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agumonger · 1 year

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1, 7, 14, 18, 26, 37, 55 and 76 (this one specifically about rh) for that fanfic ask post

1 Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Multi-chaptered. It's very rare for me to do one-shots, but I wanna look more into them because they're a lot simpler to make. I just really like the progression in multi-chaptered fics. 1000noches is kind of both, as its has "chapters" but it's an extremely short and simple story.

7 How do you choose which POV to write from?

It depends on the scene, which character needs to be developed more, and which character does most of the action or undergoes the biggest development.

For example, picture a scene where Alice tells Bob a secret she's been hiding. If you want to focus the scene on Alice opening up, you write from her POV. If you want to focus on Bob's reaction and how he feels about the secret, you write from his POV. I also recommend Alice's POV if the reader already knows about that secret, in which case we'll probably find Alice more relatable since we know the same information as she does. If we don't know the secret either, we're more likely to feel like Bob.

As another example, if a character has to "learn a lesson" in a scene, and we are meant to experience that lesson too, we should be on the POV of the character who goes through that lesson.

Or at least that's how I feel. I also personally avoid writing from the villain's POV for *too long* unless they're meant to be sympathetic - I often handle their scenes from their henchmen's POV. If they're "irredeemably evil", too much immersion into their POV might make them feel like they need positive development - or is this just a me thing? Oh, unless the villain is comedic and cartoony like Bowser. Then go ham.

14 how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?how do you write emotional scenes?

Oh, ho ho. Yeah? Yeah. Yeah I do. I kind of try to imagine how I would feel, then code it through the character's own personality and background. And sometimes I've noticed my eyes getting wet. But I've recently become the kind of person who cries at movies sometimes. I think at times I almost cried during the fucking Mario movie. When Mario and Luigi reunite. Them feels...

And... yeah. I get sort of inspired by my own experience but I morph everything so it doesn't become the story of my own life. I try to not to indirectly reference real people or real events I've gone through. A good example is Bruno's silent panic attack in chapter 4 due to his bad grades. It was inspired by one time I realized I had to repeat a whole year and cried my heart out at the high school bathroom. Writing that scene felt incredibly cathartic, and it weirdly helped me find some closure after some complicated years.

Something I've noticed about emotional scenes is that they usually need buildup. In order for us to care about a character, we need to through a journey with them, get to know them. Emotional resolutions become more poignant when there's some story building up to it. In book 1 it's gradually hinted at that Briana is not yet okay, and though I feel I should tweak some of the buildup, when it all breaks down in chapter 9, it breaks hard because it's been bubbling up for six or seven chapters. Maintaining a certain degree of relatability, without hammering the point home over and over again, is key, or else we won't connect with the emotion and the scene will either feel hollow or cheesy.

18 Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

Honestly... before. I'm such an avid pre-planner with my stories, that I usually have a draft of the whole plot, a title, a theme and a bunch of characters before I even start actually writing.

I don't really know how I come up with them. I usually try to think "is there a theme running through the story?", "what kind of feel do I want it to have?", "can I sum it up in two or three words?"

I usually try to make my titles: memorable, concise, descriptive, distinct, searchable (!) and honest.

Oddly enough, my only regret with Someday as a title is... how common it is as a word. When I search "yume nikki someday", sometimes I get lots of "oh I'd love to play Yume Nikki someday but i don't have the time right now" and stuff. Since thing happened infamously with Digimon Adventure's 2020 adaptation, called... Digimon Adventure:. Yes, with a colon. And you don't pronounce it. You're supposed to just say "Digimon Adventure" out loud. The colon also doesn't show up in some places, such as a hashtags, so when you search the adaptation online, you find the original from 1999. Terrible choice.

By "honest" I mean, make sure the title actually has something to do with the story or theme. SO many books have the word "devil" in the title to make them more intriguing and marketable but they're just random thrillers or something. For me, two to three words is the key, even better if they can be hashtag'd. Make it relevant to the story or themes, make it pronounceable!!! A lot of people keep calling Digimon Extend "Digimon Extended" for some reason. Really, keep it simple, people don't have good memory. (?)

26 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

1000noches (La noche de las mil noches), for real. I wrote it in a month, one chapter per day (each chapter was about a page long), then I illustrated it, one drawing per day, I posted once a day, I ATE Shinanne's Digimon 02 meta at a breakneck pace and literally changed my entire perception of Daisuke while I wrote it. It was made in a frenzy and it's my most successful fanfic yet. But then again, it's short, simple, and it features popular characters.

37 How do you choose where to end a chapter?

Well, I usually try to center each chapter around a theme. My biggest two examples are Extend and Regulus Harbor. In most of their chapters, the theme is either a confrontation or a lore revelation, or an introduction, or characters coming to terms with something. I like it when you can call a chapter "the one where X happens" in just one sentence.

But I don't think I'm that great at deciding what should go in each chapter... I often just add scenes in order until I reach 15-20 pages because it's the chapter length I like, but this is very arbitrary. Sometimes I have to move scenes to the next chapter because of this... often these haphazard chapters are the ones without a main confrontation going on.

In Digimon, setting up a chapter flow is easy. You introduce some concepts, have a bad guy of the week show up, fight, advance the plot in some way, then point towards the next step.

In Regulus Harbor, I've noticed I usually do it roughly by going through one day chronologically. Which means that chapters often begin with Itsuki or Danny (more or less diurnal charas), and end with Lydia, Fermi, Gakkoros or Jokesta (nocturnal charas). I also like to have an introductory scene and an outro/cliffhanger scene that shows where the plot is headed next.

55 Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

I absolutely adored writing Goupemon and Blightmon, the villains, back in Digimon Extend. And also Sketchmon, the comic relief. In Regulus Harbor, I love writing Gakkoros and Jokesta, the main uh... antagonistic force? And also comic relief kind of. But I also love writing Danny because he means a lot to me, he's one of my oldest OCs. And of course, my boy Itsuki. I think Jokesta is my fave to write. That has been amplified by my readers' reactions to my comedy scenes... apparently I'm good at writing random comedic characters!? Says a lot, huh. I wonder how I learned that. (Please watch Nichijou.) Usually my favorite characters to write are my audience's favorite characters. Can you guys tell I'm having a great time or...?

76 Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of [Fanfic Name]?

I know this one's for RH but I'll do it for Extend too. I had this mini-arc at the beginning of season 3 where Monmon and her three uh... former family members...? would be sent to different universes along with the protagonists. I don't remember why I wanted to do it. I also cancelled a lot of stuff season 2 was supposed to have - more Armor evolutions, more time for Iván to shine in his "evil self" (?) but halfway through I realized it was getting stale so I cut all filler and went straight to the endgame before Goupemon's return. Oh and also Goupemon was going to be semi-redeemed - Pandemmon was going to be the final boss. There was also going to be a meeting with the 02 cast full of mistranslation moments.

As for Regulus Harbor, it was originally going to have 14 Reached, and Lydia didn't exist until very late in "production". Before I came up with Fermi, she was supposed to have an unrequited crush on Danny, which is why she acts so weird around him in chapter 1, and why Fermi isn't there yet. I retconned this as Lydia just being really giddy about finding a new Reached with potential and not having to rely only on the children.

Regulus Harbor actually has... tons of scrapped ideas behind, mostly leftovers from when it was a... Spyro fanfic idea? Mixed with an AU with a small Digimon cameo? The original idea was a fangame-type story based on Spyro: A Hero's Tail with 14 player characters with different elemental powers. The 14+2 element symbols are here. You may recognize these symbols as they were used for a map in my game, 311. This was [REDACTED] believe I came up with it so long ago. The scrapped elemental powers are Rock (merged into Earth), Space, Qi (merged into Life), and Crystal (will appear not as an element but something else :3).

The AU thing had a cameo from Devimon... who absorbed the power of all Dark Gems in the world (this is a Spyro concept, there were 40 in the game + 150 in my story +10 more in the AU) AND this was the original idea for Gakkoros!!! YEAH. He would eventually become something like "the incarnation of darkness itself", called Darkuro back then. Again, YEAH. It was 2007... Also, a character based on Ophanimon, called Lishiro (later Ilendora) would try to purify him, and I kept changing Darkuro's redeemability. Deciding on a final veredict took me years, and so far I'm really happy with the result.

Ishmael was going to be a human, powerless incarnation of Gakkoros, trying to get his power back. RH was going to take place in New York in real life, only with humans, all of them coming from different places in the world. The cursed mirror idea is actually very old, from ~2010 probably.

Itsuki's inclusion in the story was extremely late, not decided until 2018-2019. An old OC named Nano, the oldest character of ALL of them, created around 2005, was going to be there instead. Nano's personality was divided into Panuk and Itsuki. Interestingly, you can see a door representing him in Someday's Meta-Nexus. All of the Meta-Nexus doors represent OCs from different stories in different universes, most of which I didn't write at all. Panuk's door is actually repurposed from Víctor's, from Digimon Extend. I've actually been thinking of replacing one of the doors with a new one for Víctor or Joaquín, since it was for a Homestuck OC... and I'm so over that phase :')

There are more unused ideas but I still have them around my head just in case I do use them.

Also, if you've read a11 of this, uh, yeah! Thanks! And you're welcome. ???

#long post #ask agu

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marvel-sluts · 4 years

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Christmas with the avengers

pairing: avengers x teen!reader, Peter Parker x reader.

warnings: maybe some swearing?

summary: your first Christmas with both the avengers and with Peter, what could possibly go wrong?

a/n: merry Christmas everyone! this is absolute shit but I wanted to write something Christmassy, I hope you all like it!

******************

you hadn't been part of the avengers long when you started dating Peter, causing this to be your first Christmas with the both of them.

you get dressed in the matching Christmas jumpers you and Peter both had, because apparently it was tradition in the avengers tower to wear Christmas jumpers on Christmas day, so you had both agreed to wear the matching jumpers. (see gif)

you pulled on a pair of jeans and tied your hair up in a ponytail, with a small peice tinsel wrapped around your hairband. you did light makeup with f/c (fave colour) of eyeshadow.

you walk out of your room in the avengers tower and bump into Thor and Loki, heading to the kitchen.

"hello lady y/n, you look ravishing. I love your jumper." Thor said smiling at you.

"thanks Thor, you look good too." you say smiling at him.

"I like the tinsel" Loki muttered to you on the way past. you and him had become quite close over the past few months you have spent at the tower, but it still shocked you that he would say something like that with Thor around. normally he was a lot quieter in the shadow of his older brother.

"thanks loki." you say cheerfully, getting into the lift with them.

when the three of you get to the living room and kitchen you go your separate ways. Thor to the kitchen, no doubt to raid the cupboards of poptarts and you and Loki to the living room. you take a seat next to your boyfriend and smile at him.

"you look amazing" Peter says, looking at you lovingly.

"so do you." you say giggling.

"I know" he said, pretending to do a hair flick. but failing miserably and accidentally hitting himself in the face.

you laugh at him, and he looks at you with those puppy dog eyes that you can never resist. "sorry love" you say before kissing his cheek where he hit himself.

both of you head to the kitchen and after collectively deciding on cereal for breakfast, you go back into the living room with bowls full.

just as you both sat down on the sofa at your previous spots, Tony came in with Morgan trailing behind him, also wearing matching Christmas jumpers. "Merry Christmas everyone!" he says, sitting next to Steve and Bucky on the sofa.

Morgan runs over to you and attemps to scramble onto your lap. after realising what she was trying to do you help her get up and she sits on you happily.

Morgan had begun to like you in the short time you had been here, you were good with kids and would often play with her causing you two to become immediate friends. she was your little partner in crime and the pair of you would often adopt Loki to help prank Tony and Steve.

"I know its Christmas but there is a lot to get done, Pepper, Wanda and Bucky are on cooking duty first and then we will rotate, check this peice of paper that was kindly provided by Bruce for the timetable. everything else should have been done already."

"I can't wait to see what I got from Santa!" Morgan squealed excitedly, eyeing the pile of presents under the tree.

"I'm offended" you say dramatically, "are you not exited to see what I got you?" you asked laughing.

"yep, I'm exited for all the presents!" she said before getting off of your lap and running into the kitchen to 'help' with the cooking.

after half an hour of chatting and crimes cookies Nat decided she was bored.

"who wants to play Christmas games?" she shouts holding up a box. you glance at the box before bursting out laughing.

"o-deer! really?" Sam said, laughing at what happened last time you played it.

"do you remember Rhodes last time, he looked like he was going to take off." Scott said laughing.

"erm, excuse me. but who won?" Rhodes said pointing to himself. "this guy, so don't get ahead of yourselves." he said.

"I personally think I'm gonna win this time" you say sticking your tongue out at Rhodes.

"not gonna happen doll" Bucky called from the kitchen.

"just watch me win" you say.

everyone comes in from the kitchen and takes a break from cooking to play.

you all take turns having the antlers and throwing the hoops, when both you and Peter had finished you both collapsed on the sofa. he put his arm around you and you nestled your face in his chest, breathing in his warm sent.

after Nat announced that the winner was Wanda (everyone thinks she used her powers, although she swears that she didn't) you changed around kitchen duty, next up it was you, Peter and Steve.

Vision had mysteriously disappeared from the cooking rota, despite the fact that Wanda had been helping his cooking skills he couldn't seem to get any better.

you got started on the brussel sprouts, how anyone could eat them was beyond you but apparently some people *cough* Sam *cough* liked them.

Peter had gotten started on the stuffing, making the mixture and rolling it into balls. whenever he would walk past u he would kiss you on the forehead, or whatever part of you that was facing him at the time. Steve was watching this behaviour and wasn't sure to find it cute or disgusting.

Steve was getting busy with the mashed potatoes and checking on the turkey every once in a while.

a gasp echoed through the kitchen as you burnt your hand on the oven attempting to check on the turkey per Steve's request.

"what happe-" pete asked trailing off when he say u nursing your hurt hand, "oh baby, are you okay? did you burn it? don't worry it will be okay. I'll get some ice for it" he said, completely freaking out.

you watching him frantically searching for some ice for a minute before saying "don't worry petey, it's fine. it's only a burn. and it doesn't hurt that badly" you say giggling at how concerned he was.

"but what if it gets infected? or if it swells up?" he asked finally managing to find some ice and putting it on your hand.

"honestly, you kids." Steve says rolling his eyes and chuckling. "are you sure you are alright y/n?" he asks, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

"yeah I'm sure" you say, smiling up at him.

"okay" he says checking on the turkey himself.

you checked the clock "our shift ended five minutes ago! those little fuckers didn't tell us!" you say taking off the apron. you go into the living room and find Morgan and Loki laughing on the sofa.

"I'm truly sorry Lady y/n, it was my shift next and I didn't want to do it." Loki said, smirking at you.

