#I can just see her imagining him running though the field with a neon green knee | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

huntsman-ash · 4 years ago

Text

RWBY LiveThoughts: Episodes 8 and 9

So I missed last weeks episode since I got busy with stuff (school mostly, basic bitch busy day and all) so here’s two for one.

Gotta say, Im interested to see where this is going...

So something I missed the last few episodes; the final shot of the opening has the words ��happily ever after” turn into “happy never again”, which I am both trepitided by and also intruged.

Cut to the jail cell AGAIN...Schnee’s looking a bit ansty. Boi probably thought he was getting out sooner. Suck it mate, your lawyers are DEAD.

Convinent blast of fire is convinenet...knocks out the cell doors and punches a hole but thats it. My money’s on Cinder

Qrow becomes bird on reaction. Makes sense really.

Two fade to blacks in less than 2 minutes? Come on RT...

Ohhh its Nora waking up. So does that mean Robyn’s dead? I doubt it, but that drama spike is def a thing.

IV tech in Atlas is almost the same as our world. Interesting.

Whitley A poses like a god.

Looks like Penny’s back snapped. Or something...maybe a coolant pipe or something similar. And the return of British Klein.

And there goes the power. Probably a Grimm getting smashed into it during a fight...or they left it unguarded. Either or. Lot of explosions, either way...

Bombing run...has Atlas gone to area denial now?

...ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! THOSE FUCKING FLYING JELLYFISH GRIMM CAN MELEE AIRSHIPS?! Can we just...how in the... (LONG SUFFERING SIGH OF MILTIARY FAN) Not...going to comment. MOVING ON.

Honestly that animation seems oddly...flat. Like they just did the bare minimum...the ship breaks cleanly too. ~12 or so bits in between its nose and tail section. Kinda reminds me of how the UNSC Savannah blows up after suffering a reactor breach in Halo Reach’s “Long Night of Solace” mission.

Yes, its too much Ruby. ITS WAR. Huntsmen and Atlas were not ready for it. Never have been. Welcome to the bloody grim fable.

Oh hi Willow, where did you come from. Also, vodka. Wait. Generator near the-Oh, I bet I know where THIS is going...fuckin Five Nights style shit at this. Slash Jurrassic Park...

Whitley showing the first signs of being human...utilizing Atlas cargoships for evac. Nice.

Shit, the storms spread across all of Atlas. How the hell are they gonna get out through that? Also DEF getting fuckin’ Jurrasic Park vibes here.

Why does a power startup sequence take so long...

Oh so they can talk. Also Blake says “as a girl”. Soooo what, she thinks shes older than RWBY mentally? I mean maybe she is (she did kill a man) but whos counting?

Ladybug fans getting FED right now.

Hehe, the houses CANDLES are fed by the main power. How quaint.

YEP. Knew shit was gonna hit the fan. CONTACT. Hound

The chess set seems to have black loosing. Wonder if that means anything. Or if its just random.

Yep its the Hound. Knew it.

DID IT JUST ONESHOT RUBY’S AURA?! THE FUCK RT WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT BEING RESILIANT?!

Oh its trying to kidnap her. Also those wings just EXPLODED out of it. Must have learned from last time. No weird screaming noises.

DAMN THOUGH WEISS’S MOM GOT THAT CAKE! THICC SCHNEE ASS

WOOPS. No more booze for you Mrs Schnee

And Pennys back up and SHES NOT PLEASED.

Also I like how completely dead and robotic Penny is while hacked. It amuses me. Unfortunatly for Watts hacking something with MAIDEN POWERS doesnt seem to work too well. SURPRISE.

Oh and of course its got backup, DISRUPTING WEISS’S SUMMONING AGAIN

Ha, it thought Ruby was Penny. Lul. Makes sense, young girl, whatever.

Oh look, a Hydralisk. Or, Salems horrible attempt at making a Hydralisk.

Hacking denied BY THE POWER OF BUTCH LESBIANS!

Willow having a panic attack, doesnt really surprise me. Then again she IS a Huntress, or was, maybe she’ll get over it.

Chandelier. Phantom of the Opera time?

Unsurprising twist is unsurprising...makes sense Whitley would get covered in that green shit.

Further proof to my theory the Hound is eyeless

And Willow doing her fucking job. NICE.

I know I should be worried for them while running but again, THAT SCHNEE ASS THOUGH GOOD LORD.

These bigger Grimm are getting smarter. They’re learning how to handle CQC.

Target DOWN. Sadly, did not explode into showers of acid when Ruby cut it down.

Okay that was pretty cool with the arm. Always was a fan of “useless limbs only for smashing”. Ah THERES the Silver Eyes. PROBABLY SHOULDNT HAVE TAKEN HER ROBOT WIFE PRISONER BIIITCCH.

Penny is just getting ALL KINDS of fucked up rn.

WELL THEN. The Hounds not ACTUALLY a Grimm. Just a parasite on a host. Salem couldnt get them smart enough by themselves (to no ones surprise, they’re completely SHIT in terms of actual lethality) so she steals a...faunus of some kind looks like. And just makes him wear a Grimm suit. Useful. Good to know.

Also this episode has been making excessive use of sweat drops. Did they get that figured out or what

HA! Grimm dont handle physics well do they!

The Grimm arm that results looks like Cinders. Intentional, Im compleretly sure. Also the fact theres bone underneath proves to me more what I thought. Its just a host.

How...UNIMPRESSIVE.

However the fact that the bones have TWISTED and resulted in the Hounds form is...interesting. Unless those were there first (and they seem to be as they last past the Hound vanishing)...was that a secondary feature? He had the ears...

We’ll probably never know.

Ah so it WAS Cinder breaking in. To get Watts most likely.

Kinda feel bad for these three troopers. Shoulda brought shotguns, boi.

Fucking moron with a rocket launcher. WHY is he firing this thing INSIDE? Against a humanoid target? Though it is nice to know that Atlas does in fact have rocket launchers.

And now, Episode 9

...wow, way to start us off. Field littered with dead Atlas troopers. Yeah MAYBE IF YOU HAD SOME DEFENSIVE POSITIONS buddy...least they still got fire from the Paladins.

You know this kinda feels like an Imperial Guard moment. Point made, RT.

Also those Mantas peeled off without DOING anything. Least you could do is drop some ordinance...

Wait I t hink they did...also, for about 2 seconds you can see the silverfish Grimm that won that contest.

Alright, so RJY is inside the whale now. Good.

Good question Yang. Probably cause you dont really have any other options?

I feel like Jaunes hair has become less plant-like and more realistic.

New fairy tale; The Girl who Fell Through The World. Interesting. Wonder if thats in the book somewhere.

So hes got access to magic but it makes them fuse faster. Alright, cool. Nice limitation.

...my god. Trenches. Standing formation. HUNTERS IN ARMOR?!

Its...its beautiful. Its everything Ive ever wanted! Seriously you HAVE to see this.

Just look at it. The lights, the Mantas in he background, the fact that FNKI is there and WEARING ARMOR! Neon in her skates with weapon at the ready, everyone else standing firm, winter Walking the trench line like shes fucking Commissar Vale...

Its. Just. SO. GOOD.

And then they rush to glorious battle moments later. OH YES PLEASE

“Right now, just kill Grimm.” PERFECT

Hazel short-walking amuses me to no end.

Hazel has “II” in roman numerals on his arm band. I doubt it means anything but its funny

Spontanious Emerald is spontanious. And convinenent.

Glowy blue titty woman yeahhhhhh

And there goes Hazel with his change of heart. Been good knowing you pal...I can guess where THIS is going.

Oscar is distracted by the big glowy milkys.

Also; Neo can...thats most interesting. Fully camoflauged. USEFUL. And of course you can see her ass for ONE SECOND and I bet the FANDOMS HAVING FUN WITH THAT

If Yang wasnt afraid right now I’d be very surprised.

Random floating Seer as well.

MAN THERE IS JUST TOO MUCH FUCKING CONVENIENCE GOING ON RIGHT NOW LIKE

I get it. Nice to see things not going according to plan for Salem exactly but

Ehh.

Hahaha. Juan. Bro doesnt even remember Jaunes name. Also that short section of fight is magnificent. This is what I have always imagined the HKs being like.

CLEVER. Nice work Emerald.

Also uhhh...dont need no semblance ot see THAT Ren, she got that confused scared face right on there.

Tsundere Emerald continues

Also, the fact that all the troops stand in line around the bomb when it arrives amuses me. Like, yes, we must worship this tool of horror we have created.

Timer...ohhhhh thats gonna end poorly. WHY AM I GETTING SHADES OF LONG NIGHT OF SOLACE AGAIN?

Did Salem straight up make a door right through the wall? With a perfectly good one behind her? God damn.

Also on that subject uhhhhh off the walls guys, not to hard. Landing strats right?

OH NO WAIT FIGHT TIME.

Magic still doesnt seem impressive to me. Just...mildly forceful. Yeah it whacked Jaune and Ren off their feet but

Still. No 40k psyker is she.

Ohh ho. OH THATS NICE

Also Yang punched her titty. That is hilarious to me.

BREAK, BITCH! SUFFER AND SHATTER! In the words of the Chaplain Grimaldus; “BURN HERETIC!”

Addit; First time we see her regeneration. Seems its literally anything, she pulls herself back together using Grimm bits. Obviously shes not fully human considering that blast Yang hit her with should have liquified her organs. Makes SENSE of course.

Okay, magic seems to kinda work, she didnt like that much.

I paused at the perfect time and Yangs ass is riiigghhhttt at Oscars crotch more or less. Unintentional I know but its funny to me.

Also those sigils...like Weiss’s glyphs perhaps?

Huh. Two kinds of magic. The bright sunshiny ranbow one she used to hit Ren and Jaune, and now this void looking shadowy stuff. So...two kinds perhaps? Creation and Destruction or...light and dark maybe is more accurate. Makes SENSE, shes studied in both and uses both. All aspects.

Okay NOW Im seeing why RT got Jen Taylor to do Salem. We jussttt had to wait to the point she got mad enough to really start showing off.

Also Salem seems oddly unconvinced about Summer.

Awww, Emeralds crying. HOW PATHETIC

Someones gotta distract her...well this works. Again, RIP Hazel, you were pretty cool.

Homie goin ALL out on this. YEAH!

Okay, magic seems to be both, she has the void walker balls shooting rainbow light...

I like how casually Salem takes it. Seeing that Grimm ichor splatter was REAL nice though

IMMOLATIOIN OH YESSSS

Good, SHE DOES BURN!

Awwww. And it ends there. Of course it does.

Well hey maybe hes NOT dead. Albiet that looked like him passing out/getting strangled so who knows. Good news; Salem burns just like anyone else. If it feels pain you can kill it

And thats this weeks!

#spoilers #rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby v8

3 notes · View notes

caffeinated-mendes · 5 years ago

Text

desolate palaces - a shawn mendes one-shot

masterlist

previous work

synopsis: (written intentionally in lowercase) you’re the daughter and heir to the throne of your parent’s country. while away on a business deal with a foreign country, visitors arrive, the son and niece of an allied country to yours, shawn and kennedy mendes. you’ve been longing for someone to talk to, and you wonder what could happen in the month that they’ll be there.

a/n: hi! sorry for not uploading sooner, school has been hectic. i love royal fics, so i wrote another one! also, a new updated masterlist is coming soon :) love you guys!

word count: 2k

warnings: none

*if you prefer, you can read this on my ao3 instead of here

today was the day someone would arrive. after months of your parents being overseas, two people would show. you hoped your palace would be less empty and gray, maybe filled with a little more cheer, as maids and cooks didn’t do much. sitting at your vanity, in the expanseful room you occupied, you applied light makeup to your face to give some color back to it. your room, although vibrant, was always dulled from the lighting coming from the windows. where your family’s home was, there was barely a day of sun until summer arrived.

a maid had told you that of the two people coming, they were cousins: one, a little girl, a toddler, and the other, a boy your age. they were of rich parentage and experienced the lifestyle you had, which comforted you. looking into the mirror, your hair was swept up into dutch-braided chignon, and your face adorned jade earrings that complemented your skin. you wore a black, flowy blouse with cuffed sleeves, and plaid pants with combat boots. you liked to mash an elegant style with edgy style, much to the distaste of your mother. but she wasn’t here now, so it didn’t matter.

you couldn’t help but wonder what the boy would look like. creating a certain tanned, blonde-haired figure in your mind, you imagined him arriving up into the foyer with a golden glow emanating around him and his adorable baby cousin, bringing shreds of happiness into your life, at least for a time.

you’d spent the afternoon reading on your nook, overlooking the window that faced the circular driveway. you waited and waited for a black car to turn along the greenery-laden paths, and your heart sank every time when it wasn’t there. finally, after dozing off nearly till the sun set, a rumble of an ignition woke you, and you pressed your hand to the glass as you saw the sleek car pull up to the steps of the palace. placing your navy-blue hardcover on your blanket, you shot up from the nook and ran down the winding corridors, hopping down flights of stairs, and almost knocking over several people until you reached the big, brooding oak doors of the castle.

guards winked at you as you breathlessly waited for the doors to open. your cheeks were in no doubt flushed from the excitement and running, and you had to hold your hands behind your back to keep yourself from shaking.

after what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened to reveal the exact opposite of what you imagined. he was beautiful, just not in the way you thought he would be. but somehow, you already knew you liked this better. he was tall and pale, with broad shoulders and muscled arms, and flushed cheeks. his smile was charming, and his curly hair sometimes swept into his face, covering his brown-green eyes. looking down, you saw a tiny figure holding his big hand by the fingers. she had the same hair as him, curly as ever, with a beautiful blue bow tying it up into a ponytail. the blue of the bow matched her striking eyes exactly, and you could tell she was going to be quite the fierce lady.

“lady y/n, i present to you, shawn and kennedy mendes.” you bowed your head as shawn took your hand to kiss. his lips were warm, but didn’t stay on your hand very long. his cousin, kennedy, did a small courtesy, picking up her white dress and shyly smiling. it reminded you of how you acted as a child. always hidden away, not being great at confrontation.

you flushed, looking at shawn, and then smiling down at kennedy, “it’s such a pleasure to have you both here. come walk with me, i’ll show you your rooms,” you hated this formal speaking that spewed from your mouth, but years of practice ingrained it into your mind. the guards began to follow you, but you motioned with your hand to stay down on the first floor. taking the winding staircase, you walked with shawn and kennedy to a expanseful white hallway. the crown molding of the walls were delicately carved with golden detailing and the floor, a dark hardwood, was adorned with a blue rug that ran along the halls.

“kennedy, your room will be first,” you opened the first door on the right with a smile to reveal all that a child could want: board games stacked along shelves that also held countless books. next to it, a child’s bed with a thick, yellow plaid duvet. pillows with embroidered sunflowers were placed neatly at the head of the bed. in the corner, a dollhouse sat collecting dust, as it had been untouched since you were a child. although kennedy didn’t seem to gravitate towards that, as she drifted across the room to a child’s science playset. toy flasks with neon green and blue liquids sat on the black table next to a lab coat, which kennedy put over her dress.

“she seems to like the science table,” shawn quietly spoke to you, leaning into your ear, as the two of you watched from the doorway.

you grinned, “i think we should leave her to her experiments. we can’t disturb scientific discoveries in-the-making.” shawn nodded and grinned at you, and the two of you turned out of the room. a maid rushed down the hallway to watch kennedy while you led shawn to his bedroom. “your room is just next door to mine. they keep the children's rooms together, but we’re still in the same hallway.” towards the end, on the left side, you led shawn into his room, which was much emptier than kennedy’s. there was a nightstand with blue-covered bed, and a closet. the whole room seemed very unlived in. “whatever you want to put in here, i can ask. i know there’s not much, but i can get anything you like. books, instruments, clothes…”

“thank you, lady y/n.” i think i’m fine for now, but all i ask is, where’s your library and music room?”

you waved your hand dismissively, “just call me y/n. they’re down our hall, the first rooms to the left.”

“thank you.” his smile seemed to make you feel warm inside, and you longed for something that you couldn’t describe, as you didn’t really know what it was.

later that night

you awoke in a cold sweat, hearing knocking on your door. pushing your covers aside, you got out of bed and walked to your door, opening it. there stood shawn, in his pajamas: flannel black and gray pants, and a white t-shirt. “sorry to bother you, but i just heard you calling for someone. and it sounded like you were in pain, so i came to your door to see if you were okay.” at this point you felt very vulnerable, seeing as you were wearing a tank top and shorts, and you didn’t look as put together as you did in the morning. your long hair fell across your back, tickling your neck.

“oh, i guess i had a nightmare,” you wiped sweat from your forehead, “thank you for checking on me, shawn. i’m sorry i woke you up.” you nervously put a piece of hair behind your ear.

“don’t be sorry, i was awake. it’s hard for me to sleep in new beds.” on his face crept a pink flush, and you couldn’t help but think he looked best this way. no fancy clothes, fluffy hair that wasn’t styled.

somehow, a different, less rational part of your brain spoke, “do you want to come in? i don’t think i’m going back to sleep anytime soon.” shawn seemed a little nervous, like he didn’t want to intrude, but you beckoned him in anyway.

“you have a lot of books and puzzles,” shawn laughed, looking at your shelves. you turned on a lamp, illuminating the room.

opening your closet and putting on a jacket, you replied, “it passes the time. it’s pretty lonely here.”

“do you have any siblings?” shawn asked. he sat on your nook, looking out of the window, into the bleak, grassy fields. you came out of your closet.

“no, my parents decided they’d have me and then leave me with the maids,” this sarcastic humor seemed to resonate with shawn, as his lips turned the slightest bit. “do you want to do a puzzle?” shawn nodded, looking at the ones on your shelf. getting up, he picked one of a small, suburban home, and sat on your floor. you joined him.

how ironic it was that he picked the one you would’ve picked. it was only what the two of you dreamed of.

“how long are you staying here?” you asked shawn.

shawn shrugged, “i think a month or so. our parents are off to make some sort of deal with a foreign country. they had the great idea of let’s keep our kids locked in the same place so that we can keep an eye on all of them without the extra work! you snorted at that, suddenly so embarrassed that you made that kind of sound. shawn seemed to find it hilarious, doubling over and laughing.

one week later

shawn and you had gotten very close over the past few days. on the rare sunny days, you’d go outside and bring kennedy to pick flowers from the garden, and without the guards seeing, climb trees. the three of you had become quite the team, but sometimes it seemed as though you and shawn really were the ones connecting, watching kennedy have fun from a distance.

the maids would scold you from down the halls as you stole buttered rolls for dinner from the kitchen, running out in a flurry with shawn, a dozen of rolls in your arms. he was quite the prankster. sometimes, he’d play guitar for you, asking if you liked it. you’d been trained in music theory as a child, so you knew most of the things he talked about.

one evening, after checking that kennedy was asleep, the two of you went into your room, singing together while shawn played the guitar. it was one of your favorite songs he had written. the melody made you feel like you were floating on a cloud, and the words spoke of a love so strong, that even if the two separated, they’d always be connected somehow.

“i love it, shawn,” you’d said to him, while the two of you sat on the window nook. the window was open, and cold air gave you goosebumps along your arms. “the melody’s so sweet and vulnerable-” shawn took your hand in his, and put the guitar against the wall.

“it’s about you. what i hope for us to be.” shawn looked straight into your eyes, his gaze never wavering.

you quirked your eyebrow, “what?”

“i’ve been in love with you ever since that night i arrived. i didn’t know it, but every morning when i woke up, there was someone to see, something to do.”

your stomach flipped in on itself, and your heartbeat quickened. you realized that feeling you’ve felt all along, it had been about shawn. he leaned forward, pushing your hair over your shoulder, and kissed you so tenderly and with so much fear that you’d almost told him to stop, if it wasn’t for the feeling of bliss that coursed through your veins.

you gained confidence, kissing him back, and as you separated, your smile felt genuine, like something you hadn’t felt in a long time. he leaned back against your wall of the nook, shutting the window. you leaned into his side, somehow fitting perfectly on the incredibly small space. with a sigh, you put your arm around his neck, saying, “i hope you don’t have to leave soon.”

shawn grinned and pulled you closer to him, whispering, “i never want to leave.”

#shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes x reader #caffeinated-mendes #desolate palaces #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes royal au #shawn mendes au

62 notes · View notes

lusie-king · 4 years ago

Text

Atone

This

Is the story

A demon

With a halo

And an angel

Seeking sin

Those who believe hell to be a wicked place never grew up there. It’s hard to see your origins as evil when they’re all you’ve ever known. It’s difficult to be afraid of the night creatures and dark monsters when they’re howls lulled you to sleep every night. It’s impossible not to crave the warmth of hellfire and scent of souls burning when, to you, they’re reminders of your upbringing. Of the only things in existence that have ever cared for you.

I was different from the start. My brothers and sisters would sneer at me with their sharp teeth and dark eyes, sneer at the glowing wisp atop my head between little horns. They’d mock my lack of wings and a pointed tail, though I liked not having a tail once I realized how they yanked on each other’s as a means of torment. I never let it get to me, though. Not the beatings nor the laughing nor the torment. I was always content with how the world made me, and though they teased me, I was the one who felt pity for them, and so I knew my differences did not stop at the surface. They were rooted deep within me. And it made me feel special. It made me feel unique.

He couldn’t believe how different he was by the end. A creature most holy in the beginning, with white feathers running along his back and robes of pure light covering his innocent form. His sisters and brothers and even his own father frowned upon the lack of aureole sitting softly above tufts of mousy hair. His appearance reminded them too much of mortality, and with mortality came sin. They never ridiculed him out loud, not like my family did, and that was somehow worse. At least I knew exactly what my siblings thought. He spent everyday wondering if they’d ever love him. He cursed the way the world made him, vowing with each sunrise to find his purpose and be the epitome of righteousness he thought he was meant to be. He never felt special. But he was unique.

