#What if you were fucked by an alien and had a grotesque baby inside you? already a thing

[overly-hubristic-mad-scientist]

I desperately need to know the circumstances that lead to that weird period in like 70s-80s where they just made a horror movie about any and everything

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sick Little Games: Seventeen

"Babe, you okay?" Clint said, toweling off his hair and padding over to your makeup table where you're sitting and looking a little lost. 

"Yeah," you answer. You sound dejected. And not okay. But Clint knows better than to pry. Sometimes, you have to feel on your own before you can tell him about them. And after dodging your parents all week, he isn't surprised you're reluctant to go out tonight. 

He crosses the floor and sits at your vanity next to you, "So," he asks, amused, "What makeup look are we going for tonight? Emo moppet or Ethereal Fairy?"

You half shrug, "I was thinking sparkly Alien."

"Ooo," he teases, giving you a nudge and a wink, "Switching it up on me? I'm gonna be thinking I'm getting some strange when we get home."

You snort and lean against his side for a second, wanting some comfort. A little adoration. Some semblance of "okay." Clint obliges, pulling you closer. "Baby," he murmurs, "We don't have to go out tonight if you don't want to."

"But I can't hide here forever," you point out. 

Clint smiles, "You can if you want to. No one would judge you... Stirling is a gross person. What kinda person tries to picket a building full of superheroes?"

"You're all unclean, dealing with me," you murmur, looking away. Your face heats and Clint won't let you pull away. There's been a lot of reflexive shame. A lot of struggling. 

Clint snorted bitterly, "If they really believe that, then why are they trying to reach out?"

You shrug, "I'm recognizable now. I'm not their "missing" kid anymore... People are probably calling Stirling's ministry into question. Primarily since he built it on the back of "saving" kids because he couldn't "save" me."

"That's bullshit," he hissed.

You nod and take a deep breath, "Yeah. But now they expect me to swoop in and save the family ministry... denounce my evil ways. Whatever that means."

Clint smiles a little, "Well, I hope you don't. I kinda like them."

You laugh and kiss his jaw, "Horn dog," you scold, without any real heat. 

"Well, yeah," he said unrepentantly. You roll your eyes and start fussing with your makeup. He watches for a moment. He likes the transformation. It reminds him irresistibly of you getting ready for battle. It's methodical. Crisp and precise. But tonight he doesn't stay to watch you do the whole thing. He dresses and slips out, going to look for Steve.

"Hey Cap," he called, leaning on the doorframe of the kitchen. 

"Yeah?" he asked, stirring a cup of coffee. 

"Is there anything we can do to keep the picketers from harassing Y/N?"

"Legally?" Steve asked.

"Sure," Clint said.

"Not a fucking thing," Steve said, his mouth screwing up in distaste. "They filed all their permits with the city and as long as no one puts hands on her? There's nothing we can do... Legally."

Steve watched the wheels turning in Clint's head and sighed, "Look," Steve said hurriedly, "I don't like it either." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Y/N is a good girl. She's not... She's not any of the things they're calling her. For god's sake. She knits and bakes cookies. She's in bed by 11 and... well. She's a good girl. A sweet kid. She doesn't deserve this, but... The harder we fight it, the worse it's going to look like we have something to hide. And that... That's just gonna whip people into a bigger frenzy. Gain more attention."

Clint frowned, "She's afraid to leave to go out, Steve," he protested. 

Steve exhaled slowly, "I know," he groaned, "Nat's been up my ass about it too... Look. Legally? There's nothing I can do. Nothing I can be SEEN to do."

"So, if I do something..." Clint pressed.

"This conversation never happened," Steve said firmly. 

Clint smirked, and Steve said a prayer. A small prayer that whatever the archer did, at the very least, wouldn't lead to maiming. 

_________

Clint smiled when you stepped out of the elevator and whistled softly. "Sparkly Space Alien" was indeed a look. Your outfit was art. And so was your face. You were almost completely unrecognizable. At least. You would be to people that had pretended you were dead for over a decade. He steals a soft kiss and brushes and errant lock of hair out of your eyes, "You're so out of my league."

"It's fine, you make me laugh," you answer, snuggling against his chest and sliding your arms inside his jacket around his waist to be closer to him.

"Is that all?" he askes, feigning hurt.

"Sometimes you open jars," you quip, smiling up at him.

"Damn right, I do," he rumbles, "Especially after you loosen 'em up for me."

You smudge a kiss against his jaw, happy to be close to him. And in a way, glad that he isn't intimidated. That you can still tease him. That it still feels right snuggling into his arms to get warm. Or just for a cuddle because you're touch starved. You're also glad that he doesn't care if he finds you cuddled up with Thor. Or Bruce. Or both of them when he has to be away. Platonic cuddle piles had always been a thing, and Clint was okay with it. Though he liked being the first person you went to for comfort. 

Bucky leans on the pool table, scowling to himself as he cleans his nails. It's grotesquely cute. The way Clint folds you into his arms and coddles you. Giving you a moment to hide against his chest. The way you look up at him. Big bright eyes and glitter-dusted cheeks. Discordant looks. Clint's grey sweatshirt jacket and jeans. Your pop/punk/glitter alien nonsense. You look like you stepped out of a magazine and Clint? That boy looks like it's laundry day. Like he just threw on the last handful of clean clothes that he had. And not for the first time, as the protesters outside the tower start singing. As they settle in to start their candlelit vigil or whatever, Bucky wonders what the fuck Clint is actually going to do about this. Bucky also wonders why any of the people out there give a fuck if you can Abracadabra your way out of a mess. But as you walk by with Clint, tucked happily into his side, giggling at whatever he'd just said, bucky itches to snatch you off his arm and remind Clint that he'd had you first. That he'd been the first one to pin you to a bed. 

He'd seen the permissive way that Clint acted with you. The way he didn't bat an eye at you lying on the couch with people that weren't him. The way someone else casually kissing your cheek or picking you up to move you out of the road didn't phase him. He never so much as blinked at anyone, just swinging you off your feet. Like last week when the Hulk fucking took you and picked you up like a doll. Setting you on his shoulder while he scaled a goddamn building. All Clint had had to say was, "Aww man, why's he never do that for me? I gotta monkey fuck my own way up to a ledge."

"Hawkeye, not as cute to look at," Hulk chuckled, "No, make me cookies."

"Oh, come on!" Clint protested, "I taught you how to cha-cha slide."

"She teaches me how to Cupid Shuffle," Hulk answered, smirking. 

"Damn it!" Clint said, snapping, "Outfoxed again."

Nothing phased him. Nothing bothered him. He didn't even care if you had to flirt with someone for a mission. And Bucky thought that was ridiculous. If, he thought, mentally shaking his head and correcting himself. No, When you were his girl, that kind of thing wasn't gonna happen. You were gonna behave. You were gonna keep your hands to yourself.

_________

In the bar, you lean against Bruce and sigh, "Not gonna lie, I feel a little overdressed."

"You are a bit," he says fondly, brushing glitter off his arm where you'd leaned on him. "Still dodging protestors?" 

You nod and sigh, "Luckily, all the news tends to publicize is the pictures of me sweating a covered in blood or various viscera."

Bruce winced sympathetically and smiled a little, "I'm sorry, Y/N," he says, "If it helps, they can't do this forever."

"No," you agree, "But they can do it as long as Stirling's little cult keeps sending him money."

"That's gross," Bruce said.

"Tell me about it," you answer, taking a sip from your glass.

"My Lady," Thor ventured, "How did your mother find herself with this man? He doesn't seem to have any affection for you."

You shrug, "Being a single mom is hard, Thor," you answer. "Being a single mom with a checkered past is harder... so when Mama found Jesus, she found Stirling."

Thor nodded, frowning, "And then?" he pressed.

"And then... He became our new normal. He had money you know? And once they got married mama didn't have to work 16 hour days to keep food on the table. So. It didn't really matter if he said dinosaurs were the work of the devil. Or that everything we read or watched had to be "approved" to keep our minds pure. And it was... okay. Until I was 12."

Bruce made a soft, sympathetic noise and signaled for you to be given another drink. "That's when you got your powers, right?" he asked.

"Got my period and my powers at the same time... Worst fucking birthday ever," you grouse, "And I'm still shitty about it."

Thor smiles a little and sips from his glass, "That- yes, that would be bullshit."