"your not sorry" you say.

"no, your right, I'm not" he said, grinning again.

you roll your eyes and resume your earlier position on the sofa, Peter sitting next to you.

"secret santa!" came a shout from the doorway, you looked up to see that it was Tony. he was carrying the secret santa presents in his arms and Clint and Rhodes were behind him also carrying armfuls of presents.

Morgan jumped up from her seat next to Bruce squealing excitedly.

"don't we have to wait for our special guests to get here?" Pepper asked eyeing Tony.

"oops I forgot, yes we do" Tony said putting down the presents bashfully.

"what special guests?" you ask, having not heard about this at all.

"you will see" Tony said, with a shit eating grin.

about ten minutes later a knock was heard at the door.

Vision gets up to answer it and you soon here a shout from the doorway.

"do not fear, Christmas is saved. for the overrated king of wakanda and his amazing and beautiful genuis sister is here!"

"SHURI!" you and Peter both yell in unison.

"it is I" she said flicking her hair (and actually succeeding) before running to hug the two of you.

"not that anyone has noticed but I'm also here" Doctor Strange says from the doorway.

Tony and Bruce look up from talking to T'Challa and go over to shake hands with Strange.

"presents now?" Morgan asks, tugging on Tony's trouser leg.

"yes sweetie, go over and open some of them." Tony says. patting her on her head and sending her on her way.

everyone gathers around the tree and watches Morgan open her presents from santa. when she has finished you give her a wrapped package with some art supplies in. she jumps up and hugs you with a massive grin on her face.

then someone (you guess Scott but your not sure) yells secret santa.

everyone gets the presents they had gotten for their secret santa, you had gotten Thor and after asking for help from Peter you ended up making him something. when it was time for you to give thor his present you presented a wrapped up package. it was a knitted jumper with tiny hammers and lightning bolts on it.

he opened the present with a massive grin on his face and pulled you into a bone crushing hug.

"thanks you Lady y/n, I couldn't have asked for anything better."

"your welcome Thor" you said, smiling up at him.

when everyone was done with the secret santa, you had received a few scented bath bombs and a silver snake ring from Natasha, some people trickled out to go and help in the kitchen.

you handed Peter a package wrapped in red paper, "here you go Petey" you say.

he takes it and opens it, you had given him a watch with the millennium falcon on the inside of it.

"thanks baby, I love it!" he says hugging you tightly and kissing you square on the lips. "you will get yours tonight" he says with a grin.

not even five minutes had passed when a yell was heard from the kitchen.

"you idiot, you were meant to take out the turkey while we were opening the presents!" Sam yelled.

"well its not my fault that the timer didn't go off!" Clint yelled back.

"FRIDAY, did you set the timer like I asked you to?" Sam asked.

"you never asked me to set a timer sir" FRIDAY replied.

"shit" Sam muttered kicking the table in frustration.

after a few minutes of chaos Steve managed to find a ham in the back of the fridge, everyone decided that the ham was the best thing to have so you cooked it up and it didn't get burnt.

everyone gathered around the table, the food was delicious, and you almost couldn't tell that there wasn't a turkey.

"hey Bucky, could you pass me the potatoes please?" you asked. piling your plate high with good food.

once everyone was done eating you all sat in the living room and put on a Christmas movie.

you and Peter wanted to watch the muppets Christmas Carol but you both were outvoted and you ended up watching the Nightmare before Christmas.

Tony got the movie set up and you curled into Peter. an hour later when the movie was finished you were still in the same position, you were very happy next to Peter with him stroking your hair lovingly. you buried your head further into his chest until you had to upstairs to bed.

Peter offered to carry you and you glad fully accepted, completely worn out from the chaos filled day.

when you had both gotten up to your bedroom he presented a wrapped up gift from his pocket.

"I'm not done with you yet y/n" he says with a grin on his face.

you open the package and inside find a box. upon opening it you find a beautiful silver heart locket. you open up the locket to find that Peter had already put a picture inside, it was a picture of you and him on Valentines day, on the date that he had set up for the two of you.

"omg, Pete I absolutely love it!" you say with a massive grin on your face, "can you put it on me?" you ask.

"turn around" he says, taking the necklace from you and clasping it up. "all done"

he spins you around and you land in his arms, he kisses you passionately and you kiss back just as fiercely. the kiss was filled with passion and promises.

that night you fall asleep in his arms, with a massive grin on your face.

you couldn't have wished for a better Christmas, even if it did include burnt turkey.

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latin-dr-robotnik · 3 years

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Hola Sebas! I saw that you really like the character of knuckles and amy rose, and I though...

Do you have some headcanons about them? 👀 I like to think that knuckles and amy can develop a sibling bond.

For example, knux being worried about her and even trying to protect in a sibling way during a battle.

And with amy, she would try to mock out knux in a friendly way like she did in the episode of sonic x where she was saying to him that it was obvious that knuckles was grateful for sonic's help but didn't wanted to say that to him but amy could read that in a spare of seconds

¡Hola anon!

Headcanons? Back at the start of this year I was actually working on an actual KnuxAmy oneshot lol. It was a bit of a personal experiment to try and branch out of regular ol' SonAmy content and into a different type of dynamic. A slower, more intimate one. Although it's still incomplete to this day, the main points were that after some years of relative peace in the world causing the Sonic cast to split up and do their own things, an older Amy decides to drop by Angel Island unannounced to visit the lone guardian of the Master Emerald, catch up on what they've been doing, and maybe remembering some old adventures they took part. It's meant to be a rather chill and intimate read in a post-Forces alternate continuity that takes the two of them around some beautiful vistas and secrets of Angel Island that no one but Knuckles (and maybe Sonic) knew of, while they slowly realize they might have more in common than they think. They're older, their way of understanding life is different, and so they might end up working better as "more than just friends", or at least that's what I was working toward before leaving the project sitting on my drafts haha.

As for actual headcanons, that "they might have more in common than they think" point is something I can stand by for any context, not just my self-indulgent fanfic. Alternate Sonic media like the comics have tried to develop quiet moments between them to strengthen their friendship, and it's something I can also see working as a general series headcanon. Knuckles in the main series is a bit of a wildcard, swinging between being the hot-headed Master Emerald guardian that wants to be left alone (but will chase you to the end of the world if you piss him off or steal the Emerald) in the Adventure days, and a bit of a dumb jerk as of recent games (Gens, Lost World, to some extent even Forces); and while I like both approaches, my ideal Knuckles (as I talked about him in a previous ask) has more of that SA2 Knuckles interacting with Rouge or Heroes Knuckles energy. (I like Heroes Knuckles a lot, he's as ready for adventure as he can be, and he's having lots of fun throughout.)

Anyway, yes, headcanons:

For grumpy Knuckles, the one who doesn't want to be bothered when he's on his floating island, I think Amy of all people is the one that can better connect with him; and while at first he won't let her delve too deep into his own thoughts and motivations, at the end of the day it helps him a lot to know he has a friend that understands him on a more personal level than the rest. That's not to say Sonic and Tails aren't close friends to him, but both of them are always around for adventures and kicking Eggman's ass. Sonic will never have a heart-to-heart conversation with Knuckles because that's not his style, because he understands Knuckles as is, and the only thing he want is for Knuckles to be fine and in shape for both punching shit and messing with each other. But Amy? Amy's empathy is the one key aspect that always carried her very far, and I believe she wouldn't let Knuckles walk away back to his island without talking about it, not because she wants to change him and force him to be more open, more friendly or just a completely different person, but because she wants to understand what's up with him, and reassure him that she'll always be there if he ever needs her. Of course, even if Knuckles denies it, it doesn't hurt to have someone you can chat with when the fate of the world isn't at stake. The M.E. is great and pretty shiny but I don't see it being too talkative (unless you turn it into a real character and... hooo boy that's a rabbit hole for another time.)

As for Knuckles as a jerk, yeah, I agree with both of them bantering a lot. We kinda saw that already with Sonic X, Sonic Generations and Sonic Lost World (Knuckles makes a funny comment about Sonic, Amy immediately retaliates, often with a strong shove involved lol), but I can headcanon Knuckles and Amy being complete jerks to each other. Over every other headcanon, I think this is the one with the biggest sibling energy: Knuckles is the big grumpy bro while Amy is the cheery little sister, and they both go ham having lots of fun mocking and teasing each other, laughing and then having some ice cream together or something before calling it a day. But that's exclusively their thing, do not attempt to make fun of any of them or the other one will tear you to pieces. That "knucklehead" you just mocked is Amy's big bro and if you don't apologize you'll meet her hammer head-on; and don't even get me started on what happens if you make Amy cry (heck, I can headcanon Knuckles threatening Sonic to break all his bones if he ever breaks Amy's heart lol like that "Are you playing with that girl's heart again, Sonic?" Heroes quote but now a lot more serious, haha.)

Heck, take off the KnuxAmy component of my fic and it becomes a decent sibling headcanon: Amy will visit Knuckles over at Angel Island on occasion (don't ask how she gets up there... that's part of Amy's magic), and they may or may not end up spending the entire afternoon talking about Sonic. If Knuckles ever has to come down to Station Square, I'm sure the first person he visits is going to be Amy, maybe even stick around for a cup of tea! He doesn't understand tea, though, or even the concept of a city apartment, so Amy may need some extra patience to teach him how everything works. Sonic may even show up while Amy is teaching Knuckles how to make tea, and he'll make a funny comment about him, causing Knuckles to immediately drop everything and chase after the blue blur across the city only to kick his ass.

So, in conclusion: yes, I was working on getting into older!KnuxAmy and maybe take their dynamic one step further, but for actual headcanons I can see Amy being the only one Knuckles can actually and fully trust, since she can see right through him, leading to probably one of the most solid friendships in the entire series, on the same level as Sonic-Tails, the Chaotix or Shadow-Rouge (don't kill me, shadouge fans... haha... ha.) When Knuckles is in the jerk mood the sibling energy between them goes to the moon, and leads to incredibly fun moments when they playfully mess with each other, laugh a lot and maybe Knuckles gets the chance to learn a bit more of how the world works outside of Angel Island.

#ask latin dr robotnik #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #knuckles the echidna #should i add the ship tag? i mean i talked about it but it's not the real focus of the post #agh what the hell let's do it #knuxamy #honestly this caught me a bit off guard!#i'd love to develop these two a lot more #i think there's a lot of potential with the way they can work like siblings #heck i forgot to mention sonic boom had some of that sibling energy too

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samanthalightning · 4 years

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She's Got A Date-EoWells X Allen!reader- Part IV

*The GIF is not mine. All rights to the owner*

Part III

Summary: After getting wasted last night, you meet up with Barry and he offered you some advices. Based 1x03

Warnings: None. Just a tad angsty.

***

Extremely groggy, currently having a mind-splitting headache and has the worst case of hungover, it was a miracle that you woke up early— well, thanks to your siren-like alarm. You hate yourself for drinking like a viking and like your liver regenerates like Barry.

Last night was a blur— or at least the part you got home. You blacked out. You have absolutely zero recollection of how you ended up in your bed, in your pyjamas, and your car parked the wrong way. You figured you drank and drove, you might have someone to do with that one. You are so lucky no one caught or Joe would've made sure you won't see the light of day. But everything prior that was still very much intact in your mind. Everything.

You were supposed to meet up with Barry for breakfast today at Jitters. You were headed there anyway for some coffee. It's not far from your apartment, which was nice, because you don't trust yourself with driving hungover as much as driving drunk.

When you arrived at Jitters, Barry was already there. He waved as his eyes caught you entering. You smiled in return. You went to him, put your bag on the floor and took a seat on the stool. Cups of coffee were on the table, it seemed like Barry had already gone through half of his coffee.

"I already ordered for you," he said. "And I got you this ham and cheese sandwich from that bodega." He placed a brown paper bag in front of you.

"Thanks," you mumbled, taking a sip of the coffee. You rummaged through the bag, and took the foil-covered sandwich. It was still warm. Your favorite bodega was all the way downtown. It's a trip to get those treats, which is why you almost never get them. Thank God for Barry and his super speed.

You quickly removed the foil and took a large bite. You groaned happily as you chew. Coffee and greasy sandwich; it was heavenly and bitter. It hits the right spots, it feels as though a part of your soul re-entered your body.

Thank God for Barry and him knowing you so well.

Barry chuckled amusedly at your reaction. "Had some fun last night?" He teased, pointing to your sunglasses covering your eyes.

In your defense, it was very bright outside today.

You rolled your eyes, not that he can see through the lens— or can he? You didn't know. "Just had a few drinks with Iris," you said.

He nodded, half convinced, took a sip of his coffee. "Once upon a time I was falling in love but now I'm falling apart," he sang in a low voice, but enough for your heightened hearing to hear.

Your head quickly jerked up to him, eyes mortified. "How did you know that?" You whispered. Your thoughts ran wildly. Maybe someone took a video of you drunk as hell, and maybe you're trending on all social media platforms or maybe you became a meme.

He shrugged, pursing his lips. "I don't know, you belted those notes in the streets last night,"

Perplexed, you look at him, and it's like he was waiting for something to click while smirking devilishly. Then it dawned on you. All of those questions you asked earlier were answered. He took you home. Which makes sense why he got these sandwiches for you.

"Oh my God," you groaned, burying your face in your hands, cheeks turned into a dark shade of red. Though, you still remember nothing.

Barry laughed hysterically. He loved teasing you so hard.

"Yeah. You called me last night, begging me to pick you up, because you're too drunk to drive," he said as his laughing ceased. "You both refused to enter the car. You started screaming, giggling like 5-year olds. I was lucky the street was dead."

Oh poor Barry. You can imagine, he must be so embarrassed.

It was a relief that even if you're drunk, you didn't risk driving. Maybe you're not as hopeless as you think you are.

Still, you dwelled in your embarrassment.

"So, who is it?" He asked. You look up to him again, eyebrows furrowed with once again cluelessness and confusion. You had a hunch what he was talking about, but it's always safe to pretend you don't know. It can't hurt them. He looked at you incredulously. "Come on, Y/N. You were talking the whole car ride. About some guy, and how things are so complicated and you were tired of it. I've never seen you like that before—"

"—clearly haven't seen me in a frat party before," you snickered, taking off your glasses.

"I'm serious. What is that about?" He insisted firmly, anticipation and a squint of frustration was evident in his face.

You grimaced, mentally hissing at yourself. You couldn't just zip your mouth and reveal your secret. Might as well announce it.

You messed up. You can lie, but what's the point? He's Barry. If he's anything, that's persistent. He tried breaking in Iron Heights.

"I'm dating someone," you confessed.

Barry blinked, clearly caught off guard with your confession. He expected it, but what surprised him is that you hid it from him. He stuttered for a while, before he was able to form a coherent sentence. "Oh. Okay. What happened?"