The day he fell I remember like my own name. Never had I seen something so beautiful, so sacred grace this planet where I bided my time like I had an eternity of it. He claimed he’d find meaning here but I knew, as soon as I saw his face, I knew he didn’t come here on his own. And he couldn’t go back. I knew for the way he immediately threw himself to his knees and folded his hands in prayer, though I was certain no one was listening. No one but me.

I kept my distance, tucked behind a tree, watching with flitting eyes, staying absolutely still until he had run out of tears and his feathers drooped. Then, I emerged. The moment he sensed me, I slammed into the tree, his hand around my throat, my pointed teeth baring in the most sadistic way. His hand burned when it touched my body.

“How dare you look upon something so holy.” He spoke with a hiss.

I gripped his wrist, enjoying how his face twitched in pain. My touch burned too. His wrathful eyes softened when he saw what hovered above my head. What didn’t hover above his.

“What the…what is that?” His dark eyes searched me, realizing there were certain things missing. “What are you?”

“Exactly what you suspect.”

“Why are you here? You don’t belong here.”

“Neither do you.” I wriggled out from under his grasp. “I guess we have that in common.”

“You and I are nothing alike.” He didn’t touch me again.

“True.” I tilted my head. “The difference being, I can go home whenever I want.”

The rage returned. But I wasn’t afraid. Even when he grabbed me by the horn and dragged me away.

“As a soldier of heaven, it is my sworn duty to protect this mortal world from the likes of you.”

“Oh?” I crossed my arms, smirking as he pulled. “Why?”

“Why?” He scoffed. “What do you mean why? You know why, soulless beast!”

“I do not. I come up here to read. Things below get noisy like you wouldn’t believe. Up here, all is quiet. All is peaceful.”

“Peaceful?” His tone became bitter. “This place is anything but peaceful.” He let me go so he could look into my eyes. “This place is bloodshed and brutality and sin.”

“Sounds like Hell.”

“That…that…” Oh, he was furious. “You know not of what you speak!”

I couldn’t keep the smug look from my face. “I do. And I know this place is also bright and calm and full of joy. Full of hope.”

“Sounds…” His voice softened. “Sounds like heaven.”

“Now that, I would not know.” I sat back down, a book materializing in my hands.

“You—you are not like the others I have encountered.”

“Nor are you.” I felt him staring at me.

He was quiet for a while, many racing thoughts brewing behind those dark eyes. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“You could make the best of it.”

He crouched beside me. “How?”

I thought for a moment. “Come with me.”

He hesitated, gazing down at me with wary eyes.

“Or remain alone in this field. Your choice.”

Reluctantly, he followed, suspicious glare never leaving the back of my head.

City lights were prettier than the stars, I thought. The way they twinkled so close, each a beacon to someone’s life. To a moment in time. We walked along the mortals, me a figment of their imagination melting in and out of the shadows, he a flash of light moving faster than their eyes could perceive.

“They’re disgusting, even you must agree!”

“I do not.” I shot him a sly look. “Nor do I think you truly believe that.”

The way he stared at them, taking every detail. Listening to their voices. To their pain.

“Nature is messy. But she doesn’t make mistakes.”

His fingers subconsciously ran through his hair, as if expecting something to dance over his head.

“Everything has balance,” I went on. “It’s magnificent.”

We watched a mother coo to her infant. We watched a boy push his sister into a puddle. We watched a scrawny dog graciously accept a handout. We watched a man steal from someone who had nothing.

“I don’t understand,” he growled.

“That’s the problem.” I shook my head. “You keep trying to understand but you can’t because no one can. This world is complicated, as it deserves to be. And those who try to fully comprehend it will drive themselves mad.”

“So what do I do?” He was begging. Desperate. Confused and hurt and my own heart, which I sometimes forgot I had, wrenched.

“Don’t try.” I looked into his innocent eyes. “Just do.”

I took his hand and pressed it to the cold building, letting him take in the marble. That was the beginning.

Gardenias. Purple clouds. Raspberries. Mortal laughter. Tights gowns and clacking heels. Pearls strung along exposed necks. Jewels dancing in chandelier light. Perfect sculptures, the ones where texture defies material.

Screams of pain. Damned souls. Old books. I bit my lip. A moonlit lake. Glittering fish. The smell of death. Flies around a carcass. Pomegranates and dirt blacker than charcoal. Mortal skulls. Hot tears. All this chaos, all this agony, and I still got to see his smile.

Coconut milk. The smell of oil paint. Green tea. Horseshoes on cobblestone sidewalks. Silver chains. He closed his eyes.

Neon lights. Throbbing music. Curling smoke and cigarette buds. Jean jackets. Bloodshot eyes and greasy hair. Doubts. Insomnia. Ecstasy, both kinds. Shaking restlessness. The sharpness of my horns. Scraped knees.

White shells. Footprints in wet sand. Boardwalks and docks. Ferris wheels. Worn down carousels. A swaying sailboat. White curtains fluttering around a windowsill. Shimmering ocean waves. Salt and seaweed sticky on the skin.

A sweet blonde mortal. Her soft lips against his skin. The way his breathing hitched. Glossy makeup. Streaks of shadow streaming down my face. Silk sheets. Whiskey and rum, hot in the throat. A tan-skinned boy. Rough hands running along immortal flesh, calling me a pretty thing, hating my pointed teeth.

Obsidian blades. Bruised knuckles. Split lips. Lost memories. Forgotten dreams. He said he’d never go back, given the chance. Sad smiles. The taste of blood. Clinking glasses. Sparkling champagne. I smiled and his eyes never left my face.

Wool shawls. Racing through the forest. I said they’d have to drag me back. Red and orange leaves fluttering around us. Hot apple cider. Cinnamon donuts. The ground crunched. Meaningless apologies. Bottled sunshine. He spread his wings, mismatched feathers fluttering in the breeze, towering over me. My heartbeat quickened.

He touched my hand and inhaled once when his skin burned. Then he touched me again, holy palms running down my face, down my neck, down my back, leaving ash in their wake. Panting. Dark eyes stared into mine, into the soul newly formed. He looked haunting, hair in his face. Red scratches stretched across his chiseled muscles. My claws skimmed his wings. They were softer than I imagined. My lips found his. He tasted of sin. Quiet moans. Squeezing flesh. Our fingers aligned. I no longer wondered what Heaven was like.

I laid in his arms, far from the first time. Shadow against light. I never felt so real.

“I was touch starved all my life.” His voice was low. His fingers absentmindedly ran through my hair. “Meanwhile others couldn’t keep their hands off you.”

I tilted my head up. “And look at us now.”

“And look at us now.” He paused, deep in thought. “Is this a happy ending? Do we deserve that?”

“Why not?” I hugged him closer. He was almost found. “If you decide everything always had meaning, you no longer have to search for it.”

His cheek pressed against my temple. “You are hellfire with a halo. Something sacred in the most unholy way. There's nothing soft about your stone-cold heart and yet you hold me with the gentlest hands. When your lips, damp with blood and eyes, dark with sin, set themselves upon me I feel saved. I don't care about the taste of iron or solid black of your irises. All I know is I'd take your bruised knuckles over smooth flesh any day.” His voice trembled as he spoke, laying down all his cards. “Your demons are vast, but they do not exceed my own.”

“Everyone is fucked up in their own way,” I murmured, head on his chest. “And I think that’s beautiful.”

Time went on. His feathers frayed. The light between my horns faded. Neither of us cared. We walked among the mortals until mortality took over. Until his pure light dimmed and disappeared. Until my horns withered away. Until my claws softened and his wings became scars. My heart beat vigorously, in sync with his own. Our touch no longer burned. We were different. We were unique. We were something magnificent and foul. We were mortal. And I wanted those dark eyes to be all I’d ever known.

2 notes · View notes

radstag-ghoul · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: The Alley Cat and Scarecrow

Wendy was definitely lost, of that she was sure. For the past hour she had been roaming the ruined streets of Boston, evading raiders, feral ghouls, Gunners andl Super Mutants, whilst trying to find Diamond City. The map on her PipBoy was no use now however, the screen having staticked out about an hour ago, leaving her to follow the crumbling highway above.

She was also sure she was as good as dead unless she found a better place to hide. Scarcely daring to breathe, the woman continued to cower behind the ruined truck, the tick, tick, tick of the Super Mutant Suicider pacing around on the other side just loud enough for her to hear.

"Where'd human go!" The mutated being bellowed. Wendy flinched, her grip tightening on the pipe rifle in her hands. Her luck at avoiding conflict had finally ran out it seemed. Just five minutes prior she had run into a band of five Super Mutants. Two of them she had managed to take out, though two of those that remained, she realized too late, were much more deadly. She had already seen what the first suicider had done, to one of its own comrades who had gotten too close, so she knew she had no chance against the remaining monster. She had been partially caught in that first explosion, thrown violently against a wall, and judging from the sharp ache in her left arm and side with each breath she took she'd wager she had broken a rib or two and her arm. Not to mention she was covered in numerous burns, her Vault jumpsuit riddled with scorch marks. She had also been seperated from Dogmeat in the blast, unsure if the faithful hound had even survived. Poor dog. I can't even look for h-shit! She looked around frantically, as the ticking grew steadily louder. "Gonna find you! Gonna kill you!"

Then, she saw it. Her salvation. From the corner of her eye, the glow of a neon sign. In her panic she hadn't noticed it before, but now it seemed bright as day to her eyes, beaming proudly the word "GOODNEIGHBOR" with an arrow pointing to the right. Don't know where that goes, but sure as hell better than sitting duck here. Saying a silent prayer to whatever god was listening, Wendy peeked over the hood of the truck, attempting to gauge if she'd be able to make it before she was spotted-just in time to look the angry Super Mutant right in its beady, dark malevolent eyes.

"There you are!" It bellowed, dashing towards her as fast as its thick, muscled legs could carry it.

"Fuck!" Wendy screamed, turning tail and running towards the sign and where it pointed. She could hear the ticking speeding up, practically behind her accompanied by the loud plodding steps. Up ahead she could see a door, with another neon sign above it. Though with a sinkimg feeling she realized she wasn't going to make it in time. So this is how it ends, blown to hell by the fucking un-jolly green giant. Never even made it to Diamond City. Shaun, I'm so-

The loud booming pop of a gunshot sounded off from somewhere atop the wall of "Goodneighbor", a bullet whistling over her head towards the monster behind her. Hearing a strangled grunt and a loud thud Wendy would wheel about, to see her pursuer lying dead on the ground, blood pooling from its ruined left eye, the mini nuke it had been holding having rolled a short distance away, no longer in danger of being detonated.

What in the goddamn...? Looking back to the wall, she saw no one there who could have fired the shot. Several moments later however Wendy heard a voice-distinctly masculine and somewhat annoyed- calling over the wall "Well? You gonna come in and thank me?"

"Uh...sure." She called back, Well, if he saved me guess that for sure means they're friendlies in there. I hope. Taking a deep breath, she would cautiously limp towards the door, slowly opening it and slipping inside.

The first thing she noticed was the man just clambering down from the wall, a sniper rifle holstered on his back-a thin wisp of smoke still wafting out of the barrel, indicating him as her savior. Bald with a patchy stubbly beard upon his chin, he wore the same style of black leathers and jeans she had come to associate with the bands of raiders she had tangled with. Which of course already made her uneasy, along with his sleazy smile. He took a drag from the glowing cigarette in his hand as he looked her over, taking in her current sorry state.

The second thing she noticed was the location she was in: what appeared to be a town of some sort-if it could even be called such. Two shop fronts stood across from her, and to her left a building she remembered from a middle school field trip-the Old State house. In the shadows of the building Wendy could see two people standing together, face to face, quietly conversing with eachother-the one with their back turned to her wearing a long red coat of some sort, and what appeared to be a tricorn hat. The one that faced her was decked out in metal armor, a woman, her head shaved bald save for a single, long crest of copper colored hair that fell in a wave over the left side of her head.

She continued to stare for several moments, distracted from the one who had killed the suicider-though her attention was jerked away from the pair as he spoke up, his voice just as sleazy as his smile "Now now, you can properly thank me, eh? Hows about some payment for saving your ass. And of course y'gotta pay for...insurance as well, being a newcomer and all."

Wendy blinked, "Um, excuse me? Insurance?" Is he for real?

"You heard me." He sounded more aggressive now, a more demanding tone to his voice. "All newcomers gotta pay insurance. And like I said, you owe me." He smirked.

Wendy felt the flush of red hot anger rise in her as she shook her head at him, "I don't have that many caps, and I need 'em!" She snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why even shake me down now? What was the point of saving me when you coulda just picked over what was left of me?"

"Caps have worth, irradiated, melted metal don't. That's why. Not very bright, are you?" He sneered, tapping ash from his cigarette as he started walking nearer, blowing the smoke in her face. "Now, I ain't saying it again...you hand over everything you got in them pockets or 'accidents' start happening to ya. Big, bloody accidents." He patted the rifle on his back, baring his teeth in a threatening grin.

"Fuck off," Wendy snarled, with as much venom and malice as she could muster, raising her pipe rifle to point at him, satisfied when she saw him flinch at the unexpected ferocity. "Or you're the one that's gonna have a big, bloody accident." In the back of her mind she knew it wasn't a good idea. She was already tired out and injured, practically on the verge of falling over right there, though she was doing her best to hide it as she glared unwaiveringly back at him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of red approach, accompanied by a voice- slightly gravely, somehow smooth, yet with a subtle edge of command to it. "Whoa, whoa. Time out."

Finn flicked his gaze to the man, taking a step back from Wendy as she too turned her attention to the newcomer-the red coated stranger who had been standing in the shadoss. Though as he now stepped out of the gloom, Wendy had to hold back a gasp as she saw his face. Beneath the tricorn hat atop his head, the man looked to be bald, the entirety of his face and the rest of his head and visible skin covered in burns and scar tissue. Half of his nose had fallen off, leaving two bare nostrils in place of a proper proboscis. The outer lobes of his ears were likewise missing, along with most of his lips. Dark brown, nearly black eyes bored into the man, seeming devoid of either white or pupil. The coat he wore looked extremely old fashioned-a colonial frockcoat, completed with black trousers, a frill collared shirt underneath, and most amusingly a tattered old American flag tied around his narrow waist like a sash. "Someone steps through the gate the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap." That dark gaze fell upon Wendy, a slight worried frown tugging at his scarred lips, so quick she thought for a monent she was imagining it. "This one especially, look at her, she's shakin'. Must've been through some shit to get here."

Wendy blinked, realizing she was indeed shaking, trembling slightly, though neither from her ordeal or from Finn's threats. No, it was this strange, scarred man that now made her shake, much to her embarassment, as she fought not to look away from such an inhuman gaze, scarcely daring to blink. What is he? Is he one of those...things? He looked somewhat like the feral Ghouls she had fended so far, though much less zombie-like, decrepit and decayed looking, and clearly more intelligent and sane. He must be one of those normal Ghouls Preston mentioned.

For the briefest moment Wendy saw a flash of fear in Finn's eyes at the approach of the Ghoul, though he tried hiding it, puffing his chest out and crossing his arms "What d'you care? She ain't one of us!" He growls "'Sides, I saved her ass, she owes me!"

"What, no love for your Mayor, Finn?" The Ghoul huffed slighty, pretending to be offended. "Also I don't think she owes you anything. You were just being a good neighbor, right? So let her go." There was an edge of steel to his voice this time as he glared at Finn, never once breaking eye contact. If Wendy herself had been on the recieving end, she would have caved instantly.

Finn, however, wasn't as smart, as he took another step towards "the Mayor", dropping the butt of his cigarette and grinding it under the heel of his boot. "Y'know what, you're soft, Hancock." He gave a dark chuckle, staring right back unflinchingly at him. "You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, someday there'll be a new mayor." He cast his gaze at the town around him for a moment, trying to catch the eyes of those watching. Though everyone seemed to be carrying on with their own business, Wendy could see many people glancing their way every so often. The woman in combat armor was the only one who seemed to have her full attention focused on the scene, smirking as she leaned against one of the shop walls.

Hancock gave a small sigh, his expression softening some as he seemed to drop the "tough mayor" act. "Come on, man, this is me we're talking about." His lips curving into an easy soft smile, he started walking towards Finn. "Let me tell ya something..." He extended a hand to the man, placing it on his shoulder as if he were about to pull him into an embrace. Finn looked uneasy, though uncrossed his arms, letting his guard down at the Ghoul's familiar, friendly tone.

Wendy saw different however, as she saw the glint of steal behind the Ghoul's back. She didn't even have time to cry out in shock as Hancock drove the blade of a knife into Finn's chest, not once but twice, his smile twisting into a savage grin. Finn gave a strangled cry, his face frozen into a mask of shock, anguish, and betrayal. As the man toppled over, twitching and gasping as his life ebbed away and the blood pooled under him, Hancock uttered a loud tsk tsk tsk, wiping the bloodied blade on a rag he produced from somewhere within the frock coat. "Now why'd you have to go and say that, huh? You're breaking my heart over here." Raising his gaze from the dying man, those dark orbs focused on Wendy, that worried frown having returned. "You alright, sister?"

Wendy swallowed hard, struggling to find her words after witnessing such an unexpected, brutal act. "I-I, uh, th-thanks?" She stuttered stupidly, wheezing some. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off some, her side was starting to scream with pain, making it much harder to breathe. With alarm she noted her vision starting to swim, as her knees shook violently, threatening to give way beneath her. "Jus...need a mo'..."

Hancock blinked, walking nearer to her, reaching out a hand as if to steady her. A hand still spattered with Finn's blood. Already he sounded somewhat distorted and far away to her, seeming to grow and stretch further and further away "Shit, I'm gonna take...as a 'no'. Listen...a stimpak...y'need...it easy?"

Thats all she heard as she crumpled to the pavement beneath her, the stress and strain of her injuries and ordeal finally catching u to her. As her vision blurred and darkened, she heard a few last words before she slipped into unconsciousness

"Poor little Alley Cat..."

* * * * * * *

Hancock swore loudly, rushing forward to try to catch the woman before she fell-too late, sadly. He should have expected that to happen eventually given her current state. It was pretty damn impressive she didn't collapse as soon as she stepped through the gate. "Shit..." He sighed as he knelt beside her, calling over his shoulder to Fahrenheit as he heard her approach "Think she's gonna need more than one stimpak. Medex too. Also, got any radaway on ya? Feel like she's gonna need it. Poor Little Alley Cat..." He murmured.

The woman's right side was covered in burns, most second degree but several third, splotching her Vault jumpsuit with scorched holes. Judging from the faint glow that lingered around them, Hancock could tell they were nuclear in origin. Thought I heard a Suicider. But no boom. Must've ran into more than one. Amazin' she's still alive.

Fahrenheit scoffed as she stood beside him, tossing him the requested meds "Don't you think it's a little too soon for that?" She joked, refeeing to his...untraditional use of the chem when it came to 'spending time with his smoothskin friends' "Don't think she's exactly up for it either."

Hancock shook his head, tsking as he nimbly caught the syringes and Iv bag, scarcely having to look"I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for that later, but it's for a much more practical use now. She's fucking coated in radiation burns." Taking the cap off the medex syringe, he'd slide up the sleeve of her jumpsuit, wincing in sympathy as the woman whimpered and stirred, the material rubbing against one of her burns. Sliding the needle into her vein, he'd push slowly down on the plunger, before slowly pulling it out, tossing the empty thing aside.

The woman lay still once more as the drug kicked in, seeming to fall deeper into unconsciousness. However, her eyes slowly fluttered open, glazed and unfocused, staring directly into his. Her trembling rosy lips parted, as she croaked out a single word. "Sc...are...crow..." Her eyes slipped shut again, as her breathing deepened, passing out for good.

Hancock blinked, not sure what to think of that. "Huh...alright then." This one's got "very strange" written all over it. Wait...111? As he continued to look her over he noticed the numbers sewn along her collar, announcing what Vault she hailed from. "Heya, Fahr, ya ever hear of a Vault 111? That even in the Commonwealth?"

Fahrenheit leaned in closer to inspect the Vault Dweller herself, silent save for a long hmmm before she'd straighten again, shaking her head "Can't say I have...she's a looker though, eh?" She joked, refering to the burn scar and white blotched skin that marked her right cheek. "Ain't the first time she's been burnt this bad."

"So it seems." Taking the radaway now Hancock ripped it open with his teeth, carefully pouring some over each of her wounds, confident there'd been enough time for the medex to put her out for it. After that he would stick her in the shoulder with both stimpaks, before he'd stand, motioning to two of the Neighborhood Watch who lingered nearby "How's about instead of rubbernecking ya make yourselves useful. You, carry her over to the Rexford, tell Claire she needs a room. If either her or Marwoski give ya shit, tell em I'm footin her bill."

He watched as the one he indicated rushed forward to scoop up the petite woman, grumbling under his breath as he hurried off towards the hotel with her. Hd nodded tothe other, jerking his thumb towards the still-warm corpse of Finn "You, take out the trash. Get that scuzzball out of my sight." Turning, he'd walk back towards the State House, not even bothering to watch the other Ghoul drag the would-be mugger away, making a note to check in on the odd woman later. "Now, Fahr, what were you saying about Pickman's Gallery ag-hmm?" The Ghoul stopped, his hand hovering over the knob of the door as he heard scratching at the town gate, as if some sort of animal were trying to get in. Then several moments he could gear barking, carrying over the wall from the otherside. Curious, Hancock strode over, throwing open the old blue door-his knife at the ready first in case of trouble.