You nod, "Not too long after that, Stirling put me and the bag my mama packed on a greyhound and shipped my ass to California... Figured no one would look for me there... Then they waited a few months, buried an empty casket, and spent over a decade cashing in all that sweet, sweet sympathy."

Bruce kissed the side of your head and sighed, "That's... That's a mess."

You nod, "Yeah. But at least I learned how to dress."

"That's true," Bruce said, laughing. You might be overdressed right now, but at least you weren't rocking unironic fanny packs messy, shapeless clothing. Your clothes actually fit you, and you looked comfortable. They all looked like lizard people who were struggling to figure out how their skin suits worked. 

"Say the word, my lady," Thor declared, raising his tankard, "And I will smite them!"

"No, smiting!" Tony yelled from across the bar, "Absolutely not!"

"He's talking about the protestors!" Bruce called back.

"Oh. Shit. Yeah. I'll help!" he says, throwing back a shot. 

You roll your eyes, "Easy boys," you caution, "Don't underestimate the power of zealots... Just... All we have to do is wait. Stirling's built himself a house of cards. And he's one stiff breeze away from losing it all."

Tags:

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[chalabrun]

*casually takes you up on this* how about Life Foundation [or insert any other scientific organization here] decided they weren't through with Venom, and as a result a very pissed off Eddie Brock has to break out of one of their cells all on his own, and sets half the building on fire, before he gets to open the container and lets his almost unresponsive alien seep back into the safety of his body, all while fighting off half the personnel of said organization? Pretty please? ^.^

Sorry for the late, but I hope you likey! 8)

Warning(s): G, someviolence

He’d been staying on a straight path in the months followingthe Life Foundation’s collapse. Granted, even after the expose on the Foundationhad gone through the wringer with the freelance editors he’d hired, newsstations across the Seaborg had been vying for the right to publish that story,offering him exclusive rights and a whole host of excesses he didn’t want.

No, the Eddie Brock Report would hold full culpability ofits own intellectual property, thank you.

That didn’t mean the fallout that followed wasn’t immense.Hell, it could be called nuclear.

Eddie had prepared himself for it, his own role and thebarrage of phone calls and e-mails that followed, these same networks mewlingat him for interviews and debates and a whole host of things a recluse such ashimself didn’t care to indulge in. If they wanted their panels and experts totear him down word for word, that was on them.

No, he had bigger fish to fry.

As his own, unaffiliated diggings had concluded, StarkIndustries had recently acquired a new asset that was unprecedented. Or rather,assets. One that had been rumored to be slithering through the exhaust vents ofthe sewage system had been recently captured and neutralized, the docket he’dhacked into had claimed. Hook, line, and sinker.

He felt its presence when it’d been captured, the agony.While his story on the Life Foundation distracted both the public and privateentities, he had to act.

Eddie had to somehow alleviate the terrible sense ofloneliness that had pervaded his mind for months.

Being a journalist like him meant you had to know how to becrafty and resourceful. Setting up an interview was easy, and the next logicalstep in this arc involving the Life Foundation’s downfall. As Stark Industrieshad bought and repossessed its assets, it seemed like the next move. He couldbe generic enough, asking sanitized questions and ensuring any articlepublished would only be good PR. While, internally, it would be to scope outthe place and make a plan of attack to free the symbiote that mattered the mostto him.

Tony Stark was as infamous as he was insufferable, Eddie ableto hide his disdain while they say within the executive’s spacious andcontemporary study, bleeding white as if it hid the grime at the feet of StarkTower. And of course that was the case. It always was.

Dressed expensively in Armani and leaning back in his chair,the initial parts of the interview were cut and dry. Routine, completely standard.Even though it went against his code of ethics to do anything but report thebald truth, this had been his ticket in. And there might be other stints in thefuture. Kissing ass was sour work, but sometimes, it had to be done.

“So, uh—Mr. Stark. While this has all been real illuminatin’and all, I think my readers are goin’ be to askin’: where’d all the symbiotesgo? Y’know, the whole reason the Life Foundation had been taken out in thefirst place.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t ask that first thing,Brock,” Tony said over distractedly tapping at the screen of his smartphone,which seemed superfluous considering the technologies at his disposal. Asidefrom being haughty and rude, that was. He tapped an earpiece in the shell ofhis ear. “Hey, Maria, you mind giving the paparazzi a tour of the labs? I’mgoing to be busy.”

Figured. Men like Stark seemed to seldom do the dirty workunless there was an iota of glory involved, hence the Avengers.

Maria Hill’s heels clicked on the floor as she appeared inher asymmetrical pantsuit, probably much smarter in appearance than mostpersonnel within the building. Stark didn’t bothered even saying some form offarewell before Eddie took her offered hand. “Maria Hill. I’ve heard a lotabout you, Mr. Brock. Why don’t you come with me and we can get you squaredaway?”

“Say, y’mind if I record this? Nothin’ real confidential,but I figured if you’re talkin’ t’me y’wouldn’t be revealin’ a whole lotanyhow.”

Maria combed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Surething. Just as long as you follow lab protocol, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

They seemed in agreement as they headed towards the elevatorat the far end of the office, away from a distracted Stark soon setting off onsome other important endeavor. Whatever it was grotesquely rich corporatistsdid in their free time.

Once inside, Maria scanned her thumbprint on a keypad andselected the corresponding floor. “Now, did I hear right that you were actuallythe host of the symbiote, Mr. Brock?��

Eddie felt his blood curdle in his veins at the mention. Didthey know? Was she on to his true intention? “Hm? Oh, yeah. Wide ride fromstart t’finish, but we put the bad guys away and I haven’t seen Venom since.Guessing he’s in alien heaven or wherever his type go off to.”

For the remainder of their descent to the subterranean labs,he felt jittery and clammy. Did he give any indication of feeling like anaddict going through withdrawal? Of how his body had craved and craved Venom’spresence until it’d driven him mad at night, until he made himself into afucking Trojan horse just to get it back?

His Other. His darling.

Speaking with Maria Hill was lulling her into a false senseof security, because if she suspected any foul play, she gave no indication ofit. When the elevatored pinged at the arrival to their destination, immediatelyhe was swarmed with a frenzy to find Venom, a feral want and need that almostmade him lunge madly into the fray of lab coats and sterile hazmat suits behindplanes of reinforced glass.

Then, there they were.

Eddie feigned a scholarly, pedestrian interest in them:taking pictures of the vividly colored symbiotes, taking scribbly notes with astylus to his smartphone until he almost cracked the screen, complexion lookingwaxy and pale in his desperation beneath the florescent lighting. White, snowwhite. All before he felt like his knees would buckle at the first sight ofsomething black.

Venom lay listlessly in its capsule, a bevy of scientiststaking notes and preparing what looked like experiments the Life Foundation hadtried conducting months before with gradual introductions of organisms to bondwith. Except, Venom never responded.

Eddie felt his palms sweat and shake, smartphone ready toslip from sweaty palms. “It’s okay, baby, I’m here,” he murmured under hisbreath, Maria glancing at him oddly.

“Mr. Brock…?”

“I’m real sorry for this,” he murmured apologetically beforeswiftly dashing Maria’s skull into the glass and knocking her out upon impact,the woman crumpling to the ground as the scientists scattered. Heedless ofwhatever airborne toxins could be present, Eddie wormed his way onto the labfloor and sprinted towards Venom’s holding chamber, grunting as he capsized itwithout preemptive warning and the symbiote uttered a low whine at theinterruption, but immediately relented when it realized who it was.

Eddie brought his foot down repeatedly until he crackedthrough the casing, enough for Venom to seep through and creep up his leg. Theblond grinned in elation, heart throbbing gladly when he felt Venom mergingwith his person, whooping joyfully as they bonded together once more.

“Been too long, darlin’,” he murmured affectionately beforesirens began blaring and security stormed the floor, amorphous limbs engulfinghis own and whipping outwards in a whiplash that pinned several to a wall topart while Eddie ran through freely.

Another attempted to stun him through, but Venom hissed andsnapped at them, lobbing back the capsules of tear gas launched into the room.

The windows, Eddie!

“Mask?” he asked aloud, grinning.

Copy!

Eddie broke into a headlong sprint before leaping, tuckinghis legs towards his chest as they broke through reinforced glass, shatteringlike shards of ice as the gulf of sky and the cityscape of Manhattan yawned cavernouslybefore them and they plunged into the world below, knowing the hell that wouldinevitably follow.

