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foundtherightwords · 8 months ago

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The Hollow Heart - Chapter 4

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

Chapter warnings: some violence

Chapter word count: 4.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Over the Mountains Haste Along

She was running through the woods. It was dark, and the mottled silver carpet of moonlight did nothing to illuminate her path, except to deepen the shadows. Her heart was pounding in her chest, making it hard to breathe, and her legs burned, the muscles so exhausted it was like moving through molasses. But she couldn't stop, she couldn't afford to stop. Something was behind her, an evil, terrible thing. She didn't know what it was, she only knew she must not let it catch her, never let it catch her...

This is a dream, she told herself. I'm no longer in Tuxedo Park. I'm on the train, going—somewhere. Where was she going? She felt that if she could remember that, she would wake from this dream and everything would be right. Why couldn't she remember?

She stumbled over something and went sprawling on the ground. Usually, this would be the point where she woke up, but this time she didn't wake. The dream continued.

She looked down at what she had tripped over, and recoiled in horror.

It was herself.

She was lying on her back, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the dark sky. One leg was caught in a steel trap, still dripping blood. The pendant lay glistening on her chest. No—it wasn't the pendant. As Christabel bent down to look more closely at her own body lying there on the forest floor, she realized that the dark spot on her chest wasn't the stained glass pendant, but blood—a pool of black, thick blood, frozen like a lump of volcanic rock, right where her heart should be.

The trees exploded behind her.

Turning away from the horror of her own death, Christabel whirled around and saw another horror—the thing, the terrible, evil thing that was chasing her, had finally caught up with her. She saw now that it was a hare, a giant hare, so tall that the tips of its ears rose above the canopy of the forest, and so big that it blotted out the moon, so all she could see were its whiskers shining silver under the moonlight, and its eyes, glowing like two furnaces, blinding her.

At her feet, her other body stirred. Bloody fingers tugged weakly at the hem of her skirt. The mouth opened. Though no words came out, Christabel knew, knew from the look in those desperate eyes. Her other body wished to be put out of her misery, before the hare caught her—caught them both—and did something even worse.

And somehow, she found herself closing her fingers around her throat, but it wasn't the throat of her other body, it was her own throat, and it wasn't her fingers, but Henry's. The hare was gone, and there was only Henry, his face looming above her, his eyes burning just like the hare's, his hand crushing her windpipes, choking her...

Christabel opened her eyes. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, and for a moment, she did not know where she was. Bright sunlight was shining over her eyes through a large window, and the window was moving. No, the window wasn't moving, the whole room was moving, and it wasn't a room, it was a train compartment. Yes, she was on a train, to—San Francisco. She was married and on her way back to San Francisco with Henry.

She slowly sat up, watching autumnal woods and farmland pass by peacefully outside the window, playing with the new weight of the wedding ring on her finger, letting the steady click-clacking of steel wheels over rail joints soothe her jangled nerves.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

Once her heartbeats had returned to normal, Christabel started to take in her surroundings. The compartment was as well-appointed as the most luxurious hotel room, with gilt moldings on the ceiling and along the walls, silk curtains, velvet upholsteries, and carved mahogany furniture. With all the giddy delight of a child on her first trip away from home—and this was true in her case, for she had never been anywhere further than Newport—she looked over her compartment, turning on the tap over the little sink, opening the cupboard to find her two cases, hat, jacket, and shoes neatly placed inside, marveling at the electric reading light over her bed.

But where was her husband?

The compartment only had a single berth, the cupboard only held her things. There was no sign of Henry. He wouldn't have left her here, would he? Or—a knot of worry started twisting her stomach—had something happened and he had been held back in New York?

That terrible possibility wiped all thoughts from Christabel's mind. She jumped off the bed, threw on her jacket, and went out into the corridor in search of her husband.

All the compartments along the corridor were either full or locked from the inside. She passed through the sleeping cars and into the dining car. It was mostly empty, with only a few passengers sitting over cups of coffee, and she realized the knot in her stomach wasn't just from worry, but from hunger as well. She was absolutely famished. How long had she been asleep?

The ladies' parlor was next, where a number of women were chatting or reading or writing letters. Some gave Christabel a curious glance as she went past, and she forced herself to slow her steps. She must be looking terribly untidy, with her wrinkled dress, flyaway hair, and panic-stricken eyes. She shouldn't have gone to search for Henry herself. She should've sent a porter, or at least made herself look more presentable, instead of running through the train like a madwoman. But she went on anyway.

A burst of masculine laughs told her that she was approaching the clubroom car, and Christabel hesitated. She didn't want to burst in on the men's place. But she had to settle her worry. Perhaps she could just open the door to peek in and make sure Henry was there, and return to her compartment.

She pushed the door open. And there he was. His back was to her, but she could see him throwing his blonde head back in laughter amidst the cigar smoke and the clinking of whisky glasses in the dark interior of the saloon car. The knot in her stomach loosened, but at the same time, a new feeling rose in its place—not quite anger, more like irritation and disappointment. This was their first day as husband and wife, and he chose to spend it away from her.

The men fell silent as Christabel entered. Henry turned around, and a peculiar look passed across his face—a scowl that briefly drew his eyebrows together over his Roman nose, which once again put her in mind of Cabanel's Lucifer. Christabel shivered, remembering her nightmare.

Then the scowl was gone in a flash, replaced by his usual smile as he stood up to meet her.

"Darling, what are you doing here?" he said. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I've slept quite enough, thank you," she replied stiffly. She longed to kiss him, but not with all these men ogling her as though they had never seen a woman before. "I've been looking for you all over. Where were you?" Though she tried not to show it, some of the disappointment still seeped through in her voice.

"I was right here."

"You aren't even staying in the same compartment?"

Henry took a quick look around the room. Christabel had the uncomfortable realization that they were having the very first quarrel of their marriage life in a public place, so when Henry grabbed her arm and took her into the corridor, she didn't fight back.

"Don't blame me, blame Kas," Henry said, once they were outside the clubroom. "He couldn't find a suite or even two compartments close together, so he booked me a compartment at the other end of the train. Besides, you were fast asleep. What do you want me to do, sit and wait until you wake up like Sleeping Beauty?"

She was quiet, abashed. He was right, of course. She was acting like a petulant child who had woken up from a nightmare and become sullen when she couldn't find her mama. No wonder he'd scowled at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's been a rather eventful night, and I was tired, that's all. You're right, I should rest some more."

He let go of her arm and nodded. "I'll see you at dinner then."

Fully reprimanded, Christabel returned to her compartment. Passing through the dining car, she realized she was too hungry to wait until dinner, so she sat down and ordered a pot of tea with some scones. She ate with relish, putting three sugars into her tea, piling cream and jam high on the scones, knowing that she would never again have to listen to her mother telling her to watch her figure.

It was only after she'd had her fill that Christabel made a mortifying discovery. "I don't have any cash," she said sheepishly to the waiter. She could go back to the clubroom car and ask Henry for some money, of course, but she did not want to be humiliated again, after he'd basically sent her to her room.

"It's all right, madam," the waiter replied smoothly. "If you would give me your compartment and berth number, we'll charge it to your bill."

The whole situation soured the trip for her a little. Mostly she was angry with herself for being so clumsy and naïve about everything. She was a married woman now and must act accordingly.

When it was time for dinner, Christabel felt a little better. The train offered a ladies' maid service, so her hair was now properly dressed and she'd changed into an evening gown—how lucky that she'd thought to pack one! When Henry came to escort her to the dining car, she thought she could detect an admiring look in his eyes and flushed with satisfaction.

Over dinner, Henry told her that they would arrive in Chicago early the next morning, and then it was three more days to San Francisco.

"Is the train going to pass by the Great Lakes?" Christabel exclaimed eagerly. "Can we see them? It's"—she tried to conjure up the map of the country from her geography lessons—"Ontario and Erie, isn't it?"

Henry shrugged, digging into his roast beef with gusto. "It'll be dark when the train passes them."

"Oh." She deflated, then quickly brightened up as an idea occurred to her. "Can we stop in Chicago for a few days?" she asked. "I've never seen the city."

"You'll find that it's not that different from New York, only even busier and rougher," Henry said. "Besides, we're still too close. Who knows, your mother may have called the police on me for kidnapping you. I can't rest easy until we're settled in San Francisco."

Christabel looked down at her lobster salad to hide her flush. "Of course."

In truth, she had another reason for suggesting a stay in Chicago—she was hoping they could have a proper wedding night. Despite her mother's rigid control, Christabel was not wholly ignorant about what happened between husbands and wives, and she would be lying if she said she hadn't dreamed of Henry in that way, even before he'd kissed her. She had hoped that he would take her hint and suggest a stay in a hotel, where they could have more privacy, but he was right. They weren't out of danger yet. Once they were back in San Francisco, there would be plenty of time to enjoy being married.

After dinner, Christabel lingered over her coffee, expecting Henry would invite her to join him in the observation car—the one public place on the train where men and women could mingle. But as soon as he drained his wine, he got to his feet, offered her his arm, and led her back to her compartment. "Good night then," he said, dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head before sauntering back to the clubroom car.

Christabel sighed as she went inside and got undressed. Perhaps a train was not the best place to be newlyweds.

Over the next few days, she didn't see much of Henry. She had breakfast brought to her compartment, so they would meet only for luncheon and dinner, and afterward, Henry would give her a friendly peck and returned to the clubroom car, where he could read and talk with the other men about things that only men would understand, she supposed. She tried not to mind it too much and found her own ways to kill time. When she got tired of watching the scenery outside the windows—once they left Chicago, it was all farmlands as far as the eye could see, most lying brown and exhausted after the harvest—she turned to the library in the ladies' parlor. The magazines and books of light fiction it offered interested her a lot less than a timetable of the railway she found, left by some absent-minded passenger. She spent hours poring over the booklet, staring at all the stops, most of which she had never even heard of, rolling the unfamiliar syllables on her tongue, trying to imagine what it would be like to visit them. Some sounded charming and quaint, like something out of a fairy tale—Blue Creek, Willow Island, Battle Mountain, Stone House. Others were exotic and romantic—Argenta, Oreana, El Moro. Some were downright bizarre but promised such stories behind them—Miser, Separation, Fair Play, and the incomparable Rough and Ready. So many places. There were also descriptions and illustrations of all the notable sights along the way. She must convince Henry to make the return trip, with stops this time—perhaps in the spring, after they had settled in San Francisco.

On the third day of the trip, the mountains began, and Christabel forgot everything else. She had never seen mountains like these. The homey mountains of New England had nothing over these veritable fortresses that rose dramatically out of the flat plains, their colors ranging from gray and brown to dark green and deep blue, almost purple, capped with glittery snow in the distance. There were few signs of life, except for a homestead or ranch nestled here and there at the foot of these giants, and the occasional cattle, listlessly browsing amongst the brown shrubs near the tracks, and even some white skulls grinning at the sky.

The train began to climb, passing through tunnels that had been cut out of the mountains, showing swathes of their inside all golden brown and dull red. Scraggly pines clung to the rocks, while a foaming river flew swiftly by beneath them. Then even the pines disappeared, and the mountains flattened, their sheer faces looming on one side of the train like the walls of some houses built by giants.

Christabel couldn't take her eyes off them. Her only wish was that Henry had shared her enthusiasm. He didn't listen to her when she talked about them at luncheon, and that evening, he didn't even show up to escort her to dinner as usual. When Christabel sent a porter to search for him—she had learned her lesson after that first day—the porter came back saying that Henry was in the middle of a poker game and told her to have dinner without him.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Christabel thanked the porter and closed the door, before ripping off her evening dress. She slumped down on the bed and turned to the window, though it was dark outside and there was nothing to see. This was not how she imagined the first few days of her marriage would go. Had she done something to displease Henry? Had she talked too much or embarrassed him somehow? Was he still angry with her for barging in on him that first day? Why was he ignoring her like this?

She must have fallen asleep at some point, because when she woke up, the window was no longer pitch black—the sky was turning a soft bluish gray. Then she saw something outside the window and sat up in astonishment, her misery over Henry's neglect completely forgotten.

The train was running over the silver surface of a lake. It spread all the way to the end of the horizon, an endless mirror that reflected the brightening sky. This must be the Great Salt Lake of Utah.

Seized by an urge to see the lake in its entirety, Christabel threw her robe over her chemise and ran down the corridor, toward the observation car at the end of the train. All the compartments were locked, their inhabitants still fast asleep. What fools! Do they not know that they are missing out on such a marvelous sight?

The observation car was empty. Christabel threw open the glass door that led to the platform outside. Her mouth fell open at the scene before her. There was no bridge. Instead, they were traveling on a causeway so low and narrow that the water was flush with the rails, giving the impression that the train was floating over the lake like a boat. The sky and the lake were the same silvery blue, and the smudge of mountains in the distance was so perfectly mirrored on the lake's surface that if it hadn't been for the causeway cutting across the lake like a pencil line, it would have been impossible to tell where the sky ended and the earth began. Not a breath of wind ruffled the gleaming façade of the water. Not a sound disturbed the absolute peace of the place, not even the clickety-clack of the train. For a moment, Christabel felt she was the only person alive in the world.

Perhaps not quite. A small cough behind made her whirl around, and she found herself looking into those unfathomable dark eyes again. Kas. She hadn't thought of him since he dropped her and Henry off at the wedding chapel on Monday morning.

"Beg your pardon, miss," he said, then quickly corrected himself, "I mean, Mrs. Creel. I know I shouldn't be here, but there's no observation platform in third class." He gave her a quick bow. "I'll go now."

"No, that's quite all right," Christabel said. "You don't have to leave on my account." After days of being alone, she was getting tired of her own company, and didn't mind sharing the platform with someone else. Drawing the robe closer around her body, aware that she only had on a thin chemise underneath, she turned back to the lake. "It's quite something, isn't it?"

"It is." Kas came to stand by her at the railing. He pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a surreptitious sip. "That's why I came out here. Wish I could see it during the day though."

"Oh, are we going to pass it by the time the sun comes up?"

Kas seemed discomfited, as though he'd revealed too much. "No," he said slowly. "I just won't be able to see it then."

"Because the first-class passengers may frown upon your presence?"

"No." A pause, then, "I have this condition. Photosensitivity, they call it."

"What is it?" Christabel asked, for she had never heard of such a thing.

"I'm allergic to sunlight," he said, matter-of-factly. "This weak light is fine"—he waved his hand at the dawn—"but anything stronger and I'll break out in rashes and suffocate."

"That's terrible!" Christabel exclaimed. "How do you cope during the day, over in the third-class car?" She thought of the bright sun shining even through the curtains of her window. She could shut them if she wanted, but in third class, where one was surrounded by other passengers, it wouldn't be that simple.

He looked at her strangely, and it occurred to her that perhaps nobody had thought to ask him that before. "I stay in the sleeping berth," he said with a shrug. "It's above the windows so it's darker up there. That and a big blanket will do me just fine. Pretty sure my fellow passengers thought I was some sort of ghoul, but I'm used to that." He cracked a small smile, and she smiled back uncertainly.

"How did you contract it, or were you born with it?"

He didn't answer. A pained look crossed his face, and Christabel realized she was being too nosy again. She wondered what had compelled Henry to hire a man with such a debilitating condition.

"I suppose Mr. Creel hasn't mentioned it to you," Kas said, almost apologetically.

"It must have slipped his mind." She was too proud to admit that Henry hadn't mentioned anything much to her at all.

They were quiet for a while, watching the sky and the lake turn the softest shade of lavender, separated by a border of pink edged with gold.

Christabel glanced at Kas curiously. He was younger than she'd thought, not much older than herself, and the dark curls falling over his forehead and the long lashes framing his large eyes made him look even younger. For all his reticence and politeness, he didn't act like a servant or talk like one. Henry had called him his assistant. Again, Christabel found herself wondering how he had come into Henry's employment.

"So, Mr. Kas—" she began, breaking the silence.

"Just Kas, ma'am."

"All right. Kas. Have you been working for Mr. Creel long?"

"Since I could remember."

"Did you grow up with him then?"

Kas's voice was quiet. "No, not really."

His answer surprised her, but it could mean anything—either Kas was younger than he looked, or Henry was older than he looked, or they weren't close enough to qualify as "growing up together"—and she didn't want to pry.

"Is he a good master?" she asked. "Do you enjoy working for him?"

Again, that strange, searching look, before he answered. Christabel was aware that not many people would care if their servants liked working for them, but she was trying to get a clearer picture of the man she'd married and thought it would be best to ask someone who'd known him for much longer than she had. "He has his tempers," Kas said with a shrug. "But he took me in when I had nowhere else to go, so I shouldn't complain."

That didn't quite answer her question. "But is he—"

"Shh!" Kas said suddenly, nodding to their left. "Look!"

Christabel followed his gaze but saw nothing but the surface of the lake, still deep blue where the light hadn't reached it. "What am I looking at?"

Kas took her hand and pointed to a spot somewhere between the water and the sky. "There. Do you see it?"

This time she did—a bird, long and slender, its plumage a shade or two darker than the sky, was gliding over the lake. It landed not far from them, so nimbly and gently that the water hardly even rippled. Now there were two birds, one the perfect mirror image of the other, bending their necks and touching their beaks together, before raising their plumed heads as though to greet the dawn. Then, with a graceful but vigorous beat of its wings, the bird rose from the lake and flew off toward the mountains, while its mirrored image disappeared into the depths of the water.

Christabel didn't know she had been holding her breath until the bird vanished into the distance and she let out a long sigh.

"It's a great blue heron," Kas said.

"I thought most birds have migrated to the south by now."

"Not these. Their nests are in the salt marsh around the lake shore."

"It's beautiful," she said, smiling up at him. This was what she wanted from Henry, just a sharing of all the simple joys and pleasures in life. Wasn't that what husbands and wives were supposed to do? Perhaps she had been too passive, waiting for him to take charge. She should tell him. How would he know what she wanted if she didn't?

She became aware that Kas was still holding her hand. He, too, seemed to come to the same realization, for he immediately dropped her hand and stepped away. "I should head back," he said, clearing his throat. "The sun's coming up now."

Christabel nodded. She should return to her compartment as well, before some early-rising passengers caught her in nothing but a chemise and a robe, holding hands with her husband's servant. The thought burned her cheeks. She walked into the observation car without another word.

They went down the corridor together, Kas walking ahead to open the doors for her. As they passed the clubroom car, loud voices from inside made Christabel pause. "Don't tell me they've been at that damnable poker game all night!" she grumbled.

Kas looked embarrassed. "When Mr. Creel is focused on something, he often loses track of time," he said. "You mustn't mind it."

Christabel huffed. She was taking another step forward when a shout came from the clubroom, "Thompson, for God's sake, put that gun away!" It froze her to the spot.

"Mrs. Creel, don't—" Kas said, but Christabel no longer listened. She threw open the door to the clubroom car.

She was greeted by a bizarre scene, like a tableau vivant that she and her friends sometimes put together back in New York. The clubroom car was shrouded in darkness, all the curtains pulled, the few electric lights shedding an artificial, theatrical illumination over everything. A green-baize table and several chairs lay on their side. Coins and cards were scattered across the carpet. Two men stood facing each other in the center of the car—Henry, still in his suit, looking as cool and unruffled as ever, and another man, Thompson presumably, in his shirtsleeves, wild-haired and wild-eyed, with a smaller revolver in his hand, pointed straight at Henry's heart. All the other men were staying clear of the gun.

Henry barely reacted to Christabel's arrival. Like the other men, he was standing stock still, probably not daring to make a sudden move for fear of setting Thompson off. Thompson, on the other hand, swung around for a second, took note of Christabel, and turned back to Henry with a crazed grin.

"Looks like you got some reinforcements, Creel," he said. "Too bad your wife is not carrying a rifle under her petticoat."

Christabel gripped the doorframe, forgetting even to blush. Behind her, Kas put a gentle hand on her arm, trying to draw her back.

"Kas, please help him," she whispered.

"He'll be fine, Mrs. Creel," he said. "Go back to your compartment. I'll find the conductor."

Christabel stepped away from the door, but Thompson waved the gun at her. "Oh no, you don't, lady," he said without taking his eyes off Henry. "Make a move and you'll be a widow."

"Don't be a fool, Thompson," Henry said evenly, his eyes cold and hard like steel. "What are you going to do, shoot us all and jump off the train? You can't get away with this."