A blur of brown and black fur tore past him, causing him to cry out in surprise as the beastie ran across his toes "What the hellM He blinked, watching the dog run further into town, heading in the direction of the Memory Den and Hotel Rexford. "...Huh. Well, betcha 50 caps that dog has something to do with her." Chuckling, he shook his head, closing the gate once more as he strode back towards Fahr and the Old State House. "Now, you were sayin'?"

* * * * * * *

Wendy awoke with a start, her eyes flying open to stare at the peeling, cracked, burned ceiling above her. Her mind spun in confusion, as she tried to process where she was and what happened through the clinging, groggy haze of sleep. Boston. The Super Mutants. Someplace called Goodneighbor. Hancock.

Suddenly something wet and cold brusher against her hand, accompanied by a soft whining sound. Uttering a small gasp, she turned her head to look beside the bed, to find a familiar canine nudging at her hand. "Dogmeat!" She exclaimed, scrambling to sit herself upright. The dog gave a small, happy bark in reaponse, jumping up on the bed. Laughing, Wendy flung her arms around him, not even minding the sloppy wet licks he gave to her scarred cheek "Oh, thank God...I thought you were a goner. Who's the bestest goodest boy?" She crooned, scratching him behind the ear. Dogmeat whined happily, squinting his eyes shut and leaning into the touch.

As she lavished attention on her canine companion, Wendy allowed herself to look around the room, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. She appeared to be in what was once a hotel room, reduced to decrepitcy and decay by the ages. The bed she lay in was nothing more than a lumpy old mattress on a rusted steel frame, with an old straw pilliw and a patched up blanket thrown over it. A wobbly old chair sat by it, upon which her pack and rifle rested-much to her relief. An old dresser was pushed against the far wall, with a smudged up mirror, covered mostly in cracks. Atop it, an old electric lantern hooked up to a small battery provided the only source of light in the room, casting all but the corners of the room in dim, flickering light. Those remained draped in shadow, as well as the area around the doorway-where she saw a glowing red dot, reflected by dark orbs above them: eyes, dark and inhuman, that watched her from the gloom.

Wendy's blood ran cold at the sight, the hairs on the back of her neck raising. With a snarl she reached for her rifle, fight-or-flight kicking in as she decided she would kill whatever was in the room with her, before it killed her. She raised the gun, pointing it right at those eyes, her finger hovering over the trigger.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there!"

Wendy faltered at the familiar, scratchy voice, as two heavily scarred hands appeared from the dark, raised palm-out in a placating gesture. A moment later, Hancock stepped into the lantern-light, a lit-cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth-the source of the red light she had seen. "There's no need for that. We're all near-civilized here, yeah?"

"Y-you?" Wendy sputtered, lowering the rifle. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Hancock shrugged as he dropped his hands back to his sides, taking a drag from his cigarette before speaking "Well, was here to check up on ya. Had some of the Neighborhood Watch bring ya over after you passed out, gave you a stimpak and some medex." Walking over, he carefully picked up her pack from the chair, placing it on the bed. He'd drag the now empty chair over to himself, turning it backwards before plopping in it, his thin legs straddling it and his arms crossed over the backrest. Smoke curled from the edges of his mouth and the remnants of his nostrils, the wisps slithering wraith-like along the skin of his disfigured face. "Didn't expect any of that Heh can't say I really blame you though," He chuckled "Wouldn't wanna see this mug after I just woke up. Either way, you're definitely doin' better than before I'd say."

Wendy took a deep breath, taking a moment to calm her nerves as she set the gun down on the bed near her relocated pack "Sorry...and, uh, thanks for bringing me here. Er, though I'd like to know where exactly 'here' is." She fought not to shudder at the almost unworldly sight before her, telling herself it was just a smoke trick. And of course the Ghoul's appearance in general.

Hancock tapped his fingers against the back of the chair, raising a hand to take the cig from his mouth, tapping the ash from it. She noticed that a couple of his finger nails were missing, those of his pinky and ring finger. "That'd be the Hotel Rexford, home of the best beds and best chems in Goodneigbor-well outside of my personal stash. Paid for the room myself, so don't worry about Claire coming to collect. Well 'least for another two nights." He didn't seem put off by her earlier reaction to his arrival. If anything he seemed amused, a smile tugging at the corners of his burnt lips.

Wendy snorted, quirking a brow "The best beds? I'd hate to see the worst..." Jokes aside, she was surprised at his generosity. Something's up here. "You treat all newcomers this nicely?" She scooted closer to Dogmeat, who appeared to have dozed off, curled up by her side. "Or am I special?"

The Ghoul chuckled, his smile widening "Heh, you're a sharp one. In a way, yeah, you are special. Not everyday a Vault Dweller comes walzting into Goodneighbor. And from a Vault I've never even heard of? Well, y'can understand why my interest's been piqued. Wouldn't do to have you croak in the gutter before you even answer my questions. Though honestly, even if you were just another dirty, desperate drifter? Still woulda done it." He shrugged "You needed help, so I helped ya. Simple as that."

"Yeah...I s'pose that's fair enough. So...what do you want to know?"

The Ghoul shrugged, raising his cigarette to his lips again, inhaling the pungent smoke. "Eh, was actually thinking I'd let ya ask your own questions first. Sure you gotta be curious too, Vault Dwellers always are. It'll make things smoother when it's my turn too. So shoot." He waved his hand in a 'go ahead' gesture, before crossing his arms over the chair again. He wpuld rest his chin upon them, watching her intently as she spoke, his tricorn casting his face in shadow.

Wendy blinked, not having expected that. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she decided to start with something she hoped wouldn't offend him, but she wanted to confirm, "So...you're a Ghoul?"

He nodded, seeming if anything pleased by the question, his smile widening to a grin. "That's right. Like my face? I think it gives me a sexy, king of the zombies kinda look. Big hit with the ladies." His voice shifted to a low purr, as he leaned in slightly closer, flashing her a wink.

Wendy swallowed, finding herself blushing, much to her surprise. She coughed and flicked her attention back to Dogmeat, scratching behind one of his ears. "Uh, y-yeah. Sorry, just you're the first I've seen that's not..."

"Feral?" He finished, smoke trickling from his nostrils. "Yeah, I guessed. But, listen. Lota walking rad freaks like me around here, so ya might wanna keep those kinda questions on the lowburner. Not everyones okay with em. Now, what else ya wanna know?"

Wendy looked back up at him, hoping the last of the redness had left her cheeks. Come on, he's a walking corpse... "What was with that Finn guy?"

Hancock let out a long sigh, shaking his head in disappointment "Ah, Finn. Well until recently he was one if our best fighters...could drop a Suicider from-eh, well, from what I've heard you already saw. Really gonna miss him next Super Mutant Attack that rolls around...eh, well, anyhoo, he was getting too big for his britches. Wasn't really leaving me any choice. Way he was challenging me, threatening newcomers, had to make a mayoral show of strength. Though, I hope that incident with him didn't taint your view of our little community." He smiled again, his dark eyes twinkling, "Goodneighbor's of the people, for the people, ya feel me? Everyone's welcome."

"Thanks for that. Goodneighbor, eh? That's the name of this little town?" Wendy mused.

Hancock nodded, his voice full of an almost fatherly pride, "That's right. We cobbled this little neighborhood together out of the freaks and misfits that just won't fit in anywhere else." He flashed her another wink, (and to her embarassment she began to blush again) "You make enough friends here, you'll call this place home soon enough."

"Ah, well...I probably won't be staying that long." Wendy admitted, feeling somewhat guilty. Despite herself, the more she sat talking and joking with him, the more she was starting to like the Ghoul.

He shrugged, seeming none too disappointed at this news "So? Doesn't mean you'll be gone for good, right? You might come back someday. Life's weird like that." Taking one last pull from his cigarette, hed lean over to stub the glowing butt out in a nearby ashtray, smirking as he settled in his chair again "Anymore questions?"

She fell silent for several moments, pondering what to ask next. "Just one more...what's your story, Hancock?"

Hancock laughed, grinning widely "Ooo, how I love to hear you say my name finally. Well, it's my favorite subject. I came into this town like...a decade ago? Had a smooth set of skin back then. While I was busy making myself a pillar of the community I would go of on these...like...wild tears..." He seemed to gaze beyond her as he reminisced, expression unreadable before he'd sigh, soft and fondly "Ah, I was young. Any chems I could find, the more exotic, the better. Finally found this experimental radiation drug. Only one of it's kind, and only one hit left..."

Wendy's eyes widened slightly, quickly putting the pieces together "And that's what made you...y'know?"

He nodded, shifting slightly in his chair "Yep. Oh man, " He sighed again, his eyes losing focus for a moment as he chuckled "The high was so worth it. Yeah, I'm living with the side effects, but hey, what's not to love about immortality?" He smirked, his eyes glimmering from under the shade of his tricorn.

"Wait, you're immortal?" Wendy gaped, not sure wether he was pulling her leg or not. "But how?"

Hancock shrugged again, waving his hand in a wishy washy gesture "Well...not exactly. Ghouls just age really, really slow. Something about the rads, maybe? Who knows."

Wendy took a minute to let all this information set in, not sure what to think of it. "Huh. Well, immortal or not, you're a helluva risk taker, Hancock."

He chuckled again "Only have one life, why not try it all? Now then," He leaned in closer to her, his eyes focused intently on hers. "So hows about we start with a name?"

Wendy found herself lost for a moment in those dark pools, caught off guard by the direct eye contact. "W-Wendy," She stuttered, before clearing her throat, doing her best to steady her voice "My name's Wendy. Wiggin." She stuck her hand out towards to Ghoul, offering him a handshake. Damned if I make it seem like I'm scared of him.

Hancock smirked, taking her small, pale hand in his larger, scared one, giving it a hearty shake "Wendy Wiggin...heh, I like that. Wiggin. Pleased to make your lovely accquintance."

Just as she expected, it felt rough to the touch, ridges of overlapping scar tissue rasping against her palms. She tried not to shiver at the sensation, finding it not unpleasant but definitely odd. And as he called her 'lovely' she had to fight not to blush for the third time in her conversation with him. Lovely? He sees the thing on my cheek, right? "Heh heh, well I wouldn't call it that..."

As she was about to release his hand, however, her vision suddenly turned white, before several quick, dreamlike images flashed through her mind:

An old shack on the shores of a small lake, two young boys running beside it.

One of the boys, now a man, smiling in a disturbing way, inhuman and long.

A syringe, filled with a small amount of green glowing fluid, held by a trembling hand.

A body swinging on a noose, a crowd cheering below.

And Hancock, his back turned to her, as they both stood on the roof of an unknown building, a fiery mushroom cloud rising into the sky before them...

Wendy gave a small gasp, returning to her senses as she quickly jerked her hand out of his grasp. She could tell from thestrange unfocused look in his eyes, howenver, that she was too late. What did he see? Me probably, or something about me. Fuck!

The Ghoul shook his head as if to clear it, blinking it confusion as he raised a hand to scratch at his bald scalp "Eh...shit, sorry for zoning out there. Jet flashback," He offered an apologetic smile, chuckling sheepishly. "Now where was I...oh, right. Your turn to tell your story."

Wendy gave silent thanks to whatever diety had given her such luck, glad to have avoided a topic she didn't want to discuss. They'll all drive me out of here...know he said this place was for freaks, but they gotta have limits. "Alrighty...just fair warning, itsa little...wild. Not really expecting you to believe it "

Hancock laughed, gesturing to himself "I'm used to more than a little wild. Lay it on me, I'm all ears."

Wendy nodded, taking a deep breath, silent for a moment before she started. "The Vault I'm from...111...it was some sort of cryongenic storage-thing. To tell you the truth, I'm...pretty fucking old. Like, before the War old. See, when the bombs fell, we didn't know that, my husband and I. We thought it was gonna be yknow, a proper Vault. Seemed like it at first, when we all rushed in. Hell, I was still so stunned I didn't even notice all the red flags. They had us step into these 'decontamination pods', me in one and the husband and baby in the other. That's the last thing I remember, looking through the glass at them in the other pod. Then everything went cold and dark..." She trailed off, taking a breath to steady herself before she started the next part of her unfortunate tale.

Hancock continued to watch her, scarcely blinking, though she could see the displeasure and anger in his eyes "Lying to a bunch of people like that...that's seriously fucked up. And they had you on ice this fucking long?"

Wendy nodded "Yeah...and from some of the shit I found on the computers of the 'scientists' who were supposed to be 'studying us', they intended to never let us out. Theu were gonna leave us behind once the radiation cleared. Luckily fate was as unkind to them as they were to us...they all killed eachother before they could even be let out. Tore eachother to pieces like animals according tp the logs."

Hancock nodded approvingly, chuckling darkly "Bastards got what they deserved then."

"Heh, yeah. Anyways...we probably would have been frozen in there forever, but someone broke it

Though they didn't come to save us. They..." She found this part difficult to tell, turning her gaze to her own hands fidgeting in her lap "They thawed out mine and my family's pod. They didn't unlock mine though. Two of them, one of em in white suits...the other one bald. He...h-he tried to take Shaun from Nate...my son...my husband. Tried to trick him, but Nate knew something was up. Wouldn't give him our son. So he...that bastard he...he..." She growled, clenching her fists as she fought back tears. "...killed him." She finally managed to get out, holding back a sob. "Killed him and took my baby. And I couldn't do anything to stop em. Could only pound on the glass...and scream. Then they put me back on ice...until the pod broke, and I was free...though it was too late..."

Hancock's gaze had softened, one of sympathy as he shook his head "That's vile...no parent should have to go through that. And your husband...so, I'm guessin' be plan is your lookin to hunt down the sacks of shit?"

She sniffled, embarassed as she wiped a tear off her ruined cheek with the back of her hand. "Yeah...I'm giving 'em hell when I find them. But that's just the problem, I don't even know where to begin looking. I was pointed in the way of Diamond City, but got lost." She sighed, raising her arm and Pipboy attached- the screen still fuzzed with static, much to her chagrin"This thing keeps fritzin out on me. Map on it won't work. So I got lost...ran into some Super Mutants. Managed to take out the smaller two of them, but then...those explosive ones-Suiciders you called them? Came charging at me. One of them blew up, fucked me up, lost Dogmeat," She patted the snoozing pup's head, illiciting a soft grunt from him, "Could only run from the second. Almost got me too...but Finn got him first. Luck I guess, in a way. So....that's how I found myself here."

Hancock was silent for a minute, his head tipped down, face obscured by the brim of his tricorn "Well you're right about one thing, that's certainly one hell of a story. To think you're that old...heh, only people who can claim that honor are older Ghouls. I'm still a young whippersnapper." He shook his head, sighing as he raised it to look her in the eyes again "But speaking of these...vermin again, I think Diamond City is your best bet at finding 'em. I have an accquintance there whose good at getting to the bottom of shit like this. Nick Valentine. Bonus, he could probably give that Pipboy of yours a lookover. Guy's got a way with tech." He gave a wry chuckle, causing a brief moment pf confusion for Wendy.

There's a joke here I'm missing. "Do you know the best way to get there from here? A way that preferably takes me past as few...friendly locals as possible? Though think I need a little time before I head out. Really need to stock up...get a new outfit." She sighed, refering to her ruinied jumpsuit, poking at one of the holes on her sleeve.

He nodded again "Sure, when time comes I'll draw you up a rough map. Heh, almost wanna go out with ya myself, but sadly can't leave. Up to whats left of m'ears in 'mayoral duties'...bleh." He made a distasteful nose, uttering a short, bored sigh. "Speaking of, I'd best get to it." He got to his feet, the chair creaking loudly "Thanks for telling me your story...I sincerely hope you get justice. And find your son."

Wendy smiled, incliningh er head briefly "And many thanks to you for helping me.

*******

Hancock shook his head again, trying to get rid of the strange feeling that still clung to him, annoyed at the white that still lingered at the edges of his vision. Some flashback...if it even was that. As an experienced junkie, he was no stranger to weird side effects from chems. But that had been something entirely different.

Closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples, leaned against the wall of the hallway as he tried to remember what he had seen....

A young girl, a mere infant, ginger curls spilling from atop her head, a white blotch marring her right cheek, clothed in a black dress. She was held in the arms of a likewise dressed older woman, her hair the same orange shade. Both of them stood before an empty coffin.

The same girl, older, cowering in the corner of a school yard as children threw rocks and sticks at her, screaming "Witch! Freak!"

A man in an old soldiers uniform, golden haired and handsome faced, smiling as he held a ring out.

A red haired baby, smiling up as he lay in his crib, reaching for the spinning mobile above him.

The same man from earlier, but this time a single bloody hole in the middle if his forehead, his wide brown eyes forever open and staring in horror.

And finally, Wendy standing atop the Mass Fusion building, a savage grin on her face as a nuclear explosion occured before them, her eyes in contrast strangely pained.

Opening his eyes, Hancock shook his head again, cursing and mumbling to himself. It's probably just your fucked up brain making up shit based on what she just told you. Her husband, her kid....but...she didn't say shit about the stuff I saw of her as a kid...I'm guessing that was her. Or that last part. What the fuck? And even then...saw it all before she told me all that...Bah ..I needa drink. Shit's gonna do my head in.

As he sauntered into the lobby Clair shot him a nasty look from her spot behind the front counter, her arms crossed. “So when am I getting what’s owed for that stray upstairs? Your people said I’d get the money. Mowarksi’s gonna-”

“Alright, alright. Enough. Told you I’d fork it over when I was done here.” Sighing in annoyance, he reached his handinto his frock coat, fumbling for the hidden pocket he kept caps in. Counting out thirty of them, the Ghoul strode over, placing the money atop the desk. “See? Let it be known John Hancock’s a Ghoul who always pays his debts.” With a wink and a two fingered wave he sauntered out of the lobby into the street outside, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a different pocket. Sticking one of the smokes in his mouth, he’d light it with an old gold-plated lighter from within his pocket, taking a drag. Giving a small cough he began walking away from the hotel, steering his way towards the Third Rail.

What a day, what a day…

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #fallout fanfiction #fanfic #fallput 4 fanfic #fallout 4 fanfiction #hancock #fallout 4 hancock #john hancock #john hancock fallout 4 #Wendy Wiggin #chapter 1 #sole survivor #goodneighbor

20 notes · View notes

spookyspaghettisundae · 5 years ago

Text

All Eyes on You

Maybe it could have been a regular weekend for me, but there’s no way for me to tell if I was the one who screwed everything up. I was a bit hungover from the night before, so my head weighed a ton and every source of bright light made me cringe in pain—whether it was the fluorescent neon tubes overhead or the daylight streaming in through the store’s front windows.

Every single beep of the cashier running items over the scanner at checkout was like a tiny knife being stuck into my skull, over and over and over again, even though I was fairly far away from it, browsing the unnecessary amount of different brands of laundry detergent.

I grabbed some random one that had nice soft colors and chucked it into my shopping cart. It caused the whole thing to shake and rattle and a person pushing past me gave me a dirty look.

Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have wasted any thought on this, but today was different. Now, everything was different. Now, as I looked up, and past that guy shooting me the disparaging glance, I realized that everybody in the store was looking at me.

“Feeling watched” would have been the understatement of the century.

It was so weird and jarring that I forgot about the effects of my hangover for the next few minutes. In part because my heart was racing, in part because my mind was going wild with conspiracy theories and rampant paranoia.

Although I pretended to not care or not notice, I could tell that everybody in the store was looking at me at one point or the other. Normally, I would have chalked this up to something silly, like one of my friends having written something on my forehead with a magic marker while I was passed out.

But with what had happened the night before, I knew better. I knew something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

It didn’t help that some of these people would pretend to not be looking at me, either—furtive glances, eyes quickly darting down to study a shopping list on their phone, or to act like they were looking over grocery items on the shelves. Anything to avoid eye contact with me.

I know what you’re thinking. Just allow me to dial back and explain before you make up your mind.

The night before, I was feeling pretty depressed. I was still pretty new in this town and knew nobody around there. Just some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. The rent on the apartment I had found there was cheap, and the commute to my workplace only an hour which was a vast improvement over my last home.

So I grabbed some beers, drove up to a lonesome little picnic area on the forest’s edge that I had seen on the first day I had visited town when I went to go scout out the apartment a few months ago, and decided to chill out there and watch the sunset after a tedious Friday at work.

The whole day had dragged on at a snail’s pace and I just wanted to unwind and not stare at any screens for a few hours.

I sat there, nursing my first beer, sitting on top of the backrest of the bench like a rebel, when I spotted a mansion near the forest’s edge. I mean, I had seen it before when I first took a drive through this town, but it was only now that I noticed a few funny details about it. And when I say “funny,” I don’t mean the amusing sort.

It had a large red brick wall encircling the entire yard—and that place was as big as a football field. The large mansion matched that appearance, also featuring red bricks and sandstone and wood in its construction, and a lot of unusual details like a tower built into the corner of it. Everything was overgrown with lush green ivy, and there were some nice-looking trees on the property.

So far, so idyllic.

The weird part were the men in green camo clothing, carrying what I think were assault rifles. They patrolled around the inside of the walls, so it was no wonder I hadn’t seen them when I drove through town earlier that year, but being up on the hill at the forest’s edge gave me some elevation and allowed me to see over the walls somewhat.

They were all pretty big-looking dudes. I pegged them for soldiers or something like that—though my imagination wandered to this being a mafioso’s estate and these guys being some well-armed thugs.

It would make sense for some gangster boss to be living well out on the countryside where everything’s nice and quiet, right?

I downed two whole beers and while I had been trying to distract myself with unpacking everything that had happened over the course of the week—both at work and in my personal life—my curiosity got the best of me.

I had to know what the hell this mansion was.

With a simple plan in mind, I packed up everything, and drove back down from the picnic site, now taking a detour so I could casually roll past the mansion. A large steel gate obscured any way of seeing into the mansion’s premises, which was frustrating. In my mind’s eye, I had expected one of those metal fence gates that you can see through, but this one was just a solid surface instead.