You sighed, looking down at the table. You took another bit of your sandwich, taking your time to chew. Contemplating whether to elaborate. It's pretty heavy to unload, you didn't expect telling your brother you're dating someone so secretly. And for sure he won't be able to take it all at once. You have to be vague.

"He—he doesn't want anyone to know we're dating, because there are certain consequences that come with it," you explained. It felt foreign to talk about your love life. For the past 6 months, you kept it all to yourself. The bad, the good. You bottled it up inside.

He raised an eyebrow, concern crossed his features. "And you're comfortable with this?"

"At first. But then it felt restricted and suffocating," you explained.

"Did you talk to him about this?"

You nodded. "Yes. He wasn't very convinced. I honestly don't know what to do," you huffed, slumping your shoulder.

It ain't rocket science to figure how deeply i troubled you. It breaks his heart that his little sister is going through some stuff, and she was going through it alone.

"Talk some more. Be honest of what you're really feeling," you thought was pretty rich and ironic coming from him. "You're part of this relationship as much as he is. You have a say in this, and if you don't feel like this isn't working out for you, then maybe you shouldn't be in it at all."

His words hit you like a brick— thousands of bricks hitting you all at once, if you're being accurate. It hurts, because it was right. It hurts, because it deeply matters. You felt the sting in your heart, your jaw tightened. You don't want to think about it, but he's got a point.

Barry was worried with your lack of response, as you think deeply in the distance. "I'm not saying break up with him, okay? I'm just saying this is something you should really talk about and consider. You can't bottle it all up." He doesn't want to screw up his sister's love life or push her to do something that might hurt her, but not exactly disregarding the advice he made.

When he's not being a total dork, he's pretty wise.

You pressed your lips is a hard line, taking it all in. "I know," you murmured.

You weren't able to say anything after that. So did he. It was some heavy weight of emotional stuff to unload to your brother. Your hungover was gone, and who knew these kinds of talks are better than coffee and grease.

Barry decided to break the silence. "This explains so much," he laughed and so did you. You weren't pretty subtle. "Do I know him?" He quirked an eyebrow.

You hesitated, but it's not like Wells' is the first that will come to his mind. Gradually, you nodded. "Yes. But I'm not gonna say who!"

"He isn't someone like Oliver Queen, right?" He half-joked, but deep inside he meant it.

You almost spat your drink. "No!"

Barry went to the precinct, and you headed to S.T.A.R Labs.

You tried to act as normal as possible, even though what Barry said deeply affected you. Thank God Caitlin arrived before you, so you wouldn't have to deal with interactions with him.

You couldn't still believe how much emotion you felt last night; how intense it is. You minded it, but you didn't think you would actually get drunk about it. You have no idea how to deal with it, and if it's the right time to deal with it. You can't go on and help your brother save the city, while your mind is filled with thoughts about him.

Right now, you choose the city.

As soon as Cisco arrived, which wasn't very long, you worked on finishing the pipeline.

It wasn't easy though, you worked on the same thing, be in the same room, act like you didn't get hammered because of him last night. Every time you spare him a glance, and he would look back and he would smile, having no idea what you were going through, it would break your heart just a little bit more. Each minute that you let your feelings be unknown, Barry's words sink into you furthermore. But it occurred to you that the reasons why it was hard were also the reasons why you should keep it together.

The prison was done before lunch. He and Cisco worked over-overtime last night, so there wasn't really much to do, but set it up. It came up together well; durable, functional. The cells slightly look like pods, and given Francisco Ramon's obsession with Star Wars, it makes sense. The test run will happen when 'The Mist' is captured, since Barry doesn't want to participate. But rest assured, you and Cisco worked on it very hard to make sure it works.

Now with the biggest task done, the only thing left to do is go through a bunch of workload and have lunch.

"Hey, Caitlin and I are gonna grab lunch, wanna come?" Cisco asked, putting his coat on. "It's that new place that serves amazing cheap steaks and burgers,"

You realized that the place he was talking about was the very restaurant that you told Wells.

You shook your head. "No, you guys go. I already ordered some food." You smiled, declining.

"Okay, your lost. That place is amazing," he elaborated, clearly pleased with the place. It's Cisco, though. And food.

You snorted, turning your eyes back to the computer. "As I heard," you murmured underneath your breath with a tinge of bitterness, as Cisco strided out of the cortex.

On the bright side, someone from this place already went there. But much to your dismay, it wasn't you.

Your phone dinged. You picked it up to check, and it's what you have been waiting for. The delivery guy is right outside the lab. You quickly headed down to pick it up. You gave the delivery guy some tip, before excitedly went back inside.

You were salivating when the intoxicating smell of Chinese food filled your nostrils.

When you got up, Wells was there. He took a waft of the take-out foods. "Is that from Mann-Lee?" His eyes lit up in recognition. He was the one who introduced you to the restaurant. He said it's the only Chinese place he likes, because it tasted like the food he had in Shanghai. Of course, he's been to China.

You nodded, placing it on the desk. You quickly took out every box of food in the bag, and dug into your chow mein happily and satisfied, not bothering to take a seat.

"Did you order some for me?" He asked.

Unable to speak due to your mouth being filled with noodles and potstickers, you nodded. "It's in the box," he chuckled at your attempt to speak.

He helped himself and rummaged inside the bag's remaining contents. Upon opening one, his face fell, seemingly disappointed. He opened another box only to be disappointed again. He was looking for something specific. Your wonder started to grow, watching him.

He turned to you, and you raised an eyebrow. "Did you order some of their Beef Broccoli?"

"No. Did you want that?" You inquired.

"Yeah." He forced a half-smile, waving his fingers dismissively. "It's okay. I'm fine with Kung Pao Chicken; it's decent enough,"

For some reason, your mood soured. Decent in Harrison Wells' vocabulary means it's not good enough; he doesn't hate it, but he doesn't love either. You felt bad that you didn't know what he actually likes, but in your defense, he never says, and he lets you eat it. He never complained.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it," you said. You didn't want to watch him suffer eating something he doesn't like while you enjoy your own lunch.

"No, it's fine," he assured you.

"No, Harry. I mean it— you don't have to eat it," you insisted with more vigor in your tone.

He ignored you, and took a bite of the chicken. You scoffed in disbelief, frustration fueled in your chest. You want to stop him as he continues eating, but you decided against it. It's too petty to get angry about, not worth it.

You eat your lunch in peace, every time you turn to Wells, he would wince every now and then when he takes a bite. You don't know what about Kung Pao Chicken he doesn't like, but he doesn't just like it. You tried to let him go through it, but you're starting to get annoyed. And of course, you couldn't stop yourself.

"Okay, stop," you suddenly spoke, putting your food aside. "You don't have to eat, you don't like it." You tried to grab the food out of his grasp, but he swerved swiftly.

"Y/N, I said it's fine!" Wells said, displeased at your attempt to take his food away.

"It's not! You don't look fine— you don't like it!" Your voice rose a little.

He exhaled audibly. "It's just food,"

"I know it's just Kung Pao Chicken that I ordered that you don't like, so just admit it and stop eating!" You spat.

He scoffed in disbelief. "What is wrong with you? I am eating it!"

"But that's the point!" You snapped loudly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do— you never do!"

Realizing what you've said, you shut your eyes. Your hands flew to each side of your head, fingers weaved through your hair, tugging on them. You needed to calm down and take breath, and be rational. The last you want to do is do something reckless and irrational.

"Is there something wrong?" He questioned firmly.

You mentally grimaced at the question. It was a stupid question; it's basically screaming at his face. "Nothing," you muttered.

Of course he didn't buy it. You weren't exactly selling it well. Or at all.

"It's something. You're enraged over food," You don't honestly know how he can keep his tone down, but it was evident he was agitated. You hate it so much right now.

You sighed wearily, refusing to face him. Afraid of what might happen if you do.

"Let it go, Wells," you pleaded through your gritted teeth and clenched jaw.

"No. I'm not gonna stop until this is settled. Tell me, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

He continued on, pushing you to speak. The idea of unloading all of your hidden burdens entered your mind, but you don't have the emotional capacity to face the fact that this is taking a toll on you. You tried to hold your ground, but his voice overwhelmed you.

You pushed your chair back, getting on your feet and facing him.

"Everything is wrong, Harrison!" You shouted, your voice boomed inside. Wells almost flinched. "Everything is wrong with us!"

Wells shook his head, baffled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I can't take this any longer,"

"Can't take what?"

"This—" you gestured to you and him. "—This arrangement we made!"

Wells sighed, distressed, catching on what you were saying. "I thought you were okay with this,"

You chewed on your bottom lip, as you folded your arms across your chest. When you spoke, your voice dropped into a whisper; you couldn't control it. "I thought so too. Then last night, Iris vented out to me." You paused. You struggled to keep it together, now pressing your tightly folded arms on your chest. You continued. "They were having problems, same as us. I gave her some insights about everything, and then I realized that's how I feel!"

The underlying problem he thought he got handled was more intense than he thought. Time was running, you couldn't pick more of an impeccable timing, and the team could waltz in anytime while you were having this fight. He couldn't afford anyone finding out about it.

He took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, this is not the time for this," he said.

You snorted, your anger erupted in your veins. You were tired of avoiding the elephant in the room.

"When is the perfect time? When it's too late? When we break up?" You didn't want to say it, but it was at the tip of your tongue, waiting to be asked ever since you realized it.

His expression hardened. You already see the gears working. "Y/N, don't go there," he murmured, not glancing up to you.

"Why?" Your voice cracked into an almost sob. That was it. The tears found their way and pool at the rim of your eyes. "I tried to make myself believe that I understand, but I couldn't help but think that maybe you're scared that if things don't work out you won't have to deal with other people, thinking that you slept with a 24-year old girl."

Soon, every emotion you were feeling last night came rushing back to you; the confusion, the anger, the love and the pain— towards him and yourself. It seeped, not only to your heart, but through your very bones and weary soul. All too soon it became overwhelming, your chest tightening, your stomach knotting, struggling to keep it at bay.

Thinking it was one thing, but saying was a whole new realm of pain you didn't know you existed, let alone capable of feeling.

He glanced up to you, eyes staring into you meaningfully. "I would never think that. I made so many enemies, Y/N. Before and after the accelerator exploded. The last thing those people want is to see me happy and that puts you in danger," he reasoned.

You tried to steady your shaky voice. "I know. But your reasons and your excuses, they won't matter in the long run. The press, Joe, our friends, my brother— everything they say won't matter to me, because they're not the ones who loves you like I do, and they're not the one in a relationship with you." You told him, staring back, before turning away, as they threatened to fall.

You inhaled sharply. "I love you, Harrison Wells. And no matter what they say about us or you or me, I'll love you. Damn, you put my brother in a 9-month coma, but I loved you nonetheless!" You pointed your index finger at him in the air.

He let you speak, taking it all, as waiting for you to finish, let it all out and explain his side. And then, you'll be swept off your feet again, as if all of your feelings and thoughts didn't exist in your mind before. Barry was right. You couldn't believe you were getting to this point, but he was right.

"But I don't wanna hide anymore. I want to do more. Be free. If you don't want anyone to know that this relationship is happening, then maybe we shouldn't happen at all," You stated.

You both were silent, the tension was thick and you could cut a knife through it. Suddenly you couldn't move, like all of your energy was drained from your body.

You turned away before you could see his reaction. The pain was unbearable; it's best if you don't see it.

Mustering all the courage and strength you have left and your body, you took a step to leave the room. He tried to stop you by reaching out, but you recoiled, before his fingertips graze your skin.

"Don't,"

You strided out of the cortex, your shoulder straightened, held up high to hold your tears, but every step you take, the control you have dissipates. Slowly, your tears overflowed. You wiped the tears, though it didn't make any difference, your tears fell and fell, soaking your neck. Soon, all hell broke loose, sobs racked your body, your hands flew to your mouth to muffle your voice.

Wells was left with nothing, but the sound of your footsteps received, your muffled sob through the walls; thousands thoughts and emotions, and the weight of your words.

***

My parents are fighting. This one made me genuinely sad. Anyway, I'd really appreciate it if you share this and give it some love. Thanks!

Part V

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hollenka99 · 4 years

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The One Where Jackie Takes Each Day As It Comes

Summary: Chapter 1. Jackie may not have a home but he’s meeting some friendly faces.