"No, it's you who can't get away with it, you son of a bitch!" Thompson hissed, spittle flying from his mouth. "You can't cheat a man out of his entire fortune and get away with it!"

"Oh, for the love of—" Henry sounded exasperated. "I did not cheat! All these gentlemen could bear witness to that. I won fair and square. Now, give me the gun before you hurt yourself."

He took a step forward, one hand held up, the other slowly extending toward the revolver. With an angry bellow like a branded bull, Thompson jumped out of reach and pulled the trigger.

Chapter 5

A/N: All the stations mentioned in the chapter are real ones, taken from this 1881 timetable of the Union & Central Pacific Railway. The only liberty I took was with "Rough and Ready", which is a real town in California but wasn't actually a stop on the Overland Route, but I like the name so I had to use it here.

The route across the Great Salt Lake is the Lucin Cutoff, which was first used in 1904, a year before the story is set.

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #henry creel #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

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sethshead · 7 months ago

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This is what happens when most left-of-center movements lose touch with the marginalized communities for and over whom we speak. We disdain pragmatic deals that improve people's lives in concrete ways, and delve into theoretical and absolutist agendas, unconfirmed by studies of any credible methodology, dreamed up by academics and professional activists. Thus the focus on official adoption of woke neologisms and empty gestures of solidarity than few in vulnerable positions know of or care about. Thus anti-growth NIMBYism when working people most need jobs and housing. Thus campaigns against abstractions like "capitalism" or vague and inscrutable slogans like "defund the police" when protesting for urgent issues like racial profiling or excessive force by cops.

We are simply not listening to the working class, whether white, black, or any other color. Instead we're trapped in a bubble of bourgeois privilege, treating politics like faculty dinner parties and Kaffeeklatsch. Everyone is vanguard, none are proletariat. This is how our relevance ends, not with a bang but with intellectual masturbation.

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the-firebird69 · 11 months ago

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Other things in the news

The morlock running to places and fleeing areas

One place that are running away from is Florida and this morning we woke up and they're about 9% of them left of the original batch and of those left really it was pretty spooky for some they got up and decided to leave so there's none of us here we have to leave five more percent are ready to leave Florida leaving less than 5% and would you know it but most of that's crammed into one spot and it's true most at 5% of the West Coast and really 5% of nothing much in Florida so they're going to leave and then leave 4% here and after that people can tell that these people are nuts cuz they're talking about all leaving and they're saying we're going to stay. And says if they're all going to take over one person and it's idiocy there are other reasons that's one of them for some and they're morons and it begins today people start talking about leaving and it's below the 4% left. And it's all going to start in moments when they talk about it they all decided to leave. I do say they can't handle being near him and these people say they can and they really can't and they're trying to do stuff to get them to believe and he says that's terrific and why aren't you great and they're doing for years and they're really stupid he wants to move out with no money and Trump and stuff they can try and get out try to get gas and things like that spoiled rotten.

-other items to the news weather is going to heat up they said and the ships are sitting and it's not right we're up against the wall and here we are again Tommy f not doing anything. he's trying to get more ships ready. And that's fine and Danny I'm asking to go after you and you'll lose your ships that you have like the other ships but on the ground although if these go up they know it's not people in a fleet they might not be a big enough fleet so that's what he's up to and he's trying to get those ships ready and it's not many more videos a lot of work to do and it's a matter of trapped and it's really disgusting that is trying to get them out he's trying to get them out it's not working and the ships is trying to get ready to take another month by that time the empire would have a better grip and he doesn't want to risk it and he's a pain in the ass The invasion Force by the max I go to wipe his defenses out shortly it doesn't have time to decide anymore if he doesn't launch he won't have any ships and they're going to break through his defenses probably today

Olympus

We said the top few paragraphs we have a few more things to announce in a moment

Thor Freya

It's taking a long time for them to get the ships out these people are have to learn that they don't have that many people but then again inside the ships there's tons of them and they're still going like gangbusters

Hera Zues

I can see you're threatened by them and I get what you're saying and people are threatened by this Force it says it takes a while for them to get it and I'm working on it and I'm going to go out there and try and do what I can and always attacking us and attacking me and it's a nightmare they're very bad people and they ride you to do stuff and quite a while

Tommy f

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scorpionyx9621 · 3 years ago

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The Bat Family as things I have done IRL that just radiate Chaos:

Dick: Sign up for OT immediately after a red-eye flight to the east coast because my boss asked me really nicely and I've only learned how to say no after this happened. Proceed to pass out during my actual night shift. Still didn't get in trouble for sleeping on the job.

Jason: Take my government stimulus money, move out to the west coast from Washington D.C. do the drive all by myself and have the time of my life. Immediately gets homesick the morning I woke up in Seattle and dropped $700 on plane tickets back home. Proceeds to have one of the worst holidays of my life and have my flight get delayed 7 hours flying back to Seattle. Regrets ever spending the $700.

Duke: Starts writing fanfiction as a gift for a friend for dragging me down into Batfam Hell. Turns out to actually be okay at it and makes it a genuine hobby. Gets writers anxiety regardless but still writes and genuinely enjoys it and wishes they could do more.

Cassandra: Take Chinese for a semester because it's 6 credits and I needed 6 language credits to graduate. Get a 25/100 on the first test. Turn out to be absolutely abysmal at learning new languages but busts my ass and cry every night because Chinese is really freaking hard to learn. End up passing the class with an A-.

Barbara: Working at the front desk of a building I was an RA of at 6am. Watch as one of my residents who's rushing the biggest most infamous fraternity on campus walk back in shirtless covered head to toe in honey and maple syrup. Take one look at him as he tries to explain but I just tell him to take a shower and go to bed. Said resident proceeds to do that and thanks me for not asking questions.

Bruce: Stay up until 4 AM at least 4 times a week plotting on ways to take down my floor buddy as an RA who had been stalking and harassing me only to find out he got himself fired for SH'ing residents. Also getting my then best friend who also was an RA the next year randomly assigned to said asshole former co-worker when they tried interviewing for the same position (like an idiot) and said former friend blows the whistle on him and his behavior. Literally bringing in upwards of 8 RA's all in agrence to do whatever it takes to make sure this guy never gets hired in our department again.

Tim: Pull an all-nighter to finish an East Asian Politics Paper, give a presentation on radar remote sensing, take an exam on advanced statistics, do a full-overnight work shift and do a desk shift the next morning and the following day go to an international student party, black-out, come to in my dorm room and proceed to get violent food poisoning/my liver temporarily gave up on me after not sleeping for 55 hours then going to a college party.

Stephanie: Make it a daily goal of my 9-5 office job full of disgusting and toxic east-coast work culture to make my direct supervisor flip me the bird at least once a day. Proceed to go on a 10 month streak of actually succeeding in saying/doing something so cheesy/corny but still not within the realms of getting me in trouble enough so he just flips me off. At least once a shift.

Alfred: Adopt 4 freshmen all rushing the most notorious fraternity on campus and basically just act as their disappointed father from a distance. Teaching them valuable life lessons like yes, you should wash your sheets at bare minimum every two-four weeks. Feeding them spare cookies from the dining hall, giving them my extra laundry swipes, etc, Knowing full well I can do nothing to stop them from their debauchery. All I can do is attempt to assure they don't kill themselves.

Damian: In an act of absolute senioritis. Proceed to skip a bonus assignment for a final that would have taken me from a B+ to an A all because my former best friend had found a cat roaming around the student apartments and we proceed to spend the night trying to trap the cat. We succeeded and now said cat is in the loving home with my friend even though we no longer are friends.

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kuzann · 3 years ago

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I’ve been having so much fun writing the interactions between Ingo, Emmet, and Chip so here’s the first chunk of chapter 5. :) 3.7k words so far.

The Beyonders - Static Dreams, Chapter 5 WIP: Connection

Ingo woke at around midnight with tears in his eyes. A nightmare, but not like the one he’d had the previous morning. This had been a normal one, given shape by his anxieties and recent troubles. He’d been trapped in Hisui, trying to find any way back to Emmet, but no one would help him...

Well, that wasn’t a problem now, at least. He was back in Nimbasa where he belonged, thanks to Akari and Arceus. He had Elesa, his and Emmet’s Pokemon, and now Shauntal and Caitlin to help him move forward, as well as whatever insights Dr. Korten could provide in the morning. They were on the move, he just had to be patient and figure out how to put everything together.

Ingo rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

The dream shifted...

Ingo noticed it immediately this time, snapping to full lucidity in the space of a moment. He took stock of his surroundings and found that he was in the front hall of their townhouse. The ceiling loomed high above, the walls seeming to lean over him. A distant creak suggested that some unseen intruder might be lurking.

He didn’t want to be here.

Ingo turned to the front door and opened it.

Sleek metal entrance and interior, a set of steps leading up to the second level... A train waited for him just outside.

Some of the tension ebbed away as Ingo stepped inside and the doors closed behind him. It was quiet and comfortable inside, though Ingo could feel the train preparing to move under his feet.

He climbed the stairs and found himself on an open level with plush blue seating and large windows. Beyond them an ocean of gold wildflowers stretched out on either side, reaching all the way to the distant mountains. A scenic train, then. He and Emmet had ridden on them before while going on longer trips. They were always good fun and had spectacular views.

All seats were empty, save for one.

A shadow huddled in one of the backward-facing seats on the side opposite from Ingo, head turned to look out the closest window.

Ingo knew who it was, even without seeing his face.

“Emmet,” Ingo said as he started toward the shadow. Beneath him the train started moving, bound in the direction opposite to the one he walked in.

The shadow looked up at Ingo, revealing his gray eyes. He was a little more put-together than last time, though he still lacked the proper silhouette. “Ingo.” There was a sincere smile in Emmet’s eyes as he said Ingo’s name. “It’s so beautiful,” he said, looking back out over the landscape. “Like something out of a dream.” It was exactly what he’d said when they first saw a similar landscape years ago...

“Well that’s fitting. We’re in a dream right now,” Ingo said as he took a seat at Emmet’s side. “We saw something like this before, remember? The west coast superbloom. We had to get off the train to see those flowers, though.”

Emmet gave Ingo a look of confusion. “I don’t remember,” he admitted, as if worried that he’d done something wrong. “This is the first time I’ve seen it.”

Ingo went cold. “But how? You kept mentioning it every so often after we got home, even years later...” A creeping revelation began to rise in Ingo’s mind, and he knew he wasn’t going to like it when it made itself fully known.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember a lot of things.”

“What do you remember?” Ingo asked, his fingers curling with rising tension.

“I remember my name, and I remember you,” Emmet replied slowly. “You’re my older brother and you’re verrry strong.”

“That’s all?” Ingo brought a hand to his head and looked down at the floor. “But how did that happen? Was it the accident?”

“Accident?” Emmet asked. He paused, eyes narrowed in thought. “I don’t know about an accident...” He looked down at his hands, which were nearly indistinguishable from the rest of him. “I don’t even remember what I look like, or what it’s like to be awake. Everything from before the day you disappeared is just gone.” The pain was clear in his voice and eyes, the profound sense of loss that held him now. Ingo had felt much the same prior to little more than a week ago.

“Emmet,” Ingo said, taking his hand. “We’re twins. You look just like me, but you smile more, and your face is more expressive. If you want to see yourself right now, just look at me.” He stood so Emmet could get a better look: the face, the uniform, the posture. Hopefully memories would start to return once Emmet had a better idea of himself.

Emmet stared at Ingo with a fierce intensity, taking in everything. He stood, and his form began to ripple and shift. His back straightened, bringing him to the same height as Ingo, the coat flowing out around him until it reached the proper length and the hat materializing on his head. The shadows seemed to grow thin, showing through with gray and then white and finally receding to their proper place like ink being washed away. He lacked color, coming through in only bleached white and shadowy black and with cracks like repaired porcelain running over his body, but there was no mistaking him. This was Emmet. There was no doubt.

Ingo swept Emmet into a hug and held him tight, his eyes overflowing. Ever since his memories returned he’d wanted so badly to hold his brother in his arms again. They were in a dream, it was true, but that didn’t matter. This would suffice for now.

Emmet returned the hug, holding Ingo just as tightly as he held him. “I missed you so much,” he said with a barely restrained sob. “Why did you leave me? I was so lonely.”

“I’m sorry, Emmet,” Ingo replied, his voice breaking. “I would never leave you on purpose.” He paused for a few breaths, then continued. “I was trying to go back in time and change things so you never got hurt, but it all went wrong and I ended up getting lost. I came back as soon as I could.”

They held each other a while longer as the train continued at its steady pace, its motion a soothing rhythm under their feet. At last Emmet relaxed his arms, and Ingo let him go. They both had tears in their eyes, but Emmet was smiling.

“You mentioned that Hisui place earlier.” Emmet moved to wipe his face on the back of one sleeve. He stopped short, then reached into one of his pockets and took out a handkerchief to use instead.

Ingo did the same, encouraged that Emmet had remembered how important it was to keep the uniform clean. “That’s where I ended up, and I couldn’t remember anything when I got there.” He paused. “Wait, so you can hear us when we talk to you?”

“Yeah,” Emmet said with a nod. “It echoes a bit, but I can still hear it.”

Ingo let out a sigh of relief. “So you’re not completely cut off. That’s good.” Ingo gave Emmet a gentle smile. “We’re going to get you out of here, Emmet. I promise. And in the meantime I’ll be there talking to you every day.”

“Thank you, Ingo,” Emmet said. “It’s good to hear your voice again.” He paused. “Who’s that lady who was talking to me while you were away? She was with you earlier.”

“That’s Elesa,” Ingo replied. “She’s our best friend, basically like our older sister.”

“I see. I’m sorry I forgot about her,” Emmet said, his smile wavering. “She was so sad while you were gone. She kept looking for you, but I think she started to give up hope by the end... I wish I could’ve told her you were still out there.”

Ingo’s smile faded. “Yeah. She had a really hard time while I was gone. I have to find a way to make it up to her.”

“She sounds much happier already,” Emmet said, his smile getting a touch bigger. “So that shouldn’t be hard.”

Ingo chuckled, then took one of Emmet’s hands and looked at it more closely. “Why do you have these cracks? I’ve never seen anything like it...”

Emmet regarded his hand as well. “I feel like they’re supposed to be there, but you have them too,” he replied, pointing at Ingo’s face.

“What?” Ingo looked up at him.

The train plunged into a tunnel, and the window became a mirror as the landscape beyond it went black. Ingo had never bothered to pay attention to what he looked like before this, but Emmet was right. A web of cracks ran across his own body as well.

Ingo stared at his reflection in stunned silence. “I don’t understand,” he said finally.

Emmet watched him closely, then looked down at himself and back. “Huh. It looks like the cracks are mirrored, doesn’t it?” he said slowly.

Ingo compared the cracks as well and found that Emmet was again correct; the cracked patterns were reversed on each of them, as if they were looking in a mirror when they looked at each other. “What is this?” Ingo said to himself, brows furrowed in thought as he lifted a hand to his chin.

“Hey, look at that.” Emmet stared at something just past Ingo’s elbow. “The rug changed.”

“The rug?” Ingo followed the line of Emmet’s gaze and found that the carpet had indeed changed. When he walked in it had been the typical short carpet you’d expect in a scenic train, but now it was long like shag carpet and stark white in color. “Huh. You’re right.” Ingo leaned out into the aisle to get a better look.

The carpet moved, rippled like the twitching back of some great beast. Above them, one of the circular light fixtures blinked, its color changing from pale yellow to red rimmed with green...

“BOO!” Arceus’s head emerged from the ceiling, the metal shifting around it like fabric.

Ingo startled and fell out of his seat. “ARCEUS!?”

“Wow,” Emmet said.

Arceus sniffed, seeming to take offense. “That’s it? Just ‘wow’? You don’t have anything more than that for the creator of the universe?” it asked as it glared down at Emmet.

Emmet tilted his head to one side. “What did you want instead?” he asked.

“The appropriate amount of awe, maybe? A little terror? Something to show you’re impressed!”

“Hmm. Okay then.” Emmet cleared his throat. “Aaaaaaaaa,” he said in his very best monotone. “How’s that?”

Ingo laughed despite himself.

“That was even worse!” The room twisted as the elements of Arceus’s body came together. It stood over them as it glared down at Emmet. “You could at least pretend to be impressed.”

“I am Emmet. I have been stuck in the dream world for who knows how long and it’s the only one I remember,” Emmet declared, putting his hands on his hips and raising his head in defiance. “I hate telling lies and you do not impress me.”

“What is going on?” Ingo asked before the argument could progress further. “Why are you here?” he added, pointing up at Arceus.

Arceus leaned back a tad as it remembered itself. “Yes, well. I’m here because you left the ArcWatch on when you went to sleep,” it replied, pointing at Ingo’s left wrist with one golden hoof.

“The ArcWatch?” Ingo looked down at his wrist and found that the watch was indeed with him even here in the dream world. “So it is like the Arc Phone?”

“A little bit,” Arceus replied. “It has different functions to the Arc Phone.”

“What’s an Arc Phone?” Emmet asked.

“Basically a phone made by Arceus?” Ingo replied, leaning his head back to look up at Emmet. “It worked like a PokeDex from what I understand.”

“The ArcWatch isn’t a PokeDex!” Arceus snapped, cutting off any further discussion. “Just sit down and shush and let me tell you about it!”

Ingo got up from the floor and sat down while Emmet dropped into the window seat.

The train emerged from the tunnel, winding out along a coastline of stark black rock and intense blue sea.

Arceus cleared its throat. “Good. Thank you.” It rocked back on its hooves for a moment, considering where to begin. “Now, you were told to be ready should I call upon you, and the watch has told you your main mission already.”

“Return the lost to their proper home?” Ingo asked.

“Yes, exactly,” Arceus said, pointing at him with one foreleg. “There have been instabilities in your home dimension lately. Entities have gotten through in both directions, and I need you to put them back where they belong to keep everything tidy.”

“Question.” Emmet raised his hand.

Arceus sighed and rolled its eyes. “Yes?”

“Why does Ingo have to do it?” Emmet asked as he lowered his arm again. “You’re supposed to be the creator of the universe, so why can’t you go and fix it yourself?”

“I was wondering that too,” Ingo admitted. “You took me home so why can’t you do that for the others?”

“Akari’s the one who set things up,” Arceus corrected him. “I only ferried you back after you left the main dimension.”

“What difference does that make?” Ingo asked with the utmost sincerity.

Arceus closed its eyes with an annoyed sigh. “Maybe a demonstration will help...” it said after a few moments, tapping a hoof to its chin. “Alright, let’s try this.” It stepped to one side and a table appeared with an intricate miniature house built upon it. “Come over here.” Arceus beckoned them forth with a wave of one foreleg.

Ingo and Emmet stood and stepped out into the aisle, which had become large enough for them to stand comfortably beside Arceus. They gave the miniature house a brief examination, but found nothing particularly strange about it.

“Now what?” Ingo asked, looking up at Arceus.

“Imagine that this little house is your dimension,” Arceus began, giving the house a light tap with one hoof. “Looks nice, doesn’t it?”

“Yes?” Ingo said, a tad worried about where this was going.

“Looks good enough,” Emmet added.

“Now, I want you to look inside and tell me if you can see the little red ball,” Arceus continued.

Ingo and Emmet both stooped and looked inside the windows, eventually locating said ball near the center of the house’s first floor.

“Okay, I found it,” Ingo said.

“Good. Now go in there and get it for me.”

“Like, shrink down and then walk in, or...?”

“That would be verrry fun,” Emmet added.

“Nope,” Arceus said with a shake of its head. “You have to stay the same size. So go get it.”

Ingo looked at the house, then at Arceus, then back at the house again, completely lost on how he was supposed to do that without breaking things.

“Hmm.” Emmet opened the front door and tried to get at the ball that way, but found that he could only get two fingers through and fell far short of reaching the ball. “A verrry tough riddle,” he said as he withdrew his hand.

“It’s really not,” Arceus said matter-of-factly.

“How is it not?” Ingo asked as he looked down at the house again, starting to feel a tad impatient. “Is there a tool we’re supposed to use?”

“No tools,” Arceus replied. “I never said you couldn’t break the house in the process, by the way.”

Ingo and Emmet returned their full attention to the house.

“Seems kind of mean,” Emmet said, his smile lowering a tad.