Tossing out my original plan, I parked my car across the road by the grass, got out, and walked over. You may be thinking that I was crazy, and I can assure you I am. I was always a bit of a tomboy growing up, and I possessed a fearlessness that got me into trouble every now and then—and because I always got away with playing dumb or innocent, I always got away with my shenanigans and I never learned. Not until this day.

I pressed a button by the gate that I figured to be a buzzer and waited.

Within seconds, a small metal slot opened on the gate, from which a man wearing sunglasses peered through, and it was so sudden and swift in response to my pressing that button that I nearly choked in surprise.

“Yes?” asked the man behind the gate.

“Uh, I was, uh, I was,” I started stammering until my wit finally kicked in. “I was up at the picnic site up here to relax and I had no reception on my phone whatsoever, but I need to make an important call. I figured I could ask here if I could use your land line, or something?”

I slung out my phone and waved it around like a magic wand while flashing this man a dumb smile and shrugging. He looked over his shoulder as if he was responding to someone behind him, but he didn’t say a word. I think he looked up at the picnic site and I could feel the blood draining from my face. Because he turned, though, I saw a weird tattoo on his neck: just a single eye.

Not like I know anything about ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, but if I had to describe it, that’s what it reminded me of. No fancy elaborate details, just a simple eye. Wide open.

His head turned back with a painful slowness. I could sense the gears churning behind his forehead.

“My phone’s got reception just fine,” said the man. “Here, you can borrow mine.”

I guessed my charm had worked its magic. He held out his phone through the small slot, offering it to me.

Realizing way too late that all of this was a terrible idea, I glanced at my phone and flicked its display on, then chuckled—way too nervously, I presume, “Hey, look at that! I got a bar back. Maybe it was just up at the woods that was not working out for me. Thanks, though.”

The guard slowly withdrew his phone and even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I could have sworn he was glaring at me. I smiled back at him, hoping to disarm any ill will, and started getting really scared about this being some sort of gangster hideout.

“Have a nice day,” he said. But it sounded more like a threat.

He shut the slot with lightning speed and I turned to leave, holding up my phone and pretending to make a call. I yapped away into the void of the non-existent phone call, cringing at my pathetic attempt at emulating a one-sided conversation and the resulting blandness, until I had gotten into my car and slammed the door shut behind me.

My palms were sweaty and cold when they clasped the steering wheel and stick, and I drove away. I was pretty rattled for the rest of the evening although I got back home without any further incident. On the whole ride home, I kept looking into my rear-view mirror to see if I was being followed. And in my paranoia, I thought that some people on sidewalks were shooting me looks, but I dismissed it at the time.

Back at home, I drank the rest of my beers and distracted myself with lousy TV shows until fell asleep.

Then I woke up the next morning, sporting the splitting headache, and decided that things couldn’t be so bad. Because, hey, when it feels like gremlins are pounding the inside of your skull with a jackhammer and your brain’s a funny soup, a lot of worries stop existing. With that state of mind, I went to do my grocery shopping for the week.

And now—this. Everybody watching me. In the confines of my own head, I was calling myself names and cursing myself out for being such a paranoid idiot. There was no reason to be afraid.

But my heart wouldn’t stop racing. Even outside, as I put my groceries in the trunk, I knew that even the people driving in and out of the small parking lot were looking at me.

Watching me.

Worse: I saw that tattoo again. On someone’s forearm. Some lady returning an empty shopping cart to the storefront. She never looked at me directly, but with my back turned to her, I had felt a burning gaze transfixed upon me.

What the hell was this? As an avid reader of strange fiction and horror movie enthusiast, I immediately thought they had to be some sort of cult. What if this entire town was run by a cult? Stranger things have happened.

This was all so surreal. I felt very small and like I was just a passenger in my own body. Everything tingled. My fingers felt numb.

I drove home and shut myself in for the rest of the weekend. I tried to distract myself with TV and video games and even talking to a friend who lived halfway across the country, but nothing helped. I couldn’t help it. I kept thinking that this entire town was crazy and that I was being watched now. I even started getting paranoid if they could tap into my phone or hack my computer, so I avoided telling my friend about anything I had witnessed here.

Just shot the breeze about how life had been for her lately, and put up a good show in pretending that everything was normal on my end.

Come Monday morning, I snuck out of my home and got into my car. Paranoia got the better of me again, so I started checking my ride quite thoroughly, not caring if I would be late for work that day. I had watched too many stupid shows to not think that someone might have tampered with my car. I checked to see if the brakes were working, if there were any bugs, pawing underneath my seats for foreign objects, you name it.

I’m not any sort of professional and if anything was there, I probably missed it. But hey—I tried. Still, I found nothing.

After wasting half an hour on this exercise in futility, I drove off. I never felt so exhilarated to go to work as that day. Because work, for the first time, felt like an escape from something worse. It also felt like an escape from my own head, because I was questioning my own sanity. Surely, the whole town couldn’t be in a cult, right?

I cranked up the music on my radio and sang along to a song I normally hated. And I felt good. For a short while, at least.

It stopped when I drove down the road I usually take to leave town to go to work. A nice narrow road meandering through the wooded area, just like the ones you see in horror flicks.

There was a roadblock in the way once I rounded a curve, with a small jam of cars lined up in front of it. Two police cars obstructed the path and there were some officers standing beside them, one of them talking to the driver in the car at the front of the line. My heart sank, plummeting right into my gut region. I could feel my belly pulsing with my accelerated, anxious heartbeat.

I wonder—does everybody get as nervous as I do whenever I see cops nearby? It’s not like I’d ever done anything wrong, but it had always made me nervous. Even under normal circumstances. Even before this weekend.

But today was different. The events of this weekend had multiplied my paranoia—they had mutated it. If this whole town was run by some weird cult, what if the cops were in on it? What if they were looking for me?

Right when one of the cars was let past the roadblock and drove off, I panicked. I steered out of line and made a U-turn, swerving back onto the road with screeching tires and driving off. It took me a few moments to realize in retrospect that this made me grind my teeth and may have been a stupid move, but I started speeding up and driving away.

The trembling started when I saw a cop car show up behind me, half a minute later. They let the siren wail at me for a split second to grab my attention, and used their blinker to signal me to pull over.

With growing dread, I planned to play along, but step on the gas if things went south.

Even with all the adrenaline rushing through my body, and my attempts to stop my trembling by gripping the steering wheel way harder than natural, I gently steered the car as best I could, driving it onto the roadside and letting it roll to a stop. But I kept the engine running.

A police officer emerged from the car behind me and approached. His hand was resting on the gun at his hip and I wondered if my running motor had anything to do with that.

Or because of this damned cult. Or whatever the hell was going on here.

I rolled down my window once he had arrived there and he looked me up and down. My resolve crumpled and I cut the engine as a token of good will.

“License and registration, please?” asked the police officer in a gravelly voice.

His whole posture was rigid, like a statue—his body language tense. So was I.

Remembering what can go wrong in such an encounter, I carefully leaned over to retrieve the documents from my purse and hand them over. I could feel him watching me all the while, and for the first time in days, I felt like someone watching me was the appropriate action, given the circumstances.

I handed the cop my license and papers and he looked them over, his hand now finally away from the gun, and taking off some of the edge. He studied my face after inspecting my ID.

Then he handed back everything.

“Pardon the interruption, ma'am. Have a nice day,” he told me, and swiveled.

Right when he was walking away was when I saw the tattoo on his neck. The eye—staring at me. Almost as if the damned tattoo itself was watching me.

I never believed in the supernatural or UFOs or any such bunk. But my paranoia was really taking me for a ride now, and I questioned everything I believed in.

When I revved up my engine again and drove off, I still felt the officer’s eyes on me.

Anyway, now you know. That’s how—and why—one day, I bounced from that awful little town, leaving all my belongings behind. How I drove halfway across the states, and started a new life after changing my name.

I’d tell you the town’s name so you can avoid it, but I keep seeing that tattoo in my nightmares. In some of them, it’s like people have an extra eye on their body where there shouldn’t be one, in place of that tattoo. Like the skin breaks open and some bloodshot, weird eye stares at me. Always the same eye.

I still feel watched out in public sometimes. Hell, sometimes I even feel like someone’s watching me at home. I know I should talk to a therapist about this, but I’m afraid they won’t believe me. Or worse.

I got an anonymous call from someone telling me not to talk about what I had seen, but I had to get this off my chest, and maybe nothing bad will happen if I don’t tell you where this was.

—Submitted by Wratts

3 notes · View notes

critical-ramblings · 5 years ago

Text

Realer than You

(Also on AO3!)

Yasha thought she was going crazy.

Crazier, anyway.

She could remember things again, after she’d run into that biker in Stockholm. Time made sense, mostly. But space was starting to fragment, the further west she came.

When she was tired, she would smell salt water and grease, reach out a hand for a railing that wasn’t there. Look out and see only the ocean where there should have been fields.

When she was hungry, she would be on foot in a German street. The noise and press of people buffeted but did not touch her. Someone else, with dirty ginger hair and a thick beard, peered back at her, then was gone.

When she was lonely, there was a train. Or many trains in succession. She would be sitting in a luxurious seat, watching houses and trees blur past.

There were times when the emotions weren’t hers, either. Anger would flare deep in her chest, a hot rage that Yasha never let herself feel, and with it came a humid summer night. Cursing in Mandarin--a big eighteen wheeler pulling away from her and a lean young woman with her middle finger in the air. She looked at Yasha with her teeth still bared, but the connection broke under the weight of Yasha’s fear. She sat under a cloudy sky in Latvia with her hand pressed to her chest. She stayed that way for a long time.

And then there was the circus. It was after she’d stopped for the night, pulled off the road and hidden her bike. Yasha didn’t have the paper she’d need to cross these borders legitimately, and even if she’d wanted them she didn’t have the money.

Still, her long wander through the Siberian wilderness had left her with the skills to make her way back through civilization unnoticed. With the increasing frequency of her visions, Yasha was just as glad to go days without seeing another human being.

She was sitting on the side of the road to watch the moon come up, and all of a sudden there were lights. Neon reds and blues and purples danced through the forest for a moment, before resolving into carnival booths and tents and a ferris wheel that sparked and glowed in the fading sunlight.

“Hey now,” someone said next to her. “Can’t have you sitting in the middle of the road, can we?” A thin brown hand reached out to her, covered by the tattoo of a green snake with a brilliant red eye looking up at her. The first thing she noticed was his coat, a knee-length masterpiece full of stars and moons and stranger things, the embroidery glinting in the light of the circus.

And then she saw his swords, jeweled scimitars hanging from his belt as casually as someone else might carry a purse or a backpack. Yasha took his hand without thinking, let him help her up, and never took her eyes off those swords. Oh, her gang had never had anything so pretty, but they had loved grinding down old pipes and rebar and scrap into things like swords. Things meant to cut and kill.

“Buy me dinner first, at least,” he said, and Yasha snapped her eyes back to his face. There was something about the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes that made his smile softer, unthreatening. He held himself like a conman, a huckster, but his smile gave him away. “What’s your name?” he asked, only to pull her out of the way as a horse-drawn buggy clattered down the path.

“Watch it, Molly!” Two girls shouted at him in unison. Molly flipped them both the bird and then turned his attention back to her. The head of a peacock just peeked out from the open collar of his shirt, it’s dark purple and green feathers curling up the side of his neck and cheek.

“I’m...Yasha,” she said, and somehow smiled back at him.

“Well, I’m Mollymauk, Molly to my friends. Which we most certainly are!” He put his hands on her shoulders, looking her up and down. After a second in which Yasha fought and failed to contain her blush, he announced, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so in need of a good time. Come on,” he wrapped her arm in his, like they were walking into a ball. “Let’s get you some cotton candy.”

“I don’t--what?” Yasha laughed as he half-dragged her through the almost empty booths of games, a few carnival goers just starting to appear at the gates behind them. “You know I’m not really here, right?” For a moment she was back in the forest, walking too quickly among the dark trees with Molly still on her arm.

“Ah, gloomy place, that,” he said, tugging gently on her elbow. They turned left and were back in the carnival, passing one of the teacup looking rides. “Nevermind that.”

“But that is real,” Yasha said, a little desperately.

Molly only turned his crooked smile up another notch, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he said, “Is it?”

Yasha groaned, feeling her mind waver under the weight of this thought. She’d had enough of unreality already. Hadn’t she? If she couldn’t remember...?

“Don’t sprain something, now,” Molly said, with just the faintest hint of worry creeping in to further ruin his persona. “Listen, if you’re real, and I’m real, which I am. On most days, anyway--” Yasha shot him an exasperated look from behind her hands. “Okay, I’m real. Then what does it matter how we’re talking, or seeing each other? What matters is that you were sitting by yourself in the middle of fucking nowhere, and I happen to have the--purely metaphorical--keys to party central! I meant it when I said you needed a good time.”

Yasha took one deep breath, and then another. The air smelled like fried food and sugar, here, and a small group of stands were selling drinks and popcorn. Most of the tables were occupied, here. Carnival-goers looked up as Molly passed, then back at their food when no act began. While her friend acquired two bags of popcorn and a cone of literal spun sugar, Yasha closed her eyes and just...thought. It did matter, what was real and what wasn’t. But if she couldn’t deny that Mollymauk was real--and she couldn’t, not to his face--then both things had to be true. He was here, and she was there. And also they were together.

Well, it was fantastic, unbelievable. But it was real. So Yasha decided to believe it, and having decided so, she could stop hurting her brain so much trying to logic it out.

“Done?” Molly asked, holding out the cone like a strange fluffy bouquet. “Taste this and tell me I’m a figment of your imagination.”

“I still don’t know if that’ll really work,” Yasha said, but she smiled anyway and bit into the purple cloud. For a moment, she could feel the crackle of melting sugar on her tongue, could almost taste something sharply sweet--then it was gone. Molly stuck out his tongue to reveal a faint purple stain. He sighed and looked mournfully down at the popcorn she wasn’t going to be able to eat.

“I shall suffer, in the name of friendship,” he announced, and dragged her off back towards the rides.

If he was supposed to be working that night, Yasha never saw a sign of it. Molly only had to wink at whoever was manning the booths and breeze past them. “One of those nights!” he called over his shoulder, when a black woman with shoulder-length dreads and flames painted on her face tried to catch him. “I’ll be fine, Orna, no worries!” He rushed away before Orna could weigh in on the matter.

They sat at the top of the ferris wheel for half an hour, Molly pointing out the lights of the nearby town, “And that’s the pub, down there with the red star. Nearly got kicked out last night, not my fault of course,” and trying to get Yasha to eat the popcorn. She kept expecting it to vanish when she picked it up, but seemed to be that Molly was the one who got the actual body of the food, she could still taste and enjoy it. “There’s absolutely too many ways to abuse this power,” Molly said happily, licking grease and salt off of his fingers.

He took her through the back of the main tent, where a tall man in a red coat and top hat was telling stories to the small but dedicated audience. They saw Orna’s fire dance and Desmond’s flying violin before Gustav caught sight of them and used the shadows to sidle up before Molly could slink away.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out telling fortunes?” the tall man asked pointedly, poking Molly’s chest pocket.

“Oh, we’re fine without my little sideshow for one night.” Molly patted the deck of cards concealed inside his beautiful coat, glancing sideways at Yasha. “I just needed a break, Gustav.”

“Hmm. Well, mind you don’t make a habit of it, Mollymauk. I’d hate to see you lose your flair.” The lights came back up before either of them could think of an answer, and Gustav hurriedly stepped back into the ring.

On their way back towards the teacup ride, Yasha pulled to a stop next to the strength tester pole. A couple of people were already here, watching a man with broad shoulders and a long tangled beard step up to the plate. “How do you think this one works?” Yasha asked.

“Well, mostly by making the weight heavier than it looks, so no one hits the bell,” Molly replied.

“No, I meant. With the thing, with us, you know. Is it me or you swinging?”

“Oh. Oooh, I see.” Molly glanced quickly between her shoulders and his own much smaller biceps. He grinned. “Let’s find out.”

They only had to wait a couple of minutes in line, and then the minder was handing Yasha the hammer with an amused look. “Trying your luck, Molly?” he said.

“Uh, yeah?” Yasha looked around a little frantically, but Molly just stood a few feet away and gave her a double thumbs up. So to other people, she looked like Molly. She was Mollymauk, even though he was also here.

But it was Yasha who stood with her feet shoulder width apart on the black rubber mat, Yasha who hefted the ill-balanced maul in both hands and eyed the little weight. If her body wasn’t really here, maybe it was just that her mind expected muscles to react differently. Or that she knew how to lift heavy things, to hit heavy things, more than Molly did. Whatever the cause, the reaction was just as unbelievable as the rest of her night: the weight shot up, past green, past yellow, past orange, and hit the bell at the top with a resounding RING.

It wasn’t just the game minder who was staring at her with his mouth open, but everyone else in line as well. And her smile wasn’t as crooked as Molly’s, but it was just as sharp. Yasha handed the hammer back with a little bow and a laugh as Molly rushed up and pulled her into a one-armed hug with a wild laugh of his own.

“Such a skinny little bloke,” someone said, as they walked away. “Wouldn’t’a thought he had it in him.”

Eventually they ended up sitting on the grass by the gates, watching people leave. Molly would guess how much they’d spent under his breath, and Yasha would try to guess what relationships there were going on. The most memorable was when an older man walked out alone, a huge stuffed pink bear clutched tightly under his arm.

“Spent at least fifty euro getting that thing,” Molly swore up and down.

“For a daughter, maybe?” Yasha tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Nah, for himself. Definitely for himself.”

They both laughed, and Molly bumped his shoulder against hers, and Yasha leaned against him back.

“Well?” he asked, turning to smile up at her from under his bangs. “I know it wasn’t a magnificent ocean cruise, but. Did you have a good night?”

Yasha looked back up at the lights, at the ferris wheel and the games. She saw, underneath them, the forest trees and black sky somewhere to the east. “It was a good night,” she said at last.

“Great! Excellent. And we’re both still real?”

She was too tired for a laugh, but she did chuckle a little as she got to her feet. She could feel the connection fraying between them, fatigue and the fading edges of her headache wearing him away. “We’re both real,” Yasha said. She reached out to touch his shoulder, then thought better of it. She had only just met him, after all. “Goodnight, Mollymauk.”

“Goodnight, Yasha.”

#cr #critical role #yasha #mollymauk tealeaf #sense8 au

11 notes · View notes

neokollection · 6 years ago

Text

S.S. Compilation ㅡ Going In A Horror House W/ Their S/O

NCT 127

‘can you do a reaction of nct where they went to a horror house with their s/o and their s/o is not afraid but they're practically shitting themselves inside the house???? sorry if it's too much, i love your works btw 💞’

A/N: Okay, so I’m answering reactions now with short stories, and my last/first one did pretty well, so I’m assuming y’all like it, so let’s go!! This is such a fun concept to me because I’m a horror whore ^ ^ Also thanks! If you’ve never seen NCT in a horror house I recommend checking out NCT Life in Osaka, which is how I’m determining their reactions- Here’s a link to basically how NCT reacts when scared lol Obviously their reactions would not be in English aside from Mark I think, but just go with it.

Taeil:

“W-What are you looking at?” Taeil taunted the statuesque bloodied doctor, shuffling his feet around the corner as he kept his eyes trained on the staff before him.

With a sudden move the doctor swung his butchering knife toward the two of you, earning an obnoxiously loud scream from Taeil as he put his hands up defensively before clinging onto the arm of your jacket.

“You’re so loud!” you complained.

“Ya! Y-Ya! YA! MOVE!” Taeil hollered, running around the corner with you in tow as the ‘doctor’ took a step forward.

You rolled your eyes as Taeil rose his hands again and you let out a giggle.

“Are you going to fight them?”

“Yeah!”

His hands were clenched into fists and each time he’d holler insults he’d raise them up, as if he had an ounce of courage in him.

“You go in front; you go in front-” he repeated, pushing you forward.

“Are you sure?” you asked, quirking a brow, “What about the doctor back there?”

Frenzied, Taeil complained at your teasing, hurried looping his arm with your own tightly. He’d tried to put on a brave face at first, but quickly admitted defeat, feeling no shame in cowering behind you after making empty threats toward the ‘monsters’.

Johnny:

Around the suburbs of Chicago were corn fields for miles, some of which converted into corn mazes during fall time.

“Don’t be scared, I’ll protect you,” Johnny teased after exchanging tickets at the entrance.

“I won’t be,” you stated, matter-of-factly with a grin.

“I really don’t believe you,” he shot back, stepping in front of you.

You held onto his hand as he led the way, rolling your eyes all the while.

“What was that?” he asked suddenly, stopping as he heard a rustle nearby.

His face looked absolutely horror-stricken until he broke into a laugh; he was teasing you again... Turning around, he came face to face with a deranged witch, her teeth blackened as she smiled.

“Whoa- What the fuck-?”

Johnny took a few steps back, spooked by the sudden encounter before letting out an airy chuckle, pulling you in tow as he side-stepped the witch. His hold of your hand got tighter as he heard a chainsaw roar in the distance. He cast his gaze to you and you could tell by his wary gaze that he was frazzled, his mind getting the better of him as he imagined something awful.

“Follow me, babe,” you giggled, taking the lead and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He let you do so without complaint, glad to have you with him.

Taeyong:

“You’re not scared?” Taeyong questioned, a smug smile pulling at his lips.

“Not really,” you smiled back-

“Next!”

Taeyong had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Having read the reviews before coming he realized it was no joke. Looping arms with you, he gulped in silent terror as the two of you entered.

“There’s someone there, there’s going to be someone there-” Taeyong muttered to you as the two of you passed a doorway in the maze.

