along in her songwriting process by providing advisement where needed until you created the lyrics she was looking for. A role you relished more and more as the days wore on as you met each successive project and challenge.

You spent an hour together, chatting in between tea brought in by Margo and listening through samples from your previous recording sessions, and at the close of the session with three songs drafted, promised and planned to meet within the following week to close out the project.

“Wow! That’s a gorgeous typewriter, is it a family relic?” Camila asked, not failing to note the initials on the leather case.

You beamed at her, showing her your father’s picture on your desk.

“It was his, my father’s. He was a writer as well. Poetry and short stories mostly. He taught English at my high school and a couple of Early Native American literature courses at the community college in my hometown,” she smiled at you, holding the frame in her hands carefully before placing it back in your hands for you to reposition on the desk beside the others.

“That’s awesome that you had writing in common,” she said and you nodded, replying, “yea, I really treasured that. He’s definitely been my inspiration.”

As you led her down the hall you heard the jingle of your office phone.

“Ah, I know the way to the lobby if you have to take that. Thank you so much as always for your encouragement. See you next week!” She called, waving as she went ahead and you nodded to her graciously before ducking back into your office.

You caught it on the last ring.

“______ with Aspire Publishing, how may I help you?”

“__!!! Hi it’s Ophelia!”

“Oh wow hey! How are you?! I just heard the news about your album. That’s so incredible!”

“Thank you so much. It couldn’t have happened without you. Seriously! And also, I wanted to invite you to this festival I’m headlining this weekend in the area. I’ll be performing a couple songs from the album and I would just be over the moon if you could come!”

“Of course! I’m there. Just let me know the details and everything. My weekend is pretty clear,” you said, shifting from holding the phone against your ear to tucking it in between your ear and shoulder as you looked for your desk planner to pen the event.

After gathering the details you texted your best friend Awinita who had already planned to come into town.

“Hey so what about a music festival this weekend? Would Tobias be down for that?” You quickly texted as you packed up your desk as Margo knocked again at your door to deliver lunch, a large quinoa salad, chili cheese fries and sweet fry bread from a local food truck.

As you set up your lunch tray on your small coffee table behind the loveseat where you and Camila had just completed the day’s session, you felt a buzz in your pocket where you were sure Awinita was replying.

After sanitizing your hands with your pocket hand sanitizer, you poured yourself a glass of water from your pitcher where it rested on the dining tray along the wall and brought it to your place setting.

“Yea I was just about to ask you about that festival because I saw Ophelia’s name on a flyer when I was scrolling through Eventbrite earlier! Let’s do it!! Also...Tobias had a friend in the area who we planned to link up with if that’s ok with you? Maybe he could meet us out there?”

“Sounds good to me. Are y’all still going to be here on Friday then?” You texted back.

“Yea girl. Riding out on Thursday night and we should be in on Friday morning,” she replied with a kiss emoji.

You laughed happily and went back to finishing your lunch.

_________

“Hi Mr. Stone, I just wanted to let you know that I received the package,” you said into your phone, your purse on your lap.

“Greetings Ms. ______, I’m pleased to hear that,” he responded in the gravelly bass you had grown accustomed to following that fateful phone call at the beginning of this new year.

You remembered again the letter that had arrived on Christmas in the previous year when you were still living with Awinita before she had started dating Tobias.

“Who is that from? How can someone send something on Christmas? I thought everything was basically stopped,” she wondered aloud as you two sat together and opened the letter that arrived by a man who did not appear to work for USPS nor any of the other mail carriers you were familiar with. He didn’t wait for you to respond once he placed the letter in your hands and simply turned sharply on his heel to duck into the black Audi he had arrived in.

After tearing open the envelope with the letter opener Awinita offered you, your slipped your fingers inside to pull out the lone cream cardstock on which was penned a short note upon which five smaller envelopes were carefully pinned to its back.

You recognized the handwriting immediately, feeling a mixture of apprehension and hope churning within your stomach as you began to read the words written there.

“Though this can never replace what you have lost, in the new year please call these numbers in the following order.

I wish you well in the new year,

Chanyeol”

Perplexed but still hoping, you opened each of the envelopes where he had written legal, counseling, and employment option 1, employment option 2, and employment option 3.

He offered you a legal advisor, if given your approval and who if given time, would potentially review your case and provide counsel in your impending trial set to begin within the new year.

He suggested that the legal advisor could also be counted on to supply you advice in maneuvering legal and financial matters outside of court proceedings.

He offered you counseling resources for grief to help with any trauma inflicted during the proceedings, and in any personal matters which he oddly left unspecified.

He also offered employment opportunities in the realm of writing as a lyricist for multiple publishing companies you had only dreamed of. “These are companies I would recommend but I am not familiar with more than two of them through professional contact. Whichever you choose, if you so choose, please let the legal advisor know. They have been instructed to provide my recommendations to assist in your application process. However, a recommendation is not a guarantee for employment. I wish you the best in your future interviews if you accept these offers.”

“Take the deal,” Awinita stated after looking over the details.

She was still looking at the employment opportunities while you were looking at the notes you had brought from your bedroom to review.

“Take the deal _______. What he’s offering we can’t afford on our own. We just can’t. And things don’t look good with this case. You deserve this saving grace. You can finally have a life ______. After all of this that happened...and he’s right. It’s no guarantee but the legal advisor sounds promising,” she looked at you as if she hoped you already planned to take the deal but you couldn’t help the rising fear.

It felt strange to look at this handwritten letter that held none of his voice or his warmth.

It was clinical, sterile but still...him?

“I did ask him for help,” you confessed aloud again looking at the letters with her, pushing your stack of notes to the side away from your view.

“And he’s offering you help now,” she emphasized the ‘now’ as if meaning to say ‘forget what was before and move forward now.’

You spent that Christmas and New Years holiday wondering if you should call him but thought better of that when you remembered again that encounter you’d had at Metaphysics Records, and the faces who stumbled in upon you broken and pleading upon his conference room floor. The way they had looked over your head at Chanyeol as if to spare you any embarrassment when he failed to answer your request, and you excused yourself out the door.

You wondered often how you had looked to them and to him. You wondered if that’s why, after weeks of silence, that he sent you these offers and didn’t follow up with a phone call to make sure that you received the message.

Had he meant to send it or was he advised to sent it?

Does it matter?

You need the help.

You can’t afford to hire the legal help you need to fight this.

You are grieving.

You are...lost.

You waited until the evening of the 2nd once alone again in jittery anxiety when Awinita had gone to visit her parents, and dialed the number Chanyeol had written in compacted script, and heard the voice you had come to find such solace and comfort in.

“Hello, I...my name is _____ and I am calling to speak with Mr. Stone about legal advice,” you heard your voice wavering as you held the phone to your ear, trying to keep your hands from trembling.

“Ah yes, Ms. ______. Thank you so much for calling. I am happy to be of assistance to you in your legal needs. If you could put me in touch with your current attorney so that I can discuss with him further what assistance I can provide, then I would also like to meet with you both in order to plan our approach. With your permission of course, Ms. _____,” his voice was calm as he spoke to you in unhurried tones, and all at once you felt thankful and reassured that things really could get better.

You did as he asked and within a week you assembled your legal team to discuss your counter defense to what the defense had alluded to. What anxiety you felt about entering the courtroom in opposition to your sister had dissipated as the promises made by your legal team were carried out in the manner of requesting that your sister agreed to a plea deal in exchange for a dismissal of certain grievous charges and commitment to receive necessary treatment in a secure and holistic mental health care facility.

“We recommend that this unfortunate encounter is settled quietly within the family. These are sisters who have been dealt a truly horrendous hand. We believe that in a moment of sincere distress due to the workload, and responsibilities shouldered considerably by both sisters and undoubtedly more so by the elder sister, caused the accusations heard during previous meetings to be made. My client does not hold any animosity towards her sister nor her dearly departed parents. My client remained within the family home and strived to contribute to the family home to the best of her ability. My client offered her assistance at any and every opportunity to her late mother, and worked together with her sister to also provide safe care for her late son. While the defendant is being penalized as appropriate for inflicting harm that resulted in the unfortunate death of my client’s late son, my client does not wish any ill will or disadvantageous situation to happen upon the defendant. Instead we would request, despite the degree of the crime, that mercy is granted upon the defendant who is a first time offender and that the defendant is evaluated by a licensed mental health clinician, and is able to consider long term mental health services within a safe, affirming environment.

In addition to these requests your honor we would like to move for a strict restraining order to be placed upon the other party identified in the serious allegations made by the defendant. While we would request mercy in the consideration of the familial relationship between my client and the defendant, we would alternatively request strict and harsh punishment to the other party who has repeatedly battered and aggravated my client. We can provide documentation in a later proceeding that will substantiate our request and prove that the other party is truly a danger to not only my client but to the defendant as well. The other party has brutally taken advantage of both of these young women under the premise of providing financial assistance and support of which they so sorely needed as their parents were struggling to return to healthy functioning. If so granted, we would request that the other party is strictly prevented from residing within the same state of which my client is a resident. We would request that the other party is not allowed to call, text, or communicate in any way through any alternate means, such as by way of a proxy, to deliver harmful, insidious violence or intimidation upon my client. We thank you for hearing our requests and recommendations at this time.”

And as you requested through your legal team the judge so granted. Within a month’s time you began counseling services with a licensed mental health counselor, and following that also sought out the employment opportunities with the listed publishing companies Chanyeol provided.

While all of the interviews went well, you decided to accept the offer from a company Chanyeol was not affiliated with and whose location was in Southern Arizona far from your childhood home.

Mr. Stone put you in touch with a realtor who quickly sold your home to an interested young family with infant children. In addition he also advised you on how to save the money you received from both the sale of your parent’s house, and your late mother’s life insurance policy.

The months spent moving in, training, and jump starting your client base blurred by with not a word from nor even a sudden appearance by Chanyeol and day by day as the winter warmed to spring you began to let go and make peace with his absence because of how much he had blessed you. Even the letters written in good faith to your sister all returned in a bundle unopened with a new searing red stamp of “return to sender.”

To be severed from these two people, one who had been in your life since your childhood and one who had changed your life forever, left you confused most days. Reconciliation not only seemed impossible but felt ludicrous to hope for.

Move on ________.

Move on.

“Really Mr. Stone, I couldn’t say thank you enough for everything you have done to help me. I’m really thankful that this could be restored,” you said to the legal advisor now.

“Absolutely. It was my absolute pleasure. All of the other items have also been restored and are now in storage as you requested. Please let me know if there is anything else I can assist you with. Anytime day or night, know that you can call on me,” he insisted once again as he had since the day you first spoke.

Now you said goodbye to Mr. Stone, the man who had become somewhat of a surrogate uncle to you, and your week went on.

——————

“Hi I’m _______, and you must be Hugh?” You asked over the din in the dimly lit brewery’s lounge where the weekend r&b soul festival had begun.

Awinita and her boyfriend Tobias had arrived just as they planned, and had stayed with you from Friday night into this Sunday evening. After spending the weekend together enjoying the good weather hiking, you had ridden together and entered the Soul Festival to wait for the date Awinita had arranged for you.

“I mean...is it cool if we see it as a double date? He’s one of Tobias’ really good friends and he’s a really nice guy you know? I’ve told him a little about you and he’s excited to meet you this weekend, if you’re cool with that. If not we could always just meet up with him later of course and we three can go out,” she said as she helped you fix your hair Saturday night in preparation for Sunday evening.

Tobias, a mutual friend from high school who had grown into something more for Awinita after reuniting at your class reunion, had cooked you both dinner, a childhood favorite of pine nut catfish and corn salad.

“I’m open to that yea,” you agreed and the following night rode up to the venue with Awinita and Tobias to meet Hugh, who was tall with a loose-limbed athletic build. His dark ebony hair dusted his shoulders in full bodied waves, and his almond emerald green eyes were mesmerizing.

“Yea, it’s nice to meet you, ______,” he drawled, his accent catching you off guard, as his eyes took you in. You resisted the urge to look at Awinita though you were sure she was gauging your reaction from beside Tobias.

Together the four of you entered the venue, you beside Hugh with Awinita and Tobias following, and found an open table to sit at.

“I’ll get the first round,” Tobias immediately offered upon you all getting settled and you accepted, thanking him as Hugh turned to you.

“So are you excited to hear Ophelia tonight? Awinita told me that she was a client of yours,” he asked, reaching to comb his locks back from his eyes with his fingers as he waited for you to answer, a whiff of his heady scent escaping at the movement.

Mmm…

“Definitely. Actually I should probably see if I can let her know that I’m here,” you said, pulling on the strap of your satchel to untwist the purse from the opposite side of your waist so that you could reach for your cell.

“Wait isn’t that her?” Awinita asked suddenly, pointing towards the stage where you could clearly see her speaking with her band.

“Yea, I’ll just go say hi quickly and I’ll be right back. Excuse me for just a second,” you said to Hugh, who nodded as he watched you stand to leave, tucking away the conversation he wanted to have until you returned.

You moved through the crowd carefully, edging closer to the stage where they all stood on the floor in front of the mics until you finally reached Ophelia and her live band.

“Ophelia, hi,” you exclaimed seeing her turn just as you approached, her eyes full as saucers at your appearance.

“__!!! Oh my gosh! Thank you so much for coming! Guys this is ______, da best,” she winked at you as she brought you closer to the band for introductions. You waved at the members who would each play keyboard, synth, drum kit, saxophone, and bass assembled on the stage.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Ophelia. Can’t wait to hear you,” you said, turning to hug her again after greeting the members.

“Of course, __! Couldn’t imagine doing this without you being here. Hope you enjoy the show!” She called as you turned to head back to your seat, waving at some of your fellow team that you spotted in the seats closer to the stage as you made your way through the crowded tables filled with patrons dining on tapas, beer, and cocktails.

Awinita waved you back over, an event flyer in her hand. Hugh offered you a drink as you came to sit beside him, which you took while looking at the flyer.

“So these are all the labels and companies represented here tonight by artists who are performing...isn't Metaphysics…,” Awinita looked up at you, her eyes wide with realization.

“Oh...I...well yea that’s that label but of course they would be here. That’s cool,” you said, finally sitting in your chair as the house lights came down, and Ophelia took the stage.

Just because his label is here does not mean he is here though, you shrugged turning to whisper something to Hugh when a face caught your eye.

Hugh, who had been intently bobbing along to the beat of Ophelia’s drummer, snapped to attention at your sudden leaning in towards him.

“Yea?” He asked huskily, his dark hair falling into his eyes again.

“Um, I...sorry. I forgot what I was going to say,” you blushed, fiddling with a non existent loose strand of hair as you turned away.

“Oh,” he whispered under his breath, leaning back in his chair.

But you turned again, sipping your glass of wine.

I was sure that I had seen…

The crowd around you erupted in applause at the close of Ophelia’s number, and she bowed neatly before the next number began.

“Ah, dry again,” Tobias sighed as he finished off his glass.

“You really like that one huh? We should buy some when we get back,” Awinita whispered against his cheek, his arm curled around her shoulders.

He nodded against her lips, a small smile on his lips at the intimate way she kissed his ear before turning her attention back to Ophelia.

“I’ve got the next round,” you announced, standing to make your way to the bar.