@bupine @badlypostedeverything

Spotting all the daily newspapers declare it was February 13th 2019 that first morning had been rough. Part of Jackie had wanted to believe it was a really elaborate prank. But the lads wouldn't be able to do something like that. Especially given the state they'd gotten themselves in at Stuart's party. Maybe it hadn't been a bad thing that Jackie decided to go easy on the alcohol. At least he didn't enter the next century completely hammered. Seeing couples out on Valentine's Day causes him to reflect. He spent that day missing Chris, which he had been in two minds about. And Nate. God knows how he'd be able to return home to 1986, if he could at all. Perhaps getting thrown three decades into the future was the thing he needed to sort that mess out internally. The risk of the band going their separate ways because two members broke up sounded more attractive now. Sure beat them disbanding because the drummer disappeared indefinitely or was presumed dead. Yeah, he would split from Chris to be with Nate if he had the chance now. It was the old question niggling in his mind: didn't he deserve to be with the one who made him happier than the other? Not like all that relationship drama mattered much when he had no worldly possessions except for his clothes now. Fuck the shit with those two anyway. He'd rather have Caoimhe in his arms any day. Whatever happens to her with him gone, Jackie hopes she is kept safe and loved. Okay, so maybe he was going to get teary about some things. There was no point exhausting himself with tears regarding all this. How would giving himself a massive headache help matters? It got worse the more he accepted his drastic life change. Dwelling on it all hurt. Bridget, Annette and Spencer must all be adults by now. His friends were in their 50s, like he should be himself. They all must be unrecognisable to him now. Like he said, dwelling on the currently inaccessible past was redundant. Instead, he did his best to find somewhere dry to sleep at night. Days were spent on the lookout for food. At least there was a water fountain near the bus station. It's fine. It's not like this is his first time taking each day as it came. He'll manage, one way or another. It's while Jackie is preoccupied with drinking someone's discarded hot chocolate that a man approaches him. The stranger's curls remind him of how his own hair used to be, prior to its current style. Freckles litter his face too. The smile seems genuine but he's been in this situation before. Jackie decides to cautiously give this stranger the benefit of the doubt. "You know how to play guitar?" American? Canadian? He doesn't know enough about those accents to distinguish them. "...Yes." "Here." The guy holds out his guitar case. "I don't need the change anymore. Got a decent job now and all that." "Thank you but I can't." "You look like you could do with a source of income. Stealing isn't exactly a reliable method of feeding yourself. Which reminds me..." An oat bar is retrieved. Through part of the plastic wrapping, it is visibly crumbling. "I'll admit, not in the best condition. Sorry about that. Still, please take it." Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. "Thanks." "No problem. I'm Joel, by the way." He winks, heading a few feet away. "Jackie." The ground crumbles in front of where Joel stood. Straight up vanishes as if it hadn't existed in the first place. It wasn't like Jackie had never met someone with powers before but... it was certainly impressive to see this sort of stuff first hand. The outstretched leg, meant to be taking a step into oblivion, is retracted. There is a pause. Joel turns to face him once more. Still there is continued hesitation. "Listen, I shouldn't be saying this but... things are going to change soon. Just be careful. Anti's about and he likes targeting people who can uh, easily disappear." "Anti?" "There's a killer on the loose and I'd hate to see your face on the news for all the wrong reasons." And like that, Joel hops backwards into the hole. Jackie takes his advice and plays during the day. Playing acoustic guitar simply makes him miss rehearsals with the lads. Guitar wasn't even his instrument. That had been drums. Even so, their type of guitar had been electric. Not much comes from busking. He's rusty, he knows. He continues playing songs he recalls off by heart in the hope of earning a pound here and there. He supposes the public secretly question why he sang nothing but hits from 30 years ago. Days blur. The last time he'd bothered to check the date it had been the 21st. He didn't keep track of how many days ago that was. The wind has been blustery all day. It was for this very reason that Jackie had spent the majority of it as sheltered as he could. He notices a man passing by his spot who seems unaffected by the bad weather. He walks by as if they hadn't been suffering strong winds recently. That's not the only odd thing about the stranger. His choice of fashion is very interesting. His entire outfit is purple apart from the covered half of his face and his gloves. The white mask resembling a cat's face reached the top of his cheeks. To complete the look, the mask extends into triangular ears. Jackie feels the guy hitting his head must hurt even more with those attached. Jackie's presence must have been caught in his peripheral vision. Cat Guy halts and turns to him. Surprise transforms into a warm smile on his face. "Hey, I don't think I've seen you around here before. I'm guessing you haven't been living like this for long?" "About a week or two. Haven't been counting." "Tell me you at least have something to cover yourself with at night." "I try to find somewhere relatively warm. Ish." "Dude, it's February." "Yeah, tell me about it." Cat Guy removes his backpack. From it, he retrieves a water bottle and a blanket. "Good thing I tend to carry some stuff around. Ham or cheese?" "What?" "Sandwich." The stranger presents him with the gifts. Once Jackie takes the blanket and water, the superhero holds out an object encased in tin foil. "I tend to make ham and cheese ones. You're not vegan or a lactose intolerant vegetarian, are you?" "No. I'll uh... take the ham, thanks." "Oh, by the way, what's your name?" He could say John. Or Bartholomew. He doesn't have to say Jackie. Shit, he could say his name was Sean if he wanted, seeing as that was another form of his name. He didn't have to even provide a name that was half true. But eh, fuck it. It's not like this guy will find a Jackie Mann born in Ireland during the late 90s. "Jackie. And what should I call you, Mr Super Cat?" "Super Cat, wow." He laughs. "That's a new one. Well, I'm known as the Magnificent Cat around here. A bunch of people shorten it to Cat." Cat? Yeah, that sounds cool. The superhero carries on with his day a minute or two afterwards. He sees him tossing a sandwich and making brief conversation with the black woman situated on the corner of the street. Mondays and Thursdays rapidly become Jackie's favourite days of the week. Cat always swung by at some point in the day, making sure those living outside had certain necessities like food or some money. He had a habit of apologizing for not being able to give more than £5, as if that was a tiny amount to provide to each homeless person he catered to around the city. They typically talk but it never lasted long before Cat had to carry on with his rounds. Once, the superhero had to excuse himself due to a burglary being reported. Jackie also liked seeing this other guy who kept popping up over the days. They'd first met when Jackie had been performing Billie Jean. Marvin was a really nice, frequently sparing 2 or 3 pounds whenever he passed by Jackie. There were also their conversations. The topic didn't matter. They also varied in length but by far fulfilled his social quota better than Cat's busy schedule could. It was pleasant to have someone to talk to. Either way, he had two people in his corner which was two more than he'd expected. The first week of April is laden with rain. Waking up to a damp blanket sucked but it was hardly like he had anything else to cover himself with. At least it was gradually warming up now. The last thing Jackie wanted was hypothermia, let alone getting sick in general. He must be getting his days mixed up because he thought Cat's last visit was on a Thursday. Yet here he was, walking around as he tended to do. Jackie didn't hear him chatting with anyone else like he'd expected him to. It didn't matter. It was getting fairly late anyway. It wasn't as if Cat was prohibited from strolling around in his costume. Plus, he was under no obligation to be as social as he typically was. Saying hi to him as he passed wouldn't hurt though. "Cat! It's good to have a dry spell in the middle of all this bad weather, huh?" Jackie chuckles. "How are things going?" The superhero halts abruptly at this. It's almost like he didn't expect Jackie to be there. That was a little odd because this was his usual spot. However, he decided to brush it off as Cat having a long day. His theory is further solidified when he doesn't seem as in the mood to talk today. "Hey. Things are good." Cat smiles thoughtfully. "Actually, I've been meaning to show you this new community centre that opened recently. They're letting people sleep there if they want. It's technically within walking distance from here but it's much easier to get there by car. Want me to take you there?" He obliges Cat's generosity. They chat about how foot traffic had significantly dropped in the past few days due to the downpour. Cat points out his black car. He motions to Jackie that he'd be sitting at the back because unfortunately, there was a bunch of clutter in the front. The door is red when he grabs the handle. A couple blinks confirm it is still red. The darkness of the evening must have been confusing his ability to see colours properly. It also may be linked to this headache that's appeared out of nowhere. He really hopes this isn't a sign the rain has negatively affected his health. He'd rather focus on how lovely the interior of Cat's car was. The doors lock internally. He moves his head to direct a remark about it to Cat. Except it's not the superhero at all. There was no costume, only a dark hoodie. The first feature that causes him to stare when Cat faces him were those eyes. Was there even anything other than black in them? The hair too. He's never seen Cat without his mask on but he didn't think it would be dark green. Had Cat looked so pale all those other times? He's not certain. He definitely knows that grin belongs in Hell. "Funny how easily people will follow you if they think you're a friend. Isn't it?"

#jumbled au #my writing #writersofjack #jackie mann #the magnificent cat #antisepticeye #tw kidnapping #but it's more... luring away in this chapter

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onewhoturns · 5 years

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fictober.14.: intermediate frequencies

#Fictober19 Prompt: 14. I can’t come back. Fandom: Oxenfree Characters: Jonas, lost!Alex Rating: T (no warnings apply) Tags: Mystery? kinda?, supernatural, lost Alex, weird radio stuff Word Count: 1807

The messages started out simple. The first one, anyway. It was weird, to come in the middle of some rock ballad from the 80s, but he chocked it up to crossed wires and weird interference (which, well, seemed technically accurate). Skid Row was whaling away a guitar solo, and then—

“Hello out there? This is, um… Cave FM! ‘No. 1 for Cave, Grotto, and Subterranean Country.’ ”

It was a girl’s voice. Not the well-practiced veteran voice of the station DJ, but someone crackling in like some kind of prank broadcast. Gone and done in a few seconds, and back to the music. Jonas glanced at his car radio for a second, skeptically, but shrugged it off.

The second message wasn’t exactly terrifying, either. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he’d heard it at all, half asleep as he was. Same station, Bryan Adams singing on about whatever younger years blah blah— It was 7:05. Jonas wasn’t really paying close attention. But, again, mid-song;

…and the bad. Yeah I'll be stand- “Um… A-Alex? Can you… can you hear me? ”

It cut back to instrumental. But this time it didn’t seem like just a prank call. She didn’t sound… It wasn’t necessarily panic, but it was nervous. At least, he thought it was. But again; over and passed so quickly.

The third message was the first one to come from nowhere. His car radio was turned all the way down, between stations after stopping mid-tune when the light had turned green. It was just on static. Until there was a voice.

“Uh, testing, testing… this is a test of the Beach Cave Emergency System? ”

The voice had a kind of nervous laughter to it, like someone put on the spot, covering up anxiety with humor. It was the same girl.

The fourth…

The fourth message was when they started to ring bells.

“Hey, i-if you’re out there, uh, Alex? We… We got stranded on Edwards Island… and-”

Edwards Island. That… that was a thing. He’d been there, he’d been stuck there, he’d been terrorized there and only escaped thanks to— to something. Something involving Ren’s friends. He didn’t fully remember the night. But the name was enough to put him on alert.

She was asking for the same person, again. Someone named Alex. Maybe a friend, or a boyfriend, or a brother or something. Maybe a parent or a guardian. Someone who could help.

But the messages had come days apart. And there was no reason she’d be stuck there. The message came at 3pm on a Sunday, from the little radio built in to the kitchen of their new place in Camena. Ferries ran on the Island— well, he didn’t know for sure, but when he’d gone with Ren they’d run at least til five. No reason to be stranded.

The fifth message sent chills down his spine.

“Hey, Ren? Nona? Can you guys hear me? It’s Alex, in case you can’t recognize my—”

She always got cut off mid-message. Like someone terminated the broadcast before she was finished.

But that… those were his friends’ names. Those were— those were people who went to the island with him. And her…

Her name was Alex. Which meant all those messages before, they weren’t calling out for help from someone else. They were calling for help from herself.

His theory was confirmed while driving around Camena at 11pm on a Wednesday night in early July. He’d just leave his radio on and tuned to static sometimes, wondering what might pop up. Generally it would just be brief staticky half-seconds of advertising jingles or droning AM radio newscasters.

“Alex? This is… you, okay? Just… don’t go into the cave. Whatever you do, don’t go into the cave.”

It was the first message that felt… complete. Like she’d gotten out what she needed to say. And it… it made sense. Things started to add up - or kind of add up, with a hell of a lot of blurry bits in between.

The island had been… something. He didn’t remember a lot of that something. But the cave felt familiar. He didn’t go in, but Michael did. Michael went, and he brought a radio. Radios, like this Alex person was using.

Jonas wanted to know more. It felt like a bad idea, but he felt like he needed to know.

“Alex, this is… uh, Alex, and— listen, don’t come to Edwards Island. Whatever you do, just- don’t come here. Stay home. Stay… safe.”

He lay under his covers, staring at his alarm clock. He’d started to leave it running quietly in the background whenever he was sitting around. Any radio, really. It was maybe a little weird, but his dad was usually at work, and when he was home he didn’t comment on it. And it was summer, so there wasn’t a ton to do all day, aside from let Ren drag him around the area. They’d gone to the lake earlier that day.

Jonas’s brow furrowed, rolling over to examine the station. The noise switched back to music. He’d taken to changing stations regularly. It didn’t seem to matter what the frequency was; she’d be there.

“Hey! Uh, Jonas? ”

He sat bolt upright in bed, heart suddenly hammering in his chest. It was 2am. He’d been fucking around on his computer and-

“Or- or just to anyone listening, we’re trapped in—”

It cut out, again. He just stared at the radio on his bedside table for a long moment. “Alex…” The name felt odd in his mouth. Like it didn’t quite fit, or was the wrong shape. Which was weird, cause it was common enough. But somehow it felt foreign.

His name. She’d said his name. She’d called out to Ren, to Nona, to herself, and now to him.

Feeling like a bit of an idiot, he awkwardly picked up his little alarm radio. “Um… Alex?” This was stupid. He was talking to a $5 piece of plastic that didn’t even have a microphone. It couldn’t even transmit.

But he knew what could.

Panting, red-faced and pumped full of adrenaline, Jonas shifts his truck into gear, reaching for his prize. State-issued radio communications equipment from the forest service. Stolen. Basically: one hardcore walkie-talkie. His eyes are a little too bright, too frantic, clicking on the power switch and starting to press buttons, scanning through the channels like he might find-

“Fuck-”

There’s feedback, and it’s loud. He hurriedly flips off the walkie. That doesn’t even make sense. How could there be-

“Jesus-”

Fucking fuck, Jonas nearly swerved into the next lane over. Thank god the road is empty. 4am is pretty much always dead around here. He hurriedly pulls over.

“Who— is that— are you-”

“Is… Is someone there? ”

“Yes!” Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, this is— this is real time. “Are— are you Alex?”

“Is… If you’re there…” There’s a pause, and the voice drops quieter. “Oh my god, this is… fuck, you’re being stupid,” the voice on the radio mutters, like she’s trying to talk herself back to her senses.

“Alex, right? It’s-” He feels like an absolute idiot. “It’s Jonas. You-” He’s talking to his radio. His fucking car radio. Like that could ever work in a million years. His enthusiasm stalls. “…You probably can’t even hear me,” he mutters flatly, sighing. Stupid idea. Stupid plan.

But that wasn’t the plan, the plan was-

Jonas fumbles for the walkie again, flicking the switch and the feedback comes on before he flips it off again-

“Motherfucker, how is that-”

His heart is in his throat. That can’t be a coincidence. Not twice in a row. Fuck, is he dreaming?

Jonas turns off the car. The radio dies. He turns back on the walkie-talkie, this time with no wailing whining scream of feedback. He holds down the transmit button for a second, trying to find the words. But… No, there really isn’t anything to say. Just… “Alex?”

There’s a chirp of a finished message as he lets go of the button. Then silence. He’s reaching for the radio dial, thinking maybe that’s the only way to hear a response, when the walkie crackles to life.

“…Who is this? ” She sounds wary. Not exactly cold, but firm. Like she’s expecting it to be some kind of prank. Which is— can she even be pranked? Who is she? What is she?

He holds down the button. “It’s… uh. You- um, you called me. I think. Maybe from the island.” He feels like a dumbass. But also like maybe this is just some kid fucking around on a HAM radio, and his name was just common enough to be picked. Ren and Nona… not so much. But Jonas? It’s not unheard of.

There’s a half chirp of a ping, and Jonas pings back. He’s not sure what else to do.

For a long moment, there’s just silence.

He clicks open the channel again; “Are you still there?”

Another second of silence, and then— “Jonas? ”

Jesus Christ. Her voice is different than before. There’s plenty of standard radio distortion, but she still sounds pained. Like she’s choking on his name. He lets out a long breath. “…Yeah.”

“Oh my God.” Her voice is hushed.

“Who— who are you? How do you know my name?” His head is swimming, because this feels unreal.

“You-” The transmission cuts out. And it doesn’t come back.

“Alex?”

“You don’t remember.” It sounds breathless. Like she’s been punched in the gut.

“…Should I? Do I— have we met or something?” He doesn’t remember any girls named Alex. Or anyone with her voice - and he’s been hearing her voice a lot lately.