As expected, a zombie jumped out, making deranged gargling noises at the two of you. You let out a small gasp of surprise, but Taeyong let out a shriek, hurriedly running away.

“Ow! Taeyong!” you scolded, your arm sore from his sudden yank.

“Well, I can’t leave you behind,” he whined, sticking closer to you as you ventured on.

You’d give him an earful after this, just as he sure was giving you one. He let out another shriek, so loud and noticeably high you slapped his shoulder. A thud sounded on the floor above you and Taeyong quickly booked it toward the exit now that the neon green exit sign was in view. Dumbfounded, you stood, surrounded by the staff who’d gotten the point fairly quickly you weren’t fazed, in fact, a nearby staff member chuckled to himself at your predicament as you marched toward the exit.

Yuta:

Yuta’s reactions were quick, quick flinches and hitched breaths as the two of you tangled your arms, making your way through the eerie hospital-themed horror house.

“I like your girlfriend!” a doctor shouted at him from one of the operating room displays, “Maybe I can get her onto my bed!” he jested, slamming his hand on the operating table in front of him, a dismembered body on display.

Surprising you, Yuta didn’t even flinch at the loud slam of the table, instead slamming his hand against the glass of the operating room display threateningly. Hushed pleads left you, as you drug his uptight-self away, not wanting to get in trouble for causing a scene.

“I’ll skin you alive!” a nurse yelled down the hall, charging at the two of you-

Letting out a drawn out groan, Yuta lost his earlier composure, as he dragged you with him through another hallway, his frantic gaze searching for all viable threats as he hugged you close.

“Chill,” you coaxed, wrapping a hand around his waist to keep him close as you held his hand with your other.

“I am, I am, I am,” he chanted like a mantra, his focus clearly elsewhere.

Doyoung:

“I don’t want to go in-” Doyoung whined, “They won’t shut the door behind us, right?”

You brought his face down to give his cheek a smooch before chuckling at how frightened he was, like a newborn deer caught in headlights with legs that refused to work.

“Come on,” you crooned, “It’ll be fun, and when it’s over I’ll buy you a milkshake-” you bribed.

“Okay...”

Slowly he made his way in with you; you could tell the staff at the entrance was attempting to withhold their laughs and cackles.

“You’ve got me!”

“yEa-”

His voice cracked as he kept his hands on your waist from behind, shuffling forward.

“Hey boy!” an old woman shouted, hobbling toward the two of you.

Doyoung panicked, a choked yelp escaping him as she got closer.

“Don’t look, baby,” you teased, inviting the old woman closer to taunt him.

Following your words, he dropped his head, nuzzling into the nape of your neck as he chanted to himself quietly.

“Look at me!” the old woman bellowed.

“No, no, no- (Y/n) go, go, go-”

You tried to get him to release you and come to your side instead, it was difficult to walk like this, but he whined and stuck to you like glue, causing you to have to shuffle forward slowly, giving the dressed up old woman a sheepish smile.

Jaehyun:

“I’ll protect you,” he sang quietly in the ill-illuminated hallway, his dimple showing as his eyes vanished with his smile.

“AhhHHH!” you yelped, looking over his shoulder as you let your shoulders jump to your ears.

Jaehyun let out a yelp in response, his expression truly horrified, startled by your sudden scream before he glanced over his shoulder to see what it was that had spooked you.

“I’m just kidding,” you teased, there was nothing behind him, “You should have seen your face though!”

He pulled you into a gentle headlock as the two of you stumbled forward. Easily able to shrug him off, you did so before clasping his hand as you tugged him to follow you. At the first couple of jump-scares you could feel his blunt nails biting into the flesh of your hand and his lowly bellowed ‘HuUHH’s each time. And each time after, he’d always chuckle with you nonchalantly until the next time he was startled. He was always shocked initially, but able to play it off and chuckle, offering you to whomever was stalking the two of you or whining for you to protect him.

Win:

In the beginning he was a giggling mess, but it was probably all nervous laughter you guessed.

“Someone’s there,” Sicheng whined, pointing towards the dark doorway at the end of the passage, “Someone’s there! Someone’s there!”

He kept backing up, stepping on your shoes all the while.

“Go!” you ushered, “We can’t go back-”

Yet he kept dilly-dallying around before finally going behind you, keeping his hands on your shoulders like a vice-grip, peeking his eyes open before shutting them, nervous laughter flowing from his lips as the two of you shuffled closer. He kept pulling you back to protect himself and to delay you from reaching the door.

“Stop!” you whined.

If anything, he was giving you more of a scare with his sudden tugs than the actual horror house. He chanted something incomprehensible to himself as the two of you neared and shut his eyes tightly. He was right, someone was there- A vampire-esque character jumped from the shadows, the room shaking with ‘thunder and lightning’ causing Sicheng to let out a yelp of surprise, a painful smile on his lips as he pressed his forehead to the back of your neck, shoes stepping on the backs of your own as the two of you shuffled forward.

Jungwoo:

A soft melody flowed from Jungwoo’s lips in an attempt to distract himself from the current situation before stopping as he heard a distorted laugh in the distance, the screams of other visitors making his hair stand on end. He whined lowly, beginning to shuffle his feet with dread before giving a childish stomp.

“I don’t want to-”

“We have to... It’s the only way out, hun-”

He made a displeased expression, pouting his lips out.

“Why don’t we just go back to the front and-”

You let out a chuckle of amusement at his cowardice.

“No! We’re gonna go the entire way-”

As you began to walk forward without him he jumped to cling to your arm, tucking his face into your shoulder whenever scary things popped out, chanting to himself that it wasn’t real.

“A-Are you crying?”

“No- AhhHH!”

He did cry and after the two of you exited he giggled sheepishly while the two of you wiped his tears.

“It just slipped out-”

“You cry so easily~”

Mark:

Mark busied himself with trying to think of happy times as the two of you shuffled down the ill-lit corridor.

“As there aren’t any clowns I’ll be good, like-”

In response to Mark’s words a creature jumped out of the shadows, oversized shoes and a too-too catching your attention before a bright red nose beamed at you both.

“Oh! Holy fuck! What the fucK!?” Mark clamored, sticking to your side like glue.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction as he attempted to tug you along.

“Let’s go; let’s go-”

Turning a corner a crazed Mad Hatter welcomed you two, a sticky red substance in his tea cup as he invited the two of you to join him.

“Woah!” Mark bellowed, surprised as the lights flickered ominously before the staff ran toward you two.

Hollering obscenities as he backed the two of you up, Mark tried to calm himself.

“I like y-you’re hat!”

With a low whine he buried his face into your shoulder for losing his cool and at his lame words as you skirted around the tea party and toward the exit with him.

Haechan:

His melodic voice filled the halls, as he didn’t even try to keep it to himself, instead, finding the louder he got the safer he felt.

“She no longer needs mEE~!”

You nearly keeled over laughing, his voice raising dramatically like a Michael Jackson adlib each time he was frightened by something before serenading whomever it was that scared him for a whole second. For some reason being goofy was what helped him to keep his mind off what was going on and he kept randomly using English to anything and everything.

“Wow! Very scary mannn~”

His palm in yours was so sweaty, but he had such a tight hold you didn’t dare try to let go to wipe off your hand on your jeans. Once he felt the two of you were a little safe, he sighed to himself.

“I wanted to be manly,” he admitted, “But I’m a loser-”

“It’s manly you can admit it,” you tried, smiling.

240 notes · View notes

likethetailofacomet · 6 years ago

Text

I Wasted You- Part 1

A/N: Ya’ll... I promise I am a Drake fan. I promise that hasn’t changed. No matter what this might look like. Anywho. Introducing Lady Cassandra Aberdeen and the mess that she found herself in. I had to create a new MC because I certainly couldn’t put Claire through this in any AU, and even Riley is too close to my heart to put through the wringer in this manner. So...sorry, Cass, you’ve been nominated. This entire storyline can be blamed completely on the song of the same name by Flora Cash (who have been utterly destroying me lately) This will be a two part “one shot” (because i cannot condense my wordiness. sorry, i tried.)

Pairings: Liam x MC (Cassie Aberdeen), Drake x MC (Cassie Aberdeen)

Warnings: ANGST, sexual abuse, and i def dropped at least one F bomb.

Word Count: 3,602

Tunes: I Wasted You, Flora Cash

Cassie couldn’t get into her hotel room quickly enough. Tears she was determined not to cry stung harshly in the corners of her eyes, biting painfully like the winter winds off the water, like the raw, harsh cold of December in New York- and it was May. She fumbled with the card key, cursing to herself as she took a shuddering breath, one hand running through her hair. The light blinked green and she heard the mechanical whir of the lock as it clicked open. Shaking, she pushed the door, entering the room and closed it behind her, sliding down it into a puddle on the cool tile. She let the tears spill freely, landing in splotches on the smoke colored gown that she couldn’t wait to donate to charity; the dress she broke Drake’s heart in, the dress her own heart turned to ice in, the dress she wore on the day she no longer knew herself...on the one day she always imagined would be one of the happiest of her life.

A low, keening sound came from the very back of her throat as she struggled to gasp for air between sobs. The tears were streaming down her face now, taking her mascara with them in rivulets down her cheeks which had flushed red. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly and her head rested back against the door, lolled slightly to one side. She had no energy to keep herself in an upright position, and soon found herself lying on the floor, the beaded fabric of her gown pooled around her, wrinkled and wet. She was thankful that Liam had gone back to his own room after kissing her goodnight, a bright smile in his warm eyes, excited electricity buzzing through him; thankful that he wouldn’t have to see her like this, destroyed for having destroyed his best friend.

How did this happen? How did I let this happen?

She’d asked herself those questions so often throughout the season that she’d lost count. She’d asked herself those questions so often throughout that very evening that she contemplated, several times, running through the city streets, heels in hand, and heading straight for her apartment, closing the door and pulling the bolts on it all. On Cordonia and Liam and Drake. On her feelings and regrets. On the expectations that the Beaumonts had hefted upon her. But she wasn’t kidding herself into thinking that a locked door could keep out the heartache, the utter devastation and the feelings of guilt for having caused it. It hadn’t worked here, in the hotel with the heavy, mechanically locked, thick, bullet proof door, so it surely wouldn’t work at home or anywhere else.

The tears had finally run out, but they hadn’t taken the pain or guilt with them, and she laid there, cheek against the soft plush carpet, until the sky outside her window changed colors. She watched the stars blink out and the neons turn off as the black night softened, early yellow light filling the cloudless sky as the sun rose on a new day. She wished she could rise as a new person; one that hadn’t ruined everything by falling for two men.

How did this happen?

She hadn’t meant for it to. She hadn’t felt anything at all for Drake when she decided to take Max up on his offer to join the Cordonian social season. She’d spent the night before deep in conversation with Liam, laughing and smiling and taking him to her secret spot. She’d felt an instant connection with him and knew right away that he was far more than his crown; that he saw her as far more than a waitress. She’d danced the night away with Liam at the Masquerade Ball, she’d had eyes only for him at the races, and they’d found time alone whenever possible, learning each other in ways that polite tea conversation couldn’t reveal. She was cautiously falling for the crown prince, and thrilled about it, because she could tell, despite the constant presence of ladies far better suited to be queen than she, that he was cautiously falling for her too. But then the court had gone to Lythikos, and her cautious plans had been haphazardly dashed when she followed Drake out into the snow.

How did I let this happen?

He’d treated her like a piece of furniture; like he could take her or leave her, like he expected her to be gone soon, so why bother to get to know her? And for the most part, aside from a slight pang of disappointment in his lack of interest in her- after all, she was likely Liam’s top choice and as such wanted his best friend to like her- she was fine with the distance that there was between them. What she wasn’t fine with, was allowing him to wander out into the frigid ice fields of Lythikos at night, alone, without a coat. She could live with him not wanting anything to do with her. She couldn’t live with him freezing to death because Olivia had been cruel.

She’d found him in a clearing, bare armed and shivering, though he’d never admit to how cold he was, gazing up at the sky full of stars. The look on his face had stopped her in her tracks; eyes shining with more emotion than she’d seen from him over the past few weeks, his mouth hanging slightly open as a heavy sigh slipped out, lines etched into his forehead. She watched the way his back and shoulders rose and fell as he took a few breaths, and as she did she felt his pain enter her chest. She had no idea what it was, only that she felt it, too, and suddenly she wasn’t okay with the distance between them. Suddenly she needed to close it, needed to be there for him. She’d stepped up beside him, boots crunching quietly in the crust of snow that permanently covered the ground, and wrapped her cold, raw, red fingers around his large rough hand. She gave a light squeeze and felt all of the tension in his body fade at that small gesture. When he’d turned his dark eyes from the sky to her face, she knew she was in trouble.

They’d walked back to the chateau with their hands still twined under the guise of safety, but Cassie could feel the danger of the situation- of being so close to him. By the time they reached the estate her hands were just as raw, but every inch of her was on fire and from the look of him, he felt the flames too. He’d bid her goodnight, and for the first time he’d called her by her name. “G’night, Cassie.” Two simple little words. But she heard so much more, felt that he had more that he wanted to say, and found herself wishing that he had said it all. “Goodnight, Drake, sweet dreams,” she’d said back. He’d blinked slowly, closing his eyes on the word “sweet”, and she got the feeling that she’d be running though his mind while he slept. She found herself wishing that if they both dreamt of each other, they could be together in their dreams. She found herself wondering what that meant- her dreams had been dominated by images of Liam- his hands caressing her skin, his lips moving against hers, the deep, rich tone of his voice, his dark eyes boring into her and melting her from the inside out. She tried to fall asleep that night thinking of the time she’d spent skating with Liam, thinking of his smile and the baritone of his laugh and the way they caused a flutter in her chest. She tried.

I should have stopped this. I shouldn’t have let him…

The King and Queen had started to notice that Liam was spending a disproportionate amount of time with “Lady” Cassandra Aberdeen- New York City waitress and heir to nothing, and insisted that he put his desires aside to spend time with the other ladies. Cassie understood, especially after Liam’s genuine apology, after the sincere way he’d looked into her eyes as he said “Believe me, Lady Cassie, yours is the only attention I crave.” He’d pulled her hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss to the top of her knuckles before flipping her hand palm side up to leave another kiss there. He’d bent her fingers over her palm, as if to keep the kiss from flying away, and those two tender, chaste expressions of affection had sent a rush through her body as though he’d fully ravished her. “I believe you, my Prince,” she’d responded, batting her lashes dreamily, a low, husky tone to her voice. She did believe him. She knew that if he could have it his way, he’d have chosen her and called off the remainder of the season, swept her into his arms and into their own happily ever after.

But Liam didn’t make the rules, and neither did Cassie. She understood, but she didn’t like the way it felt, seeing Liam with the other women, seeing him laying the same types of kisses on their hands. They’re not the same, she’d tell herself, look at his eyes, he doesn’t look at them like he looks at you. Seeing him dance with the other ladies, sweeping them across the floor. Look at his hands, how he’s barely holding them, not like he holds you, like he’s afraid to let you go. Seeing him laugh at things the other suitors said. The smile doesn’t reach his heart, you can tell, just look at him. Cassie had never been a jealous person, and she wasn’t about to start in on jealousy now. But no matter how much she tried to talk herself down, she felt that gnawing, uneasy feeling every time she had to watch him with Kiara or Penelope or Olivia or Madeline or even Hana. It was at Applewood Manor, at the apple festival, when Drake took notice that she wasn’t coping as well as she wanted everyone to believe.

“What’s the matter, Aberdeen, thought you of all people would be enjoying this,” he gestured vaguely around at the flags and booths, the clear blue sky and the festival goers milling about. He brought a glass of cider to his lips and took a swig, soft leather eyes narrowed at her over the rim of the glass. When Cassie looked up at him to answer, his demeanor changed, dropping the sarcasm and the teasing at the way the season was visibly wearing on her. He put his free hand on her back, between her shoulders, pressing lightly. “Hey, Aberdeen…you okay?” His eyebrows came together in concern, his lips in a tight line. Cassie shook her head and tried to tell him it was nothing, that she was enjoying herself, but she saw Drake follow her gaze to where Liam was strolling towards the orchard with Kiara. “Hey, how about we go get up to some trouble?” he tilted his head towards where Maxwell was readying to bob for apples, but Cassie wondered what other types of trouble he had in mind. She knew what kind of trouble she’d thought about getting into with Drake, despite how she’d tried not to. Given the option of watching Liam with the other suitors all day, or trying to forget feeling like she’d been forgotten, she’d gone with Drake. What a mistake.

It would have been enough, spending the day with him, listening to him tell her about his favorite parts of the festival. It would have been more than enough, seeing the way his eyes lit up when he smiled- a thing so rare she had begun to wonder if he knew how- or feeling his shoulder brush hers as they squeezed past a crowd of people gathered around to watch the crowning of the Apple Queen. It would have been enough to hear him say, “I’m glad you had a good time, Aberdeen,” when he walked her back to the estate as the sun sank and the sky turned purple. It all would all have been enough and too much at once. But two things happened that night to further compound the situation that she found herself in: Liam had to rush into emergency trade meetings that lasted from the end of the festival, well into the evening, meaning that she had spent absolutely no time with him at all. She knew that that’s how it would be when they were married, when she was Queen- knew that their schedules and duties would conflict and sometimes keep them apart. She wasn’t naïve, she didn’t think they’d be able to just ride off into the sunset and spend every waking moment in one another’s arms. But the simple fact that once the season was through they’d at least be allowed to spend what time they did have free together. They’d at least be allowed to hold hands without raising any red flags, to share a kiss without causing a scandal. It wasn’t even the waiting for the engagement and the marriage; it was wanting to be with him, and him wanting to be with her, but not being allowed to. It was being alone while he was with all of them. But she wasn’t alone. Not really.

I shouldn’t have let him…

The second event that had changed everything would continue to stick with her for the rest of her life; one that would cause her skin to crawl, one that would make her check the locks on every door, one that would make her look behind the curtains and under the bed and in the closet before getting undressed for years to come. Tariq. In her room. Advancing on her nearly naked form with lust in his eyes and a Cheshire cat grin on his half drunken face. She’d tried to tell him to leave, she’d tried to cover up and push him away, but it was as though she were speaking another language, as though he couldn’t hear her…as though he could hear her but didn’t care. As he wrapped his arms around her, the fabric of his suit jacket scratching at her bare back uncomfortably, he closed his eyes and leaned it to kiss her. Heart pounding in her throat and limbs shaking, she knew she had to scream before his lips covered hers, silencing her cries. She took as big a breath as she could and let out a blood curdling sound just as Tariq’s wet lips crashed to hers. She felt violently ill as he smothered her, crushing her to his body despite how she struggled to push herself away from him. He was stronger than he looked, especially fueled by lust and cider, and Cassie was 120 lbs. soaking wet and never the strongest to begin with. Seconds ticked by as his hands roved her body, gripping, grasping, fingerprints digging into her soft flesh, and she felt tears slipping past her eyelids, she felt her cries die on her tongue as it tried to evade his. She sobbed against his mouth as her mind raced fearfully with what would happen next.

And then the door flew open, the frame cracked with the force, and Drake was there in two strides. One hand clasped around Tariq’s shoulder, pulling him off of Cassie, the other hand balled into a fist and drawn back before it came down like a hammer on Tariq’s face. Cassie stumbled free and clutched the bedpost, wide eyed and breathless as she watched Tariq tackle Drake to the ground, getting a few punches of his own in before Drake delivered the final blow that brought the drunken letch to his senses. He looked from Drake’s enraged expression, his eyes nearly black, his top lip curled, to Cassie, fearfully cowering away from him. Shaking his head, he fled the room, mumbling to himself about the American sending him mixed signals, mumbling about how this wasn’t his fault. As soon as he was gone, Drake was by her side, hands held tentatively up in front of him, the anger in his eyes changing immediately to hurt at the way she looked. “Cass…” he croaked, “Cass, are you…” he shook his head, closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Did he hurt you?”

He looked like he was in pain and not just from the fight. He looked like he was having trouble breathing, and not just from the bruised ribs. She couldn’t answer, not with words. Instead, she flung her small body at him, curling around him and holding tight, as though he could keep her from disintegrating after what just happened. He winced, and she couldn’t tell if it was from his injuries or from her body wrapped around his, from the close proximity that they both knew was better to avoid. After a few beats she felt his arms come around her, felt his whispered words against her hair. “It’s okay, Aberdeen, I got you…I got you…” She cried into his shirt until she felt her breath even out and her heartbeat slow.

She’d asked him to stay for a while. She’d insisted that he let her take care of him, ice his wounds and clean the cut under his eye. It seemed innocent enough; Liam’s best friend coming to her aid in his absence, protecting her, comforting her. It seemed only natural that she’d want to make sure he wasn’t hurt, that she’d want to repay him with kindness. But they both knew that’s not all that was happening, and neither could walk away. Neither wanted to.

I shouldn’t have let him stay…

He’d been the one to break the silence, after she’d done what she could for him. “I should go, Aberdeen…you should…” he swallowed and looked away. “You should call Liam. Tell him what happened…I’m sure he’d want to know that you’re safe…” Cassie couldn’t help the way she felt: that if Liam was concerned about her safety, he wouldn’t have left her on her own all day, wouldn’t have left her to Drake. She immediately cringed at those thoughts, knowing full and well that Liam was in love with her, and that he was sure to be devastated, sure to be wracked with misplaced guilt once he heard what had happened. Reluctantly she nodded, agreeing with him.

“Okay,” she said softly. He nodded, finishing with the buttons of his shirt and turning towards the door. “Drake!” she called out, not quite sure why. He stopped and pivoted slowly back toward her, his coffee colored eyes burdened with how desperately he wanted to stay, to hold her through the night- he had his own feelings about the way Liam hadn’t spent any time with Cassie all day, felt like his friend was wasting his time with Cassie. He knew it was duty. Protocol. What was expected of him. But he also knew that if he were in Liam’s shoes he wouldn’t give a flying fuck about any of that. “Thank you…” she managed, though her words were barely audible.