Hugh jumped at the announcement. It seemed like you had beat him to it.

“Sure? I could get this round this time. In fact I think this one was on me,” he insisted, standing to go ahead of you to the bar but you held up your hands to him shaking your head.

“No worries. I’ll be right back.”

His mouth opened and closed quickly as if he meant to try to gently convince you but seeing that you were already determined to go, he swallowed his statement and took his seat.

You milled again through the crowd to the bar off to the left side of the stage, nudging past patrons who stood swaying in small groups as they listened along.

“Two orange peels, and two glasses of rosado,” you told the bartender once you’d gotten her attention.

While waiting for your orders you fiddled with your purse, shaking off a slight shudder down your spine.

Why do I feel so nervous about this?

Hugh seems nice.

I’m just out of practice.

I’m just…

“__-____?” A raspy baritone voice called out to you.

You turned, wide eyed as you saw the face you knew you’d seen.

You knew those eyes anywhere.

“Chanyeol…” you breathed, suddenly parched at the gleam of his smile.

“I...I thought I saw you for just a moment in the crowd headed towards the stage but it’s really you,” he said when you said nothing more.

“I...yea. Yea I’m here to see my...Ophelia is one of the artists I’ve worked with,” you said nodding to where Ophelia waved to the crowd after closing the number.

“Really? She’s great. I like her vibe,” he said looking from you to her and then turning again to the bar where you both stood quiet for a moment.

“Yea she’s awesome. I’m so glad to have had the opportunity to work with her. I...I well I didn’t know when I could call just with everything happening. But I...thank you Chanyeol. I just. I was hoping I could tell you thank you at some point but-“

He shrugged, leaning against the bar which brought his posture lower and closer to you.

“I’m glad everything is ok. That you’re doing ok. How’s work? You loving it?” He asked and you nodded emphatically, refraining from spilling everything that you truly loved about your work. Would he really hear everything you had to say over the music, the conversation, the ambiance?

“So you’re here with Metaphysics? How is everything going? From the flyer it looks like you have a couple of artists performing tonight,” you said and smiled proudly at your mentioning of it.

“Yea things are going well there for me also,” he replied, the proud smile still on his lips as he watched you.

“That’s great. I’m so glad to hear that. I-”

“Ma’am your drinks,” the bartender interrupted, taping you lightly on the arm.

“Oh yes. Thank you,” you said turning back to the bar to finish out the transaction.

You looked back at Chanyeol who looked down at the tray she offered you, and thought you could see him counting the drinks.

“I’m here with Awinita and her boyfriend and a friend,” you blurted to which he raised his eyebrows.

“Oh? I wasn’t sure if you were here in a work capacity or…” he shrugged nonchalantly though his eyes roved from your face to something behind you. The open sun of his smile had dipped behind the shadow of an uncertain look.

You turned to see Hugh behind you, an unsuspecting smile on his face.

“Hey I thought you may need help carrying the drinks since you were taking awhile. You missed a lot of Ophelia’s set,” he chuckled in a friendly tone as he picked up the tray.

You turned again to see Chanyeol watching you, his expression closed.

And cold like that letter.

“I...Hugh this is Chanyeol. Chanyeol this is Hugh,” you didn’t understand why you didn’t introduce them both to one another as friends of yours. Hugh placed the tray back on the bar and reached a hand out to Chanyeol which Chanyeol received, his smile clipped.

“Hi I guess you also work for Aspire?” Hugh asked to which Chanyeol shook his head.

“No actually, I’m from Metaphysics. ______ and I know each other from another event,” Chanyeol stated simply, his eyes never leaving Hugh as he spoke to him.

Hugh nodded , unassuming and sweet.

“Well I’ll grab these then. You coming?” He asked you as he held the tray of drinks once more, his head tilted back towards the table where Awinita waited.

“Yea I…” you turned back to Chanyeol and saw the tempered heat in his eyes as he watched you.

“It was nice seeing you again. Enjoy the show,” you said, backing away to follow Hugh back to your table, noting that Chanyeol’s eyes did not leave yours until you turned away.

_______

“So what did you think of Hugh,” Awinita asked you on the phone as you drove back to your house.

You all had parted ways at the venue doors following the end of the festival performance. Hugh asked you out on a date for the following weekend to which you immediately said yes. Tobias and Awinita had waited until you parted ways and gotten safely into your cars before asking what you thought of the night’s events.

“He’s really sweet. Kind of a music nerd like me which is cool. He’s also beautiful. His hair, oh my god,” you gushed to Awinita who laughed aloud at your confessions.

“So you like him enough to see him for another date without all of us?” Tobias asked, and you heard a muffled “ouch” and figured that Awinita elbowed him.

“Yea I have to admit that I was a little nervous going out tonight. It’s just been awhile since I’ve been out. I just work each day and head home and don’t really go out to meet people. So tonight was just nice to meet people and-”

“Dance! Girl! I saw you and Hugh getting down out there. He thought he was moving but girl you were serving,” you both laughed aloud at that.

“Yea he was a lot of fun. I’m looking forward to seeing him again,” you said as you pulled up to your house and turned off the ignition.

“Sounds good hun. Have you made it home?” Awinita asked, a pop and crackling of a soda can sounding in the background.

“Yea I am. You guys drive safely. Are you really far out of the city now? If you want you can always stay the night and just drive out in the morning,” you offered but knew that Tobias had to be to work in the morning.

“Next time love. We’ll see you next time,” Awinita promised.

“Ok. Well I love you both! Please call me when you make it in!” You asked and heard them return the sentiment before you hung up, hopped out of your car and froze at the sight of a hooded figure on your doorstep.

The shadowed person turned at the sound of the slam of your car door.

You felt a feverish chill break over your body as you stood.

Go, you have to go, go now! Now! Now! Your body screamed.

As quickly as you could, you ripped open your car’s door and slammed it shut just as the shadowed person raced towards your car, slapping the trunk as you sped away.

You drove blindly for an hour before stopping at a nearby elementary school to call your legal advisor.

“There was someone at my house. I couldn’t see their face or hair or hear their voice but I think they were about 5’8” to 5’9”. Very athletic build. They were dressed all in black and wore a hood. I drove closer to the downtown area and am at this elementary school,” you informed him, turning over your shoulder to look at the name of the school so you could share your location with him.

“Ok. Please lock your door. Call the police. I will be there shortly,” he brusquely ended the call and you followed through on his instructions informing the police with as much information as you could possibly give them.

After calling you closed your eyes and pressed your phone to your chest, willing yourself to be calm and not to cry.

You can’t call Awinita to come back and stay with you.

Knowing Tobias they’re probably already there by now and he has to work in the morning.

Definitely cannot call Hugh.

Let the police clear the house first and then you can stay there tonight.

Don’t be afraid.

You repeated those instructions to yourself over and over and over until you heard a voice outside your car door.

“_____? ______ are you ok?”

“Chanyeol?” You gasped at his sudden appearance at your driver’s side window, breaking you of your calm concentration.

After opening the door, you stood in front of him, trembling.

“How-”

“I told Mr. Stone that if anything ever happened to you that he should call me immediately. I was just finishing up at the venue and he told me where you were. Are you ok?” He asked again, his eyes looking over you in a way that you felt a doctor would, checking for any signs of pain or trauma.

“I’m alright really. I got away and they weren’t following me. The police should be here shortly and then I’ll head back. Th-Thank you for coming,” you felt the quaking of your limbs increasing as the police arrived followed by Mr. Stone just as Chanyeol stepped closer. You were grateful for the distraction however.

They escorted you back to your home where you waited outside with Mr. Stone and Chanyeol both of whom stood before you as dragons, emitting gusts of hot air at the surrounding air as it blew around you.

After a fifteen minute walk through the police joined you where you waited on the opposite side of the street further down.

“Well ma’am we cannot find anyone source of entry or disturbance within the home. However what we can do is put a patrol on the house. Is there someone you can stay with-”

“Honestly I would prefer to stay at home. If it’s not too much to ask for a patrol for tonight, I would appreciate it,” you said dismissing the idea that you would go elsewhere.

No one if going to chase me away from here.

“Absolutely ma’am. If that’s your request. At the first sign of anything please give us a call,” he shook your hand as well as Mr. Stone and Chanyeol’s hands before walking back to his squad car parked in front of your house and radioed in the request.

Chanyeol’s familiar black Jeep was parked just behind his patrol car and Mr. Stone’s sleek BMW was parked behind your car on the opposite side of the street.

“I can stay with you if you want,” Mr. Stone offered and you took his hand gratefully in yours.

“I’ll be alright really. Thank you so much for coming. I’ll feel even more afraid if I stay somewhere else and then I won’t want to come back here. The patrol should be here any moment,” you said as Mr. Stone reached to hug you into his chest.

“If that is your will. As always I’m not too far away. I will call every hour until you retire to make sure that you are safe,” he departed with that statement after nodding to Chanyeol and climbed into his BMW.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to stay with you? I’ll sit outside for a little while if that’s ok too,” Chanyeol asked, pulling his keys from his jeans pocket as he moved towards his Jeep.

But you lifted a shaking hand, regretting that you had done so when you saw the way Chanyeol looked at you trembling there before him.

“I’m ok,” you insisted turning to head inside the house, hearing Chanyeol behind you.

“I’ll stay right out here in the car ok? Lock the door,” he said as you entered through the front door.

He closed the door behind you and you locked the door, crossing the floor to sit on your couch.

The quaking of your knees increased the longer you sat in silence, watching the clock on your kitchen wall ticking away the hour you spent frozen in place.

You are safe.

It’s ok.

It’s-

*RIIIIING*

“H-hello?” You scrambled to pick up your cell phone you dropped at its sudden brash ringing and heard Chanyeol ask, “you doing ok? You haven’t moved from the living room. None of the other lights in the house are on.”

You cupped the phone to your ear, swallowing audibly.

“______?”

You swallowed past another dry patch in your throat.

“______?”

“I think Mr. Stone is calling,” you said as your other line beeped and you clicked over to hear Mr. Stone asking how you were.

“If you feel comfortable allowing Mr. Park into your home to sit with you, that may help you to move throughout the home and ready yourself to retire. If not, I can come by to stay with you,” his tone was doting in a way that made your quivering turn into inaudible sniffling.

“I may ask him inside. I thought I could go into the house and just get on with the night but it’s hard. I don’t want to call you back after you just drove home. I will ask Chanyeol inside. Good night Mr. Stone,” you said ending the call once he had said goodbye.

You clicked back over, shakily bringing the phone back to your ear.

“_______?”

“Chanyeol, please come inside,” you said, hearing how small your voice was in the echo of your dimly lit stucco home.

“Can you make it to the door to unlock it?” He seemed to be genuinely concerned or maybe you hoped he was. There wasn’t a hint of teasing in his voice or malice.

“Yes,” you stood and made it to the door, feeling your knees knocking as you heard his car door slam outside.

He met you at the door as you opened it, his phone still to his ear as you also held yours there, frozen.

The patrol car slowly cruised by on the street just beyond your door and Chanyeol turned to wave to them as they continued on their way.

“You ok?” He asked as you stepped back to allow him in and he closed the door behind you both.

“Yes. I’m...if you could just. I am going to walk through and take a shower. Please make yourself comfortable,” you said gesturing shakily to the couch as you walked back to your bedroom.

You knew the police had already walked through and that there was no one else there but the surreal quiet of your home that had always been filled with music at this hour of night was solidifying you in a petrified state.

Even a brisk warm shower didn’t ease your nerves.

You returned to your bedroom to change, hearing Chanyeol in the kitchen on the phone with someone.

“Yes we’re still not sure how this happened. How in the hell does someone randomly show up in the middle of the night and just disappear? There’s a patrol yea.”

You wondered for a brief insane moment if he had had anything to do with it and felt guilty for second guessing him.

But how could Chanyeol have appeared so suddenly?

This whole time he had known where you were but just hours ago he had acted like he didn’t know anything…

Was he in regular contact with Mr. Stone about your whereabouts or did he really give you your space unless something bad happened to you?

You worried all the way out into the hall back to your kitchen where Chanyeol was seated on your living room sofa, the call finished, his head in his hands.

He looked up at the sound of your slippered feet trudging along the floor.

And the look in his eyes, the return of that bright sunny smile, stilled the tremors wracking your body.

“It’s ok, _______. We’ll figure this out,” he said, his tone steady as he looked at you.

Your cell phone that you had left on the coffee table chimed suddenly and Chanyeol reached for it, standing to bringing the phone to you.

You brought it to your ear as you asked, “hello?”

“Seems like you’re still breathing huh bitch?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, the feverish chill resurfacing.

“I am going to fucking kill you!” The garbled voice shouted and you pulled the phone from your ear, your stomach churning.

Chanyeol’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern at the way you shook but you brought the phone to your ear again.

“You cannot call me. You cannot be in touch with me,” you answered Liam, your ex boyfriend.

He chortled at the way you answered, as if he was glad that you knew exactly who it was without him identifying himself.

“Nah bitch how did you get that money?! Who the fuck are you fucking now?! Huh?! That was my fucking money bitch. You owe me! THAT WAS MINE!!” he continued to yell into the phone and as you lowered it Chanyeol reached for it but you snatched it from his grasp putting a finger to your lips.

You placed Liam on muted speaker phone, bringing his tirade to its climax.

Chanyeol frowned at the words he used and seemed furious with the idea that he had to remain quiet while he listened to Liam insult you over and over and over again. But you placed the phone down on the kitchen counter and walked around the counter to find the only house phone that you kept in the kitchen.

You dialed Mr. Stone and told him what you had rehearsed, “I have him on speaker phone. Are you available to record?”

You heard the snap of a button and Mr. Stone stonily replied, “we are recording. Once he finishes the call, allow him to hang up.”

You placed the phone on the counter alongside your cell where Liam continued to hurl obscenities at you and your family.

You stood looking at the phone now counting 10 minutes that had gone past of his ruthless anger.

You felt Chanyeol suddenly beside you and looked up to see him watching you as he had done all evening. His gaze was open and thoughtful as he suddenly asked, “do you want to sit down? I...can I get you anything?”

Hardly the questions you thought you would hear.

You sat on the sofa opposite him, exhausted.

He was quiet for a while as if he was waiting for you but you ignored the urge you had to say something.

It had been months since he had seen you and all this time that you spent hoping for reconciliation, thinking you had been parted with for your benefit, doing your best in attending your counseling services despite your inability to reasonably achieve closure without being able to see the two people left in your world who you needed closure from.

As you sat in silence, gradually descending into yourself, you felt in the midst of your exhaustion a stirring anger at the realization that he hadn’t been far from you at all. He had hidden himself from you in the familiarity of Mr. Stone who had seemed someone safe and removed. He had robbed you even of that.

“________…”

“Why do you keep messing with me, Chanyeol? Why are you here?” You heard yourself saying, despite the way your body had sunken into a fetal curve in the seat of your couch.

You saw him turn to look at you, his smile quivering in shock.

“I’m not here to mess with you ______. I’m here to-”

“Why are you here? Why did you help me?” You asked, seeing him turn so that he was facing you.

He watched you for a moment.