He didn’t care.

He had his Other back and felt like he could take on thewhole damn world.

[sunset-wishes-upon-hill]

Name (Kuroshitsuji - Sebastian x Yuri) (Christmas one-shot)

Spin-off to The Liars and The Soothsayer: FF I Wattpad

The whole London was cloaked in pure white, excitement tangible in the air as the Christmas bell rang throughout the bustling, crowded city street. The smell of the turkey, trimmings and sweet desserts lingered in the air. Eager children accompanied their parents, wrapped presents held under their arms. London thrived in festive mood; the usually dark, grey city has never been livelier and more colourful.

He’s unnerved, Yuri noted scrutinising his stiff, mechanical movements shifting through the company documents that needed to be approved and signed. She wanted to believe he was simply stressed and exhausted by the sheer workload he had to inspect and review – after all, no company will be more busier than a toy company during Christmas. Despite her own logical speculation, certain part of her nagging mind was prompting otherwise. Even with the lavishly decorated Christmas tree, umpteen wrapped gifts of all size and shapes, and the ménage’s anticipation of year’s end and start of brand new beginning, the air he carried was awful, tense and full of resentment.

21st century London never snowed. The wintery scenes was breathtakingly beautiful; she imagined filling the frozen pond with skating woodland creatures, a magical winter ball with dancing mice and a sleigh ride with polar bears. Everything that made Christmas the magical day people made it out to be seemed to be there. It was the first time Christmas day felt like Christmas rather than just a 25th December on the calendar. Had she been back in her time, she wouldn’t have been able to spend it the way she would have liked. Christmas weeks paid double the amount than she received and it was money she couldn’t afford to pass her and that went for her mum too. Christmas was never a special day for her. There was no gift exchanged, no putting up Christmas tree, no Christmas dinner except for maybe a nice dessert she might splash out on – it was always a 25th December.

“You’ll catch a cold.” A voice said beside her.

Yuri jumped, startled by Sebastian’s sudden appearance. She hadn’t heard him approach. His eyes remained on her bare feet, part submerged in the snow.

“I always wanted to do this.” She sheepishly admitted. How comical it must be for a nearly adult woman wanting to do something as childish as going bare foot in snow.

“Is this…beautiful to you?” He suddenly asked to her surprise.

“Yes. I don’t see snow often.” She said, “You don’t think so?”

“I’ve seen countless snows in my lifetime. In the end, it will melt and change into dirty mud; what’s so beautiful about it?” Sebastian stated, watching the tiny snowflakes fall and seep into the mass on the ground.

That was then she decided to turn her gaze to him. Her reflection held in his dark, pitless eyes yet she wondered if he truly were looking at her. He breathed, moved, bled and his heart beat in his chest like her and many would, without suspicion, accept him as anything but a man. His character as a butler was flawless – perfect, deserving of standing ovation, although his façade as a man was horribly inept and forced. His speech, truly appropriate in any given situations; gestures that would label him as ideal gentleman of the era turned into a fiasco by his mismatching expressions and stoic tone as though an actor impeccably reciting a script and simply believing it was good enough without understanding the power of words weren’t a straightforward notion of conveying those words in the right time and place and the people.

He reminded her of a child. A baby. A tabula rasa*. Experienced and inexperienced. Knew and not understood. Alive but not lived.

“For someone who’s been alive for a long time, experienced and witnessed things beyond what anyone could imagine – none of it was ever reflected in your eyes.” Yuri summed. A semi chastise and semi disappointment.

She didn’t know what to feel for this..man. This demon. It was likely he won’t see her reason for sadness, this empathetic pity. He won’t understand why she spoke of it as if he was missing something as vital as his life and he was blind to it. He won’t know why the snow should be beautiful. Why his privation was something to be so heart-rending. But that’s why it was so tragic, wasn’t it? A man could have a taste of something blissful and lose it and be equally tragic. What soothed it was the fact he knew it was tragic and would probably try to gain it back somehow whether it was through revenge or forgiveness. The man who never had it and could not see his own tragic existence, would always feel empty, she supposed. Always thirsty and hungry for something they could not fill with tedious things like money.  

“Dirty things can be beautiful.” Yuri told him.

“…Then do you think I’m beautiful?” He cautiously asked her. The question surprised her. Surprised him. An impromptu. He was rarely so impulsive. More so on seeking out others’ sentiment of him. He has never once cared for such trivial sort.

“You think you’re ugly?” Yuri blinked, unable to understand how someone who could clearly distinguish and know – at least – physical aesthetic would consider himself unsightly.

“My original form is hideous.” He revealed blatantly, his voice flat as though he was reading out a list on the menu.

“I think you’re alright.” Yuri said after a thoughtful pause.

Darkness. The white world defiled in suffocating, icy darkness. She could feel something crawling on her skin. Underneath it. The spine chilling sound vibrated in the air; sound of million insects chewing at her skin, bones and flesh and quivering their wings. There was no pain yet she couldn’t help but scratch and claw her body to thwart it off her. Her mouth gaped in silent scream. She could imagine beetles and maggots chewing down her body, magnified chittery background grinding, merging into a drone that rose and fell.

A footstep. The staccato beat of heel echoing in the darkness to the rhythm of insects buzz. It was accompanied by a foul, rotting smell that made her want to retch. Something was decomposing. She couldn’t quite describe what she saw of Sebastian’s true form.

Black feathers. Nails like eagles talons. Glowing red eyes. Cold. So cold. So so cold. A living decay.

She was not so naïve to believe in the romanticised vision of demons as some tragically beautiful fallen angels – if Sebastian were even an angel in the first place. After all, the belief fall from grace could be, even at slightest, merciful as to spare angelic beauty was almost laughable; the fall signified shame and perversion of something so sacred and holy, one could only imagine how hideous to see it tainted.

White returned with her voice. Numbing coldness crept up from her bare feet, purple patches forming. She could breathe again. He smelled sweet again. He was beautiful. The only colour in the colourless.

He had given her a glimpse of his true self. The grotesque freak in a circus show behind the glitzy glamorous mask he donned. But just as he intended, this had been a scant coup d'œil. He wanted her to know, if he was dreadfully abhorrent even from this short brief moment, how disgusting would he be wholly bared to the world.

But at least…at least..at the very least, you don’t do what he does. She couldn’t help but ponder. To her, the true demon in her life was her father. He had stolen from her. Her money. Her life. A loving family. Her chance of being a normal teenage girl. Fucked her up.

“..I’ve seen worse.”

Sebastian face remained vacant, emotionless. Her word didn’t seem to have any impact on his belief. He wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t understand the working of her thought. It didn’t matter anyway.

Sebastian, unmoving for a minute then strode across, closing the distance she had made between them before swooping her up to his body. One arm on her back, another underneath the crook of her knees.

“You’re feet are blue.” He commented, nodding toward her exposed legs that had now turned cyanotic from cold. His body radiated usual warmth she didn’t expect.

“You’re really warm for a demon, well at least when you look human.” She noted. His body temperature was higher than an average human, almost feverish to touch, while she was always cold. She liked that about him – the ironic warmth that emitted from the demon.

Something shuffled in her chest, the abrupt movement startling the pair from the serene silence stretched between them. It bopped up and down, slinking up her body before the mystery mound popped out from her décolletage and made itself known to the curious demon.

Its large, sharp eyes blinked up to Sebastian’s stunned gaze and let out a piping meow.

“Oh, seems like she’s not cold anymore.” Yuri smiled, stroking its small head.

Looking up to see his response, she was pleasantly surprised by the red hues in his cheeks as he regarded the tiny little kitten. Who knew a demon had a soft spot for a cat?

“I found her shivering in the snow without its mother around so I think she was abandoned.” Yuri said sadly, “Do you like cats?”

“Yes, I think they are the most beautiful creatures on Earth.” He said with adoration.

“Does Hell have…well animals?”

“We have creatures kept as pets but..” Sebastian hummed, “They are not as..pleasant.”

“How do they look like?” Yuri asked and the more she listened to Sebastian’s in-depth description of the so-called pets, she couldn’t help but imagine the very alien from the movie. She reckoned it was equivalent to a dangerous exotic pet people kept either as living exhibition or status symbol.

They arrived inside the manor and he gently released her from his hold. Yuri quickly caught the kitten before it slipped down her dress.