“…No. No, we-” It cuts off again, and Jonas starts to think that’s actually intentional on her part. When her voice comes back, it’s quiet and sounds choked and thin. “No. We’ve never met. I don’t—”

He lets the radio silence go on, expecting her to come back any second. She doesn’t. Finally, Jonas risks a ping. There’s a ping back. So she’s still there.

“Alex?”

“-I can’t come back,” she blurts, and it’s cut off quick, but he thinks he hears a bit of a splutter, a cough maybe, or a sob.

“What do you mean?”

Silence. It goes on. He gives her time to formulate her thoughts. He pings.

There’s no response.

“…Alex, are you there?”

Nothing.

He waits for a long time. Five minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. A half hour has passed, and none of his pings have been returned. Finally, Jonas sighs.

Keys turn in the ignition, the truck roaring to life, and he stabs at the radio’s power button just as the feedback starts again. But nothing over the walkie. No exclamation. No ping. He shifts the car into gear, and checks the walkie one last time, just to remember the station; channel 18.

[source for AO3 link]

#fictober19 #i can't believe i have to post this again cause it's not showing up in searches #oxenfree #alex oxenfree #jonas oxenfree #oxenfree fic #my writing #will delete the original post so rip first attempt #prompt fill #if anyone knows the secret please tell me

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sher-soc-the-famder · 6 years

Text

Full Deck

Summary: Roman loved his soulmates. He was lost to them, which was good. Seeing as it meant that he'd only end right back up with them.

Word Count: 2124

Pairings: LAMP

Warnings: Mild language

Notes: Happy End of Ace Week gays! Have one final fic for iiiiit! You get an Ace! You get an Ace! YOU get an Ace! Everyone gets an Ace!! Thanks for sticking with me for this! See y’all next year!!

Read On AO3

Roman groaned as his phone buzzed next to his ear. He gritted his teeth and shoved his face into his pillow even more. He missed the warmth on either side of him, but at least the blanket was soft. He could get away with sleeping in for at least another hour before his alarm went off. Probably.

His phone practically threw itself off his nightstand and Roman dove for it. His elbow crashed against the wood of his drawers and he hissed at the pain. He squinted at his phone. Whoever was contacting him this early in the morning had better have a good reason. It wasn’t even past ten yet!

The string of texts that shone in his eyes made no sense. Roman scrolled through the history, amusement building as he read them.

Gloomy Gus 9:15 am: fck

Gloomy Gus 9:15 am: i mean fuck

Gloomy Gus 9:16 am: whih f u has my kys?

Gloomy Gus 9:16 am: *KEYS

Specs 9:18 am: I believe that I have them.

Specs 9:18 am: And please remember to breath Virgil.

Specs 9:19 am: I am on my way to your location now.

Gloomy Gus 9:21 am: thnz Lo

Gloomy Gus 9:21 am: also have p’s glsses

Softest Puffball 9:24 am: Oh! that’s where they went!

Softest Puffball 9:24am: thanks V!

Gloomy Gus 9:26 am: no prob

Roman snickered to himself. He slid out of bed, stretching until he felt his bones pop. If his lovely soulmates were going to be heading back home by the sound of it he may as well prepare them a grand feast. Patton, at the very least, would have likely skipped out of the door earlier without a second thought about eating.

It wasn’t until he stepped out of the shower, toweling his hair dry that his phone buzzed again. Expecting another update on Today’s Lost Items Adventures(™), Roman flicked it open as he wandered towards the closet. His hand froze before it could wrap around the handle and his heart dropped beyond his toes. All the way through the floor. Roman didn’t know since he couldn’t feel it anymore.

Sandman-ster 9:43 am: Heeeeey gurl

Sandman-ster 9:43 am: u sstill up for the aro-ace party tonight

Sandman-ster 9:43 am: u kno i need an ace up my sleeve ;)

Sandman-ster 9:44 am: this aro will fly tru

Sandman-ster 9:44 am: promise

Sandman-ster 9:44 am: nail painting gurl

Sandman-ster 9:45 am: u can’y miss it!!!

Roman shifted, rocking back and forth on his heels. He wanted to go to the pride celebration with Remy. He wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality, not really. He just- Roman worried- Roman took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. He closed his phone screen and tossed it onto the bed.

He didn’t want to lose what he had was all.

Roman dug through the clothes in the closet, making a mental note to tell Logan that Virgil had regressed to dropping things on the floor again. Patton’s cardigans bunched in the back corner, wrinkled and no longer folded like last night. Roman’s lips twitched up in amusement. Either Patton hadn’t wanted Virgil to feel alone in his mess or he had forgotten to refold them this morning.

Adorable either way!

He slung on the first white shirt that caught his eye, leaving it unbuttoned as he wandered out towards the kitchen. He didn’t have anywhere to go today, so the shirt was more so that Logan didn’t give him The Eyes Of Self-care Disappointment(™) that followed their backs with varying degrees.

Roman wasn’t sure who got it less out of all of them, which was a little sad when he thought about it so he didn’t.

He shook his head. He turned to dig through the fridge, realizing halfway through that he had left his phone on the bed. He debated going back to grab it because if he didn’t reply then Remy would text him all day up until the point they were rolling in through the door of the party. Roman stared at the eggs, maybe it would be best if he didn’t.

He still didn’t know what excuse to give his soulmates about being out that late. Logan would want to know what sort of party he was going to so that a designated driver could be selected. Patton would want to go with him. Virgil, well.

Virgil would see right through all his bullshit and then. And then. Instead of calling him on it like a sane person would! Virgil would blame himself and the whole mess would be Roman’s fault. Again. So just no.

No, it was far easier to stay home and watch Disney with his partners again.

Roman breathed through his nose. It didn’t matter. He’d be fine. The topic of sex hadn’t come up between them yet. Logan wanted to get them all settled in with jobs before taking things further. Roman wasn’t entirely sure Patton even knew what sex was. And Virgil would never ever be the one to push them forward.

So long as he let them idle here for the next little (forever) while then there was nothing to worry about!

Roman tugged at his sleeves, trying not to rub at his temples. He pulled the eggs out of the fridge a shade too hard. He honestly would have rathered they brought sex up, even once. Just so that he could know where they all stood. He set to work on making a pair of omelets (ham, peppers, onions, and cheese for Logan and himself, regular egg and cheese for Patton and Virgil), cracking the eggs against the bowl. He probably reached in the sound a bit too much.

Whatever, find stress relief where you could, as Virgil would say.

He slid the first omelet onto a plate around the same time the door smashed against the wall and Virgil skid into the house like his heels were on fire.

“Where’s Logan?!”

“Not here yet, Five Nights at Paranoia,” Roman pointed at a chair and gestured at the omelet. “May as well sit back, relax, and please, enjoy the show. Mr. Frizzle’s on his way, no doubt he’ll be here soon to make more sense than the rest of us combined.”

Virgil threw himself into the chair, the legs screeching against the ground at the action. Roman watched as he tossed Patton’s glasses carefully onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. He carefully, more carefully than if he was alone, took the second omelet off the stove.

“Don’t think you can distract me by quoting NateWantsToBattle at me,” Virgil snapped, his eyes tracking Roman’s path around the table to him. “You didn’t even get it right!”

“That was on purpose!” Roman protested, reaching out to rub at the knots in Virgil’s shoulders. Virgil tensed and then melted under the touch. Roman did have magic hands, so he’d even excuse Virgil ignoring the food he had worked so hard on. “It was to distract you, clearly!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Virgil grumbled, tilting his head back to give Roman better access. Roman hummed, enjoying the warmth of Virgil’s skin under his thumbs. Why anyone would want more than this he didn’t understand. What could be better than making the men he loved happy?

“Virgil!” Patton shouted from the doorway. Roman jumped at the noise.

“On the table Pat!” Virgil shouted back.

Patton streaked into the room, snagging his glasses off of the table. He leaned over to peck them both on the cheek before running off towards the bedroom, shouting over his shoulder. “Iloveyouguys! Iforgotmynotebooktoo!”

Roman laughed, reaching up to run his hands through Virgil’s hair.

“Better?”

“Almost,” Virgil muttered. “Still need my keys.”

“Well!” Roman declared, “Logan should be walking through the door in three… two…. one!”

Logan’s sigh echoed through their house and Roman grinned. He leaned down, hand out in front of Virgil. He danced victoriously as Virgil gave him a bemused high five, watching him with an unmistakable fondness in his eyes. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Why must you insist on acting like this?” he muttered.

“You love me and you know it!” Roman sang, his happiness quadrupling as Logan leaned over to peck his cheek just like Patton. He leaned over to kiss Logan’s nose, dancing away with a laugh as Logan’s face turned bright red.

“God, help us all, I do,” Logan’s lips twitched upwards. He turned to Virgil and with a flick of his wrist, tossed Virgil’s work keys back to him. “And please refrain from losing anything else today. I’d rather not explain to my boss why I had to leave twice for my soulmates.”

“Sorry,” Virgil’s eyes dropped and Logan reached out to run his thumb against Virgil’s cheek.

“I did not mean it as an attack against you dear,” Logan said simply, “Merely a request.”

Whatever Virgil opened his mouth to say was lost in Patton’s return. Patton skid in, eyes bright and Roman’s phone in one hand, his notebook in the other. He settled himself right into Roman’s side, waving the phone like a victory flag.

“I got this for you Ro!” he chirped. “Better to grab it now than forget about it and have it end up with Virgil again.”

“Thanks, Pat,” Roman said, taking the phone and trying not to hold it like a bomb about to go off. He felt it vibrate in his hand again. Remy no doubt, still looking for his reply. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem kiddo!”

Patton giggled, skipping over to press a kiss to Logan’s cheek and Roman didn’t think he could take it anymore. The flag he had once worn with pride seemed to drag on his shoulders, despite not being there at all. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe that’s why every interaction with his soulmates felt tinged with a lie.

“I’m asexual!” he blurted. Silence fell like a hammer against the stained glass of his world. He swallowed thickly, shifting back and forth on his feet as the other three stared at him. He tucked his hands behind his back to hide their shaking.

“Oh my god,” Virgil breathed, and Roman screwed his eyes shut to brace for the blow. “You too?!”

Roman’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Virgil’s wide eyes.

“Well, that certainly explains a lot,” Logan said, and Roman whirled to look at him. Logan tapped his chin in thought, “I had thought it was just myself, and that the lack of... forward progress in a sexual nature was because of my own disregard of it.”

He grinned at them.

“Which is to say, me three.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at Patton, who shrugged. He held his hands out and grinned. A sheepish laugh slipped from his lips.

“I have no idea what that means, but I admit that I’ve never really wanted to uh, you know…” he trailed off awkwardly.

Roman couldn’t help the slightly hysterical laugh that escaped his mouth. He bent over laughing in relief and the hilarity of it all. What were the odds? Soulmates indeed. He could almost believe that it had all been planned. Four aces in a row. Four of a kind, full deck.

He froze. And the best idea hit him.

Roman wrapped his fingers around Virgil’s wrist, dragging his soulmate forward past the pride flags that hung on either side of the door. He nodded at the clearly marked asexual bouncer and the aromantic one, each standing under their respective flags. Virgil muttered something under his breath. Roman ignored it.

Tonight was for adventure! And fun! And pride!

And Virgil was going to enjoy all three if it was the last thing Roman did!

“Hey, gurl!” Remy called and Roman waved enthusiastically. “You made it after all!” Remy’s sunglasses slipped down as he stared at the pair of them. Roman watched as his eyes slipped past them to Logan and Patton behind them. “What’s with the suits?”

Roman grinned even wider. It had taken a bit to explain everything to Patton, and then convince the others to play along. But it had been worth it.

The red paint shaped like a diamond on his cheeks, matched with the hearts on Patton’s. Virgil had refused to sit still for the clubs on his, and Roman still fought the urge to straighten the lines out. Logan sat through the spades with a stoic intensity that belated how the excitement in his tone as he answered Patton’s questions.

“Oh you know,” Roman couldn’t help but preen, “We’re just a full deck.”

#Sanders Sides #LAMP #romantic lamp #Remy Sanders #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Ace Awareness week #THIS STILL COUNTS AS SATURDAY RIGHT??

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isakthedragon · 6 years

Text

Super Sonic Thieves Finale

Finale - The Most Dangerous Amusement Park Ever

The Set-Up:

Sly, narrating: “Sonic lead us to where he thought Eggman was, which just so happened to be an elevator which opened up for us.”

Sonic: “Heh, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. A few years, and you’ve rebuilt your ‘Interstellar Amusement Park’. Well, let’s crash your party. Come one, everyone, get on.”

Sly, narrating: “Once everyone got on, the elevator started going up into the sky, slowly at first, but slowly getting faster too.”

Bentley gets forced back in the chair. “Geez. Don’t hold back on the G-forces, huh?”

Sonic: “Eggman likes to give us a head rush before he shows us his ‘next big thing’.”

Sly, narrating: “Soon, Eggman, or at least a recorded message, spoke to us.”

Eggman: “Well done, Sonic and friends, and who I can only assume are extra passengers known as Sly Cooper and related. You’ve beaten all of my minions, and even defeated Sly’s old foes. A standing ovation for all of you.” *Sounds of recorded clapping.* “Too bad your journey has come to the end here. As soon as this elevator stops, you will be greeted to my new ‘Interstellar Amusement Park’ which is sure to make you head spin. It’s not going to treat you folk nicely, but I suspect you’ll make it through all the same. I shall be waiting for you at the far end of the park, so I’ll see you then.”

Sonic: “Ah, always with the ego.”

Eggman: “Oh, and a special thanks for Penelope for leading you all here in the first place.”

Penelope: “Huh?”

Eggman: “Your friend is right! You are just a pawn. You lead them right to where I am, and you’re also right that all your Clockwerks were from Arpeggio. He’s flying around in his Clockwerk body right now, ready to make this last Zone that much harder to cross. So sorry if anyone does die… NOT!!”

*Bentley comforts Penelope.*

Penelope: *Sigh* “I hope I didn’t screw up.”

Bentley: “You didn’t. He’s just trying to scare you.”

Tails: “Yeah. We would have found him out sooner or later. You’re good.”

-----

Zone Layout: Welcome to Eggman’s NEW Incredible Interstellar Amusement Park (Trademarked! :D )! Eggman has spared no expense or villainy to build the toughest zone you can ever face, all hiding under a bright atmosphere. Eggman has taken from past Sly villains to make this place even more dangerous like a towering Volcano area, a blimp ride that looks a lot like Arpeggio’s, and a Cooper Vault style climbing area. It all sounds so menacing, but they all are hiding behind the bright lights of the Tropical Resort style base. It seems this place was meant to hold people, so it might be a smart idea to shut this whole place down.