“Now you’re angry at me because I helped you when months ago you were asking me for help? I just wanted to make things right between us-”

“You don’t think that was weird? Acting like you didn’t know where I was and what my life has been like...have you known about Liam too? Have you been listening to these threats for months?” You heard the erratic trembling of your voice but at this moment, you would not stop yourself until you finished.

He took a breath to say something but you rose from the sofa.

“Is this some sick game to you? Do you make a habit of saving women so that you can swoop in and reap the benefits? I just...something about you and this whole thing isn’t right. I have no idea where you have been or how you have been. You just showed up. I have appreciated your help but I’m not going to sit here and have you judge me and my situation tonight. I am not going to entertain you anymore with my trauma,” you turned to walk towards the door to let him out and all at once he was standing to take your hand.

“________, wait. Please. I’m sorry...I-”

“I don’t want you here. I don’t want to do this again. Please leave me alone-”

Tears overcame you as you pulled yourself away from him.

“I’m tired of this. I’m so tired of this. All of you just leave me alone,” you hiccuped between unsteady breaths.

His expression was openly pained and sorry, his large brown eyes misting at the look of fear and indignation you gave him.

“_______. I’m sorry-” his voice cracked as you stepped away from him.

“I’ll go. If you want me to go I’ll go. I just wanted to make sure that you were ok. Really I promise you. I stayed away because I just...I’m not sure what I want. When we were trying to figure things out you weren’t ready and now...when I saw you tonight with that guy I thought-”

“But what does that have to do with anything? You didn’t ask me. You just assumed. You’ve been watching from the shadows like some creep and then suddenly when I’m doing better here you come to try again? Do you understand how fucking sick that is?” A scream was rising in you as he grabbed his phone from the coffee table and made to move past you.

“So you’re just going to walk away now? So that’s it? You have absolutely nothing to say?” You followed him to the door.

He stopped, his back tensing as he held the door knob in his hand.

You heard a “click crunch” of the handle as it turned in his hand.

You both took rasping inhales and exhales in turn, waiting the other out.

“I don’t want to fight-”

“Then what do you want?”

He turned to face you, his eyes red and his nostrils flared.

“I...I want you _____ but then…” he choked out his answer, his hands in fists at his sides.

“But then what? Why leave me in silence for months? Why did you help me? Why didn’t you just walk away?” You went on, though you knew it would have been better to be patient and wait for his response you didn’t give a damn at this point.

“I have been living in this false bubble for months. Months. My sister won’t speak to me. She won’t even let them update me about her progress. I moved away from my childhood home. I sold almost everything I could take pay back our debts. I lost...i lost my son-” you didn’t bite back the sobs that threatened to unsettle your grounded stance.

“I cannot do this anymore. This back and forth. I need the truth. I need peace. And if you’re not going to be part of that peace then just let me go Chanyeol. Please let me go-” you sobbed into your hands as you sunk to the floor.

You weren’t expecting him to catch you.

You hoped he would walk out the door and leave you to grieve alone.

You hoped he would allow you your space, finally.

But he moved swiftly to catch you where you fell, taking you into his arms.

It had been forever since you had been cradled against someone’s chest where you rested fully in their arms.

You remembered your father holding you and carrying you home after you fell from your bike in grade school.

You remembered crying into his shoulder as he told you, “you fell the first time so that you could learn how to stand up on your own next time. You’re my strong girl, you just don’t know it yet.”

Chanyeol carried you effortlessly down the hall and looked into each door until he found your bedroom.

He sat down with you still in his arms, letting out a deep breath as he turned to lay you down to rest on top of your sheets.

“Here. Just rest here,” he said, his eyes beginning to puff up no doubt from the tears in his eyes.

As you laid there, the height of your anger and the fevered race of your anxiety depleting you of the strength and the will to resist.

“I’ll just wait outside like I said. I’ll-” he began not looking at you as he awkwardly tried to help you tuck yourself into your bed though you were not turning your body to allow him to help you in.

You placed a hand on his arm, noting the depth of the tan that had settled in.

You remembered the tautness of his forearms, and the ripple of his veins.

He looked up at you as you placed your hand there.

And you saw the invitation.

You felt the fire of desire rising in the way he somehow leaned closer to you.

“Chanyeol…” you whimpered as he leaned closer and kissed your forehead.

He murmured your name like an incantation against the bridge of your nose.

His lips against yours sealed your fate.

#exo fanfic #chanyeol fanfic #Pathcode AU #human realm #universe gamma

5 notes · View notes

weirdness-on-the-roof · 6 years

Text

critical role episode 48 campaign 2 notes and funny lines post break edit:this has detailed notes on all the stuff that happened later in the episode including physical descriptions near the end. enjoy ya nerds

don’t steal the books from a high powered mage; don’t kill the dude; beau turning into cad; look at beau planning for the future

-------

is marisha flirting with matt via matt playing yasha and beau flirting with yasha?

-------

‘tea the international language’ but no earl grey

-------

wensworth the goblin

-------

coming from Cad ‘im a fine tea maker’ is kinda a threat tbh

-------

elf that isn’t white/European??? yay! also really old elves are cool

-------

beau and cad tag teaming a political chat with a mage this can’t end poorly

-------

Nott: :beau ruins every situation shes in and is very abrasive

-------

send the freaking cat!!! why not?? caleb my dude

-------

god i miss allura and gilmore currently

-------

fucking fuck don’t lie to the mage beau plz stop this is painful ‘you’re not wrong’ sure blame the ancient sea god

-------

‘on the verge of returning’ yea no duh you let him out 2/3 of the way so fjord could get a spell

-------

‘we found a thing’ so smooth and eloquent beau ‘it was presented to us as the happy fun time ball’

-------

‘butter fingers with magical items’

-------

beau getting a geography lesson from a very old powerful elven mage

-------

‘magical geometric orb that has the ability to bend time and space and fate’ which is kept in a hot pink magic bag that happened to ‘fall into [their] lap’

-------

‘if youre down im down is what im saying... i have a few slots open in my loyalty bank if you’re willing to pay rent’ says the 20 some human who punches things to the centuries old wizard ‘

-------

liam stress eating

-------

cad’s hope in the group is heartwarming

-------

tower metaphors and a conversation!!!

-------

caleb reading shitty romance novel and nott eating a fish outside a mage’s tower in the morning sunlight in a major city

-------

caleb takes the rear

-------

first name drop and a while

-------

holy shit 200 years of magic using

-------

cad explaining materialistic nature of the rest of the party to elf dude is hilarious

-------

teleportation circles?????? in return for access to the sphere!! oh shit thats good

-------

or candy

-------

crap. no one has insight checked this dude and they gave him the happy fun ball and made a deal kinda.

-------

‘how do we prove our loyalty?’ ‘by not fucking me over’ sounds like a good plan

-------

is this guy just caleb’s patron now on the low idk this is how my head works and he said learn

-------

“you have a geometric shape that makes babies?” “yea they talked about that”

-------

fjord just kills the dude

-------

‘i got banishment on hold just in case’ *cackling laughter*

-------

i agree with elf dude, him not knowing anything about the dodecha is more concerning than him knowing about it

-------

ALL THE CITIES FROM CR1 MENTIONED FOR THE FIRST TIME!!! I STILL MISS ALLURA AND GILMORE

-------

good to know the pink bag protects from divination on this plane but just this one

-------

jester and the traveler figurine

-------

cad included the Traveler in the ‘chaotic forces’ i still think the traveler is some kinda arch fey evil things idk its real late here and this is incoherent

-------

‘well, thats been my morning tea‘

-------

caleb getting additional tour

-------

good aesthetic for the room tbh

-------

letting weird people in for morning tea is entertainment is a mood and something i strive to be able to do without getting murdered one day

-------

so yasha and caleb both have gotten the ‘stay with friends’ chat from a powerful being which is nice. but also the ‘use who you need to’ going to caleb is vaguely concerning

-------

personalized biscuits [bourbon, cinnamon, lobster, fish and three unknowns]

-------

‘caleb, what happened in there?’

-------

cad not believing caleb’s bullshit and opening doors for caleb warms my heart

-------

‘if this isn’t the death of us, and if not hes a good ally. somethings gonna be the death of us so [yolo]’

-------

‘you can’t bullshit everyone in this world’

-------

cad talking about beau telling the truth: ‘you’re not very good at it but you tried

-------

jester looking out for nott and her home town

-------

caleb and beau being cute while also giving each other shit is the most sibling like thing

-------

omg going back to allfield that was so long ago for fucks sake BRYCE my person thank god

-------

jester had a boy band phase its cannon and i think the girls had a sleepover in jester’s old room. also marion never leaves the hotel. THE RUBY NECKLACE MY HEART AND THE HONEY AWWWWW

‘the army of men and women and inbetween that will do as i want them to’ god i adore her being protective of jester

-------

also the fact matt makes such a good mom why is he like this

-------

travel time!!!! ‘roll for initiative’-tal

-------

how does matt keep these notes so organized and remember all the npc names

-------

the ranger/beast master in Laura is coming out with nugget

-------

caleb is a devout cat person and jester is the definition of a dog person

-------

nott refining oil on a magical moving cart, while jester reads a romance novel and trains a dog,

-------

Dyren- Beau’s roommate at colbot souls; ‘taught beau lots of really cool things’ got sent to a warfront. shaved head, dark clothes, buff b/c ‘been workin out’, ‘do you love her?’ they had ‘good times’, then literal booty call, and dropping locations, Dyren was in Bladegarden. ‘fierce eyebrows, pointed nose’

OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES

-------

Vandren info drop to Fjord ‘he was making amends’

-------

Dyren responded and was hurt in Bladegarden but is safe. Beau looked immediately worried and happy about jester’s imput [’sounded way into you’]

-------

empire kids chat and caleb admitting insecurities about powerful people and being scared about the consequences of his actions and the group’s actions. caleb is scared about being forced to leave for safety and being ‘flayed alive’. my thoughts are he would leave if he became a threat to the others by being there or vise versa. trent would extort that b/c hes a dick

“caleb, unfortunately, you don’t get to choose who cares for you” you’re fucking correct Beau

“the problem with friends is that you have to care for them”

walks away “wow cool caleb! see- jester thinks you’re cool because shes your fucking friend!”

me too Tal “everything i like about those two characters in one conversation”

-------

5 years since Caleb left Trent and crew ie had a nervous breakdown

-------

gustav left town after being freed and trostenwald now has a WV accent that is too familiar

-------

100 extra soldiers in allfield. bryce is still up and kicking and wonderful. stuff ‘got this far east [quickly]’. the attacks came from underground apparently so fuck. the fields were burned, building destroyed a bit then they [Xhorhasians] left

“good thing is they’ve already been attacked so lightning doesn’t strike twice” oof thanks bryce

-------

beau just dead ass asking for illegal writing statements

-------

fjord having a thank u jesus bryce moment

-------

jester giving cad a pretty present is ‘so exciting’ and precious

-------

Cad not knowing cookbooks were a thing!!! and not being utterly literate enough to understand it

-------

wtf happened to liam’s voice in the ‘main export is oysters’ thing

-------

FELDERWEN!!!!!

-------

a dozen squads of 50 ppl each patrolling felderwen area so rippppp

-------

Nott knows where the halfing’s house is.... interesting... and is heavily drinking

-------

BLUE FLASH

elven woman in fine clothes of green and black ----lady vest durogna the arch mage of antiquity serboros assembly

a male figure in deep blue robes, older pale elf, fine clothes, the flash came from him----- martinette luden’th de____ arch mage of domestic protection

CALEB KNOWS THEM BOTH FROM THE ACADEMY AHHHHHH

he just lays flat and hides in the cart internally: ‘nopenopenopenope’

-------

several burned buildings, a warehouse, an inn, apothecary and several houses

-------

ohhhh shit the halfling was the owner of the apothecary and nott was looking for the shit she had been sending back this whole adventure....... im sad now that was confirmed

havent found a body of yeza

luke is yeza’s son at old edith’s house

halflings only produce halflings according to something i read at some point but forget where sooooooooo

shattered vials and materials and house stuff

CHILDREN'S TOYS

locked basement which nott knows of?? Nott is anxious and impatient when the door doesn’t open. jester fails, yasha rages and at a 19 and doesn’t break the door. ‘it wasn’t [trapped]’ but dispel magic worked to open it.

a 15′x15′ room, tossed ‘not like you remember’ to nott, a 2x3 iron chest. a single chair in the center of the room. definitely a struggle with heavy impacts and blade scratched on wall

nott was the torturer from the goblin tribe

chair was placed in the spot after the struggle

this was where he [yeza] kept chemicals according to nott

poisoned iron locked box (dull black glass) inside a retractable silver tripod to hold something atop it, 3 empty vials 1 full one with a liquid/gas fog like dull colored thing, a pile of destroyed notes [two pieces of still legible paper which have props]

dunamous field, causes ppl slow to be slower or faster, ‘captured crin operatives’ dunaments and dunamacy, origon gliffs, exist outside established schools of magic, theory in deeply rooted in arcana taken for granted, rooted in _____ town, 12-16 months to refine, word has found me that trent’s kiddos have knacks for this things, dreams are thrilling

well shittttt

crin on battle fields, ‘breaking fields of fate, fuck the raven queen

SHIIIIIT

a piece of dunemous

dodecha goes in tripod according to beau

chair facing chest

-------

cricks did this apparently

a little under 100 crowns guard killed, 4 civilians burned

soldiers just ‘slowed down’

left via tunnels and collapsed them behind them

-------

nott dont be a bitch and don’t get mad at caleb and call them ‘his people’

-------

cad picks up caleb and ‘youre not at fault here, youre the solution here. don’t let her anger... its not about you’

my HEART

-------

the chest is too big for the haver sack but fits in lorenzo’s bag of holding

-------

people have entered and exited since the attack and left the chair and stuff

-------

lots ‘o chairs

-------

nott needs to see ledith and uke (?) and not flip the fuck out

‘humble hobble’

nott looked like halfling plump face, braids, tan skin

edith- human older, grey hair, beady eyes, ever present smile like face

LUKE IS HER SON!!!!!!!!!!!!!! CANNON

*edit- rewatching this and seeing ever one’s faces “wheres my son?!” particularly laura/liam/travis just hurt. liam just looked up after a second and travis did his face he does and laura just stiffened and eyes and hand to face. caleb/liam who knows just hugs himself the rest of the convo. marisha is note taking and fuck the video off now

about 5 yrs old, blue eyes, tan/light brown skin, halfling

gave him the doll of the king

IM GONNA CRY NOW BYE

‘HES PROABLY DEAD NOW TOO LIKE I THOUGHT YOU WER’

yenza locks him away when ‘the mean lady comes by’

mean lady has pointy ears and comes often, luke was kept in room, luke was pushed out of the house and told to go somewhere safe so he ran to edith’s house and ‘everything was on fire’

‘im not strong enough to come back yet but know that [im stll thinking of you and i send things] and i hope dad sends them to you.“ fuck my heart

“in my heart i think he is” “well don’t die”

-------

the elves are gong to the ruins of yenza’s house

-------

marisha looked so betrayed

tal ‘i was waiting for the riegel shoe to drop’

WOW

HEY CALEB- WOOOW

-------

we’ll pick up hiiiere

fuck you sam and matt and everything abou this my heart is just FUCKKK

ummm so enjoy the frantic poorly taken notes <3

#critical role spoilers #spoilers #lore drop #ohh shit #fuck you sam #not okay in the slightest why are you like this #i dont have words at this point

2 notes · View notes

kingofthewhatpod · 6 years

Text

Fanfic Friday #4

Okay, it's time for my fourth attempt to wow people with my spin on One Piece. Welcome to #FanficFriday. Because the podcast is currently mid arc, it makes sense not to consider doing a re-write of the canon arc to try and improve, so you get a 100% new story. Let us begin...