“Aberdeen…” he sighed. “I’d never let anything happen to you… not if I could help it…I…I couldn’t live with myself if I knew you were hurt.” He paused, a pained expression crossing his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even if you’re with Liam…I…I…” he sighed again, dropping his shoulders. “I know you’re with Liam. I know that.” His breathing quickened and her eyes flicked to the way his chest was heaving. “But I care about you too, Cassie. More than I should.” He crossed the room in nothing flat and slid his hand behind her neck, looking deep into her eyes, searching them.

She felt the dam break as she showed him what he was looking for. Without hesitation, and before she could stop herself, she closed her eyes and closed the distance. Her soft lips met his, moving together as a wave crested and crashed throughout her body. By the way Drake was responding, fingers curling around her neck, breath hitching, body following his hips as he matched himself up with her, she could tell that he was riding the wave, too. When they finally broke apart he rested his face against hers, eyelids closed tightly. “Aberdeen…” he breathed her name and as he did she saw flashes of what could have been throughout the season had they not both tried to ignore one another. Twirling across the floor at the masquerade ball. Smiling in the sunshine at the races. Skin sliding against skin as they learned each other’s bodies, confessions and secrets as they learned each other’s souls. Suddenly she was full of regret, of longing, of the feeling of wasted time. Before she could arrange her thoughts into anything coherent, she felt him slip away, heard the door open and shut before she opened her eyes, and he was gone.

How did I let this happen?

Five minutes later, Liam was in her room, apologizing, soothing, kissing, cradling. Drake had called him and told him what happened with Tariq, told him that Cassie needed him. “Cassie,” Liam’s voice held so much pain, so much hurt at what she’d just been through. “Cassie, I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here…so sorry, my love…” she felt his tears against her cheek, his exhales against her neck as he rocked her and she held tightly to him, thinking about how sorry she was, too.

I shouldn’t have let this happen…

tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @jovialyouthmusic @mind-reader1 @endlessly-searching-for-you @notoriouscs @endlesstaylormckenzie @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @drakewalkerrosenberg @akrenich @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @thequeenofcronuts @the-everlasting-dream @the-whiskeywife @roonarific @stopforamoment @mkatschoicesblog @mfackenthal @drakewalkerisreal @drakesensworld @gibbles82 @gardeningourmet @iplaydrake @rainbowsinthestorm @carabeth @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria

#trr #the royal romance #liam x mc #liam x cassie #drake x mc #drake x cassie #cassie aberdeen #cassandra aberdeen #drake walker #liam rys #choices fanfiction #trr fanfiction #trr love triangle #i promise i still love drake #forever and always #blame the song #i keep that excuse in my back pocket #i wasted you #flora cash

59 notes · View notes

arcqna-hoe · 6 years ago

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if you could do an asra x reader imagine? high school asra x band kid! reader? I cant wait to read all your future works to come! xx

oh GOSH i was so excited to write this ok yes let’s go!!! (bonus: top of asra’s paper from the beginning of this drabble!!)

“Mr. Alnazar…Mr. Alnazar…Asra!”

Glancing up from his paper, Asra turned his attention away from a doodle of Faust to the bony figure standing before him. Seeing as he was in government class, it wasn’t surprising at all to see the teacher - Mr. Vlastomil - standing before him, gripping a small slip of paper tightly in his fist.

“Yes, Mr. Vlastomil?” Asra replied slowly, unaffected by Vlastomil’s apparent urgency. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, yes. I, well…I need you to run something to Miss Navra. Yes, indeed. Will you do it?

Asra nodded. “Yes, sir. What room number was that again?”

Vlastomil, completely ignoring the question, shoved a piece of paper on the desk. “Very good, very good! Now, hurry. At once, Mr. Alnazar. No time for lollygagging.” With this, he rushed Asra out of the room and slammed the door shut, perhaps too eagerly for the boy’s tastes, and left him to wander the halls without a sense of where he was going.

Well, without a sense would have been a partial lie. Asra knew Miss Navra was the band teacher, and that band was in the arts wing of Vesuvia High, so that did narrow it down a bit. However, besides those two facts, Asra was indeed completely lost. Though…it did give him an excuse to escape Vlastomil’s class for at least 5 minutes. Better than nothing, right?

When he entered the arts wing, he was immediately struck by the sheer amount of posters lining the walls. Multiple for the drama club’s production of Julius Caeser and a sign up paper for a Mr. Irresistable contest hung on the walls (funnily enough, Julian Devorak’s name was on both of these), as well as some advertising Homecoming and the last football game of the season. The most common of these was the neon green one publicizing what seemed to be a band fundraising banquet, the number of them only increasing as Asra progressed through the wing. He decided to follow the fluorescent trail and eventually came to the back of the building and to a door labeled “band”.

Despite the walls being made of solid concrete blocks, a cacophony of sounds resonated through the hallway, only verifying even further he had indeed found the right room.

When he entered, he was surprised at the, well…lack of people in the room. For as much sound as poured through the door, there could only be about 10 or so blowing and drumming away at their instruments. None of them seemed to notice his entrance, and just as he was about to ask where he could find Miss Navra…

“Oh, hello dear!”

Asra turned around sharply, startled at the appearance of a voice. He relaxed when he saw that it was Miss Navra herself, a gentle smile painted on her face.

“Can I help you, dear?”

He reached out to hand her the paper. “Mr. Vlastomil sent me to give you this. I hope I’m not imposing on your class.”

“Not at all.” Navra took it without hesitation and scanned its contents, smiling fading slightly as she did so. She then mumbled something along the lines of ‘does he not know how to use email?’ before quickly regaining her previous composure.

“Say, would you like to help me for just one moment?” she suddenly asked. “There’s a band fundraising event happening tonight and I sure could use a hand setting up. I wish I didn’t have to ask, but many of my students are out on a field trip today, and….well, I don’t think you’re too eager to get back to Mr. Vlastomil’s class, are you? I can write you a pass for when you do go back so you won’t get in trouble. How does that sound?”

“That sounds perfect. I would be happy to help, Miss Navra. Where would I be of most use?”

“I have a student setting up chairs in the art commons. Why don’t you go help them, hmm?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When he got to the commons, he was met with the sight of a student - you! - hastily unfolding chairs, seemingly very stressed at the task. You looked like you a) still had about 100 more chairs to set up, and b) were so not gonna get it done by the end of the period.

Before you could suffer any more, Asra piped up. “Need some help there?” he asked, a cheeky smile forming at the edges of his mouth.

Wow. He was…cute, to say the least. Flustered, you rubbed the back of your neck and did your best to maintain your composure in his presence. “Uh, yes please!”

Almost immediately the mystery boy began to unfold chairs, and geez was he fast. As you struggled to keep up, you thought it might be worth a shot to introduce yourself. As you did so, his smile only grew, though it was more genuine now.

“That’s a lovely name”

Lovely? Your name was lovely?

“I’m Asra, by the way. I assume you’re in band?”

Your cheeks were as red as they could be by now. “Y-yeah…are you coming to the banquet tonight?”

He looked you up and down, and then finally came to a simple conclusion: “Now I am.”

The entire banquet, you and Asra kept exchanging glances. Every time you looked away from your sheet music, your eyes would meet his and it would take everything in your power to prevent playing the wrong note. Then you began to think back to the conversation after he had said he was coming to the banquet. All the compliments, the jokes, and god, his smile…

Luckily for you, a squeal trumpet behind you brought you back into the real world just before it was time for your solo. You played it absolutely beautifully, and after all the applause, Asra himself was the first to congratulate you.

“That was…amazing,” he said, a definite wonder lingering in his voice. “I didn’t know music could sound like that.”

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it…” you replied, blushing like a tomato.

“Yeah, simply beautiful…” Asra repeated, though you had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the music.

Right before he left, he handed you a slip of paper. You were too nervous to open it until you got home, and you’re very glad you did, for if you had opened it, the butterflies in your stomach may have killed you on the spot.

Notes, letters, and a phone number was all it took to send you head over heels.

(Sheet) music to your ears.

first request done ever!! i really tried to make it special so if you enjoyed it (or have any constructive criticism) please let me know!!!

(P.S for you non music nerds the notes spell out CALL ME? )

#the arcana #arcana visual novel #asra the magician #asra arcana #asra alnazar #high school au

14 notes · View notes

freedom-shamrock · 7 years ago

Text

BAMF Mari #6 - Chat’s Cradle

Also on AO3 #1 Princess Chat #2 Snack Chat #3 Scalded Chat #4 Chat Ice #5 Chat’s Paw #6 Chat’s Cradle #7 Chataplexy #8 Chatatonic #9 Chatalyst #10 Chat Nap #11 Chatcall #12 Chatachresis #13 Cat’s Pajamas

Adrien found his afternoon classes a breeze compared to the morning. As long as Marinette continued to issue commands, he was able to sit in her shadow without becoming a puddle of his former cool and collected self. She was surprisingly adept at working her orders into casual conversation, and she seemed to know exactly when he was losing focus and needed the boost… or whatever it was. After Chloe accused her of being a bossysaurus-rex, she switched to leaning onto her desk and whispering in his ear. The warmth of her breath stirring his hair as her soft voice gave him the direction he needed, filled him with happiness and the desire to make her proud.

He should probably avoid telling Plagg about that.

As they waited for their last teacher of the day, Adrien turned halfway in his seat, feeling at relative peace as he watched Marinette field Alya's questions for the Ladyblog.

"Are you aiming to step into the role of backup for Ladybug and Chat Noir?" Alya asked, arching one eyebrow as she eyed her best friend.

"Me?" Marinette asked. "Psssht. I think not." Her giggles were adorable. "You know I'm a complete klutz. I definitely do not belong on rooftops."

Adrien frowned. While she would make an amazing superhero, he really didn't like to think of her in that kind of danger.

"And what do you think of Chat Noir, now that you've spent time with him, hmm?" Alya winked, grinning with mischief. "He and Ladybug have always insisted they're just friends."

Marinette nodded, looking a little nervous about this particular angle.

"Are you the real reason our heroes haven't hooked up?" Alya asked, leaping to the related question before her friend could answer. "Has Marichat always stood in the way of Ladynoir?"

"What?" Marinette's eyes were huge as she gawked at Alya. "No-no-no. Of course not." She burst out laughing. "Chat and I aren't dating." She waved her hands frantically. "I made him lunch, because he's far too light… have you ever noticed how thin he is?" It was a beautiful deflection.

"Sounds like a date to me," Chloe said, crossing the aisle to join in the conversation. "Though Alya, I suspect it's a new thing. Look how blushy she is."

Alya made a point to look over Marinette's pink tinged cheeks. "I hate to admit it, but Chloe's got a good point." She shrugged.

"Honestly, Alya, I can't believe you haven't realized why Ladybug and Chat Noir haven't gotten together." Chloe sniffed disdainfully. She'd gotten much less nasty the last few years, but she still wasn't particularly nice. "She's obviously not into guys."

Adrien stared at Chloe in shock. To be fair, it had never occurred to him, but then he brushed it off. There'd been a boy at her school she liked. But as that was a Chat-known fact, he couldn't exactly point it out.

"Uhhh…" Marinette mumbled.

"Nuh uh," Nino interrupted. "I saw the way Ladybug looked at my bro here, on more than one occasion, I might add." He beamed as he lightly punched Adrien's shoulder. "She's definitely got an eye for some nice man candy."

"I've always thought she was bi," Marinette blurted.

Alya giggled. "Sure sweetie. You see everyone with stereoscopic bisexual vision."

"Hey Agreste," Kim said, stepping closer to Adrien. "We still on for after school?"

Adrien thought for a moment and nodded. He'd been so scrambled by Marinette's presence he'd nearly forgotten it was weight training day. He'd started lifting with Kim as an excuse for why he'd gotten so much more toned and strong in the last year. Fortunately, his Chat Noir activities hadn't given him a weight lifter's form; his musculature followed the lithe lean pattern of a cat, so his father approved.

Kim slapped his hands down on Marinette's table, pulling her away from Alya's interrogation. "And DC, you want to join me and Mr. Model Behavior for weight lifting today?"

She looked surprised by the invitation. "Me?"

Kim smirked. "You've been holding out on us Mair-bear, and that video made me want to see what you're really made of."

There was a moment of silence before several voices chimed in together. "Ooooooh!"

Marinette glanced at Adrien and he beamed at her. Kim's request had awakened a need he hadn't even been aware of. Just how strong was his sweet princess?"

"Adrien." God. He would never tire of hearing her say his name in that firm but caring way. How were those things even compatible? He had no idea. She leaned forward to rest a hand on his shoulder, apparently concerned by his lack of response. "Adrien," she said again.

"Yes, Mari?" he responded, stupidly proud to have gotten two words out. It was best not to think about how her pleased smile made him feel.

"Do you want me to come to the weight room with you guys?" She was so perfect. Making sure he was okay before committing.

He nodded eagerly. "Very much yes."

"All right." She shrugged. "I'll meet you guys there. I have to run home for workout clothes."

Adrien and Kim were already changed and stretching when Marinette popped her head in to the weight room, a small duffel hooked on her arm. "I'll be right in." She flashed him a smile before ducking back into the locker room."

Kim chuckled, and when Adrien looked up, his friend's grin could only be described as smug. "About time," he teased.

Adrien puzzled for a moment. Kim wasn't usually cryptic. "For what?"

Kim shook his head slowly. "You've been captain oblivious for years, dude. It's good to see you've finally gotten with the program."

"Uhmmmmm… okay?" Adrien replied uncertainly. What program?

"It just took seeing Mair-bear at her most BAMF," Kim continued, "for you to see past your crush on Ladybug."

"What?" Adrien goggled at his friend. Was that what had happened?

"Don't get me wrong," Kim said, holding up one hand. "I appreciate the draw of a strong woman." He winked. "But it's the sweet ones who look like they couldn't hurt a mouse, but can also toss around forty pound sacks of flour like they're nothing that'll really get you."

Adrien thought for a moment. Kim had a point, but he wasn't entirely sure he went along with the reasoning. "She can toss sacks of flour? Is that how she got so strong?"

Kim shrugged and turned to start adding weight to his bar. "She's always been stronger than she looks, and I've seen her unloading delivery trucks with her dad. They make a game out of seeing who can carry more, and throwing them at each other."

Adrien couldn't imagine his father turning any part of his job into a game. The very idea nearly made him laugh. Marinette came in then, making him suck in a ridiculous amount of air in response. She wore the snug shorts and athletic tank top of a dancer, both black with neon green piping. He wondered if it would be too weird to ask her to push him up against a wall. She'd taken his other admittedly odd request completely in stride. He wheezed, looking away as his cheeks went hot.

"Oh goodness," Marinette said, and suddenly her hand was on his arm, her warm skin touching his. "Are you okay?"

Adrien nodded, bringing up a fist to bang on his chest as he coughed. "Yeah. Wreathed brong… breathed wrong."

Kim snickered, but continued weighting his bar.

"Do you have like a routine or regular order of things here?" she asked, looking around the room. "I'd hate to mess with a flow that works for you guys."

"Naah," Kim assured her. "Nothing that formal. We try to have most our time split between lower and upper body, but we switch around whenever." He patted the barbell. "This is our usual warm up weight. You good to give it a shot?"

Marinette glanced at the weights and nodded. "One of you should go first though," she suggested. "I don't usually do actual weights, so I want to see the proper form. And I need to warm up a bit anyway."

Kim nodded and gestured for Adrien to take the bench. "Model Behavior, here, is a stickler for form, so he's the one to watch. I'll spot."

They all took turns with the warm up weight, Marinette managing it as easily as Adrien and Kim. Though they had a rotation, Kim got out of spotting by prepping the next set of weights each cycle. They'd passed Kim's max bench weight and were closing in on Adrien's, though Mari didn't seem at all slowed down.

"You're a powerhouse, Mair-bear," Kim said as he switched out the weights for them.

Marinette moved into spotting position and looked down into Adrien's eyes. He lowered the bar, lightly touching his chest before raising his arms back up. His biceps started to burn as he worked through the set.

"You've got this," Marinette assured him, holding his gaze with her own. "Just two more. Aaand one more."

"Ugh," Adrien muttered as he settled the bar back on its stand.

"Great job!" Marinette assured him, quickly sliding into the place he vacated on the bench.

He grinned stupidly at her as he watched her get ready, belatedly realizing he needed to move into position to spot her. Not like she needed him. For the next set, usually Adrien's stopping point, he managed a full set of ten, with Marinette's encouragement.

"Nice!" Kim said, grinning enthusiastically. "I've been trying to get him past that milestone for weeks. Clearly I wasn't the correct motivator."

"Thanks Mari," Adrien said, shaking out his arms as she got ready for her turn. "You're a great coach."

When she'd finished, without hesitation, Kim added more weight and gestured for Adrien to give it a shot. "You only need to lift it once, and then it's your new max weight, dude. I know you can do it."

With a deep breath, Adrien lay back on the bench, the cushion giving a little under his head. He reached up for the bar and opened his eyes, his field suddenly filled with the most perfect blue. He could see her faith in him in her eyes, and he was certain he could do this if only she believed in him.

"You've got this," she murmured. "Nice slow breath in, now. And up with it."

He eased it off the stand, holding it for a moment before lowering it. He got it to his chest then back up a few inches before his arms started to balk at the weight.

"C'mon, Adrien." She held her hands over the bar. "Give it to me."

"Nngggh!" The boost he got from obeying her was just enough for him to power through. He managed to push the bar into her hands, and she directed it back to the stand.

"You did it! I knew you could." She reached down and brushed two fingers against his cheek. "You're amazing. Did you know that?"

He stared up at her, looking so pleased with him, praising and touching him. He felt so perfect in that moment, warm and loved. He opened his mouth to thank her. "Bench me." She froze with a tiny gasp, and he realized what he'd said.

There was a thump behind her, and Adrien glanced over to see Kim sprawled on the weight room's floor, laughing hysterically.

Most of this series has been written during lulls in volunteer time, and this one follows that pattern. I wrote a large portion of this by the red light of a headlamp, between 4:30 and 5:30 am, tucked into a military grade sleeping bag, in a cabin with no heat, while chaperoning a Girl Scout trip. I've currently got one more piece in this world planned, though I'd like something to come between this one and that one.

Tagging @frostymoon11 and @starfirette as promised for the continuation.

#Miraculous ladybug #fanfic #my writing #BAMF Mari #mlfluffiction

227 notes · View notes

cottagecori · 7 years ago

Text

Without Her (Part One)

An It’s Complicated x Reader Newsies Imagine

(Gender Neutral I’m 99.9% sure-please tell me if I’m wrong and need to change anything)

Prompt List|Masterlist|Request Something

Thanks a billion to @icanneverbesatisfied, @whizzvins, @leftmyurlinmyotherpants, and @purple-heart-anon for looking over this and convincing me that it’s not trash

Requested: No

Era: Modern

Summary: You’ve spent too long pining after a Dream, so you decide to chase a Reality instead. (part one of three)

Word Count: 2060

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, Please tell me if i missed any?

Tag List: @black-flower-crowns, @littlebitfluffy,@cringeguild, @psychedemigod ((you didn’t ask to be tagged but you liked the sneak peeks so here we are))

~Want To Be Added To the Tag List??~

-----

It must have been eleven in the evening, but in a city like New York, the night had barely begun. The bars were bursting with patrons, spilling intoxicated masses into the paths of lonely strangers walking around in hopes of catching someone’s eye. The hordes of teenagers were embracing their newfound freedoms, climbing walls and shouting from rooftops. The young adults were walking home from the jobs they wanted to leave behind. Friends conversing, lovers displaying their affection, families consoling one another in the brisk air of the dusk fallen utopia. Everyone had a purpose, they had a reason to be here under the starless sky. They let the beauty of New York embrace them and leave them breathless as they journeyed into the night. The city seemed to breathe life into its citizens while it squeezed the very same out of you.

The frigid air would normally be a wonderful change of pace from the tepid waves of humidity that summer brought, but tonight it was anything but. Instead of feeling a cool breeze run down your back, the energetic goosebumps lining your skin, the magic of fall spreading from your head to your toes, you only felt cold. It burned your lungs as you walked through the side streets, a symphony of buzzing neon signs as your soundtrack, your path illuminated by old, dying street lamps. You wrapped your arms around yourself, holding your sweater tighter to your skin as if it would make any difference whatsoever. A nearly empty bottle graced your lips before slipping through your fingers onto the pavement below. The glass crunched under your shoes, as you kept walking, in no mood to stand still.

You wandered through the cold, allowing yourself to be whisked into the crowds of many trying to celebrate something of which had no meaning. It had no effect on you. You were numb. There had been people who called out for you, but the world outside your head did not matter. You were deaf to their blathering. The blisters forming on your boot-clad feet did not bring you pain. You were lost in your own body.

The overwhelming number of people around started to dwindle as the night went along, but you were still strolling without a purpose. That was until you came across an eerily familiar staircase. The staircase to her third story walk-up.

You stood in front of that godforsaken door, cursing that your own body would betray you in such a manner. That door, one which you had begged her to paint over but was still that awful shade of green, was the entryway to the new chapter of her life. A chapter that excluded you in its narrative.

“This can’t be how our story ends,” you thought to yourself. “I have to do something.”

Your thoughts became maddeningly loud as they shouted at you, but minutes passed with you simply standing frozen before her home. Suddenly, your hand was raised to rap against the hard oak, but a chill overcame you and, fortunately, so did sense.

You let your body lead you away and once again began roaming aimlessly. The wind pushed you along and you had no choice but to let it. You had no clue where you were going. There were no landmarks to help you, just brownstones, the kind she always wanted.