Enemies:

Toucan Robots: Once, Arpeggio’s patrolmen, but now just robotic copies. They’re still wearing jetpacks that can flame you if you touch them, and can also send out flying lasers to burn even more. Carries/drops 27-29 coins and has a 25% chance of treasure to pickpocket.

Supreme Toucan Robots: Robotic copies of Arpeggio’s flashlight guards. Watch out for the cannon they have attached to their shoulders that will blast cannonballs at you. Carries/drops 27-32 coins and has a 50% chance of treasure to pickpocket.

E-2000 (And E-2000): Slick looking badniks with a big laser gun. Attack them when they are attacking or they’ll just block your attacks with their shield arm. Drops 30 rings when smashed.

Falco: Those quick birds will attempt to bomb you as they fly by. It might be easier to dodge than attack them, though they are worth 30 rings if smashed.

Tropical Resort Pawns: These Egg Pawns would like to greet you… with whacking you with their large ‘Welcome’ sign poles. Drops 32 rings when smashed.

Slugs: Eggman’s remake of Clockwerk’s fire slugs. All they got going for them is their fire around them, so just throw or range attack them to defeat them. Drops 32 rings when smashed.

Clocktwerps: Smaller, though still kinda big (Like Egg Hammer big), Clockwerk birds that are starting to be mass produced by Eggman. Since it’s Eggman’s they aren’t impossible to defeat, but they will take a few hits. They either swing with their wings or talons to hurt you, or bite you with their beaks. Drops 34 rings when smashed.

Treasures:

From Guards:

Large Gold Ring: Worth 200 coins and 100 rings.

Large Diamond Ring (It’s made of actual diamonds): Worth 300 coins and 150 rings.

Large Adamantium Ring: Worth 400 coins and 200 rings.

From Pedestals:

Eggman’s Spare Goggles: Found among the computers to smash to enter the next area. Worth 5000 coins and 2500 rings.

Megadrive: Found where the gang’s old safehouse was on the blimp. Worth 7500 coins and 3750 rings.

Platinum Bubble: Found among the piles of treasures for Henrietta. Worth 10000 coins and 5000 rings.

The coins have Eggman’s face as a design on them.

-----

Eggmanland Zone Act 1: Cream, Knuckles, Blaze, Murray, Panda King, and Carmelita head off to the ‘Clockwerk’s Volcano’ attraction and shut it off before it can burn someone. First, Cream and Murray will have to fight up to the volcano itself, fighting off enemies and traps that get sprung. Then, Knuckles and Blaze work to smash computers to open a large door and through a security hallway. It ends with Panda King and Carmelita shooting Eggman’s version of a death ray pointed at Earth to pieces to finish the act.

*At the start.*

Eggman’s PA announcement: “Welcome to the ‘Clockwerk Volcano’ attraction. Witness the spectacular, if annoying, battle between a gigantic robot bird, and one small annoying raccoon. Hmmm… sounds awfully familiar.”

Murray: “Is that supposed to be what was Clockwerk’s volcano we we first met him?”

Carmelita: “It seems to be so. We better shut it all down.”

*Later, in the room with the sealed door.*

Knuckles: “They wanted us to search for computers in this area, but I don’t get why it’s just us?”

*Some lava slugs appear.*

Blaze: “Lava slugs robots. Only I can touch them, that’s why.”

*Later, at the death ray machine.*

Carmelita: “Ay… This isn’t good. It’s that death ray Clockwerk had.”

Panda King: “We know it can’t be, since Clockwerk had no part in making it.”

Sonic, over the binocucom: “I wouldn’t put it past Eggman that he’d build a fake death ray that WORKS. I think you should destroy it just in case.”

Carmelita: “Yes, we should!”

Panda King: “The experience shall test how far we’ve come… in destruction. Heh.”

*The death ray explodes once it takes enough damage.*

Carmelita: “Looks like your world is safe now, Sonic. At least from death rays.”

Panda King: “We’ll clean up whatever’s left here and join you later.”

Sonic, over the binocucom: “See you then, guys. And thanks.”

---

Eggmanland Zone Act 2: Amy, Tails, Charmy, Espio, Rouge and Bentley take a ride on the ‘Arpeggio’s Blimp’ attraction to prevent Arpeggio Clockwerk from using it as a charging station. Everyone uses their own skills to tear the place apart with bombs and hacking so it becomes essentially nothing but a broken ride.

*At the start.*

Eggman’s PA Announcement: “Welcome to the ‘Arpeggio’s Blimp’ attraction! You’ll be green with envy, or airsickness, when you see the heights one gang took to take down a bird and a magnificent airship.”

Bentley: “Whoa! It looks exactly like Arpeggio’s blimp!

Tails: “That’s Eggman for you. He builds the most gigantic scale models of weapons of mass destruction, then use them for that purpose.”

Rouge: “I wonder what he’s using it for.”

Charmy: ♪ “I hear the buzz of electricity in use!” ♫

*Arpeggio Clockwerk suddenly flies out of the attraction.*

Amy: “Wow! What was that!”

Bentley:”It appears to be Arpeggio… which means he’s using this place as a charging station.”

Charmy: ♪ “Does that mean we get to destroy it?” ♫

Bentley: “We have to, so Arpeggio has nothing to fall back on.”

Espio: “We better watch for any traps they have set for us.”

*Once the whole blimp is destroyed.*

Bentley: “Okay, guys! The blimp is destroyed, which means Arpeggio only has this time to make it count. You guys got this?”

Sly, over the binocucom: “Yeah, we got this. Just got to make it through our own test…”

---

Eggmanland Zone Act 3: Silver, Vector, Marine, Dimitri, Sonic, and Sly head off to the ‘Dr. M’s Takeover of the Cooper Vault’ attraction to make their way over to Eggman. Similar to the gauntlet that was the Cooper Vault, the 6 must make their way past the challenges the original vault had, with the bonus of having swimmers to swim past some if need be (Like Dimitri can’t hug the walls, so he’d have to skip the swinging hammer sections.). The fun ends though when they reach what was Conner Cooper’s skill, the laser slide. Only Sonic and Sly can make it past that and are left to face Eggman and Arpeggio Clockwerk alone as the others get everyone together to find a different way to them.

*At the start.*

Eggman’s PA announcement: “Welcome to ‘Dr. M’s Takeover of the Cooper Vault’ attraction! Think you can make it past these gauntlet of trials to the treasure hidden at the end? Probably not, but it’d be funny to see you try.”

Sonic: “Eggman hamming it up, as usual.”

Sly: “I don’t really like that he knew personal information of Kaine Island. Least it’s useless to go back there now.”

Dimitri: “Remind me what we are doing here again?”

Sly: “It’s a clear replica of Kaine Island and the vault, so they must be hiding something big at the back end.”

Silver: “Or someone. I feel at least one person over there.”

Vector: “Then what are we doing standing around? Let’s tackle this place!”

Marine: “Argh! To the end of this wondrous adventure! Hurry on, lads!”

*Near the end of the act, at the start of Conner Cooper’s section*

Sonic: “Whew, that was a workout. Looks like we’re at a dead end, though.”

Sly: “Not really. It’s my dad’s section. He perfected a move called the laser slide.” *Sly starts a machine that sends a laser to the last cave.* “The only problem is only I know it.”

Sonic: “I could probably do it too. I’ve rail slided a lot in my time.”

Silver: “Maybe I should stay behind with the others and find a different way to you guys?”

Sly: “You might have to. There’s lots of lasers this way, and Murray is way too big to go through this.”

Silver: “Okay, I’ll gather the others and we’ll find a different way. But you guys are probably going to be left alone.”

Sonic: “Heh, no need to worry, Silver. We got this.”

Sly: “I’ve faced these dangerous situations before too. And with Sonic, I’m sure we can handle anything coming.”

Silver: “Alright. Good luck then!”

---

Eggmanland Zone Act 4 (BOSS): Sonic and Sly are left all alone to deal with their greatest foe…

Sly: “Hmmm… it’s quite dark compared to the rest of the park here.”

Sonic: “It’s Eggman’s surprise. Okay Eggface! We’re here! Show yourself!”

Eggman: “If you insist…”

*The lights come on to show Eggman next to a portal, and next to that, a console connected to a strange laser.*

Sonic: “Spill it, Eggman! What are you doing so we can stop you!”

Eggman chuckles: “You can’t stop me… but I shall tell you anyway. This portal leads to Sly’s world, at a point in space where I moved billions of Class M empty planets at. This laser will fire inside, and heat up a single point in that space to extreme temperature. But, this is no ordinary laser as it’s going to fire the laser to a point to make a miniature black hole. Say… your friend Bentley is listening on that headset of yours, ask him what’s going to happen.”

Sly: “Uh… Bentley?”

Bentley, over the binocucom: “Holy crap! Sorry for swearing, but that math suggests that the black hole will grow to a point that will suck up our entire universe!”

Eggman: “Heh he, a correct answer from goody-two-shoes genius! And once I fire this laser, your world is doomed.”

Sonic: “We’ll stop you!”

Eggman: “Will you? This laser has been charging since you arrived here and is almost done.”

Sly: “We’ll fight you to stop it then!”

Eggman: “No… you won’t be fighting me… you’ll be fighting your worst nightmare. Arpeggio, come!”

*Arpeggio Clockwerk arrives and lands between the duo and Eggman.*

Arpeggio: “Hello, Sly… Long time no see…”

Sly: “So it looks like you finally got what you wanted, huh? To be transferred into Clockwerk.”

Arpeggio: “It’s not exactly Clockwerk, you made certain of that, Sly, but this does almost as well.”

Eggman: “He’s built of the toughest metals I could find, so your cane will be useless against him, Sly!”

Sly: “What?”

Sonic: “He’s trying to get into your head. Ignore them. Don’t forget about me, Eggman! I’ll find a way to break it for him!”

Eggman: “Then why don’t you try? Arpeggio, get the revenge you so deserve.”

Arpeggio: “With pleasure. I will kill you, Sly, both for ruining my plans back then, and destroying me in those other Clockwerk bodies too!”

Final Boss: Arpeggio Clockwerk

Arpeggio has made his Clockwerk as dangerous as can be, with eye lasers, guns on his shoulders, sharp wings to swing about and also to blow you backwards, sharp talons to claw at you with, all within a metal shell that can’t be damaged by Sly… at least, at this point. Arpeggio is just going to be flying around for some time, using his lasers and guns for a bit before landing and going for a more close-up attack. The player is going to have Sonic run behind Arpeggio and home attack the Clockwerk’s back, then to the wings. Sonic’s homing attacks are going to weaken the metal to a point that Sly’s cane can break off the rest. Arpeggio will progressively lose feathers until nothing remains, which angers the bird to just stay on the ground and attack endlessly. Keep having Sonic attack Arpeggio’s back to slowly weaken the metal on the torso to let Sly break it apart to pieces too. Soon, it’ll be just the head, with only the eye lasers to contend with. Either use homing attacks of Sly’s cane to break it to pieces too, leaving Arpeggio with nothing but to shut down.

*Once he loses his wings.*

Arpeggio: “AGH!!! A flightless bird again?! You’re going to pay for that, Cooper! I’ll crush you!”

*Once the torso is lost.*

Arpeggio: “You’ve taken away my body… I’m almost nothing… I’m going to burn you alive, Cooper.”

*Once defeated.*

Arpeggio: “What? Defeated? … At least… I got killed in honor, rather than by betrayal…”

*The head shuts off.*

-----

The Getaway:

*Everyone arrives once the battle is done.*

Marine: “Aw! We missed the big battle!”

Murray: “I hope you walloped him good for ‘The Murray’!”

Sly: “Always do, Murray.”

Sonic: “Now we deal with you, Eggman.”

Eggman: “You’re too late, fools!” *He fires the laser into the portal, and seconds later, he shuts down the portal once the laser is done.* “The damage is done. By the time you get back to your van, your world will be gone.”

Murray: “G-gone?”

Eggman: “Gone. Nothing but the inside of a black hole. I guess it’s good luck for you since you’re here and your villains are back in your dying world.”

Bentley: “That’s so… diabolical that there’s not even a term that can describe it!”

Eggman: “Good. That’s what I was aiming for.”

Sly wanted to say something, but was too distraught to speak.

Eggman chuckles: “What’s wrong, raccoon? No witty quip to acknowledge everything will be okay? No comforting words for your friends? No payback to offer to me? Heh he… or have you realized… that I have single-handedly done what Clockwerk wished he could do? That I have erased the Cooper lineage and everything they’ve done? That now… you are completely alone…?”

*Sly couldn’t say anything, and the hand he was pointing at Eggman was starting to shake. He soon dropped his cane, which caught the attention of the others.*

Sly collapsed to his hands, his heart pounding.He only uttered: “It’s… all gone?”

Eggman smirked, only him knowing the real truth. He ushers his lie like a complete braggart: “Yes… all gone. Nothing for you and your leftover friends. Heh he.”

Bentley: “S-Sly…” *Bentley tried to think of something to say to help his friend, but nothing could come out. Dimitri and Panda King could do nothing but close their eyes in sadness.*

Eggman: “Not the orphanage, not your ancestors, not your heists. To misquote Casablanca: ‘You don’t even have Paris.’.”

Murray went over to at least hold Sly in his hands. “At least… you got us, Sly.”

Eggman: “Do you? Really? There’s nothing connecting any of your ragtag group of ‘friends. Heh he, well, there is Penelope. Without her, none of this would have came to fruition.”

Penelope was taken aback. “W-what?”

Eggman: “Yes. Without you, you wouldn’t have pulled your friends onto this adventure, lead me to your villains, even gave me the idea of stealing the Cooper knowledge.” *He chuckles at the last item, which was a lie not brought on by Penelope.*

Bentley rolls over and puts a hand in Penelope’s. “N-no! You’re lying! How can you call yourself a genius when you manipulate people like this?!”

Eggman: “Then you don’t know me at all, you small-minded turtle. To be short, and as Sonic and his friends know, that’s just what I am.”

*Sonic and the others looked away, not being able to deny Eggman’s claim.*

Eggman: “In any effect, your loss is my gain. I am ever closer of achieving that dream of the Eggman Empire, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

Carmelita gives a small smile, thinking she can mess with Eggman. “It’s hard to do that in handcuffs, though. You know you’re under arrest, right?”

Eggman’s smile didn’t fade, which ruined Carmelita’s smile. “Oh? I am? It’s hard to arrest someone… who’s just a dead robot.”

Everyone: “What?”

‘Eggman’s’ eyes change to a timer counting down from 9. “We’ll meet again, fools. You won’t know where or when, but we’ll meet again… on a sunny day.”

*As the song ‘We’ll Meet Again’ plays, the Eggman explodes like a bomb went off in the chest area. All that’s left is a broken Eggman robot, which bellows in laughter until the battery dies.*

Sonic: “Fooled again… What is he doing...”