“But if that’s what we’re supposed to do...” Even so Ingo examined the house more closely in the hopes that there would be some way to get in without completely wrecking it. Maybe an easy access point of some sort...

“Go on, go get it,” Arceus said, giving him a nudge with one foreleg. “I’m waiting.”

Ingo let out a grumbling sigh and levered his fingers under the first floor’s eaves. The sound of cracking and breaking wood made him wince as he levered the second floor off of the first.

Emmet reached in and picked up the ball at the earliest opportunity.

Ingo lowered the second floor back onto the first as carefully as he could, only to have the whole model collapse the moment he took his hand away. He felt bad, despite it being a dream.

“Well, we got the ball,” Emmet said as he held it up for Arceus to see.

“Very good!” Arceus said. “So you’re playing me in that little game,” it continued, draping a foreleg around Ingo’s shoulders. “If I go in and try to change things, I just end up breaking everything!”

Ingo and Emmet looked down at the ruins of the model in horror.

“Oh,” Ingo said. He paused, hitting on a realization. “Wait, why didn’t I break when I was around you before?” Another pause as a second realization dropped into place. “Did you—!?” he started, jabbing a finger at Arceus.

“No, I did not break you,” Arceus said. “You were damaged before I ever got to you.”

Ingo calmed a little, though the annoyance remained. “Okay. So why didn’t things break when you took me home?” he asked.

“You were the one who stepped into the space between dimensions after I opened up a pathway,” Arceus replied. “Once you were outside I was able to conduct you home without risk. Plus you were only talking to a small part of me, not the whole thing. Perfectly safe.”

“Can’t you make yourself small to fix things?” Emmet cut in, pointing at the remains of the model house.

Arceus let out an exasperated sigh. Ingo wasn’t sure how it managed that, since it lacked a mouth. “Then that’s just putting myself in danger. If I’m small enough to move without breaking things then I need an escort to keep me safe.”

“Wait, so that means you’re just a piece of Arceus?” Ingo asked, poking Arceus under the chin with one finger as he looked up at it. “Like the one that took me home?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Arceus said, pushing Ingo’s hand away. “I’m actually much smaller for convenience’s sake though. The one you met earlier was a shard, and I’m like a chip in comparison.”

“Oooh.” Emmet put his hands on his hips and tilted his head slightly as he thought of something. “Let’s call you Chip, then!” he declared, pointing at Chip.

“What?!” Chip glared at him and took its foreleg from around Ingo’s shoulders. “Can’t you come up with a better nickname than that?”

“I think there’s no better nickname for you,” Ingo said, putting his hands on his hips.

“Chip is exactly what you are,” Emmet added with a sage nod. “You said it yourself. Yep.”

“Plus it really suits your personality,” Ingo said, one hand to his chin as he regarded Chip more closely. “You act like a Chip.” He paused, recalling how the other Arceus he’d encountered had spoken. “Huh. You really do talk differently from that other Arceus piece...”

“That’s because I am a different piece,” Chip said, drawing itself up tall and proud. “We can be quite independent, and we can have our own personalities.”

“You’re much less mature,” Ingo said.

Chip glared at him. “I’m not even a millenia old yet, give me a break!” it said with a stamp of its hoof.

“Wait, so how old are they usually?” Ingo asked.

“Way older than me,” Chip replied.

“That’s not very exact.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Emmet began. “You’re just a baby!” he declared, pointing at Chip again.

Chip gasped. “How dare you!” it said, giving him another glare. “I am not a baby!”

“Wait, Emmet. I think you’re a little off there,” Ingo said, holding up a hand. “Chip isn’t a baby. Clearly Chip is a teenager,” he said, nodding to himself.

“Stop trying to slot me into your human age categories!” Chip cried with a toss of its head. “I’m supposed to tell you about the ArcWatch! Stop distracting me!”

“Then tell me how it’s supposed to help Emmet,” Ingo said, pointing at his brother. “It let me see those protoform things earlier, so what are they?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Chip said, happy to get back on track. “In simplest terms, they’re proto-Pokemon. Beings that might become Pokemon someday but aren’t there yet. They usually live outside of your dimension, but something caused them to come here and take up residence inside your brother’s head.”

“And you don’t know how that happened?” Ingo asked in disbelief.

“Nope, I don’t,” Chip replied.

“How!? I thought you were supposed to know everything!”

“I’m only a piece, I can’t see what the whole sees,” Chip replied, its tone suggesting this should’ve been obvious.

“So what can you actually do, then?”

“I can help you see the unseen—like I did with the protoforms—open up pathways across dimensions and navigate them, and I have basic information on what you’ll be up against,” Chip replied, sounding proud of itself. “And typical smartwatch functions, I guess,” it added with a shrug.

“And do you come with an instruction manual...?”

“Nope!”

Ingo let out a long sigh.

“That’s inconvenient,” Emmet added.

“Look, I’m not some machine that you can just boss around,” Chip snapped. “We can just learn stuff as we go along, it’ll be fine!”

“I have my doubts about you,” Emmet said. “But as long as Ingo is on the case, I’m not too worried.”

“Do you have anything important to tell us?” Ingo asked.

Chip paused to think about it. “Be careful who you tell about the ArcWatch,” it said, with utmost seriousness. “People can get greedy when they find out about stuff like that, and people are capable of awful things when they get greedy.”

“Only Elesa knows so far, she’s trustworthy,” Ingo said. “And Emmet, now,” he added, glancing at Emmet with a small smile.

“My lips are sealed,” Emmet said. “Not that I can really talk to anyone other than you and Ingo,” he added with a touch of annoyance to his tone.

“Good,” Chip said with a sigh of relief. It then stared into the distance over Ingo’s head. “Looks like we’re all out of time.”

#Pokemon #Submas #Subway Bosses #Ingo #Emmet #Chip of Arceus #Submas Beyonders AU #Kuzannfic #The boys are reunited and it's so fun to watch #Ingo is Done being in awe and Emmet is having None of the BS #Chip is a baby

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prettytoxicrevolver · 4 years ago

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Worried | Corpse Husband

Requested? Nope

Warnings? Mentions of a toxic household, struggling mental health

Summary: After visiting your family for a bit, you isolate yourself out of old habits. However, after days of not hearing from you, Corpse comes to check up on you

Word Count: 1,701

You were beyond shocked when Corpse showed up on your doorstep in the middle of the night a few days after you returned to the west coast.

You had headed home to the east coast for a bit to visit your family and catch up after living on the west coast and not coming home for a few years. You didn’t mean to intentionally stay away from your family, but after building up your savings and getting yourself settled, you didn’t realize how long it had been since you had seen your family.

So, you decided to fly back for a week and finally catch up with them. You missed them a bit but you were aware of how happy you’ve become since moving to the west coast and following your passions. You were finally able to escape your small town and be able to spread your wings.

Growing up you had always struggled with your mental health and your hometown mixed with family issues never helped it. It was part of the reason you felt trapped when you were growing up in your tiny hometown. You didn’t get as much help as you should have and the support you needed wasn’t there.

You made it through thankfully, but when you got to the west coast you felt like you could breathe. The weight of everyone knowing everyone was lifted and you had more access to help than ever before. You felt motivated to work on yourself and with new friends who were more like family you felt better.

Going home sent you back probably ten steps. Your mom had commented on your looks. Your dad claimed you weren’t doing well out west and shouldn’t try anymore. Your brother gloated about his new promotion all week. You felt torn down the whole week through subtle hints and tiny jabs and you couldn’t wait to get home.

You had texted your west coast friends practically the entire time you were gone telling them how everything was going and how you couldn’t wait to see them when you got back. You and Corpse had texted every day and he was the reason you made it through the painful dinners and conversations with your family. He either sent you memes or inside jokes during the dinners and called you every night when you got back or had a moment alone to check-in.

He was simply there for you when you needed someone to make you smile. He understood what you were going through and didn’t want you to go through it alone. You hoped you could repay the favor one day.

On the flight back you were excited to get back home but you felt yourself falling back into spiraling thoughts. This always happened with your family, making you feel like you’re not good enough and that you’d end up failing. You ended up getting so into your head and falling back into a depression when you came home.

You ignored pretty much all of your friends’ calls, texts, and even tweets about where you were and what was going on. It happened pretty much every time you got into your head about your family’s comments. You kept to yourself and didn’t let anyone in on what you were feeling.

So you should have understood when Corpse was worried sick. He had been texting and calling you all week and when you come back that’s when you ghost him? He was worried he did or said something, overbearing with his messages, or didn’t help enough. He was wracking his brain for days after you had gotten home and couldn’t come up with anything.

It also stemmed from the fact that he liked you. He’s liked you since your first among us game when you teamed up as the ultimate impostors together and you had the same mind as he did. You two played off each other’s energy and he knew immediately he wanted to know you. He knew you were someone special.

So, when his best friend and the girl he likes dips, he’s concerned and that’s most of the reason why he ended up on your doorstep unable to sleep.

You found it hardest to not respond to Corpse. The man’s electric personality, stunning laugh, and caring heart hooked you from the start. You had fallen hard for him and the fact that he was there for you even thousands of miles away while you were with family meant everything to you. But your brain betrays you and you wish you could tell him everything.

It was a few days after you had gotten home and you found yourself plagued with insomnia. It had to be at least 2 am when you got up from bed to make a cup of tea and read a bit more of the book you had started recently. Whenever you couldn’t sleep, most of the time you gave up, not caring if you went back to bed or not knowing you could always drink more coffee the next day if you were too tired.

Just as you sat down, a knock on your door sounds and for half a second your heart stops. You try to convince yourself it was something falling over outside but when you hear it again, sharp and clear, you nervously set down your mug and head to your front door.

You pop up on your tiptoes and peek through the peephole to see the one person who hasn’t left your mind the entire time you had gone dark since you’ve come back home.

“Corpse?” you ask when you swing open the door. The older boy scans you up and down before stepping forward and instantly wrapping you up into his arms.

You react immediately lifting your hands to grab the fabric of his sweatshirt and pull him close. He pushes his face into your neck and it’s like every bit of stress is being relieved slowly by his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers still holding you tight. “I was just worried.”

You pull back at this, raising a hand to his cheek which he instinctively leans into. Your thumb rubs soothing circles across his cheekbone and you feel the flutter of a sigh leave his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back and he shakes his head.

You dive back into his arms, his hands now resting securely around your shoulders and you press your face into his chest. You stay like that until you know he’s not going anywhere.

He presses a kiss to your head before pulling away and slipping his hands from your shoulders to your hands. His left-hand slides down the inside of your forearm, his fingers dancing across your skin delicately until they meet your palm.

You try not to seem too eager as his fingers slide perfectly into yours and you practically come alive as soon as your palms meet and you’re whole again.

Your eyes finally meet his once again and he offers a tiny smile before tugging on your hand lightly to pull you into your bedroom. You follow him feeling a million times better than you did when you woke up this morning or any morning for the past few days.

He leads you to your bed and you fall down onto it with him crawling into it next to you. You sit criss cross with him sitting in front of you, a curious look on his face.

“What’s wrong princess?” he asks quietly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on your knee.

“My family has spent most of my life telling me I’m not good enough. Not supporting me. Going home felt like I was 16 again and trying to show them I’m good enough,” you say as tears start to fall down your face.

Corpse moves at this sight, carefully placing himself next to you and placing both hands on the back of your thighs to pull you closer to him. His left-hand cups your cheek and wipes away the falling tears. You take a deep breath, looking into his gorgeous eyes and feeling calm wash over you once more.

“I just don’t feel good enough. I feel like no one wants me and I’ve always struggled with how to talk to people about it so I shut down.”

“You don’t have to tell anyone, anything love. Talk when you’re ready but know I’m here no matter what. I want to hear about your biggest victories and your worst days. Your passions and your nightmares. But if you’re not ready that’s okay.”

You’re almost sobbing at this point because you’re not sure if anyone has ever loved and supported you this purely. You had learned to do the heavy lifting of loving and supporting yourself but always dreamed of someone supporting you on your bad days and you were so grateful for Corpse to be that someone.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Corpse nods and you give him a small smile. Your eyes search his for a moment when you notice his eyes flicker from yours to your lips. It strikes you how close the two of you are and your heart drops to your stomach and rolls around a bit out of nerves.

His hand is still on your cheek and he pulls you forward and just as you’re an inch away your eyes flutter shut. Your lips meet his and it’s like time stops. It’s breathtaking like you’re certain you’re not breathing but you never want the moment to end. You sink straight into the feeling in case it never happens again.

As you break apart you stay close together, resting your foreheads on each other as your eyes search the others. And then he smiles that rare, room brightening smile and you’re lit up at the sight of it.

“C’mere,” he whispers and you fall carefully into his embrace.

He wraps you up in his arms, one wrapped securely around your waist while the other comes over your side to hold your hand. His face is pressed into your neck and you know for certain this is going to be the best night’s sleep you’ll get in a while.

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x y/n #corpse husband imagine #corpse imagine #youtuber imagine #imagine #bravebesson

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sirowsky · 4 years ago

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group.

(Slow burn)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, buried trauma, mentions of tortured and murdered children, furious Marcus.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: We learn a bit more history on the Heroics as a whole, and something Reader’s been supressing, that leads to some new developments concerning her powers.

(Again I apologise for the crossover GIF, but really Narcos just has the best ones. Also, let me know if it’s yours and I’ll credit you!)

Chapter 39

Wisconsin was getting cold this time of year, and you were frustrated. Verity had really outdone himself this time. He’d positioned himself right smack in the middle of suburbia, on Barbara Lane, in De Pere, Green bay, forcing you to take twice as many safety precautions as usual, before you could see him.

You’d asked Marcus after the first time you’d met the truth-seeker, if it wouldn’t be less dangerous and more inconspicuous for him to come to you, instead of you having to travel all over the country to find him. But Marcus had explained that he had adapted a lifestyle that meant that he was never in one place for more than two days, in order to stay ahead of any team that HQ might send out to investigate his energy-signature.

He rarely used his ability to the extent that the new and more powerful sensors could detect it, but on the few occasions when he had, he’d found himself having company some time later. Their response time varied depending on where in the country he was, and whenever he was closer to the west coast, his temporary lodgings were always significantly shorter.

Allen had been quiet for most of the journey, deep in his thoughts, but when you started getting close to your destination, the old man started talking.

“I built most of HQ, you know. The Heroic organisation.”

“Yeah, you were one of the founders, right? One of the first non-powered people to suggest that supers might need help to become actual heroes. You got them to talk to one another, start building relationships, creating the friendships that would ultimately turn them into a team.”

“It was almost impossible to get those knuckleheads to coincide. There were only four of them back then, and they all wanted the glory and heroism to themselves, fighting for the spotlight every chance they got. We really thought our efforts weren’t gonna do anything.”

“What changed it around?”

“Anita Moreno.”

“Hah… of course she did.”

“When she came along, young and determined and confident, she elbowed out their failing attempts at leadership by actually taking charge, and making them listen to reason. By way of a beat-down if necessary.”

“That, I can believe. And I’d have loved to see it.”

“She was fearless of their powers and their masculinity, their macho-bullshit. And before long, she had them training to improve their skillsets, studying the politics of the world, saying that if they were gonna insist on meddling in other cultures, then it was also their responsibility to understand what the hell they were meddling with.”

“And that’s where you took the opportunity, I’m guessing?”

“I reached out to Anita, offering financial support in creating a training-facility for the supers, a kind of recreational area, where they could play with their abilities, test themselves against each other, without risking harm to anyone. She really liked the idea, and asked me to find out if anyone else would be interested in helping them, and over time, that’s how the Heroics were born.”

“And now it’s been tainted.”

“I don’t know that it hasn’t been completely destroyed already.”

“Henry, the organisation can never be destroyed, not as long someone’s around to fight back. And you’d better believe we are.”

“What have you brought me today, Rainbow?”

A little while later, you finally stepped into the house, and Verity’s energy hit you. Since he knew you couldn’t use your power to greet him anymore, he called to you from the kitchen and you guided Allen there.

The poor man was already pale.

“Someone I really hope you’re about to tell me I can trust.”

“A founder… this is a first. Your heart is filled with love, for your family, mostly, but that also makes you susceptible to great fear. Right now, you fear what will be left of your legacy once this mess is made public. You fear that the Heroics will be shut down, and that your life’s work will go down in history as nothing but a failed experiment. You love your creation, it gives you great pride, but you fear it too. The power it’s accumulated, and how the politics have gotten more and more in control of it. But you are innocent of any crime or conspiracy. You are, at heart, a good man.”

Allen looked like he might vomit, so you helped him to sit down and brought him a glass of water.

“Who are you?”

Verity never answered that question, no matter who was asking, so you sat down next to Henry to explain.

“He’s a very special super, that you can never mention to anyone. If you do, he’ll disappear, and we’ll have no way of knowing who’s trustworthy or not.”

“He can tell the truth? I never even spoke…”

“Verity sees the truth, like a web around people. I don’t know exactly how it works, but he can see everything, past and present. Every lie and every truth of your entire existence.”

“Incredible. And really unnerving.”

“Yes, but worth it. Thanks to him we have over 120 trusted operatives working for us all over the world, and that’s not including the Heroics.”

“That’s… impressive. But I fear this enemy is going to need much greater numbers than that, to be defeated.”

“Maybe. But 89 of those operatives are supers, and that evens the odds significantly.”

“What? But… we scan for people with abilities all over the world, we would know if that many existed.”

“Not if they’d been hiding their powers. We figured that anyone who was on the Heroics radar, would most likely be on SIC’s as well, so we focused entirely on reaching out to those that we knew were hidden. And in that process, we uncovered a whole community of powered people that want nothing to do with the fame or recognition, and once they understood the stakes, they all agreed to help us. And they, in turn, are reaching out to their friends, normal and super, to join the fight. Our numbers grow every day, Henry. We can beat these assholes; we just need a little more time.”

Verity’s energy focusing on you, broke your concentration, and you turned to look at him.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure. Something… something in your memories.”

“If it’s my memory then why can’t you see it clearly?”

“It’s been hidden. It’s a memory you can’t see yourself.”

Your skin crawled and your heartbeat picked up, in an involuntary response to any kind of mention of your time with the mad doctor. Verity noticed.

“A painful memory. Something you don’t want to remember.”

“I don’t want to remember any of it, V.”

“Tubes, wires, machines, syringes. Your body remembers. Your cells do.”

“Pain… so much pain, your nerves remember all of it. You fought him. You bit him twice, escaped your bindings once, almost got out. He punished you for that by pouring battery-acid on your feet. He was so confident that his experiment would work that he didn’t care how much damage he caused you in the process.”

Lost in his search into your mind, Verity slowly started moving towards you, centring all his power on you, desperate to uncover everything that was hidden. You weren’t sure if he was even aware of how overbearing he was in that moment. How threatening.

He had never come across a truth he couldn’t see before, and it made him obsessive and ruthless in his pursuit of it. A part of you knew that, but your reptile brain was overcome with a sense of danger, and you backed away from him, but he followed you.

“V… please, stop.”

He didn’t even hear you.

“You’re hiding from me. I can feel the memory so clearly, wrapped in a bubble I can’t penetrate. I need to know what it is.”

He was pushing so much of his energy into your mind to try and break that bubble, that you started feeling unnaturally heavy. Your body suddenly felt like it was moving through liquid, meeting so much resistance that it exhausted you just to take a single step.

You collapsed to the floor, struggling to breathe, and still he didn’t let up. He towered over you, and somewhere in the background you heard Allen trying to reason with him, but then a splitting pain shot through your head, and you passed out.

“You stay the fuck away from me, V!”

You woke up lying on the sofa in the living room, your head still throbbing and the light burning your eyes. But from what little you could make out, Verity was sitting on a chair right next to you, and it made the bear inside you wake up with full force.

You launched yourself at him, placing a hard fist at his solar plexus, and when he involuntarily crunched forwards, his face had a very abrupt meeting with your elbow.

He fell backwards, toppling the chair over and breaking it as he hit the floor, bleeding from his nose and cheek-bone.

Allen rushed into the room from the kitchen, holding a pack of ice he’d apparently been getting for you. You wobbled over to him and swiped it from his hands to put against your right temple, while Verity slowly got to his knees.

“I saw it. The memory you were hiding, I was able to break your defence the moment before you lost consciousness.”

“I don’t care.”