Stretching out her kitten held arms to him, she offered, “..Do you want to name her?”

Her little trifling suggestion thrown off his guard, while the kitten’s innocent, twinkling eyes stared, waiting.

“You’ve not named her.”

She nodded, “I’ve only just found her. Besides, I’m terrible with names.”

“I’ve never named anything before.” He muttered, perplexed.

“How come?” Yuri frowned, puzzled as to why someone, who lived as long as he did, never came across an opportunity to name anything.

And even he, rare as it may be, seemed at lost in moment such as this. How laughable it was to be dumbstruck to such petty question yet it seemed more baffling than any questions or tasks he had been given in his years of servitude.

“They were the ones who have named me.” He revealed, “And neither of us cared little for other things than what they desired.”

“Ah…” Yuri realised. He was just like a baby. “Then…think of it as a Christmas gift from me. I wasn’t sure what a demon would want for Christmas present seeing you lived for a long time but I guess this is perfect – something you never had.”

He was silent, eyes darting back and forth between the kitten and her, all the while his face never betraying his thought.

“Yuri.”

“Yeah?”

“The kitten’s name is Yuri.”

She stared at him, agape, bewildered by his choice of name. “Are you serious?! Should I bring out a name dictionary? Does the library even have that kind of book?”

“I think it’s a beautiful name.”

Yuri bit down her lip to hold a grin from spreading, albeit horribly and instead forming a crooked smile.

“It’s an alright name,” She shrugged, “But really? Out of all names in the world, you choose that?”

He took the kitten into his arm, holding it close to his chest and cooed, “You like that name, don’t you?”

The kitten meowed in response, receiving a tickle under the chin as reward.

“Gee..and I thought I was terrible with names.”

“Unfortunately, so am I.”

“I can see that.” Yuri grinned, “Merry Christmas, Sebastian.”

“Merry Christmas.” He returned then added, “Yuri.”

The kitten purred, snuggling into Sebastian’s warmth.

*tabula rasa- an absence of preconceived ideas or predetermined goals; a clean slate.

[themrmalice]

Station Lamia Prime

By Malice

Narrated on YouTube by The Disciple: https://youtu.be/dju620v-WAE

We approached the floating structure, a ring with a large pillar mounted in the center. From it a cacophony of electromagnetic waves erupted through the cosmos, assaulting our ship with near unstoppable strength. Our shields were strong enough to repel most advances, but the waves consistently tore through some sections, deadening rooms for minutes at a time. Death tone plates shimmered in the blue light with a magenta pigment carefully dotting the lower half of most plates. 

I'm a Derelict, ordered by the cosmological council to investigate this station, Lamia Prime. They mentioned peculiar anomalies that had been previously undocumented were a constant force in this place. Between visionary hallucinations to memetic distortion, this place covered all of the enigmatic anomalies recorded by the council with varying levels of detail. As a Derelict, I was only sent in to investigate and record any findings. A crew of 25 men and women on a small shuttle are to monitor my neurological behaviour, as that is the most prevalent report when passing through this area. 

This lone station was a place of vast technological advancement, unrivalled in its prime! Now, it is a ghost of what it once was. There were no signs of external damage, no signs of technological malfunction, no signs of panic or struggle aboard the station. Everyone just disappeared. Leaving only their clothes lying on the ground. Chilling, absolutely, more chilling however is that the reactor is still running without an operator. Unless they developed an autonomous reactor, which is nigh impossible, then this is the work of an anomaly. 

             The station was in range for the smaller pneumo pod to be shot towards it. There was no technology within the pod itself, only lead plating to protect the contents within from radiation. I climbed into its cockpit, before me was a window, through which I could see the grotesque station listing slowly in a dead orbit. The radio clicked on “You ready?” a female voice blared, “Yep!” I responded, almost excited to enter this stations recesses. The cabin around me, laced with woven cloth to protect the contents from kinetic force, began to expand. These were the “Punch Pillows”, so to speak, and they grew rapidly, surrounding my body in their grasp. Then came the “Punch" a massive plume of pneumatically sealed air exploded from behind the shuttle, and I propelled forward towards the station. Above me, circles of lights turned to lines and the station ahead grew into a vast, rotating mass. I was pulled into it, and I was about to slam into the side when an unknown force cushioned my assault. My window had strings of baby blue constantly crawling from bottom to top. “Don't worry,” the female voice spoke, “Its merely an Electron Field, it will pull you in shortly.” and just like that, it did. I was being guided gently into a small opening near the bottom of the pillar, where I was thrown into a room filled with meteorites and asteroids. Essentially the junk drawer of this station, where it preserves any meteors that come hurling its way towards the station. 

The airlock spewed open, and the pressure kicked the door off its hinges, opening my deflating cabin to the meteor storage. I got out, searching immediately for a door to go through. Luckily, there was an illuminated door opposite the entrance. A bulkhead of sorts, clearly where the airlock was. I stammered over to it, carefully weaving through the meteors until I could embrace the handle on the door. To my surprise, it turned without hesitation. Indicating that it was recently used. As it opened I pulled out my Plasma Pistol, standard issue for all Derelict Personnel. Inside was a well lit, glossy surface with dotted dirt patterns all around. I slowly walked in and closed the door behind me, swiftly jolting back and forth as I checked the room for intruders. Nothing found. As the door slid into place, it automatically sealed and fresh oxygen was pumped into the room. I turned up my visor, allowing the oxygen to fill my lungs. I looked down and saw more dirt, once again dotted towards the door out. Cautiously I approached, the glassy texture of this place made the dots stand out to an extreme. 

The door slashed open with both sides moving in perfect unison, something now alien to me entirely. Before me was a vast hallway that ran seemingly forever then wrapped around the sides. All I knew was that I was at the bottom of the pillar, and around me stood flat dead black monoliths of incredible size, silent from lack of use. Brushing past one caused its black face to ignite into bluish tones with a blaring sound cascading down the hallways and echoing back to me. The screaming reverberation startled me as it returned and split off into the other halls, disturbingly enough, I could hear other sounds it carried as it passed. The screen spoke an ancient dialect originating in primordial English. I could only make out “Lamia Prime” and “Welcome” from the degraded radio. Beyond it, I saw a large corridor which whipped to the right, interwoven into a hive of lost knowledge. I began my investigation, only to be interrupted by the perfect porcelain white halls having one dark brown interlocutor. More particles leading off from where I came from. Dust from the Meteorites, no doubt. I followed the breadcrumb trail, which traced the halls loosely. Whoever this was, they were disoriented. 

Each step into this place was another step into madness, white walls, white floors, white fluorescent lights, with only the light baby blue interjections of screens followed by green and magenta iridescence radiating through the windows. The iridescent glow was hypnotic, perfectly even in its distribution. Wait, green? I thought the star was blue. Taking a slow and cautious step into a small room decorated with dispersed and erratic placement of lab tech, I gazed out the nearby window at the star, which was indeed blue. Looking back at its iridescence, I saw blue and magenta pigment. The magenta was the colour of the nebula, so that's consistent. Perhaps a part of the Anomaly. Down the corridor I heard gas spew as a door screamed open, I crouched and slowly walked towards the sound. All was silent in this moment, I approached, peering through the quartzite glass at a now opened door with a shimmering light exuding from it. My feet squealed on the floor as I motioned towards it, and as the first squeak from my foot echoed from beneath me, the door gently closed. 

My radio clicked on, and again I could hear that female voice, “The whole station stood still for a good 5 minutes, what the hell is happening in there?”. Stood still? I thought, how the hell does an entire station of this size stand still then go right back to regular rotation? I clicked my radio, “I believe there is another being aboard this station, dirt tracks have alluded to it, preparing to investigate.” I realized that I hadn’t asked about the station, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I opened my mouth and no words came out. Made me shudder. I moved towards the door, which automatically opened upon noticing my movement, I readied my pistol, and stood with my back against the frame. Snapping into place with my pistol aimed into the room, I swiftly strutted in. Nary a sound but the squeaks of my boots and the charge of plasma. The room had no alternative entrances or exits, nothing was there, not even a sign of life, no dirt on the ground, nothing. Everything was as it should be. Noticing this my heart began to pound. Maybe a malfunction? But Thus far I haven't seen the stations infrastructure malfunction even minorly. 