Sonic, narrating: “It was a solemn trek back down the elevator. We checked with the van, and it was true, Sly’s world didn’t exist anymore.”

Dimitri: “Our world… it is kaput.”

Panda King: “Its flame… has been snuffed out.”

Sonic: “I know it’s not much, but you guys can stay here as long as you want.”

Carmelita: “Thanks, Sonic.”

*A credits roll later.*

-----

????: “Heh he. Another world sent away, and now lots of people to enslave. The start of our Empire has begun.”

*****: “You sure showed that pincushion up again. We’re messing with him hard.”

????: “Yes. And the data we got from the Coopers will make the perfect copy… but we still have plenty more work ahead of us.”

*****: “My turn again, right?”

????: “Yep. And you’re off to that futuristic world, home of an annoying lombax. We need the minerals found in the world to make a tough metal for a blade.”

*****: “I shall not fail you.”

????: “The world is inching closer to our empire…. Soon, all of it will be ours…”

To Be Continued ~>

#Isakthedragon's fanfiction #Super Sonic Thieves #Super Sonic Thieves Finale #SST #SST: Finale #Hmm...#The volcano Clockwork hid at #Arpeggio's Blimp #And the Cooper Vault #It's a finale of Sly Finales if you ask me. :P

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ember-of-sin · 5 years

Text

Writetober Day #1: Fear

Going to try some prompts from inktober/writetober, and see how it works out. Here’s the first day. Enjoy!

Hungry.

“Fucking Sudan,” Hamish Bertold swore, putting the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag from it. The mercenary leaned back against the side of his jeep, looking up at the stars. “Fucking Sudan.” The Englishman looked over at the rest of his unit – Frederic Pashayev, a former Chechen guerilla, who’d giving up fighting for a cause once Russian artillery landed on his wife and child. Disgusted with both the failed separatist movement that couldn’t even save his own family and by the increasing number of Islamic fighters flooding into the country, the ex-Soviet had left his nation behind. Next to him, weaving his hands back in forth in a description of an event he’d probably mentioned ten times before was Jacques D’Entremot. Always well-groomed, even in a dirty fucking country like this, the Frenchman also loved fire. Perhaps a little more than he should, but not so much that Bertold had to make sure he didn’t go burning down a village for no reason.

Sitting on the hood of the car was the fourth member of their team; Anna Lee Smith, an American. ‘Little Orphan Annie’ whenever you thought she wasn’t listening. You didn’t find many women in this kind of work, but Smith was one of the exceptions. A head shorter than Bertold, she wasn’t squat or bulky, but built and definitely tough enough to lay out any man that thought she was an easy mark. Smith was also prone to starting bar-clearing brawls whenever she thought that she was getting less than the full amount of respect that she deserved.

Bertold ran a finger around his collar, desperate for even that temporary relief. It was a hot night here, so humid you could practically drink the air. “How much longer, Abdul?” he asked.

“Please, sir,” their guide offered in a voice of forced obsequiousness. ‘Abdul’ was not his real name. In the North, he was a devout Muslim convert. In the south of the country, he was an upstanding Christian by birth. For want of an actual identity, Pashayev had given him his name and it had stuck. “It will take however long it takes.”

“It better take less time than that,” Frederic commented darkly. They’d been waiting here, outside another shithole Sudanese village for the past four hours. Allegedly, Abdul had a contact here who would know where their targets were headed.

The mercenary ran a finger through his collar again. A very wealthy man had hired them after his very idealistic daughter had run off to join one of the aid agencies working in the country. A death squad had visited the girl’s camp. They had not been terribly impressed with the group’s humanitarian mission, and had objected to the dispersal of supplies, food and medical attention to the southern Sudanese. They had requested that all goods be turned over to them, as government authorities, for proper distribution. The medical personnel had not wanted to do this. The northerners had insisted. Quite strenuously.

Officially, the government knew nothing about the ‘Camp Holtisce Massacre’, where 87 southern Sudanese men, women and children were slaughtered, 7 foreign aid workers were butchered and one very wealthy man’s overly idealistic daughter was raped and murdered. The very wealthy man had pressured his government to take corrective measures, which amounted to a strongly-worded finger-wagging. The very wealthy man then spent a considerable amount of money to find out exactly who had carried out the Camp Holtisce atrocity and to contract, through appropriate channels, Bertold and his team. Who would, thank you, locate the team and make sure to express the very wealthy man’s extreme displeasure before sending them off to whatever lay in the hereafter.

A good job for good pay.

Bertold’s team had been tracking the northerners for some time now and were almost on them, but somehow they’d given him the slip. They’d moved into the small, out-of-the way southern town to do what came naturally to genocidal lunatics – at least Bertold had thought so, but the notable lack of shots and screams showed a restraint that was totally out-of-character for the northerners. Either they had decided to give peace a chance, or they had figured out that Bertold and his team were tailing them and were either a) lying in wait, or b) had snuck out of the village either to escape or circle around and then ambush the mercenaries.

No matter how it went, Hamish did not like the possible outcomes. He’d fallen his unit back off the main roads far enough that they should be able to spot any flanking attempts, but there was no sign of life from the village ahead.

Abdul had gone ahead to signal his contact there, and received the ‘wait’ response. Which only made Bertold and his team more nervous.

Smith and D’Entremot had swept the area three times already; no sign of flankers and Abdul had checked with his contact again, got another ‘wait’. So, what the fuck was going on?

“This is ridiculous,” Pashenyev growled. “If they’re going to fucking come at us, then come at us already.”

“Maybe they’re bunkered down, thinking the same thing?” Anna suggested, cradling a sniper rifle that seemed two sizes too big for her.

Hamish nodded to himself. No point in waiting any more; if there was a trap, they might as well go in to spring it. “Move out, then. We’ll leave the jeep here.”

“And, you can be assured that will I safeguard it valiantly,” their guide promised.

Frederic grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and gave him a shove. “You’re on point,” the Chechen growled.

“Motherfucking Christ,” Smith whispered in horror as the cone of light from her flashlight played over scene of carnage.

There’d been no sentries.

No drunks loitering around the outskirts of the town, no children sneaking out of bed, no men and women carousing. There was only the stench of blood, the hissing of small, unattended fires and the crackling of glass from shattered windows underfoot. There were no bodies. Only bloodstains splashed against walls and doors, dirt and fences. Bits of bone, pieces of entrails. Drag marks leading off into the savannah.

The crude wooden floors of huts were splashed with dark, reeking fluid. Fingernails had curled deep scratches leading in floors, door frames and windowsills. The woman’s nose crinkled at the mingled scents of blood and urine, the actinic musk of perspiration underlying everything. Not, not just perspiration; fear.

Anna could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know why; she’d fought on a dozen different battlefields, seen and done things far worse than this empty village but here… it was wrong. Indefinably, inescapably wrong. Something… something bad had happened, beyond even what her eyes were telling her.

They shouldn’t be here.

-run-

It was a whispering, chittering voice in the back of her skull, repeating the mantra over and over again. Run. Run. Run.

The mercenary played her flashlight over the walls of the house she was in, a squat and simple one-room hut. There; something on the walls, some kind of writing, it looked like. Smeared on the planks in a shaking hand, barely legible, it trailed off into an indecipherable scrawl as its author was dragged away:

They are h...

Inside her, the voice grew louder, but she shoved it away and backed out of the empty house, continuing her sweep of the village, and if a shiver of movement caught her eye, it was only ever the rustling of grass or some litter that had caught in the wind.

“This is wrong,” Abdul said, clutching his own pistol tightly. “Death squads leave the bodies as a warning. This is not a regime were people are disappeared. Not like this.”

“Yeah? So where are they?” Hamish demanded, playing his light over a broken bicycle. The dirt beneath it had been torn up with frantic movements, a dark stain in the dusty soil. A busted watch lay discarded in the dirt, its strap torn, the glass face broken. The mercenary knelt down to pick it up. It had stopped over six hours ago, even before the death squad had gotten here.

That was impossible. It meant-

“Ham,” Anna’s voice crackled through the radio. “Get over here. We’re in the village square.”

“What’d you find?”

“Our targets.”

The death squad; a dozen men armed with a variety of weapons, from machetes and hammers to AK-47s and even an RPG or two. Not that it had done them much good. These bodies were still here, left out where they’d fallen, their manner of their deaths telling a very distinct tale.

They’d come to the town to rape, pillage and murder and found it just as empty. Fanning out to search for the villagers that they’d believed to be hiding, they’d been hunted down and killed themselves, picked off one by one. In houses, searching closets. In the street, standing guard, or when they’d tried to run.

One of them was slumped at the wheel of one of their vehicles, a jagged chunk of metal imbedded in his skull, thrown with considerable force and accuracy.

“Their magazines are still full,” Jacques pointed out, touching a finger to the barrel of the driver’s gun. It was no warmer than the Sudanese climate allowed for. “Whatever happened, happened fast.”

“It must have been the villagers,” Pashayev said, his fingers tapping against his submachine gun in a cadence continually increasing in tempo. He felt it too. It was in the air. Something wrong had been here. “The villagers. They decided to not to put up with these fuckers’ shit and gave a little back.” He didn’t sound like he believed it, but Bertold could see Frederic was rattled. They all were. There was something about this place

“Yeah, you think?” Smith spat, shining her flashlight into Frederic’s face. “You think a village of goat-farmers just up and killed a dozen men and then ghosted off into nowhere again like the fucking SAS? That strike you as plausible?”

“Maybe the old man hired someone else for the job,” Jacques snapped back, stroking his natty little goatee. “They just got here first. Some other merc troop.”

“No…” Bertold mused. “We would have heard. And nobody on the market is this good.”

“Then what the fuck happened here?”

“More to the point,” Anna raised her hand. “Why do we care? The targets’re dead, we’re not. Let’s go get paid. Do we really have to play the horror movie cliché of ‘explore the spooky village’?”

Jacques nodded. “I agree. Answers are for people who care to ask questions. Let’s not.” There was an edge to his voice and Bertold looked over at his companion; he was feeling it too. They all were.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s-”

“Wait,” Abdul put in. “We must find our contact.”

“‘Our’ contact?” Pashayev grunted.

Hamish pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure he’s fine. He probably lit out when he saw us coming in.” Burn the village, run away run away never come back.

The Russian laughed. “Didn’t want to be mistaken for another spook in the dark.”

Whatever Abdul had been about to say in reply was cut off by a startled shout from Anna. “Movement!”

Hamish spun, lifting his gun and sweeping the flashlight beam across the empty village; there. Someone had just run between two houses. He gestured to his team, Frederic and Jacques breaking off to slip around while he and Anna moved in. Abdul remained where he was.

The clear night was starting to cloud over; only the orange glow of the small, still-burning fires and the thin cone of light from Hamish’s lamp provided any light at all as the moon’s glow was slowly devoured. He flicked off the flashlight, unwilling to give away his position. Ahead of him, he could hear raspy, frightened breathing, the scrape of feet over dirt. His nose twitched.

-blood-

The village reeked of it, stunk of fear and pain. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to listen to the gibbering voice inside him and just run, run until he no longer could and pull the ground in over him. Instead, he forced himself to take another step and then, another.

His head throbbed, the flush of adrenalin making his entire body shake. I know this, some ancient part of him quavered. I… remember this. Long-forgotten, buried beneath generations of human primacy, some atavistic part of him shivered in uncomprehending horror. That … there was no word to describe it. The human sense of smell was vestigial compared to that of other organisms and the scent of blood and death, ash and befoulment in this place was almost overpowering, but beneath it… one particle in a thousand. A million. A billion. There was no definable odour, but he could still feel it. It was everywhere. This is a bad place, that primitive voice whimpered.

Beside him, he could hear Smith, the hitch of her own breathing telling him that she felt it too. Their eyes met, each of them wanting to run, each of them shaking off the primitive instinct as nothing more than the willies. But, the little voice insisted, growing louder. You’ve seen worse. You’ve done worse. Why this place?[/i]

He remembered a tidbit he’d heard on one nature program or another. The scent of a ferret so terrifies rabbits that some die of fright before they ever see it...

Stop it! he ordered himself as he continued down the alley. A ray of moonlight pierced through the clouds as they briefly thinned out. There was a shadow on the other side of nearest house’s corner. Hamish slid sideways, cursing himself for the scuffing his feet made in the dirt. You’re better than this!

So thick in the air, he could almost feel it, making every nerve scream in primal terror, he forced the incomprehensible fear away and moved closer, adrenalin starting to make his arms shake.

As the moon’s light retreated again, he gestured for Anna to give him a little space as he whirled around the corner. There was a startled cry as he swung the barrel of the gun into the face of a terrified girl.

The man who today went by the name of Abdul swore to himself and kicked a furrow in the beaten-down dirt of the path. He didn’t like this, anything about this. Jamal should have been here waiting for them when they arrived, even if the village was like this. It wasn’t like him to play these sorts of games.

Waiting for the mercenaries to return, Abdul sighed with disgust. He headed to Jamal’s house, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his pistol, but each time he inadvertently found his hands tightening about it painfully, like a child with a security blanket worried about the Boogeyman.

He passed by a patter of red in the silhouette of a man and suppressed a shudder, recalling too many local tales of the jinns. In some tales, they were harmless tricksters. In others, they were malign spirits. Still others… Abdul shook himself. Superstitions, he told himself. That was all.

There; he was at his destination, a small chicken coop on the edge of town. Jamal’s brother owned it and it would not be out of place for his contact to be seen here; that was why they had chosen it. There was a cluttering of clucks from the hens; they were all cowering in their coop, heads cocked at Abdul, terrified eyes staring... almost expectantly.

Abdul suppressed the insane urge to scream at them, demanding that they tell him what they had seen. He paused, catching some motion in his peripheral vision, but when he turned to look, there was nothing. Just another stupid bird.

He found the small shed that Jamal contacted him from, frowning as he picked out a strange shape in the dirt. It was Jamal’s flashlight. Why would it…? He turned it over in his hands, freezing as his fingers touched something sticky, warm and wet. With a suddenly shaking hand, he drew his own flashlight and shone it on the ground, revealing the thick, matted bloodstains there.

“No…” he whispered.

“Khalikh,” he heard someone call his name, his real name.

He looked up, seeing a form slip behind a house. “Over here,” the familiar voice called.

“Jamal? Is that you?”

“Over here, Khalikh,” Jamal called. “Over here.”

His heart pounding, the man vaulted over the fence, rushing to the building, and rounding the corner, but there was no one there.

“Khalikh,” the voice called, a little closer. There – in the shadows between this house and the next, he could just make out a human form. “Over here. Hurry.”

“Yes, yes. Just stay there.”