“He did it in front of you. He strapped children into that chair, and made you watch as he drained them. He made you watch their strength gradually leave them as the pain got to be too much. You saw the faces of at least nine of them, wordlessly begging you for help.”

“I trapped those memories away for a reason, you asshole. Just because you need the truth like a fucking addict, doesn’t mean I do!”

The images came to you as he voiced them. You remembered those faces, fifteen of them, actually. You remembered their pain, and how much you wished that you could have borne it for them. How gladly you’d have sacrificed yourself for them, if you could have.

That was why your powers had manifested into what they did. That was why you couldn’t heal yourself, because in that time and place, you truly didn’t care if you died.

You slumped against the nearest wall and slowly allowed yourself to sink to the floor. Your head was still throbbing, and you were beyond angry.

“You do need to know this.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me! You don’t get to torture me, V, that’s what the fucking bad guys do!!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that is as close to a god damned lie as you’ve ever gotten! You don’t give a shit if your powers hurt me, as long as you get your fucking truth. If you’re sorry about anything, it’s that I’m not grateful for your efforts. Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong!”

He didn’t speak. He just sat there, looking as unbothered about everything as he always did.

“Allen, get me the hell out of here.”

“Hermosa? What’s wrong?”

You took a cab from the airport, and fell asleep about halfway home. The driver had a calm and rhythmic manner that soothed you, and he was listening to John Williams play the Concierto de Aranjuez, with the soft guitar notes making your frayed mind drift away to a warm and sunny Spain.

He woke you by gently announcing that you’d arrived at your destination, and you paid him and thanked him for his kindness, before getting out and walking towards the gate in the fence. Your legs felt like lead.

You could hear Marcus and Missy through the front door as you approached it, ingulfed in playing some boardgame, and you stopped and just listened to them for a while, leaning heavily against the door.

Your darling Missy, the same age as several of those children. But alive and happy and such a wonderful person already.

And Marcus. Your reason for living. The one that saved you, and kept saving you, despite the darkness that accompanied you.

You hadn’t kept your word about checking in with him, so when you texted him while you were waiting at the airport in Green Bay, he’d been furious at first, wanting to know why he hadn’t heard from you in almost five hours. But he’d quickly calmed as you’d simply reminded him that since he was hearing from you now, you were obviously okay, and you’d tell him everything when you saw him.

But now, standing behind that door, you didn’t want to tell him. You didn’t want to talk about it, and you didn’t want to burden him with knowing it. But you also knew that he’d see it on your face the moment you walked in. You were too tired and in too much pain still, to even try and keep up any appearances.

You took a breath, and walked inside. Marcus was on his feet the moment the door swung open, and he swept you into a tight hug as soon as he got to you, but the mildness of your response immediately had him worried.

“Could you just keep your voice down a bit, please. My head’s killing me.”

“Where you in a fight?”

He looked closer at you upon hearing that, and he realised that you were actually in terrible shape. He swept you up into his arms and carried you to the bedroom, while asking Missy to come and help him prepare a bath for you.

She went straight to the bathroom and turned on the taps, and you could hear her going into the cabinets to pull out fresh towels.

In the meantime, Marcus was helping you out of your clothes, and noticed a big black bruise on your elbow.

“No… just felt cornered.”

“By who?”

“...Verity.”

His whole posture changed, and you could feel a sudden rage emanating from him.

“Tell me what he did.”

“I’m too tired right now…”

“Querida, look at me. Tell me.”

“He… broke into the memories I’d hidden… the one’s he couldn’t see before.”

“The one’s Prince had altered?”

“No… the one’s I buried. The one’s that were too horrible… He forced them out, and now my head feels like it’s breaking apart.”

“Why would he hurt you like that?”

He picked you up again and moved you into the bathroom. Missy only stayed until the tub was full and she could close the taps, and then she hugged you gently and slipped out of the room.

Marcus took the last of your clothes off before lowering you into the warm water, and when you asked him to join you, he did, holding you close and softly stroking your skin under the water.

“He can’t stand lies, and apparently that applies to secrets as well. He just had to know; consequences be damned.”

“He’ll regret that tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother. He won’t admit to any wrong-doing. And we still need him.”

“I don’t give a fuck. The only reason I agreed to let you go was because I thought you’d be safe with him.”

“I don’t have anymore secrets for him to try and uncover now. So, technically I will be, from now on. Not that I ever wanna see him again.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll deal with him.”

“We’re still at war, honey. We’re gonna have to do a lot of things we’d rather not.”

“Fuck the war, I’ll turn my back on the whole damned thing and take you to live with the fucking penguins if that’s what it takes. I’m so tired of seeing you in pain!”

“Oh, please, keep your voice down…”

“Sorry.”

You sat in silence for a while, as the warm water started to open up your capillaries, easing your headache a bit.

“Are you gonna tell me?”

You knew what he was asking, and you really wanted to say no, but you also knew that you needed to tell him.

“Prince made me… he made me watch.”

The tears burned in your eyes, and you tried to chase the memories away, to lock them back into that little bubble where they couldn’t hurt you. But it was too late.

“Watch what?”

You didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt as though that would somehow solidify the images into reality, making them truly inescapable. He could feel your resistance, and tried to soothe you with his current, but it wasn’t enough this time.

“The… ch-children. He made me… watch them die.”

“Oh, my god…”

The next morning you felt better. The headache had eased with some real sleep and you were starting to feel human again. Marcus was right next to you, his arms securely wrapped around you while he slept, but he stirred the moment you did. It was still early enough that your monday alarms hadn’t gone off yet.

You felt him swallow repeatedly against the bile and grief that surged up in his throat as he realised what you were saying. He’d seen the lab. The extraction chair. And the freshest bodies that Prince hadn’t had time to get rid off before they found his lair. He’d seen how much pain they’d been in as they died, evident in their faces even after death.

He didn’t say anything else, and you didn’t need him to, you just needed him to hold you, and he did.

“Good morning, hermosa. Did you sleep okay?”

“Morning. Yeah, actually I did.”

“No bad dreams?”

“I think my headache might have made that impossible. It’s gone now, though.”

“Good. How do you feel about breakfast?”

“I’m looking forward to it. I still haven’t eaten in our kitchen yet.”

“Right. Eggs and toast?”

“Please.”

You went about your morning toilet and wash, before heading out to the kitchen together. Missy was already at the island, having cereal and flipping through a schoolbook, and since Marcus was already pulling out the frying pan to get started on the eggs, you sat down with her, before the school bus would get there.

“Morning, angel. Test today?”

“Yup. Maths. I got it, though.”

“Oh, I believe that, you’re good at maths. Break a leg anyway.”

“Thanks, alma. I’m aiming for top scores.”

“I like your aim.”

“Don’t worry, preciosa, her protection is in place.”

Marcus had just sat down a plate in front of you when the bus honked, and Missy ran out the door while shouting she loved both of you.

You kept staring at the closed door after she’d disappeared through it, and Marcus knew what you were thinking.

“I know, but after yesterday… I just feel a bit more protective than usual.”

“That’s entirely understandable, but please try not to stress over it. You have another one to protect as well.”

“Right… Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, just breathe and eat calmly.”

“So, Allen got the all clear, I assume. Does that mean he’s in?”

You dug into the food and it was delicious. So much better than the airport food you’d eaten all day yesterday, even though it was just scrambled eggs and perfectly roasted toast, with those tomatoes on the side, that he’d promised you the day before.

Marcus let you finish before he started talking again.

“Yeah, he’s gonna coordinate for us at HQ, so we can keep our attention on the rest of the country, and world.”

“Is he okay?”

“Shaken, for numerous reasons, but determined to get his lives work back in order. He told me about the early days, and how he and your mom whipped the first supers into heroes.”

“Really? Mom doesn’t talk about those days much. She’s told me a lot about my father, but not that much about herself.”

“Well, she seems to have been a tour de force all her life, from what Allen described. And after what you’ve told me about your dad, I can see why he would’ve fallen for her. They were a good match.”

“She always says that the best thing about him was how good he was at driving her up the walls, because it forced her to really look at him.”

“I see what she means.”

“I don’t drive you up the walls. Do I?”

“Mostly just in the mornings, when you know I’m not susceptible to ‘fun’, but other than that, you’re pretty well behaved.”

“Oh, no, the mornings don’t count.”

“And why the hell not?”

“Because your morning mood is way too amusing not to take advantage of.”

“Hey! That is so not fair, I can’t help it that my brain just won’t start on all cylinders at once. And, for the record, this is the second morning in a row that I haven’t been cranky first thing.”

His whole face lit up in a dazzling smile at that.

“Wow. That’s more than just a record, babe, that’s almost worthy of a mention on CNN.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! How could you do that to her?! I have always been your friend, protected you, guided you, helped you any way I could… and you almost kill my wife!!”

A voice came from the living room, and with the way the house was designed, about half of that space was visible from the kitchen, while the other half was hidden behind the dining room.

He didn’t need to step into view from behind the wall that separated the two areas, for either of you to know who it was. The truth-seeker had a very recognisable tone and rhythm of speech. But when he did appear, you couldn’t help yourself from getting out of your chair and taking a few steps back towards the kitchen counter, needing as much space between you as possible.

Marcus, on the other hand, turned positively feral. He rushed Verity and wrestled him to the floor, while screaming at him.

“I would never have let her come to any harm.”

You’d never seen him angry like this. Usually he internalised it, afraid to let it loose because of what his powers might do, but this was more than anger. He felt betrayed by one of his oldest friends, and it enraged him in a way that didn’t even involve his powers.

He had Verity pinned on the floor and was sitting on top of him with his hands around his neck, every muscle in his body was tensed to the breaking-point and there where visible veins pulsing in his face, neck and arms.

“Are you seriously fucking lying to me right now?! You did harm her, you ignorant piece of shit! Just because she’s the strongest fucking person you’ve ever met, doesn’t mean you can’t hurt her! She could barely even walk!”

“But she’s not damaged. Her mind is intact.”

“I don’t believe this…I don’t fucking believe it!”

He got off of Verity and dragged him up to standing before shoving him down on the nearest chair, still keeping himself in between you and the trespasser. He paced in front of him while he continued to rail at him.

“Are you seriously telling me, that you don’t know the difference between physically harming someone, and hurting them? How is that even possible, with all the crap you went through as a kid? How do you not know the difference?!”

“It was a memory. Hiding them away only ever hurts you, I was trying to help her.”

“Did you see the fucking memory?!”

“Yes.”

“Tell me exactly how seeing those faces for the rest of her life is gonna help her!”

“It already has.”

His eyes shifted to yours, and you instinctively tried to back away further.

“That memory has already made you understand why you have the powers you do.”

His energy flowed through you, and it made you feel sick. You closed your eyes in a useless attempt to keep him out, but you felt him explore your mind again, bringing those images to the forefront of your thoughts.

“Seeing their suffering solidified everything that you are. Through all his torture and experiments, all you wanted was to live. But for them… you wanted to die. You wanted to exchange your life for theirs. That’s your true strength – your armour and your weapon. Look at their faces, Rain. See them and know who you are.”

“You think that just because you know the truth, you understand everything? Do you think you know how this feels? Do you think you have any idea how much this hurts me? Do you not even see how you’re manipulating me?”

Your blood suddenly boiled with fury. Who was he to command your thoughts? To impose his perspective on you? This man that had hurt you so badly, only to uncover a truth he had no right to.

The entire house shook as your powers awoke with a vengeance. You snapped your eyes back open just as Marcus turned back to look at you, realising what was happening.

But you loved this house, you weren’t gonna put a single fucking dent on it.

Reaching into that special place inside of you, where you’d learned you could find that sparkling dust, you drew it out and gathered it in large quantities on the floor in front of Verity. Then you allowed your mind to fill with the images of those innocent children, in their dying moments, and transferred those images into the dust.

Fifteen lifelike sculptures appeared in the sparkles, perfect re-creations of the dead and long forgotten sacrifices, that Verity had never met, never known, and yet felt he had the right to use like string-puppets.

He had the audacity to smile at your creations.

His smile faded as you spoke, but he made no attempt to apologise.

“You’re using my pain to force my hand. You know that my powers hurt me, and you force me to use them anyway. And for what? To try and prove you were right?”

“No. If anything, my efforts should tell you exactly how much we need your powers in this war. You asked me to help you win it. That’s all I’m doing.”

“And if our baby dies because of it, that’s just another sacrifice for the greater good?!”

The sculptures collapsed into mere piles on the floor, and you glared at him furiously, daring him to answer you.

“I don’t believe your baby will be harmed by your abilities.”

“Your beliefs are of no fucking relevance to me. Tell me if you would care… at all… if another child had to die in order for us to win this war?”

He paused, but not to consider his answer, only how you would react to it.

“No. I wouldn’t care. Wars kill people, of all ages, it doesn’t discriminate. Many more will die before it’s over, and if we’re going to be outraged over each and every one of them, then we won’t have time to fight.”

Marcus closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“That’s not the point, V. The point is that we only win if we still care. If we stop caring about life and suffering, then we might as well join the assholes. Can’t you see that?”

“I haven’t lived like you have, Marcus. Caring has never been a luxury I’ve been able to enjoy. I have nothing. No possessions, no family, one person I would call a friend, and whom, despite my best efforts, I do care about.”

“Then it should matter to you whether or not my family is safe and well.”

“It does, and they are. When I say that I don’t believe that your wife’s powers will harm your child, I’m not just guessing. I can see your powers, Rain, the core of them. And while they do damage you a little bit every time you use them, I don’t believe that that damage actually harms you. I believe it slowly changes you.”

“Changes me… Why? Into what?”

“I couldn’t say for sure, but I don’t think it’s that kind of change. I think it’s simply trying to make you stronger, physically. As in, superhumanly strong. Invincible. And if anyone’s body could – it’d be yours.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, please don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

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#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years ago

Photo

NAME. Jackson Visconti AGE & BIRTH DATE. 26 & October 27th, 1996 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Witch ( Spirit + Clairvoyance ) OCCUPATION. Journalist at Corinthian Column & Freelance Writer FACE CLAIM. Max Minghella

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: suicide ) Born 1996 in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. Jackson was the middle of five children in a familial coven of witches that had long practiced ancestral magic that was rooted to their home in the countryside. Their affinity for earth was well known in the supernatural community and made them successful in the agricultural field, generations of wealth accumulated more land and resources that built the family name into what it was in the twenty-first century: Visconti farms was synonymous with nearly every wholefoods or grocery supermarket across the nation with a wide range of produce and products that marked them as a staple.

The Visconti family was known for their ancestral power as mentalists, power over the mind was their trademark and while Jackson was not as powerful as his father or even some of his siblings, he was not exempt. A natural-born clairvoyant, the truth was also Jackson’s burden to bare. He did not understand it at first, the inkling feeling he would get when he was listening to others but the witch came to understand that his sixth sense allowed him to gather insight from people, places, and things that other could not. A hunch that was always right. Jackson could inherently tell when he was being lied to, except in the case of his mother whose own magical heritage allowed protection over her mind,

Wealth and influence was Jackson’s inheritance, but his father was never satisfied with what they had. His desire for expansion into spirits brought the family to Louisiana where they moved into the bourbon industry as well. Well established and connected already, they purchased a slew of smaller distilleries that were already native to the area and grew their power that much more. Only thirteen at the time, Jackson had to adjust to a new city, new friends, and an entirely new way of life. New Orleans was a hub of local culture, tourism, and opportunity. With a rich history that was deeply embedded within not just the people but the city itself. For a clairvoyant witch this was all both a blessing and a curse, it made the place loud, and at times disturbing. As he grew older he began to see through the cracks of his family’s well-articulated image and began to seek less comfort in those he was raised with and instead looked for solace in those he had come to know.

Found friends could be family too, and there was kinship to in the spirits of the old that were trapped within the walls of the lands where they could never leave. Jackson had a long-standing affinity for earth and spent more time in his family’s greenhouse than he ever did with classmates. That was of course until he met Casper, the man was a shifter whose family was not at all unlike his own in that they were well-versed with the supernatural world. The friendship was one of convenience as the boys were of the same age, grade, and social standing, but the validity of it transcended anything that their parents had conspired for them on their behalf. Jackson would tug Casper along whenever he visited graveyards or the rich swamps of Louisiana bayous.

Left alone for long periods of time as Jackson’s parents traveled for work, the earth witch was a familiar sight among the Hahn family. His own siblings were content with being left to their own devices, naturally adapt and occasionally cruel - Jackson wanted for more. He found it with the Hahns, school nights, weekends, and even holidays where he wasn’t pulled away for a Visconti function was spent with Casper’s family. The two were like brothers, the sort of brothers that Jackson had always wished that he had, instead of the pair of older and younger siblings who mocked Jackson’s preference for plant life over people.

When the time came to decide where Jackson was going after High School, it seemed natural to follow Casper to California. There he studied literature with a major in journalism and thought to put his affinity for finding both prose and the truth to good use. While Casper seemed naturally attuned to the west coast lifestyle, Jackson was not so quick to acclimate. His friend wanted stardom and a place among Hollywood’s elite... But Jackson just wanted to continue to hone his craft, and do what he could to uncover the truth. He wrote for the school paper and published a few articles before graduation, nothing groundbreaking; a scandal among the maintenance union, a secret cult within the fraternities, and a history of preference towards students whose parents made considerable donations to the campus. The fact that lies weren’t well placed among him didn’t make Jackson popular, nor did it really give him much interest in making friends outside of Casper. It wasn’t that he flaunted his power, it was that the clairvoyant had no choice in it - he wished to be told a lie that he could believe. Instead his burden was the truth.

Graduation meant a release into adulthood and the independence from his parents that he’d longed for, no matter tuition held over his head, or bills that they paid on his behalf. He opted to move to New York and figured if there was anywhere that an up and coming journalist and aspiring writer could make it, it was there. From here he gave Casper a place to crash whenever the would-be Hollywood hero was ever in town, and from here Jackson wrote, his own dreams somewhere on the horizon. Drawn naturally towards the occult and towards horror, the underbelly nightlife was a natural fit for Jackson. Before long he picked up a tip from an officer of a string of suspicious suicides, men and women who were perfectly happy until they suddenly went downhill. Friends and family never understood why, but they were always seeing someone. The witch snooped around clubs and bars, all the hangouts that were localized to one specific New York borough, he relied on his power to try and find the person responsible but came up with nothing. One night he told his story to a handsome stranger, the guy bought him a few rounds and had a way of making Jackson feel at ease while most people had the opposite effect. One thing led to another and they ended up back at Jackson’s flat, when he woke up the next morning the stranger was gone, and so was Jackson’s magic right along with his soul.

It was his mother who told him what happened and filled him in on the incredibly rare but destructive power of an incubus. And it was she that also told him how to locate a cure, only a phoenix could restore a soul that had been taken by the cubi, and so using his family’s connections he tracked one down to the place that Casper had been all but begging him to go to for months: Corinth Bay. Finding the phoenix was easy, convincing him to regenerate Jackson’s soul was even easier, but what came after was never supposed to happen. Jackson’s clairvoyance returned, but his connection to the earth did not - instead it was replaced by something else. Something dark. Left to figure out what this all meant, Jackson’s family had no answers for him, but at least he had a place with Casper and the two were officially in Corinth together.

PERSONALITY

+ diligent, patient, curious - aloof, secretive, withdrawn

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. He/Him.

#taken #male #witch #jackson visconti #max minghella

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skygirl5 · 4 years ago

Text

12 Prompts of Christmas - #9 Eggnog

This is a continuation of the previous chapter’s universe (behind the jump due to length)

NINE - Eggnog

On his first morning waking up in the isolated cabin, Rick wished to sleep late, but he couldn’t because he woke up before dawn absolutely, positively freezing. His normal sleeping attire for winter was boxers and a t-shirt because he generally kept his apartment fairly warm. He’d thought the blankets on the cabin’s bed would keep him warm enough, but evidently that was not the case; all his extremities felt like ice. Rick shivered so bad he could hardly pull on his jeans and button-down from the prior day before hobbling to the potbelly stove in the main room of the cabin and fiddling with it for ten minutes before he could figure out how to get a fire going inside of it once more.

Knowing warmth would soon come, Rick grabbed a blanket and tried to lay on the couch, which was the closest place to the stove on which to lay, but he was too miserably cold to fall back to sleep. Figuring maybe an afternoon nap would be more productive, he made coffee and sat with it cradled in his hand while wearing a blanket as a cape as he tried to warm up.