The radio clicked again, “Warning, Incoming Magnetic Storm, prepare for Electronics and Machines to begin malfunctioning or turning off entirely.” My heart jumped again, the thought of more of these malfunctions happening was comforting but also terrifying. Almost immediately, the Magenta Hue began to offset the Turquoise, and the Iridescence faded as a massive nebula began to envelope the station. Now, all that shone through the window was Magenta, interrupted by streaks of reddish lightning. Magnetic Storms were no joke, they have blasted whole ships out of the stars. However, this one was different. It seemed almost targeted. The Lighting slashed through the hull of the outer ring, gargantuan pillars of light erupted from within the cloud and plasmatic fire skewered throughout it. It was collapsing! The Outer Ring no doubt acts as a Gyroscope for this damn station, I need to get the hell out of here before the Gravity starts to decay! I bolted down the hall, with the rooms behind me exploding into Magenta tones that roughly splattered against the wall, Panic shrouded me and I began to sprint blindly towards a staircase! I grabbed my radio, almost screaming “The storm is tearing through the station, I need evac NOW!” and almost immediately a calm response resonated from my earpiece, “What the fuck are you talking about Damien? The Storm is oncoming, it's not even here yet! We still have an ETA of 3 hours!” I stopped, no chaos encapsulated the halls behind me. Just silence. I jogged down the staircase I had ran up, and saw that the station was all intact. The radio clicked back “Are you alright? Your neuron activity is sparking right now, perhaps we should evac and get a mag helm for you.” She spoke in a very worried tone. With a shaking voice, I responded, “Yeah, get me out of here.” she responded, “Are you positive? You understand the danger of sticking around, right?” Confusion struck like a bat at the back of my head, “What the hell are you talking about Helen, get me out of here!” I shouted back. Audibly frustrated, Helen spoke, “If you insist then fine, we still have 2 and a half hours till the Magnetic Storm is on us.” Before I could speak, my throat scratched and only a whine was let out. The fuck is going on here? I thought. Guess there's no helping it now. Got 2 and a half hours in hell. Much as I would like to get out of here I would need Helen to send a shuttle here. For some reason, she couldn't hear what I was saying, sounded like she was hearing something entirely different. 

I press onward, the clicking and whirring of the space stations electronics began to grow louder. I looked at the iridescence again, the pale blue and magenta hue were even. The Nebulon Cloud that enveloped the station began to grow in size, indicating the Magnetic Storm. I eventually wormed my way through the facilities until I reached a room with a computer that spoke my Dialect. I opened the computer, finding that this station, Station Lamia Prime, was one of a number of stations. It mentioned another, in Belial's Trench, about 10,000 meters down, called Sub Station Lamia. Belial is another Anomalous Planet. Prime is where they all sent their data. Instead of pouring through 13 petabytes of data, I instead searched for a simple map. When i found a file containing Technology Mapping, Room Layout, and eventually a full map, I was worried. There were several recalculation maps, one which stated that floor 133 was above floor 142, and one where floor 133 was in the outer ring, where only floors 200-220 are. These recalculations happened once every week, and a recalc was scheduled in just a few minutes from now! But between all the Recalcs, I found that only 133 changed position, and was rarely in the same place twice. I checked for a room layout of Floor 133, and found that the rooms were under constant recalc too! I found eventually that Floor 133 was where the Reactor was held, which means I have to hunt this floor down to shut off this station. 

The Recalc began, and would take an estimated 10 minutes to complete. I wish it would be instant like at Prometheus. This station is responsible for sending a few encrypted messages to Prometheus and a number of other Lifehold stations. But the encryption doesn't make sense whatsoever! Its a basic encryption that a preschooler could solve, but the message is still taking the galaxies best scientists to decipher. The messages are sent to each of the 5 Lifehold stations, sometimes voice codes, sometimes text, and even sometimes Morse Code, a dead format from centuries ago! Thus far they have only determined that it is a 12 word statement, split up into 2 sentences, sent in 5 separate messages. They have only determined where 2 words go, and that is “Send” and “Assimilating” and their placement in the statement. They have deciphered that Send is the first word of the first sentence, and that Assimilating is the sixth word of the second sentence. They sent 3 units of derelicts to Help, with only 2 returning in full health. This station has baffled everyone involved, due to its impossibility of investigation. 

The screen beeped, saying that the recalc was done, and that Floor 133 was 3 floors above me. I checked the Layout and the Reactor was on the left, 5 doors down. I practically leaped out of the chair, crouching down, and gliding through the corridor to the staircase. When i reached the staircase, I made careful note of the floor I was on, floor 062. I sprinted up the stairs, the next floor was 063, 064, and 06...2? I checked the floor above me and it was, 063. Wait, what? Hold on now, maybe floor 133 disguises itself as the floor you were just on. Doesn’t explain the next floors repeating though. I opened the door to floor 062, 5 doors down on the left and I was in a Lab Room. I went back to the staircase and began ascending till I was back at floor 062, where i entered again and jogged 5 doors down to the left. Again, the Lab Room! This time, I grabbed a small glass bottle on my way out. Back at the staircase, I placed the bottle on the floor before entering the staircase. I jogged up the stairs, 063, 064, 062 again! I opened the door and sure enough, there it was! The damned bottle! Okay! I thought Lets try going down. I began to descend, going down to... 063. Now I was getting frustrated. I don't have time to play games! I walked over to the edge of the staircase and peered up. An endless flight was above me, same below. I opened the door to 062, grabbed the bottle that happily waited for me, and closed the door. This time, i sat the bottle on the railing next to 062. Keeping an eye on it as I jogged up to 063, 064, and when i reached what was supposed to be 133, the bottle remained where it was. I looked at the sign on the door, and it said, 062. Turning around I saw the bottle standing there. Frustrated I took the bottle and slammed it against the wall, where it shattered, bouncing off an invisible force. I was shocked! I looked at the wall I had thrown it against and placed my hand on it, a pale blue luminance echoed from where my hand had met the wall. I grew curious and began to apply pressure, only to see the sign next to the door begin to distort. It now said 074, and when I tore my hand away it said 062. So that means I ascended 12 floors! I started counting during my descent, passing shards of broken glass 9 times, I eventually reached a point where I was 3 floors above where I began. I pressed against the wall and sure enough, it said 133. The real sign was slightly above where it should be and was ascending. I opened the door to be met with the same corridor as 062. Perhaps I have to distort the energy causing this visual fluctuation? 

I clicked my radio, “Hey, can you fire a high energy EMP at the lower half of the central pillar? There's some energetic force blocking my progress.” Immediately it clicked back, “Are you sure your okay?” Helen said, her tone was off. “Im fine, why do you ask?” Helen spoke back, “I'm serious, you need to evac, alright? You have an hour and a half until the Magnetic Storm hits, and you don't want to be on board when it does.” I realized that the Anomaly is still messing with my comms. So that's not an option. Then, another idea struck me! I pulled out my pistol and set it to stun, maybe the energy blast from it will be strong enough to distort the field! I pointed it right at the door and began charging. Just before I released I heard a shout, “Don't shoot!” It sounded like it was right next to me! I jolted and released the trigger, it struck the field, a streak of blue tore through the hexagonal field that had encapsulated the entire staircase. Floor 133, finally! But the door was halfway through the ceiling. I couldn't see the button to open it, so I was going to have to go to the next floor. I tried my comms again, “Helen, I just distorted a sort of field, in the stairwell, and I'm about to enter the floor that has the Reactor on it.” I waited a minute, no response. “Hello? Helen, you there?” Again, no response. I turned and was about to jog up the stairs when my foot touched something soft. I looked down to see colourful clothing lying on the ground. My heart sunk when I noticed a scorch mark on the right shoulder. Looking around, there were dozens of clothing sets laid out, shirt above, pants below, like ghosts. What the fuck? I thought. 