This adventure will be called "The island of old men," and if that doesn't make you raise an eyebrow, I'm not quite doing my job.

The scene: Luffy and crew have just escaped loguetown, heading towards reverse mountain... and they see an island, not on Nami's map. And let me tell you, this island has a giant golden tower rising from the center. It can be seen from quite a distance away, and it has like a crown on it. Nami, obviously, is worried about why it's not on the map Usopp fears it's a "ghost island" Sanji would say something like "What even is a ghost island?" Totally nonplussed, watching the island with a casual eye. Luffy is like "Woa-ho What is that??? Can we go? Can we? Can we?" Nami objects, but did we think that would work? No. Luffy is excited, and so is Zoro by proxy Since Luffy is the captain, they go anyways regardless of objections.

Before they reach the tower, they come across a single, largish wooden building, the four titular old men outside Guy number one: A huge guy. Sometimes i'm creative with names, some times not, he'll just be "Badger" and when I say huge, I mean he probably did like seven hundred thousand crunches a day in his youth. Guy number two: He's wearing a jacket with pockets of various sizes, each packed with unseen items. He can be "Sparrow." Guy number three: sunglasses, a vest with a cape, he's the most mobile/active of these old men, conveys his moods with movement. Name: "Rabbit"

Final guy: Taking a nap. Bigger than Sparrow and Rabbit, but not as big as Badger. Scars on his arms, and a loooooong beard because this is One Piece. The other old guys introduce him as like Haro. Of course most, if not all, of the Straw Hat's think its weird he's not named after an animal like the other three.

To set the scene Sparrow and Badger are playing a card game, Rabbit is watching and commentating- loudly (which is clearly annoying Badger), and as I said Haro is taking a nap. Now, as Luffy and them approach, they ask about the tower they saw while sailing. The old guys kind of glance at them, go back to what they're doing, and explain "Young whelps like you shouldn't even ask about the King's Tower, let alone approach it"

Usopp would be the most startled their reaction. Zoro or Sanji (why not both?) would be surprised, but Luffy would be doing that thing where he's unusually quiet and watching the scene, eyes on Haro. Usopp would try to explain “We were just asking what it was, and the island wasn't on the map-”

"The golden spire was built to honor the strong!" Rabbit would declare (again, loudly. Assume everything he does is loud). "And young'uns like you just can't climb it!"

"Best that you don't even try," Badger would grumble. "Go home and have a glass of milk"

Usopp would be about to argue about "How do you know about us", when Zoro would cut him off with a "Wait," eyeing up Badger. "Words are useless against people like this."

Sanji would be looking at the horizon, "All we have to do is climb it then, right?"

"We won't let you!" Rabbit says, stamping his foot on the ground. "Have you no respect for your elders? We forbid it!"

"So what then?" Zoro asks.

"Three days.” Sparrow would say without looking up from the game. Maybe with their free hand he holds up three fingers. If you can survive three days on the island, we'll let you try the climb"

Luffy calmly walks over to the porch area on which Haro sleeps and sits down. "Fine," is all he says. "But we will climb that tower and see what's at the top." He says this very seriously. Nami sighs and Zoro is just like, "aye captain."

Jump cut to the next morning, Zoro is with Badger in the woods. Badger gestures at the trees around them, and asks Zoro to cut down ten trees by the end of the trial period with his sword. Zoro is like "pfft, yeah, whatever." and schwing schwing schwing! with his blades. His cocky grin fades as he looks back and sees only small scratches on these thick trees. Now Badger is grinning. "The hell kind of trees are these?" Zoro asks.

"Only the sturdiest wood for our cabin, sprout," he'd mock. "Or is it too hard for you?" to Zoro's ire, of course

Sanji is with Rabbit, who is like "Let's gather some jewel mushrooms from the forest, try to keep up!" And here we see why he's called Rabbit. He's very, very fast, which would surprise Sanji doubly so due to his age. Sanji has to run after him shouting "wait!"

Sanji ends up having to scavenge on his own, and he gets a bit lost in the forest. He's certain he can do it, but then... that night he only has maybe 2 in his basket and Rabbit has three full-to-bursting baskets! Sanji is just.... shocked.

Nami and Usopp both get paired with Sparrow. They're down in the basement which has both a room full with complex, twisting pipes in an impossible tangle, and a library. He starts pulling books off the library shelf and Nami has to race to keep up, trying to catch them all. Nami, it seems, will help him decipher some weird encoded message, using historical documents to try and understand the code. Usopp has to help fix the plumbing. Not only are the pipes all twisty, not only are the instructions convoluted, but these pipes are heavy. It shows him detach a nut from around a pipe and he almost drops it on his foot because it’s unexpectedly heavy.

Luffy, who hasn't said a word yet, is sitting beside Haro, just chilling. Haro hasn't woken up yet, and Luffy isn't going to be tested, apparently. Which just makes me chuckle. Am I allowed to admit that about my own dumb story? Whatever.

Back to Zoro. It's night time. He's made a little bit more progress, but he is on his back, panting heavily. Badger is also sitting, grinning. "Still going to win?" he teases.

"Of course," Zoro says, no hint of sarcasm in his voice. No reaction from Badger. "My captain said we would climb the tower," Zoro continues. "So it's not a matter of whether I can. I simply must. But first... a nap."

Badger would kind of chuckle and head back to the mansion as Zoro closes his eyes.

Naturally, we'd also get some shots of Usopp, Nami, and Sanji hard at work that night. Nami is burning the midnight oil, a huge pile of books next to her. Usopp is studying this crazy, complex room, and Sanji is contemplating these strange mushrooms in the kitchen. I guess I didn't mention, but these mushrooms would obviously be hard to find but they'd also looks super weird close up. They'd almost glitter like jewels, but not bright enough to be seen from a distance. Because what is One Piece without some mystery/magic/unworldly elements?

Next morning, each member (minus Luffy) is hard at work. Zoro has made some progress in the night and is already wielding all three swords by the time Badger finds him

"What if the others can't do it?" Badger would ask.

"They will," Zoro would say simply.

Nami would be talking to Sparrow. "They're all idiots," she'd explain while reading these books. "Especially my captain. If I can't learn to help them out, they'll surely fail."

Usopp would have built some doodad out of spare pieces he had found, something that could slide along the pipes, or maybe marked them in some way with paint. Point is, he's starting to learn this room's layout. Sparrow is rubbing his chin as he looks on, but saying nothing

Sanji has figured out about a weird creature that eats these jewel mushrooms from studying the roots. So this time when Rabbit leaves him in the dust, he looks for one of these boars (but like, big boars with purple fur or something) and lets it lead him to the treasure trove. Of course he's started learning how to cook with them, too. But that’s not relevant to his test.

The third day, Everyone convenes back in the "plaza." The 3 old guys are unchanged. Zoro is exhausted, Nami shows sign of ink all over, Usopp has oil stains, and Sanji's usually immaculate clothes are disheveled. To sell the victory, Sanji also has a plate cooked with these mushrooms, Nami holds a parchment with the decoded message, Zoro is pulling a sled with this special wood, and Usopp stands before a fountain which has begun working once more!

There's a pause... Rabbit, Sparrow, and Badger, in unison, all look to Haro, giving a thumbs up and say "Well, I guess they did alright."

Haro finally awakes (let’s be real though, we all know he wasn’t actually asleep), rising and brushing off his knees. "Let's go kid," is all he says. He leaves, Luffy follows. (AN: at this point I realized the thread was getting really, really long on Twitter. Yes, I have more room here on Tumblr to fill out the details, but I once again am brushng up agaisnt my self-imposed deadline. For now, I’ll leave it largely unedited, hope you can forgive me, and try to do better next week).

Next up: Cave. Big bear monster, like this big beast, two or three stories tall. Haro beats it up easily, maybe even in one punch or maybe he jumps up and grabs its head and flips it on its back. He is very, very strong. Luffy would acknowledge that with a classic "You're strong old man"

"What about you?" Haro asks, looking to Luffy. Luffy puts on his straw hat with a grin. "Just watch me."

A second monster comes out of the cavern. Luffy is not at this old guy's level. Not a victory in a single punch, but he keeps standing every time he's knocked down. He wears it down & wins.

Luffy and Haro come back to the manor. The boss old man gives a nod and the Straw Hats continue inward in the island. Haro sits back down and, only after they've left does he smile a big, goofy smile. Maybe, like, 85% as goofy as Luffy. "I like him," he says.

Now, it turns out there isn't much to this tower. Long climb up, but no traps or other gatekeepers. They get to the top, and there’s a spectacular view of the island and ocean beyond. They’re all looking and admiring when their captain comes up with his idea. Luffy takes in a super deep breath, everyone else is grinning as they realize what he’s going to do, and he just yells. "I'M GUNNA BE.... THE KING OF THE PIRATES!!!" Scaring some birds in the nearby forest to show how loud he shouted.

flash back to the old men. Sparrow is rubbing his chin. "King, eh?"

"He just might do it," Haro acknowledges. "He reminds me of that other young'un who came through all those years ago."

"Roger was a good man," Badger agrees.

"Plus," Haro says, as the screen fades to black. "That kid's a 'D'" Haro adds. "Can't wait to see what he gets up to."

To be Continued flashes on the screen, on to the next adventure.

This concludes the fourth #FanficFriday. I really need to find a way to compress these. It'll only get harder as we get more characters to play with. I'm still working on this. But hey, maybe I can just post the original on Tumblr and link to it on twitter, or put it on some third site and link to it on both these accounts. But hey, be sure to let us know what you think. If you leave an insightful comment or have your own tweaks to make (be it an addition or changing something I started in my own what-if scenario), maybe I'll give you a shout out on the pod!

#KotWN #Fanfic Friday #chapter 4 #Haha! I submitted this on time for once!#Sorry for lack of creative images. It's late #One Piece

2 notes · View notes

mareebrittenford · 6 years

Text

Space Zombies #4

So far in the story: (part #1 and part #2) (part #3) Lyse, looter and scavenger of abandoned and destroyed space ships found herself on board a ship that had supposedly been overrun by a plague. Except the sick are still walking around and seem to want to eat her.

She managed to escape back to her own ship with the friendly dog she found on board. But that’s just the beginning of her problems…

This is a weekly serial. It’s the result of me putting an urban fantasy concept in space. Sort of space opera with a twist, and lots of fun tropes. So please, check it out!

“Say, I have a great idea!”

Finally Felipe decides to get involved. The way his voice grates against my nerves means he’s dialed his ability up to maximum. He can’t charm his own children, but the use of his abilities still jar my senses some how.

The officer turns slowly, almost as if he’s fighting it. But in the end he can’t resist the compulsion. Felipe beams at him.

“Have you fellows ever had the pleasure of visiting Aptar Station? It’s not called the gem among the stars for nothing! I assure you, it’s the best place in the galaxy for some young men like yourselves to spend your precious shore leave.”

The officer blinks, probably confused because so much charisma is being laid on but Felipe hasn’t asked him to do anything yet. “I have heard it’s exotic.”

Save me please from being exotic. But I paste a smile on, prepared to play my part in the little scene Felipe is playing out.

“Indeed it is! And since you’re going that way, perhaps you could give us a wake ride? And perhaps on the way you could contact young David’s family, and they could meet us on Aptar and we can all raise a glass together to celebrate my daughter's wedding.”

It’s an excellent solution. Probably one that the officer would have agreed to even without the ridiculous amount of power Felipe is laying into his speech.

There’s only one flaw with this solution.

There might not be a way I can get out of this without actually marrying David.

It doesn’t worry me nearly as much as it should. He’s my soulmate, so it’s probably inevitable that I make some sort of formal bond contract with him eventually, but I would like to have at least one private conversation with the guy before I get tied to him for life.

I’m fairly sure that Felipe’s devious brain could’ve come up with a solution where I had a little more flexibility at least on the timeline. But I have no doubt he’s honed in on what to him would be the most salient point of the entire encounter. The money.

David’s family has posted such a large reward for his safe return that instead of destroying our ship an entire squad of soldiers and their commanding officer have decided to ignore their orders and risk zombie contact for the chance of collecting it.

David’s rich. And my father wants to get as close to that money as he can.Even selling his own daughter out for it.

----

The flight to Aptar, which would’ve taken us several days under our own power is accomplished in a matter of six hours riding the wake of the more powerful ship.

I have a hundred questions whirling around in my head, but no chance to ask them. The officer who I now know to be Jr Lieutenant Taylor has left two soldiers on board with us. Probably so they can remove the explosive charges they placed earlier-- which I appreciate-- but they have a dampening effect on conversation. All the questions I want to ask David can’t be asked when there’s any possibility of being overheard. Because of course as his betrothed I should already know all about him.

And wake riding always makes me nervous. Yes it’s fast, but it also requires giving over control to the lead ship. Full navigational coordination is vital to make it work. The other ship would be in just as much trouble as us if they mis-navigated. But I still don’t like the loss of control.

I spend most of the trip in a tense silence watching David eat. And boy does he eat. You’d think that the dehydrated meal packs he’s chowing down were the most delicious food ever created.

His ratcheting anxiety feeds into mine.

By the time we drop out of transitional space near Aptar I’m wound to a blade edge of tension, ready to snap at anything.

But the sight of my home station soothes me a little. I always love view coming up on Aptar. Seeing it’s sparkling silhouette hanging in space always gives me a twist in my heart. Not just because it’s my home and one the places I feel safest in the galaxy, but because it’s beautiful.

When humans first began to live in space-- not just visit for short trips-- a need was seen for permanent way stations. They were built in the most efficient way possible. Hideous boxy things created by stitching together a few freighters and then building them out into permanent habitation. Ugly on the outside, depressed on the inside. I’ve heard the suicide rate among long term residents is ridiculously high. Whispers of course. Most of them are owned by large corporations that tend to hush up that sort of information.

Aptar is completely different. Our founder, the first Premier Streeter, was a spatial, and he designed the place after extensive study of aesthetics, architecture and everything that was then theorized about what humans need to thrive in a nonplanetary environment.

“Wow,” David gasps. I glance over at the two soldiers and they’re gaping too. I guess we’ve got three newcomers.

“Pretty amazing huh?” I whisper, tugging David a little closer to a porthole window.

I’ve heard Aptar referred to as dew covered spider web floating in space, mostly by planet born types. I can’t see it. Phil says it’s because their eyes aren’t used to distinguishing the subtle tones of black on black that you get used to in deep space. Or perhaps they spend a lot of time looking at spiders when they’re on planets.

To me it looks like some friendly tentacled creature, happy and alive in the depths of space, it’s many slender arms sparkling with pinpoints of light. And it’s reaching out to welcome us home.