Though it took an hour, the cabin soon almost became too warm, but given how cold he had been Rick chose not to mind that too much and did his best to get some writing done. He wrote a few pages, but soon found it difficult to focus, and decided to go on a walk around the lake for a distraction. He also thought perhaps he might run into Kate, the intriguing woman whose mitten he found the day before, but he sadly did not. He did bump into an older couple who had a very friendly yellow lab and chatted with them for about ten minutes, but that was all the human interaction he had.

Back in his cabin, he called Alexis once it was a reasonable hour on the west coast. Unfortunately, their conversation was quite jumbled due to very poor reception, but he was at least able to confirm that Meredith had picked her up from the airport and was taking her shopping that day.

Since speaking with his daughter reminded him once again that she was not going to be with him for Christmas, Rick distracted himself by eating the pre-made salad he’d purchased for lunch and turned back to his writing, which was actually successful that round. He found himself so “in the zone” that he didn’t even notice how late it was getting until he got out of his chair to go to the bathroom and realized most of the cabin was completely dark.

Satisfied with the amount of work he’d done, Rick decided it was time to make himself dinner. He’d purchased some chicken cutlets which he planned on stir-frying and with some vegetables he purchased and so he began rummaging in the kitchen cabinets for the tools he’d need. He found a cast iron skillet and cutting board to use to prep his food. He’d purchased oil just in case the cabin didn’t have any, which ended up being a good call because he didn’t find any in the small pantry.

After pouring the oil into the skillet, he set it on the two burner stove so that it could heat up, but when he turned the knob to ignite the burner, he heard a click, but no flames appeared. Twisting his lips to the side in concentration, he crouched down and proceeded to fiddle with the knobs and burner for several more minutes to no avail; he could not get the stove to turn on.

Not too worried at that point, Rick decided that the best thing to do would be to call the cabin’s owner, Chip. He was a friendly older gentleman who had talked to Rick for nearly an hour when the cabin booking was made. Evidently the cabin belonged to Chip’s father, who was an avid fisherman. After his father passed, Chip inherited the place, but didn’t enjoy fishing as much, so he mostly rented it out. He’d told Rick not to hesitate to call if an issue arose, and Rick decided to do just that—even though it was technically Christmas Eve.

Rick walked over to where he’d left his laptop at the table. There, he’d left his phone as well as the contact information for Chip. Before he’d even begun to dial, Rick frustratingly realized his phone displayed a “No Signal” error. It hadn’t been that long since he’d spoken to Alexis, though admittedly the call had been cutting in and out at that time.

Figuring the reception had to be better outside, he put on his heavy coat and then dialed Chips number on the phone but didn’t hit the “send” button. Then, he stepped outside the cabin and was immediately knocked back by a wall of bone-chilling cold. The stinging temperature of the air was so great that he actually yelped, but then tried to recover as quickly as he could so he could get his phone call over with. Rick wandered around the area in front of the cabin for several minutes with his phone above his head waiting for the “No Signal” to vanish and bars to appear, but they never did.

Frustrated, Rick stomped out further into the yard, chasing an elusive signal. Just one bar!! He only needed one bar!!

He was about fifteen feet away from the house when he realized that small snowflakes had begun to fall from the sky above. He glanced up briefly, but that far after dusk it was almost pitch black outside. He was stumbling around only from the ambient light of the cabin’s exterior lighting, which at that distance was minimal at best. Yet, Rick remained determined to get a cell signal.

“Uhh Rick? Are you okay?” Rick heard after about seven minutes of wanting around in the freezing cold darkness.

“Wha—huh?” Startled he spun around until he saw the beam of a flashlight approaching, though due to the darkness he could not see the face of the person speaking to him.

“Are you okay?”

“I—who are you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The woman moved the flashlight beam from the ground to point straight upwards. It barely illuminated her face, but he recognized her immediately. “You found my glove yesterday; I’m-”

“Kate,” he breathed, still a bit shocked to have met up with her by the lake near his cabin. “Yeah, I remember.”

“So…are you alright? You don’t have a flashlight…”

He grumbled. “I didn’t mean to walk this far from my cabin I just—I’m trying to get some cell reception.”

She hummed. “Well, you might not have too much luck with that, especially with this snowstorm coming in.”

Rick frowned. “Oh…I…hmm…sorry,” he added quickly when he could see Kate’s brow tightening in confusion. “The stove in the cabin stopped working and I tried to fix it, but, frankly, I have no idea what could be wrong, so I thought I’d call the cabin’s owner but…”

“Right.” Kate nodded. Then, after a beat added, “I can take a look if you want. I was just taking a little walk so it’s not big deal.”

“Oh—oh!” his tone elevated with surprise when he realized she was offering to help him, a total stranger, without being asked. Then again, he had found her glove earlier, so they weren’t total strangers, just mostly strangers. “Sure. That would be—that’d be great, thank you. Thank you so much.”

She shrugged and the followed him across the crisp ground towards the cabin. “It’s not a problem. The stove my parents had for years was…something. Probably a terrible fire hazard, to be honest. I finally made my father replace it a few years ago, because I was convinced one of the times he tried to fry up one of the fish he caught the whole place would go up in smoke.”

“Fair enough,” Rick chuckled as they reached the cabin’s porch.

He led the way inside where Kate scuffed her boots against the welcome mat and unzipped her coat as she slipped through the narrow doorway. She gazed around for a moment, but then immediately walked into the kitchen on the left. “Oh, yeah, this one is just like ours—only smaller,” she proclaimed upon looking at the stove.

“So you know all its secrets,” he concluded, hopeful.

“Let’s hope so,” she said, smiling at him over her shoulder before setting to work. Rick tried to ignore the tingles that smile sent down his spine as he leaned against the kitchen table, wanting to stay out of her way and feeling a bit awkward that he was unable to assist.

Rick watched as Kate checked dials and plugs and arched her body over the top of the range unit so she could presumably check the wall connection. Then with a quick, “Be right back,” she walked outside the cabin once more and he could see her walking around the house through the small window above the kitchen sink. She was outside about five minutes before she returned with a frown.

“Well, I have good news and bad news.”

Suspecting he knew the bad news, Rick concluded, “You know what’s wrong, but can’t fix it.”

Giving him a sad smile, she said, “No, I can’t. For whatever reason this stove uses a different fuel tank than the one hooked up to the water heater and furnace and that fuel tank is very empty. The owner must have forgotten to have it refilled; I’m sorry.”

Rick huffed out a breath. “Well considering its Christmas Eve I don’t think I’m going to get a fuel delivery

“No, I don’t think so.” After a moment she suggested, “You could make a fire?”

His immediate reaction was to cringe. “Ah… at the risk of sounding unmanly: I don’t know that I could successfully cook chicken that way without either burning it or giving myself food poisoning.”

She laughed and nodded, “Yeah, I guess I couldn’t either.”

They stood side by side in the tight kitchen silently for a moment before Rick said, “Well, that’s okay. I’ll just cut my trip a little short and go home first thing tomorrow morning, but I really appreciate your help, Kate.”

She stared at him for a few seconds before trapping her bottom lip between her teeth and glancing over to the kitchen counter, where his packet of chicken and vegetables were sitting beside the stove, waiting patiently for him to finish prepping them. After nearly twenty seconds of silence she finally concluded, “C’mon—grab your food; you can use my stove.”

Now taken completely aback, he held his one hand up defensively and stammered, “Oh—I—I wasn’t-”

“I know, but it’s Christmas, right? C’mon.”

Nodding, he hurried to the counter and began gathering what he could and shoving it back into the shopping bag it came from. “Thanks—thanks so much. Should we drive to your place, or…?”

She nodded. “Might as well. It’s only going to snow harder as the night goes on.”

Ten minutes later, after grabbing his food, other necessary cooking items, and his coat, Rick was following Kate’s directions to navigate his Mercedes towards her family’s cabin. The journey was short and she soon was leading the way into the warm, rustic space. Her cabin was significantly larger than the one he was renting. The living space was more expansive and from the length of the hall he could see in the rear, he guessed it had three bedrooms not just two. Unlike his cabin, which was decorated with mostly generic fishing or rustic décor, this was clearly a family cabin with knickknacks and family photos adding to the warmth.

“Oh, wow this is really nice.”

Kate shrugged as she took off her coat, “It isn’t much…mostly just a little escape.”

“Yeah, but it’s still great—homey.” He smiled at her for a few seconds then put his grocery bags down while he took off his coat, too. “Well, uh, I won’t take up too much of your time. Can I make you something, too? As a thank you.”

“Oh, um…” she hesitated for a moment then threw her hands out to the side in a ‘giving up’ gesture. “Sure, why not. I saw you had chicken and vegetables…”

“Yeah, I was going to put them all together in a stir fry.”

“I have some rice to make.”

“Perfect!”

For the next few minutes they both busied themselves in the tight kitchen. It was a delicate dance as there was not too much counter space around the stove, even though it did seem, as Kate had implied, that the space had been renovated recently. They managed it well enough, and after Kate started the rice, Rick chopped the vegetables and dumped them into the skillet before turning to the chicken cutlets and slicing them as well.

“So, tell me Kate, what is it that you do?”

“I’m a police officer.”

His brow arched as he pushed the chicken off the cutting board and into the pan. “Really? So you’re used to saving people in distress?”

She laughed airily. “Something like that.”

He washed his hands at the kitchen sink and then, after turning off the water, he told her. “I’m an author.”

“I know.”

Startled by her words, he did a double-take in her direction and nearly dropped the towel he was using to dry his hands. “You…do you read my books?”

Kate’s cheeks turned slightly pink as she confessed, “I might have skimmed through one or two.”

Assuming her dismissive comment was just meant to be a way to avoid some embarrassment, Rick smiled as he turned to their skillet meal, picked up a spatula, and began pushing around chicken and vegetable pieces so nothing burned.

So, Kate was, presumably, a fan of his books. How else would she have recognized him from just his first name? That also made sense. Since she was saving him from going hungry that evening he hadn’t wanted to question it, but he did find it slightly odd that a young woman such as herself would invite a strange man back to her cabin, which was isolated in the middle of nowhere. Maybe that was just his writer’s mind used to spinning dark scenarios but…well, thinking about his daughter, he hoped that she would not make the same decision in a similar circumstance for the sake of her safety. Finding out she was a police officer made a bit more sense; her training presumably made her feel more comfortable with self-defense, but if she knew him as a public figure, she would have been more likely to feel safe around him—not that he would have ever thought of hurting a woman, but sadly he knew that was not always the case with others.

Feeling in the mood to tease her a little bit more, he said, “So that’s why you wanted to have dinner with me? Because I’m one of your favorite authors?”

When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that she eyed him skeptically. “I’m not sure that’s what I said.”

“It was implied.”

She laughed. “I see.”

Silence hung in the air for several moments before he changed the subject with, “So you live around here?”

“No, Manhattan.”

Now even more pleasantly surprised he proclaimed, “Oh! You’re NYPD?” After she confirmed with a nod, he said, “That’s amazing. How long have you been on the force?”

“Oh, not long. I graduated the academy in August.”

“Ahh well if you’re willing, I’d be all too happy to hear all your rookie stories as we eat.”

Ignoring his question, she instead offered, “Do you need help with anything? I feel bad I’m just standing here.”

“Nonsense,” he said casually. There really wouldn’t have been room for her to join him at the stove; the space was too tight. Besides, he didn’t mind. “I really enjoy cooking; it helps me think and plan my writing usually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, because it keeps my hands busy, but my mind free to wander.”

“Hmm…makes sense.”

A few minutes later their meal was complete. Rick divided the stir fry and rice between two plates and then carried them over to the small dining table tucked in the corner of the room. As he set the plates down, he noticed a photo hung on the wall of a family: a man and a woman with a young girl about seven or eight standing in between them. The photo was clearly older and faded, and both adults wore sunglasses, but the woman had long dark hair and distinctive jawline and the man lighter brown hair and a soft smile. All three wore lifejackets and the lake—presumably the one located just a few feet away—could be seen behind them.

“This is you and your parents, I assume?” he asked, thumbing towards the photo.

“Yeah.”

“Where are they at? Don’t tell me they took a tropical vacation without you?”

She gave a soft smile as she picked up her fork and began to eat. “No, nothing like that.”

“You’re lucky, though—getting Christmas off,” Rick said in between bites. He didn’t imagine that was common for a rookie officer.

“I have to work Christmas day in the evening. And…I’ll be in Times’ Square on New Year’s Eve,” she explained.

“Oh! And you’re…not excited about that?” he guessed based on her tone. She gave him a look and he let out a small laugh. “Ah, right, I suppose not.”

“It’s only supposed to be fifteen degrees out!”

He nodded, sympathetic. “I know, I know; I don’t envy you at all. I’ve done it a few times as a spectator and it was never too bad as long as I’d had plenty of alcohol to warm me up.”

“I’m sure.”

They ate quietly for several minutes before Rick asked, “Did you spend your Christmases up here when you were little?”

“Mmm no. This place was usually my dad’s escape. His father and uncles purchased it when they were all young men. Now, they’ve all passed, and the cabin became my father’s, so he’s the one with the most connection to it. We used to come up here at least one week every summer to do things with the lake and just get out of the city, but almost never in the winter.”

Rick considered her comments as he slowly chewed his meal. He wondered why, if Kate’s father was so connected to the cabin, the elder man hadn’t joined her for the holiday? Furthermore, why hadn’t her mother? Sensing the question may have been a bit too personal to ask with that moment, he decided on a slight change of subject.

“I, um, I think I need to come up with some good holiday traditions for my daughter. I used to make sure I got her picture sitting on Santa’s lap every year, but this year she outright refused because she’s figured out that Santa isn’t real, so she’s a little salty about the whole ritual and refused to humor me. That’s literally what she said to—‘Dad, don’t expect me to humor you.’”

Kate laughed. “How old is she?”

“Six.”

Kate laughed again, harder that time. “Six?!”

“Yeah: six going on twenty. I think she’s already too smart for me and I fear that will soon be a pretty big problem.”

Kate nodded. “Yeah, it might be. Where is she spending Christmas?”

Sighing, Rick set down his fork and said, “With her mother. Last year, we’d just separated, so we tried to have a joint Christmas and it…didn’t go so well.” He involuntarily shivered at the memory of the wildly inappropriate phone conversation Meredith had with her new lover during their shared meal and their fight thereafter. “So, this year we decided to split the winter holidays: I got Thanksgiving and Meredith got Christmas.”

She nodded and said, “That must be hard.”

Unable to verbalize just how much his heart was breaking, Rick tried to stay positive. “I suppose it’s unfair of me to complain. I have primary custody, so I have Alexis nearly all the time, but Christmas…it’s my favorite holiday. My favorite time of the year. What’s worse is I had to send her to California by herself. I did get to take her through security to the gate and the assigned chaperone was extremely nice and gave her a candy cane but… it was still really hard to walk away.”

“I can’t imagine,” Kate said. When he met her sympathetic gaze, Rick did have to admit to feeling slightly better. Still, his heart was heavy.

“Sorry to bring the mood down.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t even worry about it.”

Finishing his glass of water, Rick continued with, “It’s, ah, why I came out here. Being in my apartment without her just felt like something that was too sad to bear.”

“I get that. It’s one of the reasons I’m not doing Christmas in the city this year.”

Surprised, his brow rose sharply. “You have a child?”

“What? No—sorry. Sorry. My mother…died.”

His eyes widened and his chest constricted with sorrow. Though he knew he didn’t do it directly, Rick did feel bad about bringing up a subject that was sensitive. “Oh—oh Kate I’m so sorry.”

One corner of her lip tugged upwards in a sad half-smile in acknowledgement of his comment. “This is the fourth Christmas without her. She, ah, died in January. Just after the holidays and…and my dad and I haven’t really celebrated since. He…we don’t even talk about it. We just don’t celebrate, which is…well, it is what it is, but being in the city makes it harder—walking past all the places where we made memories together as a family. And then this year…” She paused for a moment and took a deep breath, almost as though she needed to reset herself. “The reason I even got to take off work at all was because I had to take him to rehab.”

“Oh god,” Rick sighed, now feeling even worse. There he was complaining about not getting to spend a few days with his kid, who would be back before New Years’, and poor Kate had lost one parent forever and the other was struggling to the point where he was unavailable to her as well. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Kate.”

She gave him an appreciative smile. “It’s been bad for a while. I knew it. We both knew it. He’s been trying to get a handle on it on his own and been insisting he didn’t need an in-patient program, but it just wasn’t working, you know? Finally, I got him to agree to go as a Christmas present to me. Some present,” she added wryly.

“It will be if it helps him,” Rick pointed out in a soft tone.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know that. It’s just…hard.” She sat for another moment before pushing herself up out of her chair suddenly, walking over to the refrigerator and pulling out a cardboard carton, which she held up to him. “Want some?”

Even from that distance, Rick could clearly read the word “Eggnog” printed on the side and said, “Sure. Why not? It’s Christmas Eve.”

Kate poured two small glasses and handed him one. At the first sip he choked, his palate shocked by the alcohol, which he hadn’t expected since she poured it from a store-bought container and to his knowledge the store-bought kind was alcohol free. “Wow,” he croaked. “Your recipe could give my mother’s a run for her money.”

“Sorry—I should have warned you. I, uh, got a little heavy handed last night when I poured the whisky in the container.”

He shook his head in as an indication he didn’t mind, but he did make sure to take a more delicate sip the next time.

“So, your mother—will you see her for Christmas?” Kate asked.

“Ah, no, actually. She’s an actress and she’s touring with a holiday production. Their shows run through January second and she’ll come back home after that.”

“And your father?”

“Never met him,” Rick replied casually, taking another sip of eggnog.

Kate’s eyes widened. “Really? Never?”

Rick bobbed his head, knowing his untraditional backstory was a bit hard to process for most people. “Yeah; I don’t even know who he is. I was the, ah, product of a one-night stand.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Rick shook his head. “’s okay. I’ve had over thirty years to process it.”

“Still…to never know a parent…I can’t imagine.”

He nodded. “Most can’t—and I’m glad. It’s certainly not something I would wish on anyone, but yet it’s also something that made me who I am.”

She nodded approvingly. “That’s a very healthy attitude, Rick.”

He raised his glass in salute. “Well, thank you.”

For the next three hours they drank the remainder of the quart of eggnog and chatted about an amalgamation of subjects: their jobs, the holiday season, life. Though he didn’t exactly acknowledge it at the time, looking back Rick was almost stunned how easy it seemed to talk to her about anything. Over the course of his life, he’d found himself having quick and easy connections to people he met several times, but each one was unique in its own way. With Kate, their conversation flowed effortlessly. They bounced around to a variety of topics and then back again without feeling like the conversation was too disjointed or nonsensical. It was all smooth and connected, like she was one of his oldest friends in the world instead of a woman he’d met by pure chance the day before.

Once the eggnog was finished, Kate offered Rick some water since he was driving, but he declined when he realized how long they’d been talking. By traditional standards it wasn’t that late, but he felt as though a holiday such as Christmas Eve had an exception. He didn’t want to displace whatever existing holiday plans she had for herself that night, particularly since she was returning to work the following day.

“I appreciate it, but I really should get out of your hair.”

“Ahh, yeah okay. I…I don’t think I realized what time it was,” she said with a light laugh.

“Yeah me neither. I, um, I really appreciate you letting me use your stove.”

She nodded. “Of course. Thanks for making dinner. It was…nice to have someone to eat with.”

Smiling, he agreed with, “Same,” and then stared at her for a moment, unsure of the proper way to say goodbye. A handshake seemed far too impersonal, but would a hug be too much? Deciding he shouldn’t over think it and that it was probably okay considering the intimacy of their conversation, he stepped up and gave her a brief one-armed hug, which she thankfully reciprocated. “Merry Christmas,” he said as he backed his way to the door, where he’d left his coat.

“Yes, Merry Christmas.”

Now zipping his coat, he reached for the door handle and smiled back over his shoulder at her, “Goodnight Kate.”

“Goodnight, Rick,” she echoed. Then, with a nod of his head, he disappeared out into the freezing snow-covered night.