I slowly walked up the stairs, passing by the shirts of varying colour. None of the others had a mark on the shoulder. Nothing made sense to me right now. When I made it to the next floor, I saw floor 133 was still slowly gliding through the wall, but I could at least access it. I had to kneel to press the button. And when it opened a headache slammed into the back of my skull, like a train it struck again and again. A migraine. Whatever the Anomaly is, I found it. When I hopped into the floor, an icy chill ran up my spine, causing me to reflexively contort. My arms pulled to my chest, and my eyes fixated ahead of me without moving. Now, terror filled my lungs, as I stumbled towards a large observation deck. Before me were shattered fragments of a previous planet, still intact to some capacity. The Nebulon Cloud was far smaller now, and the Iridescence on the ground was a dark blue complimented by a dead Magenta. Now the blue was overpowering the Magenta. This terror was only furthered when I turned around. Hundreds of clothes were scattered to and fro, with the shirts all pointed in the same direction. Towards the 5th door on the left side of the entrance. I walked over silently, I had the innate sense I was being stared at. My pistol drawn, I pointed it towards the door. Now, the clothing seemed to disperse around my feet, clearing a path as I walked. Parting the sea of clothes, I made my way to an inactive generator. I placed my hand on a terminal, and looked at the readings. I couldn’t make out the dialect, but the layout of the readings were familiar, luckily. The Reactors Energy output was above 60% with a 10% usage. I was confused by this, as a Lifehold Station normally has an 80% usage with a 90% output. But the numbers were fading. I looked forward to see a lever, the obvious on/off switch. I moved towards it, only to feel something brush against my arm. I jumped forward and glared back to see all the clothing was now floating, shirts above, pants below, neither were filled with anything! Flat clothing that walked towards me slowly, in unison! I grabbed the lever and they all halted, as if scared to see what would happen if I were to turn the Reactor off. One motioned and I immediately pulled the lever.

As swiftly as the clunk of the energy output shutting off sounded,the entire room went dark, the clothing fell, and the room was filled with the Magenta Hue followed by Red Crackles! And only in those flashes of red did I see black smoky bodies, humanoid, standing where the clothing did! I screamed, fired at one of them, they did not respond, none of the smoky bodies were moving! Despite this, and despite me seeing the bolt of blue slash into the wall, I saw a burn mark form on the shoulder of one of the articles of clothing. I sprinted wildly past all of them, feeling nothing as I ran right through some! Panic filled me again, and the cloud of the Magnetic Storm began tearing away at the room I was in, I opened the door and slid out just as a flash of Red revealed that the smoky figures were all standing around me with arms extended. I slammed into the ground, the smooth white tiles were comforting to me. I clicked on my radio, “Helen, can you hear me!?” I yelled, no response yet again, I ran down 4 flights of stairs, ran into floor 062, which now had clothing in the corridors! Disarray filled the corridor, I heard a loud crash at one end of the hall. The Magnetic Storm was upon us, I saw the cloud ripping at the outer ring. I ran towards the Meteorite Store, only to be halted by a figure holding the same pistol that I use, with it charging and pointed at me. Another Derelict, but, how? Nobody else was sent in! I drew my pistol and pointed it back, mine was still set on stun, but theirs was shrouded in purple. Not a word between us, the figure was feminine, and tears streamed down her face, she screamed at me “Are you one of them!?” I calmly spoke back, “One of who? My name is Damien, who are you?” She shook as I spoke, and not a word was spoken from her lips, but she did peer out the window. With a dead expression, she took the pistol and pointed it to her temple. I quickly shouted “Woah! Wait!” But by the time my words left my mouth, a blast of purple clouds and scarlet streaks soared through her skull, annihilating her head. I looked out the window and saw a flash of red sheer towards my corridor, and I braced for the impact.

A flash of white, I blinked, and I was on the floor, in 062. My nose and ears were bleeding extremely, I groaned and rose to my feet. The first sound I heard was over the radio, “Damien, are you there?! Damien!” I clicked my radio, “Yeah, I’m fine, glad to hear from you. Whats the ETA on the Magnetic Storm?” Helen, who was clearly confused, said “Are you kidding me? The station was torn apart when we left! We tried to wait for you but we took a Mag Blast right to our bow! We left, its been 2 days Damien!” I couldn’t comprehend what she meant, Two days? I clicked back “What are you talking about Helen? How long have I been out?” A moment of silence, then the click “Damien what the fuck is going on!? Been out, you went totally dark! It happened like 30 minutes after you left! How long have you been in there, how long do you think you’ve been in there?!” “To me its only been about 2 hours, Helen! I dont know whats happening, all I know is what I saw!” Helen quickly responded, panic in her voice, “You need to get off that station Damien, I already ordered for its kinetic destruction! They are going to be blasting it in a few days, getting rid of it altogether!” Before I could respond she spoke, “we have 30 minutes to get you out of there, there's another Storm coming in. Are you ready?” I groaned again, “Yeah, yeah I'm ready. I'll head to the Meteor Store.” I began to stumble haphazardly through the halls. When I reached the junction to the Meteor Store, I was about to turn when I noticed that the Dirt Trail lead right to where I woke up. I followed the trail back to find that it lead in different directions. I began that way, figuring I had enough time to quickly find where it went and head back. Stumbling slowly through the hallways, I looked at my watch, which indicated that I had about 15 minutes before the arrival of the storm. 15 minutes? It's only been like 5! I clicked on my radio, “Helen, how long has it been since you contacted me recently?” Helen responded, “It's been only like 10 minutes, Damien. Are you near the meteorite store?” I snapped awake in panic, “Ten minutes!? Helen, my watch says 15 and to me it's only been 5! What the fuck is happening here I feel like I'm losing my mind!” She took a moment to respond, then said “I don't know Damien. When we left the Station was torn to shreds. We would have stayed away if there wasn't another message sent to Prometheus the day after. Another encryption, from this station.” My head swam, the migraine from before returned, “Helen the shit I’ve seen here is nothing like you would imagine! I'm getting out of here.” Filled with determination, I began to careen towards the Meteor Store. I entered the Airlock to be met with a click from the radio again, “Damien you need to get out of there,we can't wait forever!” I snapped back, “Helen whats going on?!” Full realization that I was not perceiving this as she was. No response, but I understood her panic when the airlock doors opened, and I saw the Storm tearing through the ships force field. I screamed into my microphone, “Helen its not real, I’ve seen like 5 of these hit, its not real!” She screamed back “Its fucking real enough! Our goddamn reactor is dead we are using a backup generator, we are getting out of here!” I saw the ship warp out. I closed the airlock door, waiting for the hit. But once again, none came.

Exacerbated, I stood up after waiting 20 minutes, and opened the door back into the station. Where I was met with a bustling corridor filled with smoky people moving in flashes, and only in between each flash did I see clothing. Some stopped and glared at me, and I warily walked through them to the opposite side. Doors opening and closing on their own, parting clothing seas, and smoky figures in between red flashes. I saw the Iridescence, it was flashing between being primarily magenta and primarily blue. I slowly walked through the hall, my shoulders hunched at my sides. Between each flash I admired the colourful array of clothing on the ground, and during each flash I watched as the smoky figures walked right by me. I made it to an observation deck, where I sat down and tried to collect myself. Crimson dotted the ground beneath me, my nose and ears were still bleeding. I heard a voice, “Um, sir, who are you?” I turned around to see clothing on the ground. I got up and faced them, a flash occured and I spoke to the smoky figure, “My name is Damien.” No response. I sat back down when the next flash happened and the smoky figure was no longer there. Eventually, a longer flash of white occured and shrouded my vision for what seemed like an eternity. When it all came to, all I saw outside was a magenta cloud with streaks of red slashing through. Behind me though, was an endless gauntlet of sprinting clothing and smoky figures, complimented by red lights and blaring sirens. The flash happened again, and I saw the Magenta Cloud emitting from the planet, spewing from it. Then, another long flash, and Everything was white again, silent and calm. The nebulon Cloud was rested around the station again. I clicked my radio, “Anyone there?” I said in a tired tone. No response. I looked ahead, and saw a dot of brimming white growing in size. Initially I thought it was a distant supernova, then I thought about it. If this is back to where I started, then this would be the future, right? Then, if its the future, that's not a distant supernova, that's the intergalactic Railgun!

I jumped to my feet and ran down the hall, towards the meteor store. Before I could turn, I saw the same feminine figure from before standing where the hall is. She pointed her gun at me, and had tears streaming down her face, just like before. This time, however, I could make out smaller details. I recognized the face of this woman! It’s Helen! “Helen! Wait! Please!” she narrowed her eyes, and said something in a dead tongue, “Mor Flos Vale”. And before she shot, she crossed her arm over a badge on her shoulder, a red badge on her shoulder with a blue flower in the center, with the words, Flos Occidere. Then she fired, I ducked under the bolt and ran back towards the observation deck, the shot from the railgun was now in the Solar System, and would strike us in just a moment. Behind me, I saw a Magenta hue paint the corridor that Helen was in, she gazed out a window, tears streaming. She brought the gun to her head, and fired. Another storm. I looked back and watched as it swallowed the payload whole, pushing it off its course. Before the storm could hit, and without hesitation, I followed in Helen’s footsteps, I gazed out, shed a tear, and fired a plasma bolt into my temple.