The CM crew transport tows us into the main dock, instead of our own private berth where we’d usually head, but at least we’ve made it here. I’m home and I’m safe.

As soon as we enter step off the ship I can smell the change in the air. Ship bound air always smells stale compared to this. Even here in the main customs area, which mostly smells like grease, fuel exhaust, and travel worn bodies there’s still that warmer texture to the air and the shadow of a taste of green things growing.

The military are held up at customs. None of them seem to speak spanish, so they need an official translator. David is also held up. The Jr Lieutenant is claiming he’s their prisoner, but of course they have no proof, and he has no identification with him, having arrived on our ship as a wolf. He’d probably have to sit there for hours while his identity was certified and his status was sorted out, so I call in a few favors and use my connections. I claim personal responsibility for him and and demand to speak to the Premier privately. It’s not something I’ve ever done before, so it gets things moving rather quickly.

Felipe has disappeared, probably trying to avoid fallout from so blatantly manipulating a military officer, but Phil hovers as I wait for my escort.

“Go home Phil. Say hi to your mom for me.”

I know he doesn’t want to, he wants to stick around and see what happens. But there’s too much that’s dangerous and uncertain going on here. I want him well out of it.

He groans, but nods. “I’m coming by your place later to find out what’s going on though.”

It only takes a few minutes for the escort to show. It’s the Premier’s personal assistant, and daughter, Alexis. She’s a few years older than me, but we basically grew up together. Sending her means I’m not in trouble. Yet.

“Hey Lyse,” she says. “What have you got yourself mixed up in this time?” Her eyes flick over David curiously, but she knows better than to ask for details before her mother has gotten all the information first.

“Oh this and that, you know how it is. How’s the family?”

“Same old same old. My brother is still imagining that one of these days you’re going to give up on adventuring and come home and marry him.”

Amusingly David slides his hand into mine. Okay. So he’s not completely against this whole fake betrothal thing. That’s good. Because with how things are rolling there’s a fairly high chance of it turning into a real contract within days.

Alexis doesn’t miss the gesture, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. I should introduce David, but I can’t explain anything until Devonda gets first crack at this information.

“I’ll explain everything, later, okay?” I hedge. We both know that ‘everything’ is really ‘everything I’m allowed to tell you.”

But she nods and grins. “I cannot wait to see my brother’s face.”

“You’re evil.”

“Nope. I just love saying ‘I told you so.’

I do not want to think about Lionel and his expectations right now. I have enough to worry about.

We’re lead through the twisting maze that surrounds the government offices. A security measure. And a show of wealth and power. I just think it’s beautiful. The promise of plants and water that I could taste at the entry port is fulfilled as the smells of earth and flowers and herbs roll over me. The lighting is all designed to simulate earth sunlight, and there’s gardens and fountains everywhere. People say it’s like being in a particularly beautiful old earth city. I can’t help reaching out and plucking a bright red geranium from a window box, and inhaling the bright green scent of it.

Alexis just shakes her head and smiles.

I smirk. “Sorry, was that one of yours?” The apartments in this section are far beyond my price point, and most other peoples. But I’m sure Alexis could afford to live here if she wanted to. She doesn’t, instead choosing to live in the same slightly shabby area that do.

I’m glad of David’s hand in mine, he keeps getting distracted, staring around him. I pull him closer. “Is it true? Is this what earth looks like?”

He shakes his head. “Not where I’m from. But maybe Greece, or Lebanon.”

It’s all too soon that Alexis leads us into a small private chamber announces me by my full name and bows out, closing the door silently behind her.

Rare, pointlessly expensive orchids line the window that overlooks the market districts, their flowers the only hint of decoration in the spartan space.

Devonda is already seated at the desk. Poised to intimidate any unwanted guests. Her blue tailored jumpsuit is a world apart from my baggy beige one, and somehow the cool color brings out the warmer tones in her dark skin.

I wonder for a moment if this was the best idea. Then Devonda leans back, the beads in her braids chiming together melodically, her dark eyes roaming over David. “What have you brought me this time?” she asks, sounding unimpressed, but she’s grinning at me.

I have to admit, David doesn’t look very impressive at the moment. He’s only about 5’7” when he stands up straight, and he’s not doing that now. He’s hunching in on himself and refusing to make eye contact. You’d think he was terrified. But while I can feel some anxiety and uncertainty, it’s almost as if he’s just being-- submissive?

“This is David Smith, and he’s my soulmate,” I say. No point hiding that from Devonda. And hey maybe she’ll stop hinting that I marry her son already.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and I suppress a smile. Surprising Devonda isn’t something I get to do very often. But this isn’t really the time for feeling smug.

“And also?” I continue, because he’s the least of it. “There’s something very very bad going down that you need to know about.”

------

It doesn’t take long to fill her in about hearing about the huge cargo ship that was ghosted, and me and Felipe deciding to check it out. Devonda shakes her head at me over that. She is aware that some of what Felipe and I do isn’t strictly legal, but I don’t usually tell her so bluntly. But I feel like in this situation full disclosure has more value than plausible deniability. Well, mostly full disclosure.

“How were you able to escape?” she asks.

“Because David’s extra,” I say. “He’s as fast as me, possibly faster.”

I determinedly don’t look at him. Devonda’s abilities aren’t empathic, she’s spatial, but that doesn’t mean she’s not gonna read a dodgy reply if I show any sort of tell. Yet for some reason I feel the need to hide the full nature of David’s abilities. Changing form the way he does isn’t something I’ve ever even heard of before, and after what he said before I feel like that’s something that he should get to decide about revealing or not.

“He’s also extraordinary? What type?”

“Agility as far as I saw.” I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back hitting me with a wave of gratitude and relief.

Devonda turns her attention to David, frowning. “You’re an agility type?”

He glances at her briefly before he goes back to staring at the floor. “Ahh, I guess? I’m fast and good at jumping and climbing? I don’t really know. I just thought I was a freak. I didn’t know that you guys existed, or that I could come here?” His voice rises up at the end in a question. He’s not sure if he really is welcome on Aptar.

Devonda chooses to ignore his implicit question, so I squeeze his hand again and try to project welcoming vibes.

Devonda steeples her hands and rests her chin on them , watching us thoughtfully. I feel like I’m ten years old again, and caught in some sort of misbehavior. I know that lightning fast brain of her’s is moving us around like chess pieces in four dimensions. She studies David for a moment before returning her attention to me.

“Why did you cross the plague line? Even for you that seems foolishly reckless.”

The question feels irrelevant, but I know that coming from Devonda it’s anything but. So I consider it for a moment. Yes I’d been interested in what that massive ship could hold, but that wasn’t really the reason.

“I think David was calling me. I felt like I had to go in.”

Devonda nods slowly. She’s been married to her soulmate for more than forty years, so guess she’d know if that’s normal.

Her eyes going back to David. “And you young man. I don’t believe for a second that it was an accident that you were on that ship. An unknown extra, suddenly appearing in such a volatile situation? Especially since your name isn’t on the manifest as a passenger or crew. What were you doing there?”

Forget wondering how on earth she has access to that sort of information. I gave up asking that a long time ago.

David mumbles something and hunches into himself even further, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.

“What was that?”

“I’m not at liberty to say ma'am. I’m sorry.” He sounds miserable. I would be too.

“How would I go about getting you permission to talk? I’m assuming you’re not working for the CM.”

David is silent for a moment, considering.

“You might start by contacting Svetlana Scheren.”

Devonda straightens and swears. She spins in her chair, making the rapid hand motions to open an external channel.

“Out, out, take him away Carlyse. But stay in contact and don’t let him leave the station. I will need to talk to both of you again soon.”

I’m not going to stop to question her. The name David gave her obviously means something to her. As we hustle out the door a woman appears on the com screen, blinking and yawning, clearly just been woken from sleep. She looks sort of familiar, like I’ve seen her before, but never registered her as important. She’s blonde with pale skin, perhaps forty or so. “This better be good Devonda, otherwise I’m going to cancel your override priority.”

“Good morning to you too Svetlana, and perhaps you’d like to tell me why you’re hiding extras from me. Do you want me to tear up our contracts?”

Oh boy. I do not want to be in the vicinity when that level icy death is in Devonda’s voice. I close the door behind me quickly.

Alexis is hovering on the other side. I dodge around her, still towing David by the hand. “Devonda is on an important call, probably best not to disturb her,” I say. “You know how to get hold of me if she has any more questions.”

What a joke. I’m going to be back on that carpet within a few hours.

Alexis wants to pump me for gossip, but is an hour or two alone with David to just talk so much to ask?

“Do you maybe want to go somewhere and talk? I guess you’ve got questions.”

Or perhaps he wants to get as far away as possible from the crazy woman who drags him around and is just as bad as everyone else trying to stake a claim on him.

“Talking sounds good. And um, sorry, but I’m kinda hungry. Can we get something to eat around here that doesn’t taste like reconstituted cardboard?”

#space zombies #part 4 #serial space opera

9 notes · View notes

gaudeixcc · 6 years

Text

Peleton News – Confessions (G18 Tour special – April 2018)

This year’s tour was a little fractured to start with.

JT, my honorable (although diminutive) co-chair has been living in Munich for some time, so has reluctantly lobbed all administrative tasks my way. He still of course has a pointy figure hovering over the keyboard most hours of the day to fire off a bullet-like reminder should any delegated task fall in to the overdue category.

My approach this year had been to further convolute the whole process by sub-delegating further down the value chain. This year RTA picked up route-planning duties, shouldering the full burden once Moley had thrown the metaphoric towel into the Gaudeix corner.

JT arrived the night before to settle into Hotel Mariposa and to busy himself ready for our arrival next morning, where, his welcoming party preparation of sundry nibbles, iced towels, freshly pressed mango juice and 6 flutes of chilled Champaign could be seen exactly nowhere.

Quietly bikes were built and readied.

I don’t with to appear overly-critical at this early stage, however I feel it is important to highlight areas where improvement could be made.

My first area of improvement relates to a mathematical ratio.

13.2 is an acceptable ratio.

60 is a completely unacceptable ratio.

Back in the day when I rode motorcycles for my thrill-seeking pleasure, the most expensive item of an accessory nature was the helmet. An oft quoted saying was ‘If you’ve got a £10 head, get a £10 helmet’.

I valued my head at considerable more than £10 and hence why I could be seen peacocking about the place in the latest stealth MotoGP inspired bonce-protecting loveliness from Arai, makers of the very best.

And the same is true of bikes and their bags.

If you’ve got a ratty old Trek which you equally be happy to see as landfill as opposed to nestled between your legs, then by all means bag it with a carrier from Tesco.

If on the other hand you have a carbonfibre creation, with composite wheels, electronic shifting and less weight than a fat sparrow, then for fucks sake, buy a proper bag.

Is there a correlation between 2 visits to a bike shop for fixing 2 bikes hurled into fifty quid bags?

Answers on a postcard…

Next year we are going to be introducing the video referee to dish out ‘after the event’ fines and tickets to offences against cycling such as this little atrocity.

Anyway, peleton delayers aside, we had quite a good tour from a reliability perspective.

No flats at all in 3 days of riding.

Not bad going considering the excess baggage about 50% of the peloton where wheeling about the place.

It can be a harsh life travelling with a pack of cyclists. As a group, we are generally slow to acknowledge quality but lightening-fast to highlight weakness.

This year’s theme was most definitely fatness.

It all started when Dripping decided to relax on day one and let his guard down.

The relief a fat Victorian lady must feel when at the end of a day grazing on mutton, savory puddings and broiled swan, she releases the strings on her corset, was probably how Dripping felt as he gently supped an ale whilst not ‘tensed’ or ‘sucking it in for dear life’ sitting quietly in the sun.

It was harsh and cruel for Mac to take a picture of Dripping at rest in such an unguarded state. The resulting snap caused almost immediate physiological damage, which was then added to by verbal slappery of the worst kind from almost all.

Macca’s boobs got a much lower level of attention than would otherwise have been.

But the real crime in the whole torrid ‘fatgate’ affair, was a quietly outed photo from Colchester Mac which showed what looked like a Michelin Man ballooned around a struggling Cannondale, legs bouncing hard off an impressive midriff as the owner snuffled and puffed his sorry arse up a hill.

That night James in a moment of shocking and completely unexpected kindness said to me ‘You’ve put on a bit of timber this year’…..

It’s about as nice as he’s ever been to me in the 15 years of friendship we have shared.

Ever.

Meanwhile, back in the Peloton, Whatsapp was on fire as fat Michelin man took a breather from cycling, sat down, drank a beer, guzzled food and then promptly took a micro-nap to allow his body to digest this latest onslaught of calories.

The peloton…. They can be mighty cruel to those built for comfort.

Anyway…let’s move on. Let’s talk compliments….

‘Love the tattoos’

‘You’re girlfriend is very pretty. The plastic she has had inserted in the chest area is both proportionally perfect and pleasing to the eye’

‘Nice denim’

‘Wow.. impressive steed’.

All of the above are probably good ways to make a hells angel feel special.

Alternatively, you could surprise the life out of him by slapping him on the arse as you cycle past at 15 mph…. showing shock and dismay on your face and general surprise that he hadn’t apparently heard your tinckly bike-bell.

I arrived at a stationary Peloton to find Macca being verbally abused by a very angry biker who was busy calling us all arseholes……. I mean he was right…. Must have been a lucky guess.

This was another visible demonstration of Macca’s intolerance to a good swathe of human kind.

On the flight out, Moley’s seat on the plane had been taken by a Turkish lady of more senior years and built like I will be if I don’t stop eating constantly.

She was resting up from the exertion of having had to climb the stairs at the rear of the bus and drag her cabin bag the 6 yards to her seat. The bag was then occupying Macca’s seat whilst she appeared to be cuddling it.

This was clearly a cue for some helpful soul to then lift it into one of the overhead lockers and help her out.

Macca, ignoring this cue like the plague, barked at her. He informed the startled greek lady that he owned the seat, not her bag, and would she kindly get a shift on and move it.

The plane went awkwardly quiet.

Trembling, the lady dressed in black wobbled to her feet and with oscilating bingo wings hoisted the bag upward. There was a moment or 2 when none of us could be sure the bag was going to make it. Like an Olympic weightlifter going for a PB, there was a pause, a grunt and then a final push… the bag was in.

Macca looked on in bland indifference.

She sat down, glazed with a sheen of garlic and thyme perspiration.

I think secretly Macca was hoping for an engine issue, a wayward turbofan blade and the exiting of the Greek weightlifter from the above-wing window seat.

He fumed quietly for most of the flight.

I suppose I should at some point talk about the cycling.

As with all these tours there is a lot to cover. But, as with most years, I generally can’t be arsed doing so and instead revert to the well-established highlights list.