#castle #caskett #castle fanfiction #castleficathonwinter2020 #12PromptsofChristmas #my fic: 12 Prompts of Christmas

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siribear · 4 years ago

Text

with the paint job finished and dried, all that’s left is to prepare for the trip. the sun creeps overhead as minutemen continue to bustle about the castle. her people strap the minigun she took from the museum of freedom to the back of her new power armor; others load in enough ammo to take down another deathclaw.

meanwhile, whisper and deacon sit underneath a canopy, double, triple checking their usual weapons of choice.

‘you’re sure this old thing will protect you out there?’ whisper rolls the fabric of the hazmat suit between her fingers. the material has thinned and worn over the past couple centuries, and even now her hands come away with dust.

‘no rips or tears,’ deacon says confidently. ‘des and carrington looked it over.’

this time, she switches to the helmet. the surface is scuffed and dirty, but intact. ‘the respirator? all the valves work? does it - ‘

‘yes.’ he sets aside his rifle and snatches the helmet from her hands. ‘it’s not as sturdy as your walking death machine over there, but it’ll do.’

whisper frowns. ‘i’m just trying to make sure you’ll be safe, deacon.’

‘then keep you and that minigun between me and any glowing sea creatures.’

another minuteman drops by with a bag of supplies: more stimpaks than she can count, a few bottles of rad-x, a handful of radaway. they’ve already packed away their rations and ammo. now they’re down to basic necessities and however many rolls of duct tape whisper can find. just in case.

the longer they sit, the more anxious she gets. every step brings her closer to shaun, but she has to take those steps. ‘i’m sure no one would notice if we just snuck out now.’

‘with the power armor?’

‘sure. i’ll distract them.’ he stands and points in a random direct. ‘everyone, look over there!’

they share a laugh when a few minutemen do stop and look, only to stare at them when nothing appears. though whisper has to wave them off in apology, she feels her nerves abate, if only a little.

an hour later, she’s back in her quarters, slipping into a spare suit of underarmor danse found for her. the muted black bodysuit offers little protection itself, but danse had said it would make walking around in the armor feel a little less awkward. pulling on the gloves, she finds they fit well enough just over her wedding ring. a break between the wrist guards and gloves gives her enough room to reattach her pipboy. the needle stings more than usual going under her skin, thanks to the mottled black and blue bruise around her wrist.

somewhere, back at home, is a picture of nate wearing a similar suit under a set of combat armor.

all dressed, she returns to the courtyard. there stands deacon, just outside and away from the crowd, ready in his bulky hazmat suit. ‘well,’ he says when he sees her, ‘you look good.’

she adjusts her collar. ‘not as good as you, partner. are we ready?’

deacon nods his head toward the others, gathered around her new navy blue power armor. ‘they’re ready for you. careful you don’t get caught up in a parade.’

preston, sturges, ronnie shaw, and alan, who runs radio freedom, do look like they’re gathered with purpose. organized. preston better not have made this into an old minuteman ceremony she doesn’t know about. when she approaches, she asks preston the same question.

‘would have killed them to give ya a new suit of armor, huh?’ sturges puts a hand on the arm of the suit. ‘but she shouldn’t give you any trouble out there. she’s even an even better model than the one you picked up at the museum, and that survived a deathclaw, too.’

‘she gets the sturges seal of approval?’ she says with a hint of a grin. ‘maybe the brotherhood doesn’t hate me so much.’

‘but don’t take any unnecessary risks,’ preston argues.

‘can’t have the minutemen fall apart again so soon,’ ronnie chimes in. ‘not when you’re doing some actual good, here.’

whisper shakes her head. ‘if anything happens to me, preston becomes - ’

‘nothing’s going to happen,’ her second-in-command interrupts, shaken. ‘you,’ he says to deacon, approaching, ‘you’ll keep her safe.’ his tone brooks no argument.

‘of course,’ deacon replies easily, too easily, in preston’s opinion, because he frowns.

‘well then!’ sturges claps his hands. ‘let’s get you in this thing, boss.’

at the press of a switch, the back of the armor opens. arm and leg plates unfold, and she steps into it, fitting herself once more into the frame. the thin material does help, as danse noted, and the metal joints barely dig in with the protective padding the underarmor provides. sturges hands her the helmet and, because she has to try it once, she tosses it in the air and flips it like she’s seen danse do before. she catches it and clicks it into place, hiding the giddy grin she’s now sporting.

the heads up display boots up immediately, picking up information from her pipboy and feeding it into the edges of her vision momentarily. she checks the fuel levels, and it’s at - ‘uh, sturges? this is reading me at half fuel right now.’

‘ah, right. we took your old fusion core from the other set of armor. figured it’d give you a little more oomf to get you out there.’

‘everything else good in there, partner?’

‘one thing,’ she says, almost to herself. there was one modification she specifically asked sturges to handle, other than the new paint job. she flips on her headlamp and aims at the ground.

‘little early for the floodlights, isn’t it?’ deacon asks, looking at her. but when she directs him to look down, at the picture that will be lost when the light is cast into the distance, he smiles. in the center of the light, in a shadowed grey, is the silhouette of the railroad lantern. she turns off the headlamp, pleased.

‘everything looks good in here, then. time to head out.’

their escort takes them to the edge of the castle’s new neighborhood. minutemen fall in line behind preston and the others walking behind her and deacon. it is a parade, in its own right, but the entourage breaks off before travis can start a rumor about the minutemen marching through the commonwealth.

and then it’s just her, deacon, and the sound of metal footsteps on broken pavement.

whisper leads the way west across south boston, sticking to the flat roads. anything to conserve fuel. december hits the commonwealth differently than she’s used to. by her birthday she’d normally be bundled thicker clothes. long sleeves, jackets. but now that it’s passed, she’s content in the underarmor, and deacon hardly looks cold in his suit.

beside her, he stretches his hands upward. ‘you’re carrying me there if i get tired, right?’

she holds her arms out in front of her. ‘feel free to hop on whenever, as long as you return the favor.’

‘sure thing, partner. as long as i get to take that armor for a test drive.’

‘what? no. after all i went through for this, you’re carrying me and the armor.’

he takes a deep breath. ‘did i ever tell you about the time i carried a whole suit of power armor on my back?’

deacon proceeds to tell her a story of how he once saved a brotherhood soldier in the capital wasteland. ‘couldn’t get that hatch to open,’ he says, pointing toward the back of her armor. ‘so i had to carry him all the way back to the doctor in rivet city. mind you, that took hours.’

she doesn’t try to keep her indulgent hum even remotely convinced. he continues anyway.

‘dropped him off at the entrance to the city, where he finally woke up. didn’t know where he was, just remembered almost getting gunned down by super mutants. so, i told him that i,’ and he flexes, ‘brought him all the way to the city.’

‘let me guess, the city threw you a party for being a hero?’

he shrugs. ‘nah. he accused me of being a synth and held me at gunpoint until the guards stepped in.’

‘i see. there’s a lesson in there somewhere, isn’t there?’

his gaze catches somewhere to their left. the landscape is different. even from the road, she can see the metal fences and structures obviously erected long after the war. even the coast looks too close, with buildings half swallowed by the sea. massachusetts bay university. whisper remembers a few friends that went there. along with the poisoning incident that appeared in the news.

‘what’s over there?’ she asks when deacon steers them further away.

‘institute took over university point a few years ago,’ he says, gravely. ‘get too close, we might run into the stragglers.’

there’s something more to it, she figures. he’s too tense for fear. but she doesn’t fight him, instead finding a road outside jamaica plain to travel further west.

just outside milton general hospital, whisper picks up a faint distress signal. deacon stops his patrol of the area as she plays it through her speakers.

‘if anyone is out there, please... help.’ deacon sits next to her, face illuminated by her pipboy light. ‘what’s going on out there? i felt the ground shake, and nothing since. it’s been... four days, i think?’

‘this is... pre-war,’ she says. felt the ground shake. they’re still a few days away from the impact sight, but even from sanctuary hills, she remembers the sound of it. loud above even the grind of the elevator. a crack of thunder, then the shockwave coming over them like a wave only seconds later.

‘i’m so thirsty. please... somebody, hurry.’ the message ends with the woman crying, and the jarring monotone voice notifying them that the message will repeat. and it does. trapped in the jewelry safe - please help.

‘hey, shut it off.’ deacon reaches for the dial himself when she doesn’t move. ‘it’s been hundreds of years. you can’t do anything for her now.’

she snaps out of it. ‘i know. i know, but - ‘ four days. longer? no water, no one to save her. trapped in that small hole in the wall, like - like her neighbors in the vault. suffocating in their pods. and she just - slept. ‘i know.’ travis comes over the radio and flips to a new song. she lets it play through the night.

days later, they finally approach the edge of the glowing sea. blown apart trees and scattered car frames cover the area. the air grows thick with yellow-tinged fog. her geiger counter clicks slowly in her ears.

deacon snaps his helmet into place, the respirator hissing as it begins to recycle the irradiated air. ‘shit. never really thought i’d have to come out here.’

‘you can still turn back.’

he rolls his shoulders. ‘the walk back to hq would be boring without you. come on. sooner we get in, sooner we get out. maybe des will finally approve my vacation request after this one.’

stepping into the glowing sea is like diving head first underwater. whisper leads the way, branches crunching underfoot. with every step, the ground looks more cracked. ‘if not, you could always be a full-time minuteman.’ she pushes aside the shell of a car so they can pass. ‘i’ll approve your vacation myself.’

‘well, then.’ he gives her a salute. ‘yeehaw, sugar.’

through the fog, the entire landscape looks the same: stretches of fallen highway, buried underneath irradiated dirt; pools of orange water, feral ghouls wading through the sludge. one group notices them, and though whisper tears through them with the minigun, her geiger counter becomes a stream of noise instead of a steady click. deacon raises a hand in a thumbs up, unscathed.

they hardly speak, for fear of attracting unwanted attention. neither of them can tell what’s over the next hill, or the next. is that the sound of her steps or something else? did she breathe too loudly in her helmet? even though there’s nothing around them, whisper feels surrounded. even deacon is silent as he scouts ahead. quieter than her, he presses forward, keeping them away from roaming deathclaws.

though he can scout over hills, she has the advantage when the land becomes flat. a scanner built into her power armor picks out enemies in the distance, too far for him to see without a scope. when the yellow fog camouflages another pool of feral ghouls, she leads them out of the way.

as night descends upon the sea, it becomes almost untraversable. whisper keeps them at a slow pace with her night vision, but deacon is forced to stick close. a church steeple becomes her beacon in the night as she aims for a place for them to stay. though it’s half-buried, when she looks through the hole in the roof, she can see the sanctuary is still safe. mostly. she picks off the few feral ghouls she can see through the holes.

‘we can climb in through the steeple,’ she tells deacon, crouched at her hip. ‘clear out the last ghouls and we’ll be safe for the night.’

‘and how are you getting in there? you step out of that suit, you’ll die.’

he’s right. though the power armor has kept her safe from most of the radiation, her rads are still ticking upward every second. she won’t last an hour without it.

‘i jump through the roof, obviously.’ she turns on her headlamp, illuminating the broken roof for deacon to see. it’s definitely large enough for her to fit through, and with the armor she won’t even feel the impact. ‘the steeple is big enough for me to climb back out in the morning. it’ll be fine.’

they aren’t left with very many options. the area is dangerous enough during the day, but at night? and with deacon unable to see, they have to stay somewhere. there’s nowhere else nearby that she can see, either.

deacon laughs, shakily. ‘you first.’

they find a room underneath the stairs for shelter. a priest’s room, it looks like, with a now-broken desk and filing cabinets full of faded sheet music and sermons. a wooden cross still hangs stubbornly above the desk.

‘feel at home?’ whisper asks, taking up the space near the door. if anything gets curious about the gunshots, they’ll have to go through her solid power armor first.

‘ha-ha,’ he intones. ‘haven’t heard that one before. you’re as bad as glory.’

‘don’t compare me to her. you’ll hurt her feelings.’

deacon settles himself in a corner, helmet hitting the back wall with a dull thunk. whisper remains standing, fearing if she sits she’ll never get back up. ‘we’re in a church, sugar. i’m a deacon. anything you want to confess?’

‘bless me, father, for i have sinned,’ she begins, and deacon leans forward to listen. ‘i made fun of a brotherhood paladin, once, for sleeping in his power armor. and now i find myself in such a situation.’

‘i see.’ deacon sighs heavily, playing the part. ‘your penance will be to step in his shoes. rest in your armor for the night and pray we don’t have to do this again,’ he finishes, breaking character near the end. she laughs.

‘amen.’

her alarm wakes them just before dawn. deacon climbs the steeple first, stairs creaking beneath his feet. he calls to her when he’s outside, and then it’s her turn to mount the stairs. she climbs quickly, each one threatening to give with every step. but it’s only when she ducks under the steeple roof to jump to the ground that it gives. the tower leans, wood cracking beneath the power armor’s weight. she jumps, landing hard on her knees. the wood snaps, tower crashing to the ground.

‘uh,’ she says, getting to her feet. ‘that’s not blasphemous, is it?’

deacon raises a hand, makes the sign of the cross. ‘you’re forgiven. but let’s get out of here before something comes and smites us.’

they head west, toward a building barely visible on the satellite view of her pipboy. given that they have little information to go on, checking any potentially sealed building sounds like their best bet. there’s nowhere for him to survive anywhere else out here.

keeping up their previous strategy, they make quick work across the sea. any heavy footfalls that don’t belong to her drive them slightly off course but they continue to follow her map west. they’re almost upon it when deacon holds out his hand to stop her.

‘do you hear that?’

whisper holds her breath. her scanner doesn’t pick anything up on the horizon, but she does hear... something. a slight rumble, then - rain. light patters turns to a downpour in moments. she relaxes, thinking it’s just the storm, until something shifts in her peripheral. she only has time to turn before a giant creature bursts out of the ground.

she sidesteps an oversized stinger before drawing her minigun. the thing steps back, large, black claws held high and threatening. it looks like a scorpion, but its size easily dwarfs a car. its body is covered in a hard, black carapace, broken up only by its exposed joints, glowing a faint green. the thing screeches, high and piercing, and whisper brings the minigun to life, firing directly into its face. green blood splatters across the ground, but it doesn’t stop the thing from charging.

deacon fires, hitting the stinger hard enough to send it plunging into the ground instead of her face. whisper continues to spray into its head, bullets flying wildly. the scorpion squeals again, and a roar answers to her right.

a deathclaw stares the trio down with pale red eyes.

‘the building!’ deacon yells, and she spins without a second thought. stinger still stuck fast in the ground, the scorpion doesn’t follow immediately, but the thundering footsteps that follow tells her they aren’t the only ones running.

she looks behind her to see the deathclaw tear into the scorpion. its massive jaw closes around the tail, snapping it off with ease. though it tries to fight back, the damage it sustained from the minigun keeps it from lasting very long. another roar, victorious, the albino deathclaw turns its attention toward the fleeing humans.

deacon turns the corner on the building’s second floor, easily accessed from a nearby hill and a hole in the wall. she hears two gunshots before she’s upon him, two feral ghouls dead on the ground. the footsteps grow closer. he runs toward an elevator at the end of the hall, and she pries open the doors to - an empty shaft.

rifle held ready, he turns back toward the hall and the albino deathclaw, slowly turning the corner. no need to chase prey it knows is cornered, apparently. but whisper has other thoughts. she grabs deacon without warning, scooping him into her arms, and jumps. they land on top of the elevator cart, the crash echoing through the shaft. above them, the deathclaw roars, thundering down the hall. it tries to fit through the elevator door. head first, then shoulders, then -

‘down!’ deacon yells, lifting the elevator hatch at her feet. this time he jumps and she follows, down into the basement. the deathclaw roars long and low, but never follows.

they head deeper into the building’s basement, clearing any feral ghouls in their way. ground zero, she thinks with each one they kill. each feral wears the tatters of office suits and dresses, likely still working before the bombs fell. too late, before anyone saw it coming.

she doesn’t know when, but her geiger counter stops clicking at the constant presence of radiation. she double checks it, just to make sure it’s working, but her screen still shows her status. and if those numbers are correct, then likely she and deacon need to stop regardless - their rads are at the edge of ‘healthy’ levels.

stepping out of her power armor in a back room, she breathes a sigh of relief. she unzips the top of her underarmor and peels herself out of the sleeves. the cooler air of the basement chills the sweat on her skin. after a moment, she returns to the main room they’ve made their shelter with a bundle of food and radaway. deacon sits, legs outstretched, in front of a fire he’s built out of old papers. whisper rests her legs atop his as she prepares to hook up their bags of radaway.

deacon flinches when she pulls away from inserting his IV. ‘what happened to you, hero?’ he reaches out toward her neck, fingers brushing against her throat, down her arm, to her wrist. she follows the trail he leaves, and sees what he means. illuminated by the firelight, her bruises stand in stark contrast to the orange glow against her skin. ‘maybe i should have gone with you, if this is what going with the brotherhood gets you.’

‘danse stopped it from being worse,’ she says, leaning back to set up her own radaway.

‘is this the lead up to, you should have seen the other guy?’

her stomach churns from the radaway. ‘considering the supermutants are dead now?’

‘i should have gone with you. the brotherhood - ‘

‘i know! look, i don’t like the brotherhood either, but danse and his team - ‘ well, haylen, if anyone. ‘ - they’re not bad people. if i hadn’t found preston first, i could have been in the brotherhood.’

‘you wouldn’t have lasted.’

‘how do you know?’

when he shifts, his knees brush against hers. she refuses to move. ‘i know what kind of person it takes to be in the brotherhood,’ he says as she stares him down.

‘deacon - ‘

he sighs, and turns the basement of the abandoned offices into his confessional. ‘you’ve put up with enough of my bullshit. if there’s one person i should come clean to, it’s my friend, right?’

whisper swallows, throat as dry as her bag of radaway. she removes her needle as he does the same. ‘i’m a liar. everyone knows it. i don’t try to hide it, because the truth is: i’m a fraud. to my core.

‘when i was young,’ he tilts his head. his eyebrows rise just above his sunglasses. ‘a hell of a long time ago, i was... scum.’ his voice cracks on the word, voice rough. she wants to tell him to stop. it’s okay if she doesn’t know if it hurts him too much, but she finds that she can’t.

she wants to know.

‘i was a bigot, like the ones in the brotherhood.’ he tosses his empty bag into the darkness. ‘a very violent bigot.’

‘like the brotherhood?’

‘worse. i ran with a gang in university point.’ he pauses, lets the pieces fall into place. that’s why he was looking at the old university. running away from his past, not the synths. ‘we called ourselves the UP deathclaws. for kicks, we’d terrorize anyone that we thought was a synth.

‘we kept egging each other on. started with some property damage. broken windows, broken fences. graduated to some beat downs in back alleys. then, inevitably,’ he swallows, ‘a lynching. the claw’s leader was convinced we’d finally found and killed a synth. looking back, i’m not so sure.’

she blinks. doesn’t say a word. nods when he continues to stare. she isn’t running away, not from him.

he hangs his head and continues. ‘i broke all contact with my brothers, after that. time passed, i became a farmer, if you can believe that.’ he laughs, smiles, wistful. then, ‘one day, i found someone.’ he removes his sunglasses and looks to the dark ceiling, blue eyes bright. watery. ‘she saw something in me i didn’t know - didn’t think - was there.’

‘what was she like?’ she asks, curling her legs against her chest, resting her head on her knees.

‘barbara,’ he sighs her name, ‘she was... she just was.’ he looks to her. ‘when she smiled, it was like those old magazine covers. her eyes - ‘ with a hand on his face, palm pressed against the bridge of his nose, he laughs softly. ‘ - we were trying for kids.’

she sits up straight, at that. a family. he wanted -

‘then one day, it turns out, my barbara? she was a synth. she didn’t know that. i certainly didn’t. i don’t know how the deathclaws found out, but... there was blood.

‘they killed her,’ she says, knowing. blood - nate’s vault jumpsuit turning red with it.

when he croaks out a, ‘yes,’ she slides in next to him. barely touching. ‘i don’t remember much clearly after that. i know i killed most of the claws.’ he laughs again, this one broken. ‘i must have made a big impression because the railroad contacted me. figured i’d be sympathetic, seeing that i lost my wife. and, well, what i did afterwards.’

‘you know i know what that’s like.’

‘yeah. you against kellogg? that was - i should have said something sooner. i’m sorry. i don’t even know why i lie anymore, but i can’t tell the truth. everyone - tom, des, you, even carrington - they deserve to be in the railroad.