[marypsue]

let's break it (just because we can)

Hey! Guess what! It’s more of my bullshit!

Content warnings for suicidal ideation and canon-typical alcohol abuse. I still haven’t seen S3, so just pretend anything canon-noncompliant is happening somewhere else in the theoretically-infinite multiverse. Someday I’ll actually watch shit when it airs.

I’m also on AO3, as MaryPSue.

...

It’s got a white picket fence.

Sure, the house itself looks like some kind of giant house-eating alien shat it out after a particularly difficult digestion. Sure, the yard has apparently been used to store dead cars for the last millennium. Sure, that fence is faded, warped with age and rain, rotted out or broken in places and, in a big chunk out front beside the gate, fallen right down flat. Doesn’t matter. It’s still a white picket fence.

Love’s a little like cocaine. It’s great at the beginning, an overwhelming rush. It turns you into somebody better, smarter, cooler. Somebody else.

“It’s got a little white picket fence,” she says, and she’s a little bit in love with it already, and you’re so in love with her that yeah, maybe you’re a little bit in love with it too.

And that’s why you make the mistake of thinking - yeah. this could be good.

…

“Hey. Beth, isn’t it?”

Beth looks up. The girl who’s sat down across from her and is currently leaning across the library table like she wants to leap over it shakes out her mane of honey-blonde curls, smiling. Her hair gleams like burnished gold under the fluorescent lights, and Beth has to stop herself from self-consciously winding a strand of her own brittle, bleached hair around a finger. She wonders, briefly, if her roots are showing.

“Yeah?” she asks, and the other girl’s smile grows brighter. Heather, Beth thinks, or maybe Jennifer? The other girl’s so often part of a group of equally tan and beautiful people, it gets hard to tell them apart.

“You’re the one who told Lucas that your dad is out of town touring because he’s a rockstar?” Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer asks, leaning in closer like she’s sharing some scandalous secret. She smells like vanilla. Beth leans back in her seat.

“Sounds like me,” she says. She doesn’t know which one of the golden boys Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer hangs around with is Lucas, and frankly, she doesn’t care unless he wants to buy weed.

Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer looks gloriously confused for half a second, before the smile returns full force.

“We’re having a bonfire Saturday night,” she says. “Out by the point? You can come if you want.”

Beth leans forward, until her forehead is nearly touching Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s.

“You’re just inviting me because you think I can get you booze, right?” she asks.

The look on Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s face says it all.

Beth basks in Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s discomfort for a moment longer before leaning back in her chair again, crossing her arms and tilting the chair back on its back two legs. “Make a list of what you want and tell me what time to be there.”

Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer breaks out into a relieved smile, pushes herself up out of the seat across from Beth, and heads back over to the table where her people are waiting. Beth waits until she’s sure they’re not looking before she lets her chair fall back to the ground and buries her nose back in her anatomy textbook.

…

The fence is easy to fix. The house takes more work, but eventually you’ve got it looking less like a gigantic turd and more like an average human dwelling. She plants flowerbeds under the front windows. Ninety percent of everything she puts in there dies, but it’s the thought that counts. 

She's beautiful. The baby, when she arrives, is beautiful. Your home is beautiful. Your life is beautiful, and perfect, like a Norman Rockwell painting or one of those collectible china figurines old ladies like to keep around their houses. It's perfect. It's beautiful. It's so far removed from anything you recognise as 'real life' that it scares you.

You never claimed to be perfect. (Just cooler. Smarter. Better.) And love's a little like cocaine. It keeps taking more and more to get you high. 

...

“I don’t get why it’s supposed to be such a classic, anyway. It’s just some jerk acting all superior and whining about how much his perfect life sucks.” Heather (or maybe Jennifer) sits back on the log, tossing her bush of curls over one shoulder. The firelight-shadows turn her laughing face grotesque. “The only way this book could possibly be as good as everybody says it is is if Holden gets punched on the last page.”

“Hey, you just don’t get it,” the polo-shirted young Adonis that Beth thinks is Lucas protests, withdrawing the arm he’d wrapped around Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s shoulders.

“What, because I’m a girl?” Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer teases, poking possibly-Lucas in the middle of the chest with one finger, and possibly-Lucas shrugs.

“I’m just saying, it’s a novel about the fundamental pathos of existence and the inescapable sadness of the human condition,” possibly-Lucas rattles off, like he’s reading it from a textbook, and Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer bursts out into a fresh fit of giggles.

“Oh shut up, Mr. Winters isn’t here to see you kissing his ass.” She gives possibly-Lucas another halfhearted shove in the middle of his chest, before leaning in to rest her head there, still giggling. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get that letter of recommendation to Harvard if you admit that Holden Caulfield is a giant jerk.”

Possibly-Lucas just laughs, and nuzzles his face into Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer’s hair. Beth takes another sip from her can of soda, stares into the fire. It’s kind of fascinating how the burning logs don’t seem to visibly change, even while they’re being consumed.

“Ugh, what are you two, teachers?” the dark-haired girl who might be named Jennifer complains, from the other side of the bonfire. “We should be having fun, not talking about stupid Catcher in the Rye.”

“She’s got a point,” Heather-or-maybe-Jennifer giggles, through a mouthful of hair.

Possibly-Lucas nods, and then calls, “Hey! Beth! Truth or dare!”

Beth stares into her drink. On her desk back at home, the latest module for the correspondence course she’s taking on organic chemistry is sitting, waiting. She can’t think of anywhere she’d want to be less than here.

“Dare,” she says, to her soda.

…

The show’s in the shitty basement of a shitty dive bar and, looking at the crowd, you think you’ll be lucky if you can play two sets and get out of here without anybody chucking a Molotov cocktail at the stage. 

You told her things were picking up. That you had some real promising prospects on the horizon. That you’d let the fading dye job grow out. That you’d get a real job. Take out patents on some inventions, sell them to the highest bidder. That at the very least you’d start playing some places that actually paid. Weddings, and shit.

You didn’t exactly lie.

But here, tonight, it’s cheap beer and bad weed and stony glares and a bassline that thrums like a heartbeat. Here it’s a dusty spotlight and a guitar that you play like you’re making love to it, because maybe, maybe it’s the only lover who’ll ever understand you. Who’ll never chain you down.

(there’s a difference between fucking and making love. you think maybe you’ve only ever done the second one onstage, with a screaming crowd and a guitar.)

You promised her. You promised, and the baby needs new clothes and shit and the upstairs toilet hasn’t worked for a month and the fence is starting to fall down again but here you are, in a shitty basement, playing a shitty punk show. Because you need this. Everything back home is glossy and pastel and perfect, and you just need this one goddamn thing in your perfect fucking life that still feels raw, still feels broken, still feels real.

She catches your eye halfway through the second set. Headbanging along, like your shitty garage band is the fucking Stones or some shit. Cherry red mohawk nearly a foot tall, bleeding hairspray in shining trails down her face. Almost looks like she's crying. Like agony. Like ecstasy. Like you're playing her and not just the guitar.

You think, afterwards, that it's the best show of your goddamn life.

...

Somebody brought a boom box. Somebody brought hot dogs. Somebody brought half the football team, and the cheer squad, and somebody thought it would be cool to see how big they can build the fire.

Beth can feel the heat of it on her face from five feet away, can feel the cold of the sea air on her back. It’s almost cold enough that she wants to put her top back on. Almost, but not quite. Besides, the beer really does warm you up from the inside out.

(It’s a lie. Just like the confidence it fills her up with. It’s just blood rushing to the surface, losing body heat to the air even as it makes her feel warm. She could get hypothermia and die like this, and never even know she was cold.)

She sways, in time to the music, bumping hips with dark-haired probably-Jennifer-unless-that’s-Heather, spinning to stand face to face and letting her hips swivel with the beat. Probably-Jennifer’s wearing some kind of lipgloss that sparkles in the firelight, her lips full and slightly parted, her eyes half-closed. The fire is scorching hot and the beer is a warm glow in Beth’s veins and everything is soft, is distant, is safe.

Probably-Jennifer doesn’t even seem startled when Beth goes in for the kiss, just puts her hands (so warm, almost burning) on Beth’s hips and pulls her closer. It just feels natural, inevitable.