So, here goes for G18, Malaga;

• Dripping confessing to having voted tactically in previous tours when it came to the yellow cap. Berlusconi-esque in its political nefariousness • C&N orange camo base layer • Mrs RTA’s contribution to the tour…. Can’t name it for legal reasons, but it went down exceptionally well • RTA’s ghost-like completion on date realisation • General higher standard of dress quality (although I still feel the shame and hurt from the explicit savaging I got from Dripping on the yellow cap voting paper… he went into enough detail to require and appendix FFS…) • Damo’s use of the back pen on photos • Whilst he did fuck all in his season of pink, Damo did at least sort out everyone elses mechanical catastrafucks whilst on tour • RTA’s route planning. Magestic. Simply nailed it to the floor. The pink was going one way only after 3 days of beautiful scenery • I hate losing. I especially hate losing to Dripping. I especially especially hate losing to Dripping twice. First time I made an error of timing. After having nearly lost a lung hunting down my prey I should have tailed his sorry ass for half a K before nailing the finish. I didn’t and paid heavily. Day 3’s mechanical was akin to running out of petrol 50 yards short of the finish line. I was running in the red and Drip snuck in and nicked my lunch. Absolute bastard. • Col Mac’s ‘Spam’ top • Macca’s deep-seated suspicion of foreign restaurants… he had me convinced that the preparers of our final meal where going to triple the bill, hack our phones, empty our accounts, spit in our food and quite possibly steal our children. What they actually ended up doing was serving us food which was simply sensational and probably the best meal I’ve eaten in the last 12 months, and then go on to charge us very modestly for it too. • Strange fact number 1. Everything edible in Malaga is cooked in beef fat. • Strange fact number 2. There is nothing wrong with 7 over 40 year olds drinking pink gin with berries in the glass. Completely hetrosexual and in keeping with the modern men we are. (On reflection, I think Colchester Mac way have swerved the gin actually) • If I have to hear one more bloody time about how good wahoo is…… you didn’t invent the fucking thing for the love of sweet baby Jesus… • Shit Garmins • The descent on day 3…on day one going up it I nearly died…. On day 3 coming down I could have cried…. Probably the best descent this peloton has tasted. • This year’s tour caps…. Top quality. • A vintage year that saw our first triple-cap…. ! Yes, my (well deserved) orange nailed a hat trick of caps (although only 2 physical caps probably maketh the point moot). • Desire takes many forms. But few have the strength and longing that have been displayed with the force of a Dripping wanting yellow. He may have ‘bought’ the cap, but god it was worth it to see his little face!! • Murdering 9 oranges to make 1 drink

And finally, whilst we have our highlights list, we also have a lowlights list. This one is my own personal list…. Only 2 entries… and neither of them spotted or witnessed by the Peloton;

1. On unpacking my bike and reassembling, somehow my fat fucking fingers and squinty eyesight have managed to crush the Di2 cable that runs the front mech…. FFS… bike now on turbo in just the little ring…. Horrible humble and apologetic call to Damo/Amy coming shortly. I can actually feel Damo’s eyebrows raise as he reads this…. (and can actually here him say ‘well you’re a fucking idiot aren’t you’…..) 2. Do you know what Raybans hitting tarmac at 20 mph sound like? No? It took me a while to figure it out too…. Well, 10 miles worth of fast riding to be precise…. And then I sulked quietly for 20 mins when I realised that day 2 would be the last time I went our armed with more than one pair of sunnies…… I kepy it quiet because Trusler would have definitely shit himself laughing at that one…..

So there we have it. Drip and Mac need new bike bags if they are to show their cycling faces ever again, Macca needs to take a tolerance pill twice daily, Damo needs to tut in my general direction, JT needs to not mention sunnies to me ever again, Moley needs to get his shit together in readiness for G19 and RTA needs to take a well deserved bow to a round of applause from the Peloton.

Malaga, G18…. Magic.

Hoppo

#PelotonNews

1 note · View note

katsitting · 7 years

Text

Lace

For Jamie <3 @obsidianpen

Prompt: Lace + Harrymort

Rating: M

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, One-sided Unresolved Sexual Tension, Torture

Don’t know what this is. This took me longer to write. I wanted to write smut, but the muse refused. Please excuse my typos. Also, if you haven’t guessed it already. This is probably my fave trope for this ship ^^; I hope you like it, irrespective of this <3

A veil had fallen over his eyes, the familiar weight drawing a soft breath from his lips. The sensation was the same as all the times before. Identical in that his enemy occluded his vision; that the world ceased to exist outside of the four walls he was currently sitting within.

Why this was so?

Harry could not hazard a guess. He had tried one too many times to decipher just what it was that ran through the old man's head, and still, Harry had yet to discern the answer. So here he was, sitting idly in the dining room, waiting for heaven knows what to happen with a bloody blindfold pressed against his eyes and no real explanation as to why.

Just a simple, "stay still," and, "put on the bloody blindfold," by his generous babysitter.

It didn't matter that this was the status quo. That this was a common occurrence ever since he'd been forced into the Dark Lord's marvelous care. It would be stupid for Harry to think that Voldemort was not planning something, that the man had no purpose for blindfolding him. Voldemort never acted without intention; Harry had seen enough memories of the Dark Lord's younger years to know just how Voldemort functioned.

But again, the issue always went back to why. Why did the Dark Lord blindfold him every night before dinner? Why did the Dark Lord force him to eat with him at all? Harry's stomach turned, nerves frayed. It was anxiety-inducing to not know. Completely unsettling that he had to follow along with a madman's whims.

"Harry...how are you this evening?"

The sudden sound of the sibilant voice was enough to stand the hairs on Harry's arms on end. It didn't matter that Harry heard it often. It didn't matter that every single night he would be subjected to that very same question, while blindfolded and forced to sit at the dinner table.

None of it mattered.

There was a script to be followed, one that Harry knew none of the lines for.

Bastard.

"...The same as always. Can't say the shade of the paint changes much when you're imprisoned in the same four bloody walls."

Harry's remark was scathing, full of all the vitriol he could muster within his body.

It was the only control he really had over his situation since the man had kidnapped him. He had believed the Polyjuice trick would work too, that he'd be able to slip past the Dark Lord's non-existent nose and make it out unscathed. But that had certainly not been the case.

The whole affair had gone the exact opposite of swell, in his honest opinion. It was disturbing just how quickly Voldemort had spotted him. His malignant eyes catching his own almost instantaneously. It didn't matter that there were at least ten different copies of himself flying through the darkened sky. None at all when the Dark Lord had managed to sniff him out like an offensive odor.

It was absurd, really. Though when was Harry's life not a case of Murphy's Law? When did brilliant plans not go awry in the most unexpected of ways?

Hedwig.

Harry cringed as if he'd been hit, recalling with vivid clarity how the Dark Lord had struck his most loyal companion down when she'd tried to save him. He wished he could have saved her, that he could have done something to have saved her from the killing curse he had flung at her in rage.

Harry released a soft, shuddering breath at the memory.

But there had been no time to grieve for her. No time at all in the seconds Voldemort had seized him by the throat and apparated them away. He couldn't afford to cry and to think about her when he was in danger, when at any moment's notice the bastard could exploit that weakness.

...So yes, Harry was more than a little bitter. Especially when he had not had even a single moment of respite to grieve for his friend. It was only fair that he take any and all opportunity to defy this man. There was satisfaction in knowing that he'd pissed off the Dark Lord, that even in a position of complete powerlessness he could still get underneath the man's skin.

It was well worth living through the Cruciatus curse.

Harry sensed rather than saw the man's irritation flare, the dinner table the only barrier between them as Voldemort's fury erupted, his magic like writhing snakes lapping at his skin.

"Rude as always. I don't suppose your upbringing allowed for such a privilege."

Harry winced as if struck.

Wow.

Before Harry could think to say something scathing in return, Voldemort continued on as if he hadn’t been the cause of Harry’s shitty upbringing in the first place.

"Now then, I believe that your dinner is served. You should eat it while the charms are still in effect."

Harry frowned. He'd sooner eat glass than listen to a single thing the man said. Not after a comment like that.

"Get stuffed." Harry said instead, lips twisting into a vicious smirk when Voldemort released a sharp exhale in irritation.

Oh, he was annoyed? Good.

"You are trying my patience, Harry." Voldemort warned, but Harry willfully ignored the threat.

"And your point is? I am your prisoner, not your minion. I don't have to be civil to you. You killed Hedwig. You kidnapped me and nearly killed me once already. You're bloody mad if you think‒"

"Crucio."

Harry never finished his rant.

Harry felt his lungs completely deplete of air from the force of the spell. It was fire and ice, the warring sensations running up his skin and tugging at each of his nerve endings. Harry could not say a word, the syllables lost to the agony that suddenly pierced through each of his limbs, like knives cutting flesh, the blade stabbing deep into the bed of his fingernails.

He ached in places he'd never hurt before. Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes, and Harry was never more grateful of the fact that he was blindfolded then. Anything was better than showing this man weakness. Anything was better than showing just how affected he was by the strength of Voldemort's spell.

"You will treat me with the respect. You will mind that tongue or I will mind it for you, you foolish boy."

Harry closed his teeth around his bottom lip to stifle the scream that threatened to come up his throat. It was like a current trying to force its way through a small crack, like a dam ready to burst at any moment's notice if left unchecked. But Harry bit until he bled, silencing the cries because he absolutely refused to give him the satisfaction.

He would not give in. He would not heel.

But then the pain grew worse. So much worse.

Harry felt his spine bend without any true control, felt the precise second he arched and threw his head back from the visceral sensation. His fingers dig into the carpeted ground for purchase, unable to recall when he had fallen onto the unforgiving floor, but uncaring of that small detail when he felt like he were being burned alive. All he could see was black, the blindfold exacerbating rather than dulling the agony, his senses attuned to every mouthful of air he sucked into his lungs. All Harry could feel was acid flowing through his veins, and he wanted nothing more than for the abuse to end.

But still, he did not scream. Even when he wanted nothing more than to ease the pressure crushing his lungs.

And then the pressure compounded on itself, the scream like bile churning in his stomach when his fingers felt though they were now being snapped one by one, like his elbows and knees were being fractured in time with each breath Harry took. It was too much, even for him to resist. He could scarcely breathe, his lungs crying out under the assault.

Please make it stop! Harry thought, before the pressure gave. Before he could no longer cling to his resistance.

Harry screamed like he never had before. No longer able to hold in the cries; the feeling of his spine being twisted and pulled was as if the magic alone would snap his spine right in half.

"Delicious." Harry heard Voldemort speak from somewhere above him, the parseltongue like water flowing through a river. Rapid and unyielding, it broke through the whirlwind of Harry's emotions, the agony giving way momentarily.

But the relief was short lived.

Harry cried out when he felt something latch onto the back of his head and yank painfully on his hair. A hand, perhaps? A claw? Harry did not know what it was, but all he knew was that it hurt. And that it bent his head so far back that he was sure his neck might snap in two.

"Will you obey?" Voldemort said, and Harry felt another rush of agony and hate dance within his veins. He felt acid creep up his throat, the rush enough to let him shape the words that formed along the crevices of his brain.

"N-never," Harry gasped, barely managing to string the words together since Voldemort had yet to lift the spell drowning him in absolute misery. But Harry couldn't just leave Voldemort's mocking words unanswered. No, Harry had to show him just how little he valued the man's opinion. Voldemort could just shove his statement right up his‒

"Do you enjoy being punished, Harry?"

And then the agony ceased, the magic sucking what little strength Harry had left like a black hole.

Harry collapsed onto the ground, a weak cry falling from his lips when the hand‒yes, it was Voldemort's hand‒kept a firm grip on his hair. His neck protested at the strange angle it was bent at, his arms like heavy weights, powerless to push against the ground to relieve the pressure on his neck.

Harry was certain Voldemort had ripped several strands of hair from his head in that endeavor.

Seconds passed before Harry could compose himself. His body still shaking with the force of Voldemort's spell, but it was loads better than being pulled under that dangerous current.

"W-what kind of bloody question is that? I definitely don’t like‒”

“I do not believe you,” Voldemort interrupted, his voice coming from somewhere directly in front of him. The Dark Lord sounded amused, like he was ready to break into laughter at any moment. It was unsettling the way Harry could tell, how the ripples in his voice could alert Harry instantly of a change in his mood.

“They bring you here under my orders. You are asked to sit and have dinner with me precisely at 7:00 o’clock sharp each evening. And yet, each time any attempt at polite conversation is rejected.”

That sounded about right. Harry would never entertain even the thought of politeness with this man. Sure, it was foolish to poke the beast as often as he did, but he couldn’t help it. Even when he tried to ignore him, his mouth could never remain perfectly shut. It was like it had a mind of its own, never listening to reason, or heeding any warnings.

Remaining silent was the smarter choice, the safer strategy in defying the Dark Lord, but just as easily as it was for Harry to get underneath Voldemort's skin, Voldemort was just as skilled at getting underneath Harry's. It was, to his dismay, a two-way street.

“What? Did you expect me to ask you to pass me the salt and pepper over dinner? To make small talk with the man that murdered my parents?” Harry mocked, wincing when Voldemort tightened his grip on his head in retaliation.

“Is it wise to antagonize me so? To make your stay far more unpleasant than it could be? You are fed, you are clothed, and you are allowed a room of your own. I could take all these amenities away and show you just how‒”

“Do it. Hardly matters to me what you do. The Order will find me and they will break me out. We will win.”

Voldemort’s hand stilled in his hair, his grip relaxing before disentangling from his hair entirely. Harry’s head dropped onto the ground, his cheek getting the brunt of the fall. He was certain he’d have a bruise by the end of it, if the throbbing was anything to go by.

A heavy silence fell between them.

Harry swallowed, anticipation curling in his stomach when the man had yet to speak. It was always a bad sign when the Dark Lord was quiet. It could mean one of two things. He was either plotting, or incredibly angry. And Harry was certain it would be the latter of the two.

Voldemort was angry. Harry could feel it in his bones, the way the connection between them flared to life with the rolling storm of his emotions.

It was the calm before the storm, the silence before the rage. And Harry waited for the man to explode, to curse him and drag him back to his room without dinner. As he often did.

But Voldemort did not react as Harry expected.

Voldemort laughed.

He started bloody laughing. It sounded like the Dark Lord was choking on air, like he could not help but release the strangled sounds from the strength of his delight.

Harry was floored, unnerved and unsure at what to do despite his senses screaming for him to rise from where he’d fallen on the ground. But his limbs refused to cooperate, they were like jelly after being held under the Cruciatus curse for as long as he'd been.

Could it have been a minute? Could have been an hour? Harry did not know, but before he could ask Voldemort to explain just what he found so damn amusing, Voldemort spoke.

“Harry, Harry, Harry...how charming. How naive you are.”

Harry gasped when he felt something warm dance along his nerve endings before he was forcefully lifted by an invisible force. He was floating in midair, the pit of his stomach protesting at the weightless feeling that had fallen over him while blindfolded.

Harry wished he could at least see. That he could at least know what Voldemort’s expression looked like in that second. Because Harry had been sure the man was going to curse him, not laugh at him. None of this made any bloody sense.

“The Order will not come, I can assure you of this. Your mudblood pet and your bloodtraitor friend will not be performing any sort of heroics to free you from my grasp.”

Harry’s arms prickled with unease, a full body shudder running up his spine when the man practically purred the words out like a promise. As if he was certain, as if he knew for a fact that they would not come.

What has he done? Harry thought instantly, the implication of Voldemort's words forcing image after unpleasant image in Harry’s head.

He saw Ron’s blue, twinkling eyes shattering like glass. He saw Hermione’s dimpled smile, lips stretching too wide. He heard their laughter, and he felt their hands pressed up against his shoulders, digging their hands into his flesh. He could see them clearly behind the opaque blindfold on his face, their flesh rotting away...