‘i don’t. i’m everything wrong with this whole fucking commonwealth. but you’re the only friend i got. i don’t deserve you being okay with this, and i’m not asking for forgiveness. i just... figured you should know who you’ve been traveling with.’

‘i know who i’ve been traveling with,’ she says quickly. takes her own sunglasses off, just to prove it. ‘you’re deacon. the one friend i’ve got in this place. all that you’re doing with the railroad, everything you’ve been helping me with - you’re trying to make up for your past. that’s admirable. i’m on your side, you know?’

deacon shifts back against the wall. ‘well, i’m not really the hugging type so. good talk, partner.’

and yet, he doesn’t move away when she shifts that extra inch closer to lean her head against his shoulder. nor does he move to put his sunglasses back on. instead, he rests his head against hers. ‘john,’ he mumbles, eventually. ‘my name’s john. feel free to forget that in the morning.’

together, they watch the fire burn down to embers before bedding down, back to back in the shadowed corner of the basement.

#siri drabbles #oc: alice ward #series: we will all go together when we go #HUFFS i know i stole 99.9% of the game dialogue but i love the delivery of the lines #we love a sad deacon #and the knowing of names #when did i get over 100k words who am i

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northernxstories · 4 years ago

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Trading in Dignity

It was shocking how quickly it all came to an end. It started in the 2020s and within a decade, after the third global pandemic, they were faced with the worst yet. All the science deniers, those who refused to distance, wear masks and all of that ... well, most of them caught it. Some of them caught it without showing a single symptom. That didn’t matter because approximately eight months after you were infected, after you thought you were all well again, your lungs started to bleed. Nothing could make it stop. You drowned in your own bed, at night, sometimes in mere minutes. Most of the time, you just went to sleep and never woke again. It was grim.

The survivors were rare and the disease progressed so quickly, institutions fell almost overnight. Whole cities became ghost towns. Survivor teams started sweeping, looking for children, infants, pets trapped in houses and then supplies. Survivors came first. There were a lot of supplies. Not that many people.

She was rare and she knew it. Immune. How? No idea. Luck? Genetics? It didn’t matter at the end of the day. The world grieved and cities were abandoned for smaller communities. It wasn’t like in the horror movies or post-apocalypse fiction. No one ate people, bought and sold people, or any of that ridiculousness. For the most part people tried to help one another. Older people banded together to raise the children who survived. With the population reduced in the span of a decade to less than a third, it became very clear that every single human was a necessary addition. Funny how prejudice and differences in sexuality mattered a whole lot less when the end of the human race was at stake. All that shit became real irrelevant real fast.

In a spate of particularly weird coincidence, some communities lost more of a certain type of people. The east coast of North America for example had nearly no men left. It was startling, You could travel for days, scout many towns and communities and find less than a dozen males. West of the Rocky mountains however, the opposite was true. The average was 1 self-identified female to 20 self-identified males (like people were checking - get real). Some communities the ratio was more like 100 to 1. In the mid-west, prairie region, well there was almost no people left there at all. No one knew why they were so hard hit but the coasts survived. Perhaps it was just population distribution. Scientists would be studying it long after she was dead.

So, in a world where you lived with almost 100 men in your community and the number of single women could be counted on one hand, and you wouldn’t need every finger? Yeah. This was fantastic.

Again, it wasn’t like the books though. She wasn’t chained, or bound or really mistreated in any way. Nope. None of that.

She was a strong survivor. She had a thriving garden and a number of animals of her own. Her house was cute as hell and in really good shape. Her grandmother had taught her to sew and the rest she learned from books. The little town was powered by a local dam that kept the predatory animals such as the dog packs, at bay with electrified fencing in key areas, including around her goats whom the wolves thought looked super yum yum.

But even she needed supplies. I mean, was she going with a raiding party into a city to get tampons and advil? Ummm ... no obviously. That was terrible. That’s how people died! Those places were not safe. It took rigging and expertise she did not have to be on a scavenger team. Plus do you think they would be cool having one of the few women in town go out with them? You’re dreaming if you think that’s gonna happen buddy and no one went without a team. That was a fucking death wish.

So, she had to shop. She had to trade. Fact of life. They didn’t want her tasty preserves or baking. Nope. That they could do for themselves. She traded the one thing that few had around her - her pussy. Fucked up right?

Prostitution was the oldest game in the book for a reason it turned out. So she went into the store and put in her order for supplies that she needed. Flour, tampons, books for example. There was a tally and a calculation conducted. She was a modest girl. It rarely went above two visits. Then there was a jar. Yup. A fucking jar, with names on it. Men who had paid into the credit system.

“One” The merchant stated bluntly marking it in his book.

“One?” She repeated, a little surprised by how light the requirement was. Her list had been pretty long.

“Yeah, Bernice fell pregnant, she’s off the list until after and maybe permanently since the Bennett brothers are putting serious court to her. All remaining traders just had their value go up.”

That’s what they called them - traders. Like she was wheeling a cart through town with little jars or something instead of letting men cum in a minimum of two holes per trade. It was awesome. By the way, that was sarcasm in case you can’t tell.

“Nice.” She replied with a nod, “I hope the baby is healthy.” That was the customary statement these days when anyone fell pregnant. You see, the virus didn’t exactly go away and infant mortality was high as fuck. It was depressing as hell. She didn’t know a single woman who didn’t half dread getting knocked up, even if they really wanted to be a mother. It was a huge risk and all too likely to end in just more painful loss. Yay for survival.

“We all do.” the merchant stated sincerely as he pushed the jar toward her. Sliding her hand in, she let slips of paper, card stock that was refreshed so often you couldn’t get a feel for any one particular person, just dance through her fingertips. You just had to stick your hand in and pray to whatever god you might actually believe in that you didn’t get one of the gross old coots who thought bathing was fucking optional. Last time she had one of those she had about forty baths and still felt disgusting.

She pulled out the card and took a deep breath before flipping it over. Both her and the merchant looked surprised. “Well good luck there. Didn’t even know he paid in.” The merchant marked his book and then nodded. “I’ll get your order in as soon as ... you have about four days before you’ll have had to pay up.”

That was another thing, the man had to confirm you had ‘paid’. However, if that man lied, he was off the books permanently. Not only that but the other men in town usually paid you a visit and beat the holy hell out of you. It was an honour system true but most followed the rules, out of honour or out of necessity, it didn’t matter at the end of the day. Men who might only get one fuck a year with a ‘willing’ woman weren’t about to lose the privilege because you decided to get fucking cute about it.

“Thanks ... Have a good day now.” She replied with a sincere smile. The merchant was a good man after all. He never put his name in and if he found out one of the men was cruel or unkind even, he’d return their credits and tell them to start getting real used to the sweet feel of their left hand because that was about all they were getting from now on.

She walked through town, that name flipping through her mind. It was just so unexpected.

Well no time like the present she supposed. She had had a bath last night, given the old cunt a tidy and all that. She had a debt to pay and she just knew she wouldn’t sleep right until it was paid off good and proper. Yes, it was a little fucked up but that was the system and she had lived with it for a while now. Strangely you kinda got used to it. Most men were pretty appreciative about it.

Walking down the main street, she noted the weird combination of old and new that had blended together in this world. Cars jerry-rigged with solar panels to charge the batteries travelled on the same road as horse-drawn carriages. Kids wore sneakers cause there were still plenty of those left in old stores but paired them with clearly homemade clothes and then spiked them with leather jackets kitted out with studs and chunks of cell phones used as artistic decoration.

She walked until she hit the slight outskirts of the main town area. She could see him now, his arm lifting as he pounded the steel into shape with a large hammer. Farriers, blacksmiths, knife-makers, welders and so on made a nice living in this new world. You could always tell who they were because they smelled like fire and had arms the size of her entire body it seemed. She licked her lips and straightened her back. For the first time in well over a year, she had to admit that she might just be looking forward to this one.

“Hey ...” She greeted. He put down the hammer and shifted up his eye protection, squinting at her in the bright light of day. “Hey.” He replied back, his voice a little gruff. “You looking for something?” He asked.

“Ummm ... pulled your name.” Turns out all the cool things she was saying in her head since pulling his name had just fallen right on out of her brain. Well I wasn’t cool before, she thought bleakly with a tinge of amusement, Guess I’m not now either. Maybe the next apocalypse.

He stopped, frowning lightly as if he wasn’t sure what she was talking about and then his expression cleared and his eyes grew wide. “Oh.” he said. It was actually more of a sound. He cleared his throat. “I ... I ... yeah. Now?” he queried.

When she nodded, “If you have the time. Otherwise ... I can come back.” I can come back. What the hell, was she Uber Eats? What the fuck is wrong with her?

He shook his head, “Now is good.” He tipped his head toward the interior. “Let me shut this down a bit and then I’ll wash up and be in.”

He seemed nervous. Why did she like that so much? Maybe she was bored of the older guys who just had you bend over or would just unzip when they saw you coming. No effort man. No fucking effort. Literally. Wham bam, you’ve paid for your groceries Ma’am.

Mr. Muscles here better put in some damn effort at least.

#trading in dignity #bedtime stories #stories to read by the northern lights

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thegaytwentysomething · 5 years ago

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“Harleys In Hawaii”: A Retrospective on Katy Perry’s Best Single in 5 Years

Though she triumphantly claimed last year that she’s “Never Really Over”, Katy Perry seems...somewhat over. Yes, she’s still making millions a year from American Idol, royalties from her greatest hits, and successful, visually stunning world tours (as recently as 2018), but it doesn’t take a pop music aficionado to know that the Katy Perry of 2010 is long gone. Her star, honestly, has been nearly taken from Ariana Grande, the new it girl of pop. Everything Katy touched in 2012 went straight to number one, she consistently topped hottest women alive lists, and her career seemed limitless. In fact, Katy Perry probably reached her true peak a few years later in 2015 with the most-watched Super Bowl halftime show of all time, which was the very best of an icon distilled into 12 minutes of pure pop culture greatness.

Since then though? Well, it’s been mostly all downhill. 2016’s stand alone Olympic single “Rise” underperformed. Then, while “Chained to the Rhythm”, her first proper debut single in the almost 4 years since 2013’s “Roar”, made an impact at #4 on the Hot 100, it faded much more quickly than previous ubiquitous hits. While “Chained” remains a great Katy Perry track complete with perhaps one of her greatest music videos, Teenage Dream era included, the rest of Witness saw Katy stuggling to redefine herself as “woke” and futuristic. Much like messy eras Bionic and ARTPOP before it, Witness was not a bad album, but it was overly ambitious and divisive. Worse for Perry, this challenging album came right when she needed a proper comeback nearly 4 years since releasing proper new music. Matters were made worse by troubling media interviews, setting hopes high with a “purposeful pop” promise, and truly cringe-worthy performances. Witness saw Perry artistically lost at exactly the time she needed to be focused. A truly awful pixie cut even took away her trademark sex appeal, effectively turning a pop princess into a goofy aunt in a matter of months. By the time the cringe-worthy music video for “Swish Swish” dropped, it seemed as though all of Katy Perry’s magic had vanished.

With a nearly career-destroyingly bad era behind her, Katy had a lot of ground to make up in 2019, and she started her comeback by testing the waters with a new sound with Zedd on the collaboration “365”. While the black mirror themed music video, good vocals, and stellar hook were promising, the track’s lack of a proper chorus and somewhat uninspired production just wasn’t good enough to make up for the destruction Witness left behind.

Katy tried again for a comeback with May’s “Never Really Over”. The song was promoted with the focus of a lead single, but with ambiguity as a safegaurd in case it underperformed. While the song had moderate impact, some longevity, and some cool factor among Carly Rae Jepsen-y gays if only for its distinct fast-paced hook, the song was not a smash hit. It lacked the special feeling of a Katy Perry lead single and it more or less left the public wanting something better. Close, but no cigar.

Late summer’s “Small Talk”, a quirky, over-hyped, juvenile Charlie Puth co-write track, quickly took Katy back to square one. Just like at the end of the Witness era, she seemed anything but cool with this lackluster single.

Then, something miraculous happened, she dropped a focused, unique, concept track that blended the sexy sound of younger stars Camila Cabello and Ariana Grande with Katy’s iconic pure pop sound. That track was not the hugely important lead single of KP5. No, it was the mostly forgotten “Harleys In Hawaii”, the third or fourth in a long line of 2019 stand alone Katy Perry singles. In fact, this song missed the Hot 100 completely and peaked at an embarrassingly low number 10 on the Bubbling Under Chart.

What a shame too, since this song is a real joy for any pop fan. It starts with an island-tinged acoustic guitar hook that continues throughout the track. Quickly, a modern baseline drops as Katy Perry sings about a sexy Hawaiian romance. Falling in love and riding off into the sunset is what Katy Perry at her peak was all about, and this track embodies that vibe incredibly well. The melodic pre-chorus replicates the very best of Katy’s Teenage Dream era prechoruses making use of her dinstinctive falsetto to build up to what we expect to be a huge chorus. However, it isn’t a huge chorus. Rather, we get a catchy, but relatively chill chorus almost in the same way Lana Del Rey’s similarly beachy “West Coast” changes pace and vibe from a fast-paced prechorus to a slow, melodic, and psychedelic chorus. This decision to give the song a mellow chorus is perhaps the single musical reason why the song didn’t smash, but nonetheless, it makes the song distinctive and fresh. It is apparent that Charlie Puth and Katy Perry were trying to emulate the breezy repetition of the chorus of Camila Cabello’s then-recent massive hit “Havana” in an attempt of writing a commercially successful hit. What they ended up doing though was creating something much more artistic, and less commercial. The reason for this is the chorus is not quite so punchy and in-your-face as “Havana”’s. Rather, it blends a singsong-y melody over a chill keyboard chord progression creating a truly breezy island vibe. By comparison, in its chorus, “Havana” has those iconic, bold, clanging piano chords, a big hip hop baseline, and a ridiculously simple melodic repetition. The effect makes “Havana” perfect for the hip-hop obsessed radio landscape of 2017-2020, while “Harleys in Hawaii” stays a little off the beaten path. To me, this makes “Harleys” cool, mellow, and unique, but perhaps it was a little too cool, mellow, and unique for a top 40 landscape dominated by one trap-infused note.

Nonetheless, the song is undoubtedly Katy Perry’s best song since “Dark Horse”. It is expertly crafted with focused melodies, a dynamic vocal performance that ranges from sexy whispers to powerful belting, and thematic yet mature lyrics. The engine rev bridge would be a tad cliche if it weren’t the perfect set up for one of the best vocals in Katy’s discography in the form of an epic 10 second belt complete with breathless note changes and flawless runs. I’m actually convinced the song’s title just might have been a little too kitsch for the general public. She sings about riding Harleys in Hawaii as though it were a universal experience like having sex in a car or playing in the water at the beach, and I think that’s where the song failed to make the connection with the hearts of the general public. That said, the song’s kitschy title is actually backed up by a mature sound, smooth vocal performance, and the incredibly timeless underlying message of wanting to escape to an exotic paradise with your love. In short, it is a great Katy Perry song. Great songs aren’t always hits, however, and stand alone comeback single attempt number 4 was about 4 comeback single attempts too late for a struggling Katy Perry.

Will we ever get a true Katy Perry resurgence and a true return to form? I’m feeling doubtful at this point. Then again, I was doubtful Lady Gaga would ever have a true pop smash hit again and she managed to do that this year by going back to an old sound and reinventing it for 2020. “Harleys In Hawaii” offers a glimpse at what a Katy Perry comeback could sound like. This time, however, if she ever wants to really come back, she needs to take the quality of “Harleys” with the universal message of “Never Really Over” and the promotion of the unfortunately bland true KP5 lead “Daisies”. We’ll have to see how it goes for her, but regardless I’m glad that we got a real treat in the form of this truly underrated song from 2019.

#katy perry #harleys in hawaii #daisies

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 5 years ago

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The Night the War Ended

Donny Donowitz x Fem!Reader/ Postwar AU :)

Requested by @asconfusedasonecanbe

sorry it's kind of long, I got a little carried away with it xD

@war-obsessed, @owba-chan

Let me know if you guys wannabe tagged in these! <3

France, 1945

"DONNY LET'S GO."

Donny pulled his arm away from Omar's hand as he set off one last round, the fire beginning to devour the nazis.

"DONNY."

Donny turned around and faced Omar, "What?!"

Omar patted Donny on the chest once, over his pocket. The pocket he'd been keeping a ring in for a year. "What about y/n?!"

Donny stopped frowning. He looked back at the nazis, and the fire that had trapped them. He looked into Hitler's unrecognizable face, then back at Omar, who had untied his explosives. “For Y/n, Donny...”

Donny nodded once, and followed suit.

The two basterds made it out, and were halfway across the street when the cinema collapsed under hell’s fire.

Omar turned to Donny, "We did it...it's over!" Omar couldn't have been happier. Despite being one of the younger basterds, he had a wife back in New Jersey, and he couldn't get over the fact that he'd just had a hand in ending the war.

Still, Omar's word's were distant. The fire was surreal. It seemed like a lie, but Donny somehow felt empty.

He'd dedicated the last few years of his life to the war, to the basterds, to this...

He never thought he'd survive.

But if he did, he couldn't survive without you.

It was all he could think of while the Basterds celebrated in the streets with the rest of France that night. It was all he could think of every time he saw you looking up with your smiling eyes.

It unsettled him to think of going back to the same ordinary life he had before the war. There would be congressional medals and interviews, and gawking crowds, no doubt...but when it was all over, when it was all said and done, he'd go back to Boston, and back to work in his father's barber shop. All the basterds, like every other soldier, were expected to just pick up where they left off...

As much as he'd missed home, it wouldn't be the same without Hugo's glares, Wicki's advice, Aldo's stories, Utivich's backtalking, or Omar's snoring. It wouldn't be the same without you by his side, watching his back, and being his saving grace.

That had been home for so long.

Come sunrise, you'd all be split up. Most of the basterds lived somewhere on the east coast, it wasn't too hard to get most of them together, but a reunion just wasn't the same.

And...Donny kept remembering Omar's question, 'What about y/n?'

What about you?

You were from the West Coast.

The Bay Area was a long way from Boston... You wouldn't make it to most of the basterds' reunions...

He couldn't imagine a morning without seeing your eyes. He couldn't imagine a night without hearing you say "G'night, sarge,' and seeing your playful wink.

As he watched you cheer and laugh with the others, he wondered why he couldn't feel like that...

Then Omar caught his eyes.

Donny raised his eyebrows in apprehension, but then looked back at you. He couldn't lose you. Once you went home, things would change forever.

He walked right up to you, and blurted it out. He'd thought about it. He'd thought about it for longer than he'd care to admit, but it didn't quite come out as he expected. He'd thought about it from the moment he met you...He never thought he'd actually make it out of the war. Especially not after his assignment to Operation Kino.

He got a little embarrassed every time he remembered how he proposed. He was still covered in blood and ashes, smelled like smoke and champagne, still not clear-headed, but barely drunk. He looked at you, the words didn't come out the way he always hoped they would, but....they did get the job done. "You wanna get married?"

The moment the words slipped through his lips, he felt like an idiot...

But, you smiled, and kissed him. He may have been an idiot, but he was your idiot, and he was the happiest basterd in the world. At that moment, he didn't think he could be any happier.

But, things didn't get easier. The war ended for everyone on that street that night, but in his mind it didn't. You were his wife, living in his hometown, everything was almost a dream. But sometimes, his hands felt empy without the bat. Sometimes he got suspicious when he woke up in the middle of the night, and it was too quiet. Sometimes he got nervous, expecting to hear boots marching, or B-17s flying overhead, or nazis whispering in the trees in the yard by the window.

The only thing that helped him sleep was remembering you were by his side. He was at ease when he held on to you...

'At ease....' Sometimes he could still hear Aldo's voice running through his mind. Donny would realize he was standing at attention, his hands behind his back, waiting...

He'd have to blink a few times, and remember he was standing in his livingroom, where it was safe and warm. He'd only relax when you planted a kiss on his cheek...

"Donny?"

He'd been staring out the window again.

He blinked "Yeah?"

“Donny.”

He turned to you, “Sorry, doll...”

You smiled a little, and rested the palm of your hand against his cheek. "It's ok, Donny..." He smiled back a little, and felt calm.

"What's going on, doll?"