The houses all looked the same at this time of night, as the city lights dimmed to match the sun rising over the horizon. The world brightened as your own outlook darkened. If she couldn't love you, who could?

At five in the morning, you found yourself crying into your sleeves while you stumbled up the walkway to a familiar apartment building. With the turn of a key, you walked into the warm atmosphere and up the three flights to number 189.

The door opened with little resistance and you fell to your knees as it slammed behind you. A voice rang out but it sounded like static as your sobs took over the silence in your own head.

“I can’t do it. I can’t. I don’t know if I can go on without her. I don’t think that I’ll survive.”

Someone’s arms wrapped themselves around your torso and under your legs as you cried your sorrows away.

It was noon when you awoke again, nursing a hangover as strong as the body cradling you.

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself,” a worried voice breathed out above you once you made your consciousness known.

“What do I have to lose?” You sank into his embrace and let him tuck your hair behind your ears, smiling meekly to yourself.

“Your overall state of well-being? Your mental health? Any chance of ever finding love again?” His words trailed off after he noticed your glassy-eyed gaze. “Y/N, you’ve been like this for months. When will you ever learn?”

Davey untangled his body from yours and left you alone. He knew he shouldn’t have, since there was no doubt in his mind that you would be contemplating the one thing he wished you wouldn’t: how to get her back.

It had been the only thing you had thought of since the moment she ended your year and a half long relationship. Davey knew that you wouldn’t stop until she was yours once again, but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamt of you seeing the light and running into his arms instead. But alas, some things are only meant to be dreamt of, not to become reality for the broken-hearted.

You barely recognized his absence as her words swirled around your mind.

“He’s what matters to me, Y/N. What we had was special, but it’s not what I care about anymore. I-uh, that’s not what I meant. Well, geez, you’d think for a writer, eloquence when speaking would come naturally. Y/N, I love you and I always will, but I can’t be with you, not while my heart belongs to him. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.” Her deep sigh broke the tense air as you fought the tears forming in your eyes. “Goodbye, and good luck. You will find someone who will love you in a way that you deserve. I’m just sorry that it couldn’t be me,” her words were punctuated with a kiss to your forehead before she disappeared from your sight but never from your heart.

You have pondered that moment over and over since the second it ended, always drawing the same conclusion. If you had fought for her, you wouldn’t be missing her. She would still be in your arms, as you sang her sweet songs of romance. But as you sat there replaying that scene in your head for what seemed to be the millionth time, something inside of you clicked.

You had spent months and months living in that past, the past where you had her, but what good did it do you? Davey was right, you had put yourself through too much heartache over a girl who had no trouble ending your whole world to kick you out of hers. She made her choice, and now you had begun to see that it was time to make yours.

“I’m done missing you,” the words bubbled up inside of you and escaped your lips before you could understand just exactly what they meant. It didn’t matter though, you had to get over her somehow, and the first step was to lead a life without her in it.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and raced out of the room to find your friend hunched over the stove. “Davey!” A startled shriek left the boy as a piece of toast flew across the kitchen causing you to burst out in laughter.

“Y/N, you can’t just scare a man like that!”

“Well, that’s a relief because there is no man in sight.”

His hand flew to his heart as he feigned hurt. “Damn, Y/N.” A smirk blessed your features and you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before taking a seat at the island across from him. “You must feel better, huh?”

A laugh erupted from your chest and, although it hurt your ears, you felt at peace. “My head is pounding, my mouth tastes of bile, and I can’t run my hand through my hair without tugging on at least fifteen knots. I feel immaculate, ethereal, weightless.” You spun on your chair, with your arms raised in the air and with the energy of an excited child.

He couldn’t help but admire the beauty of your smile and the brightness you exuded. Oh, how he wished that he could make you that happy every day for the rest of your life.

“What brought on such a change? Where’s that gloomy girl I’ve come to know and somewhat despise?” His commentary was met with your glare but a small grin told him that you were not upset.

“She’s been destroyed, erased. Her reign of terror is now over. Long live happiness and newfound freedom from the weights of ruptured hearts!” A veil of confusion swept over your friend who normally understood everything.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m moving on, Davey!” His heart sped up so quickly, he was afraid it would burn a hole right through his chest. “I’m breaking free from her chains! Katherine has held onto my heart for too long, and now I’m taking back what’s rightfully mine!”

“Oh, really now?” A thick layer of sarcasm coated Davey’s words to hide his excitement from you. “And how are you planning on doing that, exactly?”

“With your help.” The lump stuck in his throat was unbeknownst to you as you jumped around his kitchen. “You, my loyal and trusty wingman, are going to help me get back out there. It’s been well over two years since I’ve hit the dating scene, and I’ll need a guide.”

“Why not ask Racer or Romeo or even Specs? They’ve certainly had more success in that field than myself.” A light chuckle escaped you as you placed yourself on top of the counter beside him.

“Yes, but they’re looking for quick and unfulfilling, I’m asking for substance. If anyone can help me with my search for something real, it’s David Jacobs.” He almost scoffed before he realized that you weren’t finished, “also, you’re about to burn your eggs.”

A frantic disposition quickly overcame him as he turned off the flame whilst nearly dropping the mug of jasmine tea he held in his hand. Your laugh sounded through the apartment as his deep breaths filled your ears.

“Jesus Christ. You’re almost as much of a mess as I am. That’s a comforting thought.” You placed your hand caringly on his shoulder as he started to giggle.

“Excuse you, I am nowhere near that much of a catastrophe.” You shot him a questioning glance, “Okay, yeah, nevermind I see your point. But how are we going to begin this quest for true love? Finding a meaningful and long-lasting relationship isn’t exactly the simplest thing to accomplish.”

“We start where all good stories do.”

A groan came from his mouth, signifying his knowledge of your destination. “Really?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. We go to The Bowery.” An exasperated sigh left your best friend because, even though he loved the woman in charge, Medda’s Nightclub exuded trouble and danger. “But not tonight, I’m still trying to shake off last night’s tequila shots.” You kissed his cheek before gathering your things. “I’m going to go puke in your toilet, and then head home and recover. I’ll call you tomorrow with a game plan, so please don’t lose your phone or drop it in your organic herbal tea like last time, alright? I have a lot of ideas. Goodbye, David Jacobs. Till our paths cross again.”

“Promise you’ll be okay alone with your thoughts? That you’ll actually stay true to this newborn idea of letting her go? I can’t stand to see you broken any longer.”

You turned to meet his concerned stare before drawing an x on your chest with your finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” A smile brightened his features as you blew him a kiss and went on your way.

to be continued...

119 notes · View notes

loveyou-x3000 · 7 years ago

Text

Little Blue Boxes

Tokyo is burning.

The streets are naught but fear and sorrow. Fire lines the pavement with endless ruin; cars burn and flame, bodies smoke, and neon signs fall from tall buildings, shattering on the concrete below. Midgardians wail. Children die in their mothers’ arms. Loki pretends not to care, pretends not to feel the destruction festering in his soul, and fights on.

The Scarlet Witch is a wonder, he thinks. She’s a woman of Valkyrie’s demeanor and strength. Red magic crackles between her palms and she fights as valiantly as Sif. But whomever she might remind him of is dismissed – he dodges her attacks, even while entangled in a second battle.

Though they be Midgardian and sorcerers at the same time, they practice magic he’s long since mastered. Infantile tricks. Unskilled spells. It’s an impressive gambit, but a gambit nonetheless. A barrier of the Tesseract’s make blocks everything she throws at him.

The Vision – stronger than she, stronger than he – twists again to avoid the slice of Gungnir. The spear of a thousand lives and ten thousand deaths twirls in his hands, forever the hallmark of Asgard’s kings. Asgard, which is no more, which burned like Midgard does now, is left remembered only by its brothers. By Thor, fallen from the Bifrost like Loki had; by Loki, lost to his follies, to his past promises and current lies. There is no throne left for them to claim.

Yet he persists. The fight must go on. He must lie. His words are weapons and his words must ring true, at all costs. The Mad Titan is owed two stones and one rests upon the forehead of his opponent. The other in his pocket.

“Fall,” Loki pleads.

“I cannot,” the Vision says.

So they fight. They fight until Loki bleeds from his mouth and the Vision leaks from his eyes, black tears streaking down purple skin. Blood drips. Words are short. They fight until Loki gains the upper hand by chance, until Gungnir slices deep and true into the breast of an inorganic man.

“Fall,” Loki commands.

There is a moment between them. A whisper of magic between the stone in Loki’s pocket and the stone upon Vision’s brow. An understanding. The Vision stares blankly ahead as the scheme crests over him. He realizes the futility of his fight. Loki pretends at a speech of victory; it’s empty at its core but it makes the Scarlet Woman scream. Gungnir is pulled and speared through him again. The Vision’s face sparks and cracks around its golden shaft, cracked and broken.

“I see,” he whispers, and relief floods Loki the same way death floods into Vision.

He’s gone before Loki strikes a final blow. He sees it in his strange, layered gaze – a flash of light along gridlines and a stutter before the soul leaves the body. Is it a soul, Loki wonders, or merely an echo of one? Regardless, there’s no imagining where it might’ve gone.

He stands with a slab of purple skull in his hands, gleaming bright with golden light.

The woman won’t stop screaming.

“Boss,” FRIDAY says. “Your heart rate-“

Tony Stark isn’t listening. He’s staring at ring of holographic screens around him as Iron Man closes over his body, painted black and red and twice as powerful as anything he’s ever built before.

“Call Strange,” he orders over her warnings.

“Boss-“

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Tokyo has fallen. Seoul is burning. Los Angeles is fighting tooth-and-nail against the horrors that New York once knew. His horrors – an open hole in the sky, the endless universe, a nuke meant to end it once and for all-

Tony tries to remember to breathe. His arm hurts.

“Boss-“

When FRIDAY begins to stutter, Tony’s heart skips a beat. Iron Man’s mask closes over his eyes. The HUD is flashing, scratched and stuttering.

“You’ve received- exported— force down-download. Downloaded. I. I. I’m- Over-override. Failure. Mis-Mist-Mister S-taaark-“

Another voice breaks out before he can tell her to reset, to fix herself. He can’t lose her now. She might be all he has left.

“Sir,” JARVIS says, and all the wind is knocked straight out of Tony’s lungs. His heart never starts beating again.

“Jarvis?” It’s a breath. A whisper.

“Sir, I believe you’re having a heart attack.”

It takes seven duplicates of himself to hold the Scarlet Witch down. She’s still screaming. Loki knows that she’s grieving. He’s heard this wail countless times before. It’s the call of the lost, of the left-behind. Perhaps he’s once made the same cry.

Pity has no place in this moment, so he discards the thought. He stands before the Black Order with a plate of unnatural skull in one hand and a glowing blue box hefted high before him. Two stones. One conjured by his will and another stolen. A promise made and delivered. The Black Order stand as three of their five numbers, ready to receive.

“Take them. Let it be done.” He requests, hoping to any God left to hear him that this might work. “I promised Thanos the stones.”

“In return for this world,” says a woman with black hair and grey skin. Her eyes are beady, insect-like, and her skin is peppered with blackened scales. “Do you still want this world, little Asgardian?”

“Nay.”

“Then what do you want?” This man is taller than her, thin and lean with fingers of an unnatural length. His robes are in tatters as they scrape across the ground. He has the knowledge, Loki thinks. He is the forethought and patience of his group.

“Only my life, so I might watch the worlds burn.”

The third laughs loud. Loki tries his best not to grimace. He knows the type of large, powerful men. They’re too easily offended.

“Your escape, then,” says the smart one. “Because all will eventually burn.”

“Aye.”

From his hands, his offerings are lifted by unseen forces. Only black blood and a touch of cold are left behind in his outstretched palms. His illusions hold; his lie maintains.

“As you will, Loki of Asgard,” decrees the female voice of the Black Order. “Flee. Witness. The worlds will crumble before the might of our Father.”

“But perhaps you will not,” inclines the thin one, quietly. Even the unfamiliar know of Loki’s shrewdness.

He smiles, all charm and wicked teeth. He bows low and his cape snaps up around him.

“Perhaps not.”

In an instant, he’s gone.

The Scarlet Woman’s cries follow him into the darkness.

“Mr. Stark!”

Peter Parker leaps out of the car, practically stumbling out the door. Ned stays in the driver’s seat, knuckle-white and wide eyed. The security barrier for the Avengers compound clangs as it falls to the ground, leaving a dent in the grill of the vehicle.

There are men running at them, but Peter is faster. Smarter, too, and more resourceful. Without a care for identities and secrets, he’s running. Webbing doors shut behind him. Searching desperately for any familiar faces he might find.

The world is on fire. It’s on the news - it’s everywhere. The universe needs saving and there’s only so many people who stand a chance at winning the fight. Iron Man, Captain America, the Hulk, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Thor. Maybe Spider-Man, too. The Avengers. He’s ready.

He just needs to get them all back together.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter calls again, but the only response he finds is his own echoing voice.

Then there’s a buzz. A breath.

“Down to the lab, Mr. Parker. Quickly.”

“Vision!” Peter knows the voice. “Vision, where are you?”

“Mr. Stark needs medical attention.”

Questions are forgotten. Peter acrobats himself down flights of staircases, into the secure facilities deep below Avenger’s Headquarters. The walls and doors are all glass, all except for the ones lined with suits. Stark has been building. Extensively. Iron Man’s void expression stares down on a merciless scene: Tony Stark, half-suited and pale, twitching on the ground.

“Mr. Stark!”

Peter throws himself at the door. It doesn’t move.

Locked, he knows, but he throws all his weight against it again. Screens display on neighboring glass, broadcasting his denied entry, but he tries again and again.

“Vision!” he calls. “Vision, help!”

“Systems are currently in emergency mode. Overrides non-functional.”

“What?”

At the back of the room, there’s a dimensional tear. It gives him sudden, halting pause. Burning with green flames, a nightmare steps through it: Loki, of Asgard. Of the Battle of New York. Of death.

There’s a moment where he forgets to breathe.

By his next breath, he’s blown the door off its hinges.

Red fabric and webs of blue peek out from underneath his sweatshirt as he tears through his own electrified webbing, stumbling over the shards of glass and debris. Loki does not look at him – he’s leaning over Tony, kneeling on the ground with his spear butted into the ground next to Mr. Stark’s head.

His webbing falls short as it hits a force of glowing designs suspended in the air. It’s orange.

“Wha-“

“Stand down, Mr. Parker,” says a new man, who stands on the other side of Stark with his hands held up in front of him. “It’s all right.”

“Who-“

“My name is Stephen Strange.” His cape is red, somehow billowing without wind. Its collar stretches high above his neck. “Your name is Peter Parker. We’re here to help.”

“That’s-“

“It’s not here.” Loki interrupts, pieces of the Iron Man suit falling away under his hands. Mr. Stark is holding his arm tight, unable to fight or struggle. Peter can’t tell what that means. “Sorcerer-“

“What’s not there?”

Loki looks back to Stark like he’s been called. Tony is squeezing his arm.

“Oh, no need for dramatics.” he drawls, “Calm down, Stark, lest I decide you’re not meant for this battle.”

Peter dodges around Stephen Strange and makes to tackle Loki. He hits a force field hard, and Loki turns around to stare at him. He shimmers green beneath his barrier as Peter rolls onto his side.

“Get off him!”

“I’m trying to save him, you imbicile,” Loki speaks in something like a growl, turning back around to make quick work of the Iron Man suit. Peter realizes that Tony’s hand on his arm is guiding him to manual releases, “And in case you haven’t noticed, time is of the essence.”

“Indeed,” Strange steps forward. Peter sits up properly. “But reversing time won’t stop this from happening, Loki, you must-“

“I realize that.”

Tony looks beyond the two grown men standing over him, eyes wide and bloodshot. He’s pale, lined in purple under paper thin skin. He looks to Peter, who stares back in agony.

“Where’s the arc reactor?” he asks, voice shaking with adrenaline.

What Peter doesn’t know – what few people know – is that the arc reactor is long gone. He was among a small group who knew that Tony had had the implant in the first place; he was not among the number who knew it was gone.

Tony’s breath hitches. His voice is gone, but an intoned breath is enough. That, it says. The arc reactor.

“An arc reactor?” Strange asks.

“In his chest,” Peter says, desperate. He scrambles forward and Loki’s barrier lets him through. “He has one…” Now above his mentor, situated next to the man of New York’s nightmares, he sees the blank expanse of Tony’s chest that is nothing but scars and pain. “He… he has… he had one…”

“It stops magic.” Loki says, turning on the other. “Sorcerer-”

“Mr. Stark sustained shrapnel injuries in Afghanistan.” Peter thinks that maybe the voice isn’t the Vision. It echoes through the workshop without source, bringing their eyes to the ceiling as they listen. “His captors devised a device to prevent the shrapnel from entering his heart by way of car battery. Mr. Stark developed the arc reactor technology afterwards, in an attempt to make a magnetic barrier that suspended the-“

“I understand.”

Then there’s a wash of green magic that isn’t Loki’s. Tony cries out. Peter watches time literally flash before his eyes, back through so many battles and reliving inconceivable agony.

“There,” Loki says, when a bloody mess of metal is left on a heaving chest. Tony’s hand is around Peter’s wrist, grasping tight. He’s coughing up blood and Peter is over him, pulling his head into his lap.

“Mr. Stark-“

Loki presses a blue, shimmering stone into the triangle of arc reactor light torn into his chest. All the blood disappears in a flash of white hot power.

Tony screams.

“Mr. Stark!”

When they stand on the battered remnants of Midgard, Loki and Thor together again, Loki bends low over the frozen body of Thanos. Its purple skin is iced blue; its fingers are frostbitten and black. Veins of snow frost over its battered armor.

“Perhaps there was good fortune in it, then,” Thor says. His red cape billows, as tattered and torn as the world around them. “Your heritage.”

“Ah, yes. How wonderful to know you find my monstrosity convenient.”

“I meant only-“

He takes off his golden horns, shaking his head as he sets it down on a fallen body of the Black Order.

“The realms have always been mine to end, brother.”

“Ragnarok is gone, Loki.”

“Nay. Only rewritten.”

He takes the Infinity Gauntlet from the purple corpse underneath him. Five of six stones glitter underneath the stars, a portal still ripped across the Midgardian sky. How many Celesitals gaze down upon them now, Loki wonders. Upon the agony of the half-dead Avengers, upon the reunion of Asgard’s remaining blood?

“…You can change it,” Thor suggests, his voice rough with blood. Loki can hear Mjolnir’s song in his hand, remade by Strange’s magic. “All of this. Make it as it was.”

“Perhaps I could.” Loki nods. He watches his skin turn blue as he holds the Gauntlet in his hands. Raised, silver veins of unknown meaning crawl up his arms. “’Tis not my prerogative.”

Long, tired fingers pry loose the dull shine of a blue gem. It falls from the golden knuckles and down into his palm.

With a long sigh, his illusion is dispelled in a breath of green magic.

The Casket of Ancient Winters reforms in his hands, an unassuming blue box that holds all the Winters of Jotunheim within. It turns his skin stark blue but he doesn’t care. T'was this little thing that won this terrible war, after all. He can’t find shame in what it does to him. It enabled him to tell the greatest lie the universe had ever known. It made him a God.

He hands up the Gauntlet to his brother, the golden prince of nowhere, and wishes away the greatest lie he’s ever told. The Casket disappears.

“Go to Stark,” he says, as his skin turns white once more, “He hides the Tesseract in his heart. Let your dear Avengers rebuild their own realm.”

Thor looks to him. For a brief moment, their sins are forgotten, cast out in the desolation that is this universe. Loki breathes deep. Thor sighs and claps him on the shoulder when he stands.

“Do you want to know what I think, brother?” he asks.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Aye,” he laughs. It’s the first laugh that’s lived through all this pain. “I think you may yet heft Mjolnir high, one day.”

That might’ve meant more a few years ago. It still means something now – it stops the breath in his throat, hitching at something sentimental in his chest – but it doesn’t mean quite as much. But now Loki can laugh away some of his pain, too.

“Nay,” he shoulders Thor’s hand off him, shaking his head with a smile as he steps away, “I’ve no need of your power, Thor. Nor of Odin’s judgement on my worth.” He gestures widely to the destruction around him. To the bodies and the blood, to the ended wrath of the Mad Titan. All of it constructed by his own words. “I’m inclined to believe that the power of Loki may be greater than even that of the Norns.”

Thor’s laugh is booming this time. It turns the heads of his compatriots, some yards away, who reunited only for many of them to fall.

“Aye. In its wordy way.”

Loki smiles. It’s the first true thing he’s felt in years.

“In all ways.”

(Read on AO3)

#severa writes #tony stark #loki #my writing #fanfiction #au #graphic depictions of violence #major character death #infinity war au #avengers au

5 notes · View notes

unrelenting-will · 7 years ago

Text

10 December 2015

Warning: Some swearing, typical Jane, and Derek banter

“When are you going to accept that it is in both our best interests if you just bring me along for some of these missions.” Jane set her head up and glared at her companion before dropping her head on the gray soil under her. “I mean this time you made it to the moon, so congratulations.”

“You’ve already answered your own question, dumbass.” Jane growled, “I got my ass handed to me, like it or not you aren’t even a year into this Green Lanterny business.” She shut her eyes and imagined what Anthony would have done given the opportunity and it was now that she was glad that she had severed his…

“Do I want to know whose arm this is?” Lazily she glanced over to the appendage and Derek who had lifted it up to begin inspecting it. “I thought we agreed that next time you ran into your homicidal ex you would have me along to help.”

“Not exactly correct, I had stated that if he ever showed up when you were around I wouldn’t tell you to turn tail and leave.” She brought a hand up and pinched the bridge of her nose, “Fucker showed up on my way back planet-side. Hiding in the Asteroid belt of all places.”