And it was with great horror that Harry realized just what Voldemort had meant.

No.

“W-what did you do to them!? Where are they? What did you do?” Harry panicked, his voice desperate and angry all at once as he struggled to free himself from the force keeping him perfectly still. It didn’t matter that his stomach was protesting heavily or that he sounded like he was pleading rather than demanding the man to tell him.

Harry needed to know. He needed it more than his stomach needed food, more than his lungs needed air.

“I have done nothing to your friends. Not yet, at least.”

Harry slumped into the invisible hold, his relief so palpable that he didn’t bother to mask it.

“But they are here, and I cannot promise that they will remain unharmed. They took quite the risk infiltrating this estate...and I certainly cannot leave such an offense against me without punishment.”

“Don’t!” Harry shouted instantly, his voice echoing within the small room like there were a thousand versions of himself screaming out the word. Harry renewed his struggles, unable to keep himself still when Voldemort could potentially harm his friends. When the man didn’t sound like he gave a cared at all about whether he killed them or tortured them, or both.

Harry wouldn’t let him. He refused to let any harm come to them, not after they risked so much to save him. If Harry was tortured and hurt, he could live with this fact. He could bite his tongue and survive the suffering. But for Voldemort to torture his friends...no, it was unacceptable. Harry couldn’t stomach it, wouldn’t stand for it.

So he said the first thing he could think of. All reason be damned.

“I’ll behave. I’ll...stop being a complete arse. Just don’t hurt them, please.” The words were like battery acid on his tongue, but he meant every single word he said. He seized on the one thing Voldemort had seemed to want from him and threw it at the man in the hopes that it would work. He’d kiss the man’s feet if that meant he’d keep his friends out of trouble. If it would be enough to get them out of harm’s way.

“A compelling offer. But what makes you so sure that that is what I desire from you, Harry Potter?”

Harry swallowed at the hint of curiosity in the man’s voice. He would admit that he hadn’t thought that far in advance. The words had shot out of him without much thought, the only thing running through the back of his head the safety of his friends and the conversation they’d been having earlier that evening.

Voldemort had chastised him about his lack of politeness, had cursed him over a simple thing as mouthing off at him. Sure, Harry had seen the man kill others for less. But still, the man’s fixation with his behavior had been the first thing he’d thought of before running his mouth.

He didn’t necessarily have a reason, but he wouldn’t tell that to Voldemort. Not when this could possibly save his friends from harm.

“You bring me to the dining hall to eat with you. You blindfold me and you ask about my feelings, and my thoughts. You don’t keep me confined in a cell and you don’t starve me when you otherwise could. You haven’t killed me yet when you’ve spent most of my life trying to put me six feet under. There is something you want from me, and whatever it is, I'll give it to you. J-just don't harm my friends.”

Harry’s throat felt tight, the weight of his words as oppressive as Voldemort’s magic keeping a firm grasp of his body. But he had said them. He had voiced the concerns he had had from the moment he’d been captured rather than killed. He didn’t know why Voldemort had not killed him, didn’t know why Voldemort had not kept him hidden away in the dingiest cell the Malfoy’s had. Harry simply didn’t know.

He had asked the man before for an explanation, but had received none each time. Perhaps, this time, he might humor him. Maybe he might even explain what the blindfold was for. What the purpose of this whole charade was.

Harry felt clothes rustle in the dark, like the sound of a bird’s wings flapping in the air. Something cool pressed against his cheeks, and he shivered. The soft touch spread along his face, and Harry swallowed nervously when a warm finger then touched his forehead, tracing the ridges of his scar in a reverent fashion.

Harry jolted when a sharp nail dug into the skin, and he immediately tried to pull away. But there was nowhere for him to go. Voldemort's magic held him rooted in place, unable to do nothing more than clench his fists and wiggles his toes.

Harry didn’t know what was happening.

“Sign a magical contract submitting to my terms, and I will spare your friends.”

Harry froze, disbelief clouding his senses.

No, I couldn’t possibly--

“You will swear that you will never raise your wand against me unless I have permitted you otherwise. You will swear that you will never return to your allies and that you remain in my care indefinitely.”

Harry’s breaths came quickly, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“And you will do so tonight, or I will consider their lives forfeit.”

Harry felt his stomach turn at even the thought of serving this man. He’d rather die, he’d rather suffer through the Killing Curse and be done with it.

But he couldn’t leave his friends to die. He couldn’t.

“Spare all of my friends. Spare everyone that I care about, give them a chance to renounce themselves, even. And I'll sign whatever it is you want me to.” Harry said desperately, and winced when Voldemort laughed silkily at his poor attempt to change some of the terms.

“And what would you give me in exchange for the lives of the other traitors? I had intended to spare the Pureblood children, so much magical blood has already been lost. But what reason do I have to spare the mudbloods fighting in this war? What are their filthy lives worth?”

Harry swallowed, unable to form an answer to his question.

What could Harry possible give him? What did he have that Voldemort could possible want? Harry was thrown.

So Harry, for the second time that day, said the first thing he could think of.

“My loyalty. I'll give you my loyalty in exchange for their lives.” Harry said, throat tight.

Voldemort's fingers on his scar stilled, as if considering Harry's words.

Harry's heart began to race when the hand finally dropped, fingers catching on his blindfold.

And then, Voldemort’s fingers tugged at the fabric, the lace falling away from his eyes to reveal bright, white light. Harry hissed in pain closing his eyes immediately to shield his eyes from the too bright light.

"Your loyalty..." Voldemort whispered, tone curious.

It was several seconds before Harry was finally able to open his eyes. He blinked away the dark spots dancing along his vision, ignoring the silence that had fallen between them once more, before he settled his gaze on Voldemort's pale, gaunt face. His skin looked waxy underneath the white light above their heads. Harry might even say, translucent, with how readily he could discern the faint blue veins twisting underneath the flesh in spite of his poor vision.Harry was revolted by the sight, but he said nothing nor turned away.

There was nowhere for him to go, and the strange emotion glimmering within the man’s crimson eyes made it difficult to even blink.

They glittered like rubies, hints of garnet and pinks pooled within the iris. Harry, if he squinted, could almost see himself reflected in there. They were too bloody close.

“You would give me your loyalty in exchange for their lives?” Voldemort said, head tilting to one side as if he were seeing Harry for the first time.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, fingers shaking nervously. Voldemort was too close, and there was a gleam in his eyes that did not sit well for Harry at all. He was looking at him like he were some specimen to be inspected, like he had found something particularly interesting and now could not be bothered to look away.

It took Harry longer than he’d like to gather himself, but when he did, he clenched his jaw and shot the man the most determined expression he could muster. He wasn’t feeling particularly courageous in that second, but it didn’t matter how he felt. He knew what he needed to say. He knew what he needed to do to ensure that everyone made it out alive.

"Yes. I would."

The words felt like a death sentence, strange and foreign on his tongue. But Harry wouldn't have it any other way, would have said nothing else in that moment. He would do whatever it took to protect his friends. Even if it meant selling his soul to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort’s expression froze for a moment, and then, just as Harry was about to lose his mind, a slow smile spread along the man’s lips.

It was the most terrifying thing Harry had ever seen in his life. Single-handedly more frightening than Bellatrix’s maniacal grin when he had his unfortunate run in with her at the Ministry of Magic.

Harry felt rather than saw Voldemort’s magic flare out, the power of it like the heat of the scorching afternoon sun. He shuddered, feeling the waves of magic lap at his skin before settling over his eyes. Just where the blindfold had shrouded his vision mere moments earlier.

“Have I told you Harry, exactly how lovely lace looks on you?”

Harry swallowed.

What?

“Simply how you look with your eyes hidden away, the cloth’s intricate patterns woven through the material as you flounder over your meal?”

What was happening?

“Do you not want to know why it is that you are not dead? To know why I deny you the privilege of your vision when in my presence? Why I treat you better than you deserve?”

Harry was silent. He did not want to know anymore. He had been curious certainly, but the man’s eyes. They burned with a strange emotion, with something that made Harry’s skin crawl with unease.

Voldemort did not wait for him to answer, his hand instead coming up to trail pale, clawed fingers against his cheekbone.

“You are my Horcrux...your soul irrevocably intertwined with my own,” Voldemort hissed, the parseltongue dancing along his senses. Harry froze, his disbelief and horror exploding so viciously that Harry did not know when one emotion began and the other ended. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.

But how was it that Harry could sense Voldemort’s thoughts? How was it that he could see into his head as if he were living through Voldemort’s flesh? Dumbledore’s explanation had been unsatisfactory back then. Perhaps, this was what Dumbledore had not wanted to tell him. A burden that he did not think Harry was ready to bear.

Merlin, this couldn’t be true. But the weight of his words felt more oppressive than the magic restraining him. It felt more constricting, more suffocating than any shackles Voldemort could put on him.

No.

“My emotions, my thoughts, my dreams are as much a part of you as they are mine. I own you, Harry Potter. Far more completely than anyone could ever dream,” Voldemort said in English then, caressing Harry’s quivering cheek in a reverent fashion. Slow and fluid, like death kissing along warm skin.

Harry felt like he might be sick. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have a piece of‒

Harry’s mouth trembled, but he couldn’t find the words.

“And here you are, contrary and resistant. Fighting the connection that grows stronger with each passing day you reside here…”

Voldemort’s fingers slipped away from his cheek, moving past his ear to thread through his hair. Harry shuddered at the strange, ticklish sensation, mouth parting open to tell Voldemort to stop.

But the words died in his throat when Voldemort then leaned in so close that there was only a hair’s breadth of space separating their lips, the proximity nearly making him cross-eyed.

“Nothing delights me more than conquering you, than watching you fumble and rely on your Lord when I have stripped you of your vision. As poor as it already is without my own influence.”

Voldemort was mad. He was completely, totally, absolutely mad. Harry thought in that second, horror seizing him completely when the man inhaled deeply, eyes closing momentarily as if he were relishing this moment.

Merlin, please.

“And now here you are, begging me to spare the lives of these vermin in exchange for your loyalty. Are they worth the price to be paid? Are they worth your pride and your freedom?” Voldemort asked, and Harry tried not to gasp when Voldemort’s firm grip on his head tightened, their lips nearly brushing.

Harry could taste Voldemort’s breath on his tongue, like freshly spilled blood and frozen air seeping through the cracks of an icebox. And he wanted nothing more than to pull away from this, than to tell Voldemort to fuck off.

But he didn’t. This was a test. Voldemort wanted a specific answer from him, wanted to show him just what it entailed to give up his agency for the lives of his friends and perfect strangers. He knew his answer, even before Voldemort had asked him the question.

“Yes.”

Just one word was enough to change everything in that second.

Harry watched Voldemort’s restraint shatter, noted the second bright red eyes exploded with triumph and his lips curved into a pleased grin. His magic erupted around him, the current overtaking Harry completely.

“A fine choice, my Horcrux.”

#harrymort #one word prompt #I did a thing #this is dark as usual #why do I do this #obsidianpen #jamiemarierose

91 notes · View notes

zoedozy · 7 years

Text

Thoughts and analysis about S4

This is going to be episode by episode and very long so here we go.

Episode 1: Code of Honor The Blade of Marmora is affecting Keith obviously in more ways than one, we know that Keith felt he was not meant to be the leader of Voltron and the BoM helps him ghost away from his responsibility. This causes something he feels is right, no longer being the Black Paladin, and something he fears, being pushed away by his team. From his vlog, we know he isolates himself on purpose so he won’t get hurt, instead it has the least desired effect this time. Yes, the team supports eventually his decision on going with the BoM, however, they were harsh on him in the beginning and this isn’t what Keith needs.

Despite all the things with Keith, Shiro (Kuron) gaining his trust back with the Black Lion says something, they still have their bond and the lion knew how much he needed to help the team. If we’re still on the clone theories, it’s really interesting Kuron was able to bond with the lion. But, this still throws away all the work in S3, even if Keith didn’t want it.

Episode 2: Reunion (AKA MY FAV EPISODE) Oooohh boy!!! I’ve been waiting so long for this!! Prepare for super analysis and detail because the Holts are my life.

So, the episode starts Katie staring out the classroom window, until something in the school lesson catches her interest. She gets excited and shares her own knowledge on it, it shows how much passion she has for science. Only for her to be shot down by pre-teen assholes. This affects her to the point of tears, showing she wasn’t confident about her brains, even giving up studying for a brief period.

Let’s take a break to say, because of this, I suspect Katie didn’t have many friends. It’s middle school, a really tough time for any teen and she’s struggling. The only thing that keeps her sane is her older brother, he shares his wisdom and supports his little sister. At a point later in the episode she even says something along the lines of: “I can’t believe I have to go through middle school without you.” She’s later praised and known for her brains. Nerd power!!

Also, it turns out Matt gave Katie the nickname Pidge and used it as her alias. I have my own headcanon on how she got it but that’s a post for another time.

Okay, back to the present and Pidge is out searching for him. That Pidge Jedi aesthetic? My aesthetic. Bargaining Pidge? My fav. Now, she’s got a lead and helps freedom fighters she encounters. Okay, here comes the part where I super analyze Pidge.

Pidge witnessing someone die right before her eyes, when she knew she had the chance to save them. She’s crying, frustrated and feels helpless. We know how much Pidge thinks and rambles when she’s nervous. Imagine her now. “I could have done more.” “I should have been faster.” and etc. She knows the casualties the Galra cause, but seeing it up close and alone is different.

Back to the past! Honestly, this small moment of the siblings sitting on the roof, Matt teaching her codes and frequencies, and them going past their curfew is adorable.

Now here’s where I get emotional. With Matt’s code, Pidge arrives on a destroyed planet, there resides a massive burial and cemetery honored rebels who fought in the cause. Everything about this scene screams heartbreaking: the music, scenery of the 120,000+ graves, the flashbacks, everything. I knew from the spoilers that Matt was alive and well, but the feeling of over a year’s work of finding your family, only to reach their grave, is devastating. This hit me hard and it’s the only episode I recall crying at.

Thankfully, encrypted in his grave, there are hidden coordinates. (HUGE FUCKING SIGH OF RELIEF AFTER THAT HEARTBREAK)

after small scuffle, her bayard knocks off his mask and cue a very happy and sweet reunion. Matt loves his sister and thinks she’s amazing, literally all that matters. Also a bounty hunter was looking for them since the Unilu meeting.

“Stand back, Matt.” “Stand back, Pidge.” SHOW THAT GUY WHAT THE HOLTS ARE MADE OF!!! The animation in this fight scene is awesome like I’m in awe. The siblings using their brains to weaken their opponent and BOTH KNOCK HIM OUT!!! LITERALLY EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE ASKED FOR!! Matt is a tall bamf and I love him.

Some pictures of the Holt family in front of the Garrison is shown (also pre-Kerberos Shiro and Keith in the background, I’m assuming he knew Keith at some point). Matt no longer needs his glasses and passes them on to Pidge, I’m sure they’re mostly for sentimental purposes and she wears them for that. Pidge can knock down Matt like omg. And it ends with a shot of her putting on the glasses and looking up to the sky.