You smirked a little as you slipped into his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, "Well, just between you and me, sarge..."

Donny smirked... It always drove him crazy when you called him that. Even in the actual war... and you knew it.

He gruffly held you by your hips, which you realized might not be the best time for it. You rested your hands over his, "Don, wait..."

He quickly pulled his hands away. Donny was usually more on the rough side, but he was always careful to never actually hurt you. He'd never forgive himself. "Doll-"

"No, no, it's ok, it's just that..." You trailed off, wondering how to break the news to Donny.

"Somethings' wrong..." Donny was afraid. He knew things were too good to be true. After all, he had you...

You shook your head, "Nothing's wrong, Don, don't worry..."

"You're driving me crazy doll, what the fuck's going on?"

"Well..." You smiled softly at him as you pulled his hands over your belly, and rested yours over his, "Just between you and me....soon it won't just be you and me."

Donny froze for a second, trying to figure out if he heard and understood that right. He looked at you, and realized he did. He smiled. He hadn't smiled like that in a long time. "A baby?! We're having a baby?!"

You nodded and he kissed you, and picked you up. Donny didn’t think he could have loved you more than he already did, but he was wrong.

A few months went by.

The Basterds were all together, and visiting you and Donny. You were celebrating the second anniversary of the war's end.

Normally, you would all meet in New York because half of the basterds were from New York, Connecticut, or New Jerseey...but...you were due soon, and although you wanted more than anything to go, Donny didn't want to risk a thing.

So the basterds decided to come to you.

It was almost perfect...

By about five o'clock, you ran out of ice. Donny left for few minutes. Seventeen to be exact. It was a five minute walk there. It took seven minutes to get the clerk to shut up. It took another five minutes to walk back.

When he did get back, everyone was gone...some of the glasses were turned over. Hugo was there.

He was... smiling?

Donny didn't doubt that Hugo snapped. The basterds always joked about that whenever he smiled.

"Hugo...where is everyone?"

"Let's go, Donny."

"Go... What? Where?!"

Hugo rolled his eyes, "With everybody else."

"Ok....but where is everyone?!"

"With y/n"

"Where's Y/n?!"

Hugo smiled and remained silent.

"Hugo. I'm gonna ask you this one more time. Where is my wife?!"

"Having your baby."

"WHAT?!"

Hugo chuckled, "Calm down, they're already on their way to the hospital."

"HUGO. I NEED TO BE THERE."

"Stay calm."

"I AM FUCKING CALM. YOU STAY CALM."

"I don't look calm to you?" Hugo chuckled a little as he patted Donny on the back, "Don't worry, Donny. Hirschberg's driving. Utivich is in the back with her and Wicki. Omar and Aldo somehow fit with them."

Donny calmed down a little, knowing Utivich was your best friend, and tended to be able to keep you calm....then he realized Hugo said Hirschberg was driving.

"HIRSCHBERG?! YOU LET FUCKING HIRSCHBERG DRIVE MY PREGNANT WIFE TO THE HOSPITAL?!"

"Ja...." Hugo slowed down....realizing the mistake.... Hirschberg was a little hotheaded when it came to driving. He once ran over seven nazis in a stolen vehicle because Aldo told him to 'hurry up.' He could only imagine how stressed he was with everything that was going on in that car.

Donny dropped his keys and started running down the street. He was cutting through the streets and alleys, followed by Hugo.

Hugo had never seen Donny run so fast in all the time he'd known him. At one point, he lost sight of Donny and had to ask for directions to the hospital. By the time he arrived, he followed the familiar sound of the basterds' voices, and there was a mob of nurses threatening to either sedate Donny or call the police on him if he didn't sit down.

Donny gave up. His status as a war hero didn't matter. He sat by all the other worried, anxious fathers scattered around the waiting room. He rested his forehead in his hands as his legs shook anxiously. He was there when they pulled a bullet out of your hip. You were there to pull him out of the fire. He wanted to be there when you needed him most...

"At ease, soldier, at ease." Aldo chuckled as he sat by Donny.

Donny smiled a little as he turned to Aldo. He stopped shaking his leg.

Aldo smiled a little. He had a little one running around back in Tennessee, just over a year old. The basterds often joked Aldo didn't waste much time. "You know, it's normal. I was the same way." A doctor came out, and they all held their breath.

"Val Vega?" One of the other men in the waiting room rushed out, Aldo chuckled seeing Donny slump down and sigh in exasperation, "How long's it take Aldo?"

"Weellll...." He cracked his knuckles, "Sometimes an hour or two, my honey done took damn near a day." He smiled in nostalgia, and took out a small folded photograph of him and his daughter. "You know, everything changes when you get a little one running around."

"Change?"

Aldo nodded, and Donny noticed the love in his eyes as he focused on the small picture, "You forget about everything else the moment you look at that child... That baby so tiny, you gon' be scared of it. You gon' be scared of all the things that could ever go wrong, and you gon' be scared of all the things you could, and will do wrong...but you ain't ever gon' hurt that little 'un, and you ain't ever gon' let nothin' happen to it."

"But-"

"Donny, I know you. I know you took care of 'em boys back in France. I know how you took care of Y/n the moment you laid eyes on her. I know you ain't gon' let nothin' happen to that child."

Donny looked down at his hands. For years all he'd done was kill nazis. Aldo knew what was going through his head.

He was in that same place not too long ago...

"Now, look here Donowitz, you made one helluva soldier, one goddamn basterd of a sergeant. You paid off your debit. You took over one hundred nazi scalps. But this is a whole other ballgame, son. You always gon' protect y/n, though between you and me, she ain't need much help...aside from that, you gon' be protective of one life, and one life only." Aldo chuckled, "Well.. till you get another one on the way."

Donny smiled a little, wondering what that perfect life would be like...

Aldo smiled and sighed, "Point is, Donny, you did your due. You pulled your weight. It's time for you to let go of that. We all had to."

Donny looked around at all the basterds. They were pacing around, joking, and smoking together. Sometimes it threw him off to see them all without their boots and knives, and a scalp or two around their belts.

It was odd seeing Hugo in a sweater and a smile, and not undercover with a scowl. It was odd to see Utivich in a clean button up without a drop of blood. It just seemed so surreal.

He wasn't complaining...

He smiled a little, as Aldo went on, "You got yourself one fine life here, Donny. You just gotta live it. Here, and now."

Donny nodded, as he rested his elbow on his knees, and clasped his hands together, and laid his chin over his knuckles. He mumbled, "Here, and now," desparately glancing at the clock.

He almost didn't realize that it was over. All the basterds crowded around him, smiling and cheering him on. His knees were a little shakey when he stood up.

"Donovan Donowitz?"

Donny muttered something under his breath, then nodded, "Yeah that's me..."

"Congratulations, Mr. Donowitz, it’s a boy!"

Donny's heart skipped a beat, his jaw dropped, and he turned to his brothers in arms, "It'S a bOY!!! ITS A BOY! YA HEAR THAT?!"

After the cheering died down, Hugo planted something in Donny's hand.

It was a baseball.

It had all the basterds' signatures on it, and it was tied in a bow.

Omar smirked, "For the kid, not you."

Donny smiled softly, and put in his pocket. "Thanks fellas....I...I gotta.."

Utivich was impatient. He knew that as uncles, they were next in line to see you and the baby... He pushed Donny, "You gotta go."

Donny nodded, "I gotta go see Y/n!" He pushed past the basterds, the doctors, and the mob of nurses finally disassembled, and let him through.

He flung the door open, and his heart stopped the moment he laid eyes on you...

He had never seen you so tired, so worn down, and so beautiful. He saw a blue bundle in your arms...

"Y/n..."

You looked up at Donny, as you gently rocked the baby, and smiled, "Hey there..." You held up the baby's hand, as if he were waving to Donny.

Donny staggered slowly to you.

He pulled hair away from your face, and gasped and spoke softly when he laid eyes on his son for the first time... "Holy shit, Y/n..."

"Donny! Sh...you can't say that in front of him..."

Donny clenched his teeth, "Shit! Sorry! Fuck.....Dammn it! I mean..."

You giggled a little, though it hurt, Donny never failed to bring a smile to your face, "Ok...I think you get an A for effort."

Donny reached for a tissue, and patted away some sweat from your face, "You feel ok, doll? You need anything? Anything hurt? You want me to-"

You shook your head as you looked down at your son, "I'm ok, Donny. Everything's ok. He's ok. More than ok!"��

You looked at him in the eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he looked at ease.

Really.

In Donny's eyes, he saw more than the love of his life, and his baby. He saw more than the family and life he always wanted. He saw what he fought for.

You didn't have to say goodbye to each other every morning and fight nazis. That stopped two years before. He didn't have to fight back adrenaline and fear to see another day. He didn't have to fight the urge to stay awake from sunset to sunrise to survive. All that ended two years before.

Donny didn't have to fight for anything except for his family.

"Do you want to hold him?"

Donny looked up at you, hesitant for a moment as he once again looked down at his hands.

You rested one hand over his, and whispered, "It's ok, Don. You're his pop...you and I are the last ones on eath to ever let anything happen to him. It's ok."

Donny smiled a little as he took his baby in his arms, careful to hold up the head. He laughed a little, out of sheer happiness, "Hey, kid..."

It was as if a blind fold was ripped from his eyes. He had everything. He had nothing to be afraid of. He was Donny Donowitz. You were his world. His son was his sky. No one would take that from him.

Not even an army could.

He smiled, his shoulders relaxed as he sat back, cooing at his son, and trying to convince you that naming him after "Teddy fucking Williams," was a great idea.

That night, the war was finally over in Donny’s eyes.

Donny could rest now...

Until 3AM, when Lee got hungry. (You won the name argument.) Other than that, you and Lee were the reason Donny's war finally ended.

Four years later, on Lee's birthday, and on the sixth anniversary of Operation Kino's success, the basterds were all together again, this time by Aldo's cabin up in the Smoky Mountains.

Donny held on to his new baby, his four month old daughter, Bridget with his left hand, and wrapped his right arm around you, as Lee played with Aldo, Hugo, and Omar's kids.

The day before he met you, Donny never expected to love anything more than killing nazis, and his bloody bat.

The night he met you, he never wanted anything more than to end the war with you by his side.

When he got what he wanted, he somehow felt empty...but seeing his family, the brothers he never had, and the love he'd never lose finally living at peace in the world he fought to save, Donny realized he had what he never imagined. He was happier than he'd ever been in his life.

As he rocked his daughter to sleep, he kissed you on the lips. He owed his life, his freedom, and his happiness all to you... He may have repaid his debt to Aldo, but he'd always owe his love and his world to you. As Lee laughed and ran around, and the basterds laughed around a fire like the old days, Donny smiled. He kissed you on the cheek, and sighed in relief as he took it all in.

Donny knew this was it.

He had all the people that mattered by his side, and a life that he fought so hard to protect. Donny smiled, knowing that it would never feel empty again.

#donny donowitz x reader #Donny Donowitz #Inglourious Basterds #Quentin Tarantino #aldo raine #ww2 #smithson utivich #omar ulmer #hugo stiglitz #aldo the apache #the bear jew #wilhelm wicki #hirschberg

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joshslater · 6 years ago

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Summer with Uncle Bob

I don't even know how many years ago I last saw uncle Bob. His small cattle farm in Oklahoma is like 30 hours drive away from Tacoma, and we couldn't afford to fly, so the visits had been few and far apart. Now at least I am old enough to make the trip on my own. A three day greyhound bus trek down the west coast to LA and then inland through Phoenix to Tulsa. But even in my sleep deprived state there was no mistaking uncle Bob. He looked just as I remembered him, a caricature of a cattle farmer. Despite being my fathers younger brother, he looked way more imposing with his broad, rough body barely contained in his Levis jeans and Carhartt long sleeve shirt. And a John Deere cap on top it all off.

He picked me up at the bus station in his ludicrously oversized truck. Unlike in the coast states the wear showed he actually needed such a vehicle. He tossed my bags onto the flat bed and we jumped in for the 2+ hour drive to his farm. Although the sun was mercilessly shining at us, and the scent of cow, diesel, man and dashboard mixed, I was getting less tired. Bob appeared genuinely happy to see me, and wanted to know as much as he could about my life.

I told him about mum and dad, my sister, our home. I told him about the few friends I had, our interest for engineering and how we competed in robowars. I told him about school and what subjects I like and don't like. How I excelled in math but never seem to get my growth spurt to do anything right in PE. I told him about the bullying that had gotten worse every year as my oppressors had outpaced me. I told him about beatings and the "accident" without witnesses that December that put me in hospital. I told him how my friends begun to stay away to avoid having an accident themselves, or be witness to one. I told him that his invitation to spend the summer with him was why I hadn't killed myself.

- We haven't seen much of each other, but we're all family here. I want you to know that you can always call me if you want to talk. There will always be a bed waiting if you want to come down here and get away from everything. No one will bother you.

We shared a silent moment.

- But not this time! I can't get away from a livestock farm for long. The only reason I could pick you up is because Tom and Sib expects you to pull your weight while here. I know it will feel like a punishment, but I'm not going to give you something you can't handle.

The farm was really two farms that had joined at some point. Bob and Cathleen lived on the larger of the farm houses, while Tomasz and Sbigniew, or Tom and Sib as everyone called them, lived in the smaller farm house at the opposite side of the farm. Both had immigrated from Poland. Sib had been a farmer there too, and Tom had been in the army.

It was late afternoon when we arrived at the farm. Tom, Sib and Cat had heard the truck approaching and were all gathered to greet us.

- So before we do anything else we have a little surprise for you.

Bob took the lead, walking us to a farm building. When we entered I realized that it was the slaughterhouse.

- We only use the abattoir for our own need. Everything we sell is trucked away live. I thought, we can't have you kill a bully, but we can kill a bull. Cat and I thought it would do you good to have some grade A protein over the summer, so this is going to be your bull. I reckon we'll get 400 lbs in cuts from it, so that's how much meat per day, math wiz? - Eh. 5 1/3 lbs per day I think.

I had never seen a bull being slaughtered before, and hadn't really wished for it, but man was it interesting to see. They made it look so easy, keeping the bull calm up until the slaughtering bolt went into its brain. Then they all worked together to saw and cut the carcass down into pieces. Holy shit so much blood. Bob explained every part of the process and what kind of cut you could get from everything. I helped with putting the pieces in boxes or vacuum seal it in plastic. Though a lot of work remained, mincing and cutting larger pieces into smaller, everything was boxed away in three hours.

Cat went to the house to cook dinner while Bob and I scrubbed down the room and all equipment. When we joined her in the house I was told that I had the entire upper floor for me. Cat and Bob only really used the lower floor. She had put my bags in a large bedroom. I had a quick shower, dressed nice and joined in for dinner. There I was presented with a deep fried dish called Rocky Mountain Oysters. I had never heard of it before, but it was delicious. Cat and Bob had chicken. She said she was on a diet and Bobs doctor had told him he needed to eat less red meat.

- Easy for him to say. I have price winning prime plus beef all around me. If you think I won’t join you a few times for steak you don’t know me.

It wasn't until after I had finished Cat laughed and told me that Rocky Mountain Oysters were deep fried bulls balls, from the bull we just slaughtered. Well, it tasted good! We then said goodnight and I looked forward to my first real nights sleep in three days.

It felt like no time at all had passed when Cat woke me.

- Good morning. Breakfast is about ready, so throw on some clothes and come down.

Breakfast was a bucketload of oatmeal porridge with cubed apples, almond and cinnamon.

- Eat it all up, dear. You'll need it.

And boy was she right. When Bob had said that I would have to pull my own weight, I didn't think he was literal. I didn't know there were so many things needing pushing, pulling and lifting on a farm. By lunch, steaks and mash by the way, I was exhausted. By dinner time, grilled hunk of meat with grits, I was more sore than I had ever been before. Cat didn't accept my first attempt to shower before dinner.

- You have to use cold water, otherwise you'll trap the smell of cattle in the pores.

Cold shower it was. It kind of felt good on my aching muscles, and was refreshing. That was short lived, though, because right after dinner I felt fatigue setting in and collapsed in bed for another dreamless night.

When Cat woke me the next morning I was in pain. Every part of me was in agony.

- Oh, you poor thing. I'll get you something to sooth you.

She went away and came back with a big, green tub of goo. As soon as she opened the tub the room filled with the smell of mint and eucalyptus. She took a piece of cloth, dipped it into the goo, and started to apply on my back. It wasn't like any pain relief cream I had ever felt before. It started with the same icy-hot feeling, but then it built and just kept on building until the feeling was worse than the muscle pain. Cat rubbed it in everywhere I had complained about before, and I didn't want to back out now. Once she was done I had a look at the tub. "Equine muscle pain relief" it said. It was made for horses!

- Someone smells extra fresh.

Bob quipped during breakfast. He pushed me as hard as the day before, and I never complained about sore muscles again.

The days settled into a familiar pace. Porridge, work, meat, work, meat, sleep. But the work itself was varied, with a thousand and one different things that needed to be done, and it was getting more and more bearable. Partly because I was getting better at how to do things, but partly because I was getting stronger. I had never thought of getting inside a gym, but perhaps it had been silly to wish for a growth spurt without doing anything for it. Well, it looked like it had arrived, because by the second week I needed new jeans and shoes, and my shirts, while stretchy, would soon need replacing as well. Sib handed me some old clothes that he had outgrown.

As I started to get a grip on things, learn how things work, and have the stamina to complete a day without collapsing, I started to have more time to do other things. Tom had purchased all the weapons he was trained on in the Polish army and practiced at least once a week, and he was happy to teach me how to shoot.

Sib invited me over to their house one evening. Tom and Sib had each half of the top floor as their private space and shared the downstairs. To my surprise, in one of the shared rooms was a full home gym.

- Why do you have a gym? Don't you work out enough as it is? - When workink, you do what you must. When workink out, you do what you can.

He then started to show me some of the exercises. Despite all my hard work on the farm, and doing very light exercises with Sib, I woke up sore in completely new places the day after. It became my new routine to go to Sib every second evening and do a half hour workout with him.

Tom, not wanting to be outdone, added various combat exercises. And not just kicking and boxing the sand bag in their gym. We could be loading hay in the middle of the day and he would start charging me screaming "TAKE ME DOWN!". He would usually come out on top, but some times I would get him. "Kurva! You did good." he would say.

Bob didn't have much time for things outside of work, but one day, with only a few weeks left of my stay, he took me to a small lake an hour away to fish. Usually my dad and I would go fishing in the summer in Washington, and I'm sure Bob knew that, so it felt extra special to me. Like a trip with a second father. It was a really nice day, hot enough for clothes to be optional, but not scorching. It was also nice to get out of the work clothes, put on some shorts and pretend to be a teenager on summer vacation.

We were standing in silence with our rods, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the still water. I realized that no one would recognize me. I barely did so myself, especially not after Cat had taken the hair clippers and given me a tight buzz. I had been so caught up in everything that I'd seen all the small changes but somehow missed the huge transformation. How could I be this tall, broad and muscled in just two months? Bob probably guessed my thoughts when he saw me lowering my rod and staring at my reflection.

- You're a clever boy. I thought you would had it figured out by now? - What figured out? - It's the beef. We inject the calves with Monsanto Taurus. It's a genetically engineered growth hormone. Builds muscle like crazy. By the time they are slaughtered it's out of the system though. - So how....? - The bull we slaughtered for you were injected two days earlier. Enough time for it to activate fully and spread into all muscle tissue, but not enough to break down.

It was clear that this was an important talk for Bob. He wanted to come clean with what he had done and he wanted my approval. Hell, if I wanted I could probably send him to jail. I looked at him and then back at my reflection. I had never really dared to think about my dream body, but if I had it would have been the summer tanned, hard muscled body looking back at me from the lake. This evening I will practice choke holds with Tom. What else can I wish for? Straight A:s and a million dollars? There was only really one answer I could give him.

- Moo.

We were done with all the good byes, at least so I thought. Just as I was about to walk to the bus, Bob handed me an envelope full of money.

- Whaa... What is that for? - Two and a half months of hard work. You've earned every dime. - Should I really carry this much? - You still don't get it, do you? No one will fuck with you.

He brings me in for a hug.

- Anyway, you need to buy clothes you can actually fit in. Do something nice for your mother also. - I will. - And tell my brother he's a weak ass. - I can't do that! - He's not gonna stop you.

Epilogue

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