“Not a stupid move, you are the only Human Lantern are you not?” She didn’t even bother answering, he was mumbling to himself and thinking out loud again. “The chances of running into any interruptions would be slim to none.”

“You done, monologuing to yourself Sherlock?”

“Never, but…was this necessary?”

“Well he doesn’t have a ring anymore now does he.”

“Still, you could have gone for the finger.”

“I wasn’t exactly in a giving sort of mood.”

“I can see that.” Derek frowned, “Luckily for you, you are my favorite Green Lantern” He chuckled as he walked over, arm in hand, before shifting some of his power toward healing the exhausted Green Lantern.

“I call Bullshit.” The two of them remained in silence even after Derek had finished patching her up. She was focused on Earth as it twisted in the black void that was space, he was debating with himself on whether to pull the Red Ring off the arm or not.

“He’s dead.”

“Side effect of not being powered up in space, occupational hazard.”

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t see how I wouldn’t be.”

“Walker visited me after you left.” That earned the 30-year-old’s attention. “Crash course in how to spot and neutralize other rings effects. You didn’t tell me we could do that.”

“I have absolutely no idea what the left and right bounds of your ring are. Anything I did learn was from hearsay, then without exactly speaking to those who could more efficiently train you, I found my own way to get you to learn. You never seemed keen on returning back to Odym, given the option.” She sat up feeling as if she had just woken up from the best nap of her life, “While I am sure Adara and possibly even Walker could find you if they really wanted to, nobody else has any reason to believe that there is a Blue Lantern chilling on Earth.”

“He said that there was a War going on.”

“I never said that there wasn’t.”

“I should be out there.”

“I am not here to tell you how to live your life, I am here to keep you out of Alpha business though… but keep you informed. We don’t die off easily, but the obstacles we face are on a completely different level than other Lanterns.” There was a momentary pause between the two of them and Jane watched as Derek seemed to be going back and forth with something in his head.

“Saint Walker explained a bit on why you keep me away from the others, Alpha’s that is, even if I have the ability to enhance your powers.” She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded for him to continue. “You told me you would just lose your hand.” She nodded, “You did not tell me that I could have killed you. Jane, your makeup is not the same as that of a normal Lantern. If I had over charged you, if you go anywhere near Odym you will die. You and all the other Alpha Lanterns.”

“Is the speculation, yes.” She interrupted, “Which is precisely why none of us have bothered to enter Sector 2628. We know where it is in case y’all ever need our help…”

“Which is why when Scar ordered you into that Sector you immediately came to get me.” Jane kept her neon green eyes set on Earth, “Which is exactly why you fed her the wrong information. Because if we have half the capability that Saint Walker claims, we are a threat to every other Corps out there. We are a viable threat to her.”

“Precisely.”

“Have you brought this up with the others?”

“Not quite, if Scar is the source of the problem it is going to take them a while before they realize some things. She doesn’t directly control them like she does me. All she can do is convince the other Guardians into sending their Alpha’s into dangerous situations, which is exactly what we are here for. If she plays her cards right, none of us will know what is going on until it is too late. I am not even sure if she is up to something yet, or if all of this is just fucking coincidence.”

“But you seem to.”

“I am also expecting shit like this from everyone I meet. Constantly putting them in the darkest light possible to try and catch anything early enough on. The problem with that is that people will not believe you until you have evidence and proof that something is going wrong. And in our field of work if we all went about by listening to hear-say then things would be chaotic as hell.”

“Have you told anyone else about this?”

“I have mentioned my concerns with Xavier a couple of times, the man is not stupid. The good news is that he isn’t completely aware of my situation in the Corps so connecting the dots may be a bit more difficult.”

“What about Matt and Frankie?”

“I’ve voiced some concerns with Matt, he knows that something is up. He has a lot going on in his own life, the last thing I need or want to do is give him this Galactic Problem to have to worry over.”

“With Aliens having attacked Manhattan, Gods like Thor showing up. One would think that perhaps involving everyone is the best thing to do.”

“No. They are barely holding everything together with the chaos that Earth seems to always be in the middle of. It would just create another fraction in the already split population. I have brought it up with the Star Lords crew.”

“Who?”

“Don’t worry about it. You’d love him, funny guy.” She chuckled, “And even then, it was more of a warning of something going on in the Lantern Corp more than anything else. I mentioned nothing about you other Spectrum folk starting to get restless, about the Civil War breaking out in the Emotional Spectrum. Just that they may run into a couple of disgruntled brightly colored folk with power rings.”

1 note · View note

ultrafictionfolly-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Seared Steak

Seared steak. That’s what they used to say that space smelled like. It wasn’t that far off.

I can’t say that I remember what steak smells like, tastes like, or even looks like. But I remember the name, and I remember that it used to be said that space smelled like it. To me there was no smell, only the sensation of something that could only be loosely described as smell, as a concept. The sensation was metallic, and it permeated the hull of the ship that was my body, but also not my body. Perhaps it was the metallic sensation of my hull mixing with the metallic sensation of space that gave me this feeling, if it could be called a feeling.

A lingering reverberation ceases, signaling that the cutting tool is finished. My large metallic claws move effortlessly as I grab the massive piece of equipment and pry it free from its casings. I can feel the massive surges of radiation move along the metal tendrils that are my arms, and seep into every rivet and plate of metal that is my skin. It feels electric, like grasping an exposed low-voltage wire. It is euphoric.

I open the cargo bay with an unconscious flicker of thought; it is pure instinct. It is as moving an arm, or a finger, or taking a breath. I could do it in my sleep, if I slept.

My metal tendril gingerly places the piece of equipment inside, other small metal claws swiftly securing it into place and I close the cargo hatch. The job is finished.

With another glint of thought I call back to memory the coordinates of the drop-off point and my metal body lurches forward in a torrent of blurred space and time. The sensation on my metal skin is like running through a field of sunflowers, or instead, what I imagine running through a field of sunflowers might be like, and then I wonder what a sunflower is and why it feels so lovely. This body has not felt such a sensation, but another might have. Why else would I be able to recall this analogy? It must be locked away somewhere, deep inside.

Hours, days, or weeks pass, I cannot tell which, but my body lurches again and the space around me settles into a quiet stillness. A large space station looms into my field of vision and I engage my thrusters and accelerate towards it.

As I begin my final approach, a communication sounds in my ears, or what could be my ears.

“State your business,” It demands.

I have it, I think, or say. I do not know which, but it is given a reply.

“Cleared. Bay 37,” the voice responds.

I politely entreat Bay 37 to open its doors for me and it acquiesces. I advance inside and large docking clamps press against me with cold, unfeeling firmness.

I leave my body.

Visual sight springs into being, blurry at first, but a nanosecond later my surroundings are crisp and clear. I suddenly remember that I have fingers, my metal tendrils are now soft and mellifluous, and I have ten of them at my command. They reach around me and press on two securing clasps. I feel the smooth linking rod slide out from inside my cognizance, briefly conjuring a sexual metaphor, but it escapes, as if my mind purposefully pushed it away. I am now cut off from my metal body, and my softer, more frail body is now firmly under my control, and it feels less than ideal.

I blink, I stretch my arms out in front of me, and I twirl my toes inside my boots. I lick my lips, and I twist my neck. I sit up and then I stand, my muscles unconsciously flexing to balance me. It will have to do.

I walk to the hatch near the rear and I linger for a moment, forgetting that I must push the button with my fingers. A metallic buzzing sounds and the metal door of my former body hisses open and a platform extends towards me from beyond. I follow it along a catwalk suspended above miles of emptiness, my boots creating small echoes around me that ultimately get lost in the void.

I come to a simple door, a small red light pulsing above it. A moment later the light turns green and a metallic clank sounds, and I pull the door open. A human in a crisp, red uniform greets me.

“We’re retrieving it from your cargo bay as we speak. We appreciate your diligence, and your confidentiality, in this matter. We will send a team to dispose of the rest of the wreckage in due time.” I stare into his eyes. He stares back but I cannot read his expression. He coughs awkwardly. “Will there be anything else?”

I forget that I must use actual words with him. I quickly rectify this. “No. That is all,” I say. “Besides my payment.”

His expression now appears to be annoyance. “Already sent.”

I continue to stare at him, again forgetting that I must give him a sign of acknowledgment. I make a mental note to spend more time in this body, and I nod towards him.

***

I don’t recall how long I spent in my metal body after leaving the station and the man in the crisp red uniform, but I am now coming up on the station that orbits Rhea. It is a simple mining station, but it is where I enjoy spending time outside of my metal body. I unplug myself from myself before reaching the station, instead opting to take “manual” control; my own flesh hands feel insufficient.

The station manager hails my communication systems and I hear the voice crackle over the internal speakers, musing at how different is sounds, or feels, when I am in my metal body. In my metal body the voices are inside my head, like I am speaking to myself, and they do not sound different from my own. Each and every voice sounds exactly the same. When I am not in my metal body they sound foreign and sometimes frightening, though I cannot say why I am frightened; I just am.

“Docking number?” the gruff voice demands of me.

Again, I remember that I must use words. I lean forward into the microphone. “GH-11G,” I say. My physical voice sounds so strange, though I cannot say why that is. Why it sounds strange to me is, itself, strange to me.

“Oh…” the voice trails off. “It’s you. Same spot.” He cuts the communication line quickly.

Saturn looms in the distance, a dull yellow orb floating in a sea of black ink, trillions of asteroids and debris slowly but deliberately floating along the gargantuan rings with a purpose that I myself cannot seem to understand or find. I float along but it is not on account of something else more significant than me, but instead I float along despite me.

I manually maneuver my metal body into the maintenance bay on the other side of the station. I see out of a side window a mechanic covered in grease, and he nudges a man beside him and they both cross their arms and watch as I float by, their expressions are unknown, hidden beneath sinister looking breather masks. Or what I might have once regarded as sinister.

I exit my metal body through the center hatch, briefly conjuring an analogy of myself giving birth to myself, wondering why I might think that. Wondering what birth was. I pace towards the greasy maintenance workers and they speak in rusty voices. “Plug her in then?” one asks.

“Yes please,” I respond and hand them a one-hundred note. They both nod at me and I make my way into the central hub of Rhea station.

The interior is cavernous, the layout a massive sphere with catwalks and platforms snaking their way up the sides, lit by small yellow lamps along the walls every few feet, some burned out and some barely glowing with the little determination they have left. The air is musty and I can hear a reverberation a few platforms above me: my destination.

Neon lights hang above the metal doorway, spelling out Babylon. The reverberating is louder as I step through, bulbous speakers lining the walls belching out thumping music in seemingly random spats. Very little rhythm. I didn’t like it, though I couldn’t remember what I did like; perhaps I used to like it.

I walk to the bar and sit on a metal stool with an illuminated seat that is now a clouded glow with the multitudes of bodies that have graced its surface. The bartender has thick grey hair on his cheeks, and I muse what that might feel like. I imagine my own hair on the top of my head and mentally place it on my cheeks and it tickles. I smile, and then I faintly remember having smiled before, but it has been a very long time. I don’t remember what made me smile the last time that I did.

The bartender looks at me and nods, standing still and awaiting my order eagerly, or maybe he is annoyed. He actually looks at me and his face turns away for a moment, seemingly considering walking away. He does it every time when he realizes that it is me and not just another greasy worker in from the docks with a thirst you could photograph.

“Brandy,” I spout before he can retreat.

“Preference?” He asks.

“Earth. If you have it.”

“It’s twenty extra.”

“That’s fine. Thank you,” I say and he walks away and reaches beneath the counter, pulling out a bloated glass bottle and pours a glass. He returns, setting it in front of me. I hand him two twenty notes and walk away towards the corner of the bar, as far away from the pseudo-music as I can.

I sit at a small table near the corner. Two men sit ten feet away and I study them. One is wearing a pair of greasy overalls, his face faintly stained by soot, a clean imprint of goggles around his eyes. The other man is wearing a tailor-fitted suit, and he smiles revealing opalescent teeth. They seem worlds apart from each other, yet they laugh with each other like children, though I have never heard a child laugh, or ever seen a child. There are multiple empty glasses sitting on the table, and the greasy man accidentally knocks a glass on the floor and it falls, remains intact, and rolls gingerly towards my table. He curses and stumbles over and bends down to retrieve the glass. He stands and notices me sitting there. He looks confused at first and sways slightly. Then his face becomes a mixture of what appears to be hesitation and intrigue.

“You’re one of those fucking Ghost things aren’t you?” he asks drunkenly. “The fuck is up with you things anyway?” He giggles and puts his foot up on the seat of my chair between my legs and an unnerving smile spreads across his face. “I hear you aint even got nothing down there,” he motions between my legs. “You wanna show me eh?”

“No.” I respond and look down at my glass.

He snorts and gives me a look of disdain, mumbles “fuckin’ freak,” and stumbles back to his table.

I pick up my glass of Brandy and sip it. I feel a slight tingling in my cheeks. I prefer Earth brandy to Rhean brandy, though I cannot recall why. Maybe my real body did, or maybe this body was the first, though that is probably unlikely.

I sit in my seat against the wall in the corner and stare into the room, studying patrons and picking up on their social cues and mannerisms. A woman places her hand on a man’s shoulder, a man shoves another man but the other man is not upset and they are both smiling, a woman sits in the corner with her head in her hand, a man walks past eyeing her with what looks like interest, but it fades after a moment and he keeps walking, seemingly forgetting her. Another woman in filthy green coveralls and greasy hair is dancing near one of the speakers, doing her best to sway with the rhythm but losing her balance a little each few turns. Her eyes are closed but her mouth is turned up in a smile, and she looks content like she has managed to forget that she is even in a bar, or even in a station, or even anywhere really. Her hair is swaying with her but in a misguided way and it is weighed down by grease and perhaps time, but it still makes an attempt nonetheless, and I simply cannot help but think, in that moment, just how beautiful she is.

I look away and back down to my drink. I do not spend enough time in this body, and sometimes I forget that this body and my metal body are very different. I cannot remember the last time I laughed, or cried, or felt joy or anger. This body is capable of these reactions, although I am gradually losing touch with them, I think.

After a while and two more brandys, I rise from my seat and exit the bar, and climb the catwalks spiraling around the central hub of the station to the top. There are multiple metal doors with small keypads lining the curving wall and I step towards one, key in a short sequence of numbers, and the door hisses open.

I walk inside to the frugal quarters I keep. A black synth-leather couch sits against the wall, a short elongated table in front of it, a viewscreen on the wall opposite. A tall but slender table sits against the wall with framed pictures on it, though I do not remember where or when I got them; they have always been there. There is a small kitchen with a sink, a microwave, and an empty refrigerator. This body can last a long time without food so I do not keep any.

There is a small bathroom off of the main living space. I undress, tossing my clothes onto the couch and I walk inside. I enjoy to shower. I like to take long, hot showers. I like when the mirror, the walls, the ceiling become blanketed with mist, and I like to run my fingers along their surfaces, wiping away the moist droplets with my fingertips.

I stand in front of the mirror and I peruse my body. I am human, I think. I am mostly human. I lack some physical characteristics, but I still fit the part, I think. I have hair, short and dark, I have green eyes, a nose, mouth, sharp cheekbones, a smooth chin. I have slender arms, fingers, legs, feet. I have a tattoo on my thigh: a kingfisher, a bird from Earth, I think. I do not remember where or when I got it, but the colorful edges are not crisp. It has always been there.

This body is so different from my metal body. It feels delicate, it feels fluid. The grace with which it can move feels too organic. I like being in my metal body. I like being in this body also, but I like being in my metal body more. Perhaps I am used to being a piece of machinery, though this body is also a piece of machinery, of a different sort. I know that I was not always able to have different bodies, though I cannot remember when, or why.

I step away from the mirror and turn on the hot water and step into the shower, and I let the hot water cascade over me like a distant lover, and I stand and wait for the room to be veiled in mist.

***

It is my birthday.

Not my before body’s birthday, but this body. My not-metal body. I do not remember how but I do remember that it is my birthday; it is like an instinct.

I am in my metal body now, floating in the dark of space. Seared steak.

The sensors of my metal body become my senses. Sight, sound, touch, taste, all a series of algorithms now, zeroes and ones. I feel much more in tune with these senses than my other body’s senses. My other body’s senses can deceive me, my metal body’s cannot. My metal body will not deceive me because it loves me.

I am in orbit above Venus. The station and the man in the crisp red uniform has again hired me to conduct a job that is unsuitable, or dangerous, for another.

I will my metal body to break into the atmosphere. It is hot, unbelievably hot, but not unbearable. It is like taking a hot shower. The warmth envelops me, searing my metal skin, but the metal skin protects my frail other body inside, like a mother.

I reach my intended destination, a crash site a mile south of Maxwell Montes. The landscape is scorched around the site, or perhaps only just more scorched than the rest of the planet. There is a long, dark skidmark in the soil: a road to ruin. The crashed probe sits half-buried in the Venusian terrain, a blinking red light atop it. I hover above the probe, my metal arm swiftly plucking it from the soil and placing it gently into my cargo bay, where it rests like a fetus.

I accelerate towards the atmosphere and break into the stormy Venusian clouds. Blue and violet lightning streaks across the yellow tapestry of sky in erratic spasms. A bolt sears the sky near me and I can feel the electric discharge on my metal skin. Euphoric. I continue to rise amidst the cacophony of nature striking its drums in the symphony of the universe.

The void of space beckons and I rise, closer and closer to meet it. A violet stream of lightning strikes my rear engine and I feel it cascade up my metal body, electrifying my metal skin, seeping into every seam, every rivet. It feels sultry, like a lover running their fingernails smoothly up the spine. Or at least what I imagine that might feel like. I might have felt it once. My heavenly ascent begins to slow, and a moment later I am completely still, and then I begin to feel the pull of gravity against my haunches, and I lose altitude.

***

My eyes jerk open, but there is no sense of panic. In fact, I am completely at ease.

I am warm, enveloped. There is nothing but a blue haze in my field of vision. I feel encapsulated, like I am in a womb. I feel protected, like my metal body protects me. But this is not my metal body.

I try to wiggle my fingers and they respond, though they feel sluggish. My sense of touch flares to life and I move my arm. Sluggish again. I move the other arm; sluggish. I soon realize that I am suspended in liquid.

I hear a muffled clank, and I feel suction at my feet around my toes. The liquid encasing me begins to lower, and I begin to feel cold as the warm liquid leaves me naked and I feel betrayed. I unconsciously begin to shiver. I want the warm liquid to return, to blanket me again.

I become aware of the tube jutting from the back of my skull as it knocks against the semi-transparent wall around me. Slowly, the wall begins to descend like the liquid, and I feel even colder. I grasp for the protrusion from the back of my head, instinctively reaching for the two securing clasps that link me to my metal body. But I do not feel like I am in my metal body. I am connected, but I cannot connect. I feel only my other body. The frail one.

I am suddenly aware of my surroundings, and they gradually become more familiar, but I cannot recall why. But I have been to this place before. That much feels certain, I think.

It is an elongated room, bathed in opulent light. The opposite wall is only a few feet away and I step out of my enclosure. There is someone standing against the wall. No, it is a mirror. The person is me, I think.

I pace towards the mirror, the figure matching my every step. I begin to recognize the features. My features. I know this is me.

Mostly.

I raise my hand to my face and trace the angular cheekbones, I touch my lips. They are incredibly soft. I run my fingers down my torso towards my thighs. Everything seems where it should be. My tattoo, the kingfisher, a bird from Earth, is missing, only pale skin where it used to canvas.

This is me, I think, or now perhaps wonder.

I become aware of a very soft beeping sound to my left, behind me. I turn my head and see a large window flush with the wall. I am no longer cold. I turn and pace towards the window and stand in front of it. There is another capsule like the one I just left, though this one is entirely transparent. Inside there is a human body.

Human.

It has hair, short and dark, green eyes, a nose, mouth, sharp cheekbones. It has slender arms, fingers, legs, feet. It has breasts, round and pale. There is a patch of hair running up the inner thigh. A connector tube runs into the back of the skull like mine. A maze of other, smaller tubes sit inserted into the forearms, stomach, and thighs. There is a tattoo on the thigh, but it is not a kingfisher, though it appears to also be a bird. I cannot tell what kind.

I stare at the figure with an infantile wonder. A small viewscreen sits embedded in the wall next to the window. The soft beeping I heard earlier is a heartbeat. This body suspended before me is still alive.

This body is me, but it is not me. This must be my before body.

I stand before my doppleganger and wonder how I can be alive twice, but somewhere inside of me, deep down, embedded, like an implant, I know. But it is like a puff of mist in my bathroom back on Rhea station. I try to grab ahold of it, but it slips through my fingers leaving only a slight film in its wake. I am staring at my fingers now, flexing them back and forth.

I stare back up at the imposter in the window. I continue to flex my fingers and I notice a slight, almost imperceptible twitch in the fingers of the figure in the window. I stop, and it stops.

I look to the far end of the room. There is an ivory colored armoire with golden handles sitting against the wall. I take one last inquisitive look at the figure in the window and I go to the armoire and open it. Inside are several monotone jumpsuits, and I pull one on. The fit is practically tailored. There are pairs of shoes sitting in a row at the bottom. It is uneven, two pairs are missing. I grab a pair and lace them up on my feet. It is as if I am being guided by some unconscious force. I have no idea what I am doing, and yet I have every idea.

There is a door to the right of the armoire with a small keypad next to it. I hesitantly stand before the door. I key in the same code that I use for my room on Rhea station.

The door hisses open and I step through it and it closes behind me with a dull thud. There is no keypad, handle, or any means of opening it from the other side. A long corridor stretches before me, so I begin walking.

0 notes