Okay, honestly. This is one of my favorite episodes, it’s just great. I have no words for it. I love Pidge, I love Matt. I LOVE THEM

Episode 3: Black Site Haggar/Honerva looking at her true self, using magic to hide her her true appearance because she can’t bear to look at herself.

We get to see how Matt really is and I love this memelord. Fanon Matt is Canon Matt and it’s amazing. Honestly, he’s relatable when first seeing Allura. Like that Ouran vision is amazing AND THEN THAT SHOUNEN SHOT I’M DYING. JEALOUS LANCE!!!

Okay, here’s where I’m a little disappointed. The reunion with Shiro is a little stale and stiff, yes there’s a hug but there’s nothing about Shiro saving Matt when they were prisoners. Him calling him ‘Sir’ is a little strange, I’m sure he was higher up than him, and him being a Paladin is intimidating, but in a reunion none of that really matters.

zarkon’s going like darth vader with the suit to keep him alive. also CARRY ON MY WAYWORD SON

CUE MONTAGE OF PIDGE BEING ADORABLE AND SHOWING HER BROTHER THE CASTLE

Matt: “Hey, this is pretty goo- d.” HE MAKES FUCKING PUNS I LOVE HIM

I love Pidge’s messy little room, she kept her trash versions of the paladins and even some of the trash bugs. AND MATT JUST LOVES HIS SISTER SO MUCH AND IS VERY PROUD AND I’M SURE THEIR DAD IS TOO

Color coded or you’re an animal is the holts’ mindset. Matt calling Hunk and genius and HE’S SO SMUG ABOUT IT!! HE KNOWS HOW SMART HE IS!!

Hunk: “This one time, we went to another reality. It was pretty lame.” Matt: “Wait, you what? You were in another reality?” Pidge: “No big deal.” hovers away Matt: “My little sister.”

HE!! LOVES!! HER!!!

i’ll never get over how coran and allura talk to animals and like milkshakes. adorable!! Lance playing video games to blow off steam and jealousy. Honestly.. same. I’m so happy they got their video game set up. Lance knowing how to milk a cow. Iconic. HE CHUGS MILK LIKE DAMN SON AND DRINKS MILK BY ITSELF??

TECH TRIO!! I LOVE THEM!! THEY ARE ALL SO SMART AND I’M VERY PROUD!!

CO PILOT MATT!! CO PILOT MATT!!! I LOVE HIM!!

I’m still trying to figure out why Narti was a spy and was given Kova to begin with? What where her intentions? Haggar just wanted to keep an eye on Lotor, she knew something was up with him, and Narti was the only option. Like the death seemed to be for shock value, they could have gotten rid of the cat. Idk at this point. Ezor and Zethrid obviously begin doubting him at this point, wanting to save their own skins, while Axca is trying her best to say by his side. But we see how that plays out later.

Episode 4: The Voltron Show! Now, I’m a fan of this episode because: Coran focus and it gives us a moment to breathe. But, it has it’s iffy moments, AKA the ‘Humorous Hunk’ joke. I hated it so much, like poor Hunk I felt so bad for him. Of course, we know something was manipulating Coran but that’s just mean and humiliating. The Yuri on Ice, Jurassic Park and Star Wars references are great, plus aerial dancer Lance.

And the iconic: Coran: “Allura, you’ll be playing Keith.” Allura: “HEAAHGHG”

Shiro: “I will save the princess, even if it means taking on the Galra Empire with my bare.. hand.” i’m dyingg

literally everyone else is reading the script deadpan as possible and LANCE IS THE OVERLY EXCITED THEATER KID I LOVE IT.

“holds bayard dashingly- oH.”

hip talking coran is so bad i love it.

brief cameos of the mermaids and varkon.

i don’t have much to say on this episode.

Episode 5: Begin the Blitz Wow, we get to see Keith again!

Axca is still trying so hard not to doubt Lotor by telling herself he’ll protect them.

Hunk is accepting of Nyma and Rolo while Pidge is still unsure, that’s unexpected, but she can’t stay mad at a cute robot. I love how she loves robots it’s adorable.

ALLURA SPEECH!! I LOVE HER!!

PIDGE AND HUNK FIGHTING TOGETHER!! HUNK BEING A BAMF AND KILLING A MAN BY ELBOWING HIM IN THE FACE AFTER HE HURTS PIDGE!!

that really hot galra commander like mmm

I love the rebels so much. But like a third of them gets fucking wiped out... jfc

FInALLY MORE KEITH!!

God Lotor looks so defeated when visiting Daibazaal. I feel bad after his plan fails and his generals turn on him. They suspect after his failure he’ll just turn on them suddenly, but they don’t know about Narti being a spying and it’s frustrating. He didn’t even explain it to them, so both sides are at fault here. He wasn’t even expecting their betrayal. Like yikes.

THE WHOLE COALITION FIGHTING!! REBEL FIGHTER SHAY!!

god this scene with lotor’s bONES LIKE OMG I’M DYING LIKE DAMN SON I LOVE IT

Episode 6: A New Defender This episode is wild.. like wow

Lotor flies barely above the surface of a star and lives?? He’s desperate to complete his plans, whatever they are.

Haggar is awesome this episode like she’s crazy and i love it

This episode was tense and had my heart racing, I knew they would be okay but this situation was insane. The fact that the camera is on Lance and goes for Allura first when she’s being electrocuted, then asks if she’s okay.

ANOTHER ALLURANCE MOMENT AND I’M LIVING!! Lance cares so much for Allura and supports her in every way he can. Allura’s magic is back and it’s beautiful!! I love Princess Allura!!

Allura: “Thank you, Lance.” Lance: “That was all you.”

MY HEART

GOD KEITH’S ALMOST SACRIFICE FUCKED ME UP SO BAD

ONLY MATT AND THE REBELS WOULD HAVE SEEN HIS DEATH

FUCKING CHRIST HE DIDN’T EVEN TELL TEAM VOLTRON

AFTER LEAVING TO GO WITH THE B:ADES THERE’S THIS SAD FACE HE MAKES AND THIS IS NOT THE RIGHT CHOICE FOR HIM OK

HE ALREADY HAS ABANDONMENT ISSUES AND NOW HE’S PUSHING THEM AWAY EVEN MORE, TO THE POINT WHERE HE’S FULLY WILLING TO SACRIFICE HIMSELF. HE’S NOT SUICIDAL BUT BELIEVES THEY’D BE FINE WITHOUT HIM LIKE

I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE THANKFUL FOR LOTOR

After rewatching it, I like this season a lot more. It’s pretty good! Now I’m off to read meta posts about Keith.

#my posts #voltron #vld spoilers #voltron spoilers #voltron season 4 #vld season 4

2 notes · View notes

gwynbleiddyn · 7 years

Note

"Sometimes I catch myself trying to remember the last time I had meaningful physical contact with another person, just a hug or a heartfelt squeeze of my hand, and my heart twitches." looks DIRECTLY at me2 cade

way to call him out

Shepard stalks Omega’s derelict alleyways with ease, he knows just where to turn a blind eye, and how to avoid the worst of the dark where opportunists wait with a winning smile and a hidden blade. Omega doesn’t bother him in the slightest, it only hums a familiar red in his veins and beckons with sinful promise.

The grates clang as he walks, boots heavy on the metal, and Shepard is keenly aware of the way he stick out amongst the crowd. He’s swapped his Cerberus uniform for a plain black shirt and fatigues, but the dog-tags hanging from his neck catch Omega’s red lights like a warning beacon. Shepard smiles grimly; Omega is the only place he could think of where his dog-tags stirred up more uncertainty than the ugly cybernetic scars clawing at his face.

It suited him just fine.

The clanging on the grates subsides as he turns another corner, descending a flight of stairs loaded with cargo and salvage. Shepard reaches the lower level, and the smell of ryncol hits him like a brick wall. He grimaces, lip curling at the stench, but he quickly makes his way out of the slums, alleyways strewn with passed out bodies lying in their own squalor.

Shepard feels cold, despite the hot air venting through the district. He doesn’t stop walking, but his eyes narrow as he takes in his immediate surroundings. Marketplace. Sellers and buyers hawking for a deal, backhanded deals between passing strangers, Aria’s guards making a show of authority as they kick a squealing batarian on the ground. There’s nothing out of place, but Shepard feels eyes trained on him, smells the rush of ozone pass by him, and there’s a presence at his side that he knew too well.

“Duke.” Shepard all but growls, unsettled, unsure if he wanted someone like Duke finding him somewhere like this. Omega was a part of him in a way he wasn’t sure his crew understood, even more so now that part of his life had left him behind right here. Scott had been gone barely a day, and the reality hadn’t quite hit him yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be near anyone when it finally did.

“That’s no way to greet a friend.” Duke’s voice is chipper, completely out of place in Omega’s racket. Shepard resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m not sure stalking a friend is protocol either.” Shepard snarks back, but there’s no humour to his voice, and his eyes are fixed straight ahead as they walk. Duke isn’t sure where they’re going, but they square their shoulders and Cade’s half-arsed comments barely make a dent.

“It’s not stalking if we’re in the same place, genius. You pulled Normandy in for shore leave, parked her up on Omega and disappeared without a word. Excuse us for making the most of it.”

Duke is right, he knows that. Still, it stings when they say it to his face.

“I needed a break.” he replies, and he knows it’s a selfish thing to say. Duke’s expression tells him as much.

“You needed a break? Not Noel, who’s been working his ass off in engineering with half a crew to speak of? Not Jack, who’s had to deal with the most inane and invasive questions from Joker and Kelly?” Duke questions, the words loaded with a bitterness that Shepard would be content to ignore, but couldn’t. Not when they came from Duke.

Right now, he doesn’t have a good enough answer.

Neither of them say anything more until Shepard ascends another flight of stairs, traversing Omega’s maze with a confidence that Duke would rather see back on Normandy’s bridge, not wasted on this station.

“What’s this?” Duke asks when Shepard slows as he approaches a door, an apartment block in front of them. Shepard doesn’t reply immediately, just punches in the code to his omnitool and slips through the door when it opens, assuming Duke would follow. They do, with wary steps and a sharp eye, not sure if they wanted to meet this side of Cade.

“What’s it look like?” Shepard finally addresses Duke’s question as the door to his apartment slides open, and then he stops dead in his tracks. Duke almost bumps into him, snapping out a ‘Hey!’ as they just manage to skirt around him. He just shakes his head and stalks off, hand hovering briefly over the door panel to his room which flashes from green to red as the locks engage. Duke raises an eyebrow.

“And you’re locking that… why?” they push, curiosity piqued. He was acting strange, stranger than he’d been lately, and Duke was irked that they couldn’t place why. And slightly more so that Cade wouldn’t tell them.

“Because it’s my room.” Shepard replies, but it’s completely lacking any kind of conviction or emotion, and Duke lets it drop, heaving out a sigh. Shepard moves over to the kitchenette, sparing a glance at Duke.

“Drink?” he asks. It’s about the nicest thing he’s said all day.

“What’ve you got?” Duke asks, taking a few tentative steps into the apartment. It was small, quiet, lived-in. They suppose they’ve found the answer to where he’s been hiding all this time. It’s… a relief, of sorts, to know that he’s here and not out of his mind in some back alley behind Afterlife. They’ll take it.

“Uh, we have whiskey, or–” Shepard looks through his cupboards, most of them bare, and the ones that weren’t only had alcohol or dry food, “–more whiskey.”

“Wow, hard choice.” Duke snorts, looking over at Cade in the kitchen. He pulls out two glasses, pours a measure and promptly downs his own, before he passes a glass to Duke, who sniffs and scrunches their nose at the liquid. Whiskey wasn’t their favourite, but since Shepard apparently didn’t know how to stock a cupboard, they’d deal.

“Cade–” Duke tries to get his attention, which was already sporadic at best, and he barely spares another glance as he potters about uselessly in the kitchen. For how small the apartment seems, the space is generous, and Duke finds a strange comfort in the way that Shepard hasn’t left any spaces blank. He’s made it his. There’s gun parts everywhere, old coils, batteries, screws, but that isn’t what grabs Duke’s attention next.

Hanging from the cupboard door handle, they spot a familiar looking chain with tags, catching the apartment’s dim light as they swing gently, disturbed by Cade’s movements. He only stops when he finds Duke staring, and follows their line of sight to the dog-tags on the door. Before he can do or say anything, Duke’s crossed the space in an instant, and the tags sit in their free hand as they talk.

“Oh! Did Liara give you your tags back?” they ask, turning to face Cade as they turn the tags to read the details, eyes squinting in an effort to distinguish the letters, slightly worn and faded.

“Duke.” Shepard voice drops, low and quiet and dangerous, this was an exposed nerve and he wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot. It doesn’t help that all he can think of in this apartment is the way Scott had leaned against that door with that smile, or the way he’d kissed him, rough and hungry, or the way he was still here. Still a part of everything, somehow. And Shepard can’t take the two apart, not with such careless, brutal hands like his. Hands that shake as they hold onto the countertop behind him, his eyes on Duke, waiting for the hit.

“Ryder, S.” They read, thumb smoothing over the engraving, the Alliance insignia, and the various scratches and dents that a tag usually picked up in the line of duty. When they finally look at Cade, it’s not hard to put two and two together.

Duke knows Caderyn Shepard. Or, they think they do – they weren’t sure, not since he’d come back – at least enough to understand that this wasn’t a simple story, nor was it a happy one. It all added up: the amount of time he’d spent on this station in the time Duke had been back on the Normandy, the secrecy, the way he’d snapped at anyone who’d asked. Desperate times call for desperate measures, Duke can understand that, but this was far beyond the reach of a professional soldier. This was deeply personal, and Duke isn’t sure that they want to push it any further, fearing Cade would shut down entirely.

To their surprise, he remains quiet across the kitchen, breaths slow and steady, until he opens his mouth to speak.

“Sometimes you catch yourself trying to remember the last time you… had something meaningful, a conversation or just, physical contact with someone else. But you just can’t, you just can’t remember. Either you blocked it out or- or you just… can’t recall how it feels. That hurts.”

Duke just listens, frowning a little. This was a lot, even for Cade. There’s questions sitting in their mind, threatening to spill out – what about Ashley? What about friends, the crew? – but they refrain, and let him carry on.

“I can deal with that, it’s not necessary, not for me. But Scott was part of something bigger than that, he was– he was the only thing I had left of a life before the Normandy.“

Scott. Duke thumbs over the engraved name again, setting their untouched drink down on the worktop while Cade speaks. It feels strange to be told a story that you were standing right beside almost the entire time, without a clue.

“What happened to him?” They ask, trying to fill in the gaps as Cade talks.

“You heard of the Andromeda Initiative?” Cade asks, and Duke nods slowly. They’d heard talk of it, the smallest news bulletins, but nothing concrete.

“A little.”

“Crossing dark space for 600 years to see Andromeda.” Cade summarises with a snort, a bitter edge to his tone.

“And… Scott went?”

Duke watches the final piece fall into place, and it’s not a happy ending.

“Yesterday.”

#x: i am dissonance #tag: nyarmamaitar #anyway hi im dead #duke doesnt deserve cade's bullshit and yet they put up with it #and i love them <3 #c: caderyn shepard #c: duke wilder #lorspolairepeluche

4 notes · View notes