The cheers and hoots from all around them are the only reminder that it’s not.

Probably-Jennifer pulls back, flushed and grinning, a few strands of hair sticking to her glitter lipgloss.

Beth pulls away, from her, from the fire, and starts to tug her top back on.

…

You ditch your friends after the show and catch mohawk girl at the bar. Same old song and dance - buy her a few drinks, take her back to the van or the motel or her place, fuck her brains out, never see her again. Except something goes wrong somewhere and instead of taking her someplace where the two of you can get a little privacy, you end up at an all-night breakfast place. Maybe it's the looks you got from your two best friends, the only two other people in this vast, cold universe who've always had your back before. Maybe it's just that this is how you met the woman who's now your wife.

"We - we gonna fuck or what?" you blurt, as soon as that thought crosses your mind, and mohawk girl looks up like you just blasted an air horn in her ear.

"What, right now?" She waves her fork at her half-eaten waffle. "Can I finish this first?"

"Nope," you say, putting down your own fork with a clatter and pushing yourself out of the booth, crossing your arms over your chest and wishing you'd worn something with a little more intimidation factor than the navel-revealing neckline on this shirt. "Limited time offer. Take it or leave it."

Mohawk girl looks from you, to her waffle, back up at you again. She doesn't get up.

"Fine," you say, wishing you had something to throw, or shove, or smash, or slam.

Mohawk girl watches at first as you storm out of the restaurant, but by the time you reach the door, she’s gone back to her waffle.

...

The light and the heat and the music start to fade as Beth walks along the beach, her feet sliding in the sand, clutching her arms against the chill. There’s just enough of a breeze to ruffle her hair and raise goosebumps on her arms. She can’t quite feel her hands, and she’s not sure if it’s from the beer or the cold.

Everything seems very dark, at first, close to the bonfire. It's nearly impossible to see anything the firelight doesn't touch. Beth almost trips over a couple lying in the sand, in the middle of moving from making out into something else entirely. She shuffles farther away from the ring of firelight and from the rising moans of the couple she just left behind. The water is black as ink as it laps at the shore, and there doesn’t seem to be a horizon out there. Just endless void, as far as the eye can see and farther. Nothing and more nothing.

Beth wanders around one of the bigger rocks that dot the beach, shivering in its shadow as it blots out the firelight, and there is the sky.  

…

You don’t go home.

You don’t go back to the bar where your friends are almost definitely getting plastered, either. Instead, you get in your rustbucket of a car and start it, and then sit there, with the engine running. Trying to decide where to go, when you’ll have to be home by morning. Wondering idly what would happen if this falling-apart piece of shit you call a car had malfunctioned somehow and the tailpipe was plugged.

The radio’s on your favourite rock station, blaring “Highway to Hell”. You growl a little under your breath and wrench the knob, flipping feverishly through the stations until you find some mindless, banal pop song, and then throw the car into drive. It doesn’t really matter where you go. You just need to go.

The sky overhead is dark and endless and strewn with stars, an infinity of possible worlds, possible lives. If you didn’t know better, it would be beautiful. Awe-inspiring. Just plain inspiring. That eternal tableau of untamed possibility. If you didn’t know better, you’d believe that anything could be out there. That anything could happen. That you could be anything.

But you know better.

The pop song bops along for about thirty seconds before its polished, prepackaged bubbliness finally gets on your last nerve and you turn the radio off.

...

The ocean is a silent, freezing mirror, replete with the reflected cosmos.

The tide is loud, here, the muffled bass of the music and the occasional shout the only sounds from the bonfire that carry back to Beth. She looks back over her shoulder, sees the fire. From right beside it, it had been so big and bright and hot that it had seemed to fill the whole sky. She’s barely walked for five minutes, but looking back, it already seems tiny, dwarfed by the ceiling of endless, limitless stars. So insignificant. So infinitesimal.

…

The house is dark, the sky is going grey around the edges, by the time you pull back into the drive. You clip the corner of your white picket fence on your way in, knock the corner post askew. The fence lists like it’s almost as drunk as you are.

You kick at it on the way to the door, misjudge the distance. 

The lawn’s slick with early dew, and you barely avoid faceplanting into the flowerbed by overbalancing and landing flat on your ass instead.

…

“Hey, you’re – Beth, right? Beth Sanchez?”

The voice breaks the quiet rhythm of the tide lapping gently in and out, and Beth jumps. She hadn’t heard anybody coming up behind her, lost in the star-studded expanse of forever. She realizes, for the first time, that her feet are freezing. “Yes. And yes, I did take my top off, and yes, I did kiss a girl. No, I won’t repeat either performance unless you bring me another beer, and even then, no promises.”

The boy standing back on the beach stuffs his hands in the pockets of his knee-length shorts with forced casualness, looking anywhere but Beth’s face. “Actually, I recognized you because I think we have chemistry together.” He turns his head to grin at her, pulling both hands from his pockets to point in her direction like he’s waiting for her to laugh at his incredibly witty punchline.

It takes Beth a moment to process. “Third period, right? You’re the guy who’s always asking about covalent bonds.”

Covalent bond guy deflates a little, shrinking around his smile. He stuffs his hands back in his pockets, shuffling over to where the water laps at the shore. “Jerry. It’s Jerry. What’re you doing all the way out here, anyway? Party’s back by the fire…” The way he says it is almost more of a question than an invitation.

Beth turns back out to the ocean. “Did you want something?”

“Well, I saw you walking away from the bonfire, and, I don’t know, just wondered what you were up to.” He shrugs. “With…your…bare feet in the water. Isn’t that cold?”

“You get used to it,” Beth says.

“Well, if you say so,” covalent bonds guy – Jerry – says, and then there’s a rustle and the scrunch of sand underfoot, and his voice coming up behind her. “Perfect night for a little oh holy fuck that’s cold.”

Beth can’t help but smile as he dances back along the beach, away from the surf, like the soles of his feet have been burned. “I tried to warn you.”

“What are you, a polar bear?” Jerry grasps his upper arms, hunching over shivering, his skinny chest glowing pale in the dim starlight.

“Maybe,” Beth says. “I mean, there might be some polar bear DNA in there. I was grown in a lab.”

Jerry stares at her like she’s just grown a second head.

“You’re joking, right,” he says, and Beth just grins. “Ha. Hilarious.”

“Almost as good as your chemistry line,” Beth shoots back.

Jerry lets out a discontented huff, and thankfully, finally, shuts up for a couple of seconds.

“Well, I guess skinny dipping is out,” he says, just when Beth is starting to relax again. “What a beautiful night for stargazing, though.”

“There’s no moon,” Beth agrees.

Jerry nods, and for once, says nothing, looking up instead. There’s something a little wistful in his expression, and Beth catches herself thinking that he’s not actually bad-looking, as generic teenage boys go.

“Don’t nights like this just make you want to be in love?” he asks, without looking at Beth, and if he gets any more blatantly sappy Beth’s going to drown him.

“Most of those stars died trillions of years ago,” she says, maybe a little less sharp than she intended, because Jerry looks at her and smiles.

“Not for us, they didn’t,” he says, and holds out a hand in Beth’s direction.

There’s smoke on the salt breeze and the distant sounds of laughter. Overhead, the stars glitter cold through the atmosphere.

Oh, what the hell, Beth thinks, and starts to wade up out of the surf. What’s the worst that could happen?

…

Your daughter’s asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling peacefully, her little fat baby face wrinkled up in a frown. She hiccups loudly as you turn to leave the nursery, and you freeze, holding your breath. She doesn’t cry, though, just looks through you with those enormous eyes that you’re biologically programmed to find adorable, before blinking them closed again and turning her face away. Her tiny thumb finds its way into her tiny mouth, and then she’s fast asleep again.

You exhale, and try not to trip over anything as you creep back out of the room.

The lamp on the bedside table on your wife’s side is lit, but she’s passed out with her face smooshed into the pillow, a book half-sliding out of her grip. You think about taking it from her and putting it on the bedside table, decide against it. You’d only wake her up.

You strip, as quietly as you can, and only stub your toe on the nightstand once before turning out her light and falling into bed beside her. The dark and the quiet settle down on you like six feet of black earth, thick and suffocating.

Your last conscious thought is that love’s a little like cocaine. Even when you know it’s killing you, you still can’t quit.