“I’ll stay,” Jamal promised. “Khalikh, come here.”

Khalikh stepped into the darkness. “What happened here, Jamal? Are you all right?” the other man did not respond. “Jamal? Are you hurt? Say something!” He fumbled with the light, almost dropping it before turning it on, a spotlight shining on the ground, catching the dried pool of blood there perfectly, a fresh drop splashing onto the crimson soil. The blood drained from Khalikh’s face as he panned the beam up over the figure. “Jamal,” he whispered, reaching up to close his friend’s eyes. Left here like… like…

…like bait.

“Khalikh,” Jamal’s voice called from behind him. “Over here.”

“Please!” she begged, cowering away from the mercenary. “No hurt!”

As keyed-up as he was, Hamish almost pulled the trigger anyways. “Who are you?” he demanded, his nostrils flared. “What happened here?” He could barely form the words, his breath ragged and hoarse in his throat.

The girl – her skin was lighter than that the southern Sudanese African population, pressed herself up against the wall as if trying to flatten herself against it. “Don’t hurt me! I’m afraid!” She didn’t look more than twenty years old, if that. Kill her! some part of Hamish shrieked in rising panic.

“It’s okay,” Smith tried to reassure the frightened girl, but could barely form the words. Run, her mind screamed even louder, a shriek that bubbled up from the deepest, darkest recesses of racial memory. Run from her! But even as that voice screamed and gibbered, another insisted that everything was all right, that she didn’t have to be afraid, that she just had to reach out and help the girl…

“I’m afraid,” the young woman repeated.

“You don’t have to be,” Smith tried, swallowing back her own terror, forcing herself not to retch. Her legs were shaking. “We’re here to help you.” She had to help her; the poor thing was so frightened, she had to, to get closer and…

..she took another step.

“Please,” the girl said – did her lips twitch just then? – pulling deeper into the shadows, but letting Anna approach. “I’m afraid.”

Something’s not right. Hamish realized, pulling himself out of his stupor. He grabbed his radio. “Jacques, Fred – come in.” There was nothing; only static. “Abdul.” No response. “Anna, let’s-” Smith was reaching for the girl. Yes, that was the thing to do. Run! Don’t be afraid. Never stop, never stop! Hamish grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“The fuck, Bert?” Anna demanded, but the mercenary captain’s eyes never left the young woman in front of them, his gun still shaking in his one-handed grip.

“Don’t hurt me,” the girl sobbed, so small and frightened. “Please. I’m afraid.”

The moon returned, filling the entire village with cold, clear light. It lasted only seconds, but that was enough. The shadows vanished and Hamish could see the dark stains covering the girl’s clothes, the dried blood around her mouth… and the green cats-eye gleam of her gaze. She was beautiful, but… wrong somehow, her near-Arabic features perfect; too perfect. As if someone had tried to sculpt a human, but didn’t quite realize what one should be. She saw his realization. Her eyes glittered with reflected light as she smiled, exposing a too-wide mouth full of gleaming teeth. “Please help me,” she begged in the same pleading tone. “I’m hungry.”

Shoot her! Shoot her shoot her shoot her now! Hamish’s mind shrieked, but he couldn’t make himself pull the trigger. It was all he could do not to run, his heart pounding in his ears like thunder, his entire body shaking. He backed away from the girl, pulling Anna with him, each step an effort not to throw the woman at the thing in front of him and flee in blind panic.

There was a flicker of motion and the girl was gone, as if she’d only been his imagination.

“She was there,” panted Smith. “She was there.”

“Yeah,” Hamish nodded, checking behind them. “Yeah, she was.” He grabbed his radio. “Abdul, Jack, Fred. Where the fuck are you?” Christ, her eyes. Her mouth. Was that just a… a trick of the light? He almost staggered as faded, washed-out memories threatened to overwhelm him. No, not memories. Not really. No faces. No images. No sounds. But they were there, a terrifying recognition. His knees buckled, but he kept control of his stomach, clutching the radio as if it were a lifeline to sanity. His conscious mind struggled to make sense of atavistic memories, interpreting them as fragments, scenes played out over and over so many times that they’d imbued themselves directly in his genes. A warning, dormant for generations but now shrieking as strongly as any other primal instinct.

-screaming, dragged off into the darkness-

-gleaming green eyes in the dark, Cheshire grins of sharp teeth-

-the scent of them filling the air, nostrils flaring, hooting in rage and fear, a fist clenched in panic-

-they are watching, always watching-

“We’re here,” Jacques answered, his voice crackling through the radio, pulling Hamish out of his spell.

Bertold pulled himself back to his feet, trying to calm himself, but he was still shaking, that fear was still there, eating away at him. He had enough firepower to kill this village himself and he’d gotten the shakes over a ninety-eight pound waif? What the fuck happened here? What were those things? “Christ, you assholes take a vacation or something?” Focus on them. On them, nothing else. We’re getting out of here, that’s what matters.

“We’re here. Are you coming?”

“Fuck you,” Hamish growled. “We’re pulling out. Now. I can’t raise Abdul. You seen him?” Yes run run run run.

“No.”

“Too bad for him, then. I’m not waiting. We’re leaving.”

“Where are you?”

“We didn’t go far, jackass,” Hamish snapped. “You?”

“Over here.”

“Thanks. Very helpful.” Bertold had reached the village square again, the dead death squad still laying where they’d fallen. He staggered and almost fell; looking down, he saw what had tripped him. The flashlight from Frederic’s uniform. There was a spot of red liquid on the lens. Hamish picked it up, the blood draining from his face. “Jacques… let me speak to Frederic.”

“I’m here,” Pashayev’s Russian burr growled through the comm. It sounded just like him. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we are…” Hamish said, acid bubbling up his windpipe. Just like the girl.

From behind them, he could hear a soft, flowing melodic cry. The girl. She was crawling over the thatched roof of the nearest house, arms and legs moving like a spider, feet dug in, ready to spring. She was staring at them, her eyes shining green in the reflected firelight, the blood around her mouth glistening wetly. There was no malice in her expression, just… intensity. She opened her mouth and sang again.

Something nearby answered her, a hushed, taunting whisper in Jacques’s voice: “Over here.”

Hamish let the flashlight fall from his hands, looking to Anna for… what, he didn’t know, but the woman was gone. He looked back up at the girl, watched as a long, bifurcated tongue ran over her lips and the blood there. It was fresh.

Her expression never changed as she continued to stare. Patient. Wary. Hungry. Name. My name is Hamish Bertold, he told himself. “I know what you are,” he said; barely a whisper, his mouth was dry. He forced himself to scream it: “I know what you are!” I have… I have survived worse than this. I have killed dozens of men. I am a human man, top of the food chain and I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I have a gun and all she… they have is… is…

I know what you are, she seemed to say, his imagination filling in her part of the conversation. And it is simple. Prey.

It was only the smallest gesture, really. The girl slid her tongue out towards him, a beckoning gesture. His courage failed entirely and Hamish opened fire, screaming incoherently, the weapon bucking in his shaking hands as he sprayed bullets in all directions, hitting nothing. In seconds, the weapon clicked empty and he threw his gun away, running for all he was worth. His lungs burned as he ran, his heart thudding so hard it felt as if it would explode, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter where he ran, just as long as it was away.

Rabbits and ferrets…

There was a rush of movement behind him and he looked over his shoulder, he had a glimpse of green and white as he tumbled to the ground, flailing, shrieking and gibbering in blind panic as warm breath blew over his face and sharp teeth closed on his throat.

“Please,” even over the sound of his own screaming he heard someone speaking in Anna’s voice. “I’m hungry.”

#writetober #fear #horror #proximal flame #writing

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zaney-hacknslash · 7 years

Text

Hakkai’s Birthday

Skeptically, I looked at him. “I think this may be a bad idea.”

Looking more mischievous than usual, Gojyo grinned back at me. “Why? It’s your birthday.”

“Yes, but consider what happened to you on my last birthday.”

With a short pause, he rubbed the back of his neck and then admitted, sheepishly, “I don’t remember.”

“That’s no surprise.” I, of course, remembered clearly, but I decided to exclude some of the messier details, and said, “You drank your weight in hard alcohol, threw up nearly twice that amount—somehow—and passed out in the back yard.”

“Yeah, because it was your birthday.”

It bothered me that what I’d just said didn’t bother him in the slightest, so I shook my head, wonderingly, and said, “All I’m saying is that I would much prefer a quiet evening to myself, and perhaps some sake and cards, later, at a more appropriate hour. It’s only just five, you know.”

Gojyo frowned. “That’s so boring though.”

“To you, perhaps. To me, it sounds just right.”

“C’mon, Hakkai, be nice—it’s your birthday.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So you keep reminding me. Pray tell though, why do I have to be nice to you on my birthday? I should think it would be the other way around.”

Gojyo shrugged and took a quick drag off his cigarette. “I just mean I don’t wanna fight with you about what happened last year anymore.”

“Yes,” I smiled. “Losing gets quite tedious, doesn’t it?” I hoped he really would let the issue lie now. Every year he saw fit to harass me on my birthday, ignoring the fact that I’d rather keep to myself. I supposed he failed to consider that, once, I’d had a twin, and she’d been everything to me, and that I’d lost her. How could I possibly enjoy anything even resembling a celebration? Particularly when his way of celebrating was so distasteful to me.

Trying to sound apologetic, I added, just so he’d really understand, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’d rather not spend my evening watching you get hammered and then babysitting you through the rest of the night.”

His otherwise perpetual grin melted at once into a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it’s just that…if we start drinking now, I’m sure I’ll be carrying you to bed around midnight.” That would be the least of it, I knew. I’d also be holding his hair back while he was sick, and I expected I’d be cleaning up vomit at some point, and frankly I didn’t want to indulge his drunken prattle either, nor tolerate his incessant complaining the following afternoon. I couldn’t even guess how many times I’d have to pick him up off the floor.

However, I kept those thoughts to myself.

Just as quickly as it came, the scowl was gone, and the grin was back. “Not if you’re hammed too.”

“Gojyo,” I sighed, losing patience. “For two years now, you’ve done everything you could think of to get me drunk on my birthday, and for two years you’ve failed. Isn’t that enough?”

His eyes gleamed with sudden and rather disquieting triumph. “This year’s different, Hakkai. ’Cause I got you a damn sweet birthday present.” And then, with a flourish, he produced a large, green bottle from inside his jacket, and thrust it toward me. “Tah-dah.”

Reluctantly, I took it and looked it over. “Absinthe Verte.” I sighed and shut my eyes for a long moment. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

“Nope. Happy birthday!”

I opened my eyes again to give him an equally long, disapproving look. “Do you have any idea what this even is?”

“Some western, import thing, right? Cost me an arm and a leg. Check it out though—I’ve heard it’s bad ass: seventy-five percent alcohol. I heard it makes you hallucinate, and all kinds of crazy shit—it’s gotta get even you fucked up.”

It was very difficult now to keep my frustration to myself, and I knew that meant I absolutely had to remain calm. Still, I rubbed my forehead wearily. Of all the idiotic…

Forcing a smile to my face, I reminded him, “Oh, but I was so looking forward to the new rice cooker and gardening tools I requested. Weeks ago. When you came hounding me about what I wanted.”

“What, you scared you might actually get drunk?”

I hesitated to look the bottle over again. It seemed common enough, with its French label and its thick glass. The graphic of a naked fairy woman winked back at me, simultaneously coquettish and risqué. Still, it had been rumored to drive men mad, back in the day, and I couldn’t deny its potency.

“Not at all.” I handed it back to him, abruptly, and I could feel the smile threatening to fall jaggedly from my face and collapse into a frown. “I just think this is more along the lines of something you would want for your birthday. So you may as well keep it, and save me some outrageous amount of money.”

Gojyo looked a bit put-off at being so utterly denied. “Oh, come on, really? You’re not even going to have like a shot of it.”

“You don’t shotgun absinthe, Gojyo, and no, frankly, I’m not interested.” I said the words, but I couldn’t deny I was curious. If nothing else, it was something I’d never tried before.

“That really hurts, man. I spent a lot of money on this.”

I shot him a sharp look. “Don’t try to guilt trip me. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen, or that you spent too much money.”

Looking half-way to devilish, he smiled again. “Admit it, you’re scared. You haven’t been drunk in years, and you don’t remember what it’s like, so you’re freaked out to try this really cool, foreign, green shit.”

At that, I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. Here I’d always thought that someone who purchased a bottle of absinthe would be cultured and sophisticated.

“Well, you don’t want any. Fine. I get it. I’d be scared too if I was turning twenty-two and I hadn’t been drunk in years. But I’m not wasting my money.”

My stomach tightened with outrage at the sound of his obnoxious tone. That was the voice he always used when he wanted to peer-pressure me, and I hated it, because I could never quite predict whether I was going to give in before he did or not.

For one thing, in the face of my birthday, with memories of Kanan lingering in my head more tangible than usual, I couldn’t deny abandoning myself to the recklessness of intoxication sounded inviting.

That was certainly a bad reason to get drunk, so I did my best to stay strong, and I tried not to sound too irritated. “I’m not scared, Gojyo. Not for myself, at least. Though I am a bit nervous about what the notorious green fairy might do to you.”

“Let’s find out.” Before I could think to stop him, he was popping the bottle open, tilting it back to take a swig.

My eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. “Gojyo.”

He made a face. “Tastes weird.”

“You aren’t supposed to drink it like that.”

“Who says?”

“No one. Just culture.”

“You can though, right?” “You can, yes. But it’s not exactly the right way.”

He shrugged. “There’s no wrong way to get smashed. C’mon, man.” He offered me the bottle. “Just live a little.”

I glared at the bottle, and the flirtatious fairy simpered back at me. Her eyes were green, like Kanan’s.

Sighing, I took the bottle from his hand and sat down at the table. “I need water, sugar, and an absinthe spoon. Not to mention an appropriate glass.”

From the grin on his face I could tell he was trying very hard not to gloat about his victory. “What’dya wanna wreck it for?”

“That’s the right way to drink it.”

“Yeah, if you’re Earnest Hemmingway, or whoever.”

I raised an eyebrow at him in surprise.

His shot up as well. “What?”

“I’m surprised you know who that is.”

Gojyo laughed, “I don’t!”

Sighing, I turned the bottle around on the table in front of me, trying to make sense of the French words, but that wasn’t a language I was familiar with, and I could only make out a handful of them. Of course, the recipe for Hemmingway’s notorious death in the afternoon was on there, but we had no champagne either.

“C’mon, Hakkai.” Gojyo slammed me on the shoulder. “Let’s get the knot out of your panties—just for tonight.”

“On your birthday,” I muttered, “we’re going to do what I want to do.”

And then I tossed the bottle back.

I stared up at the clock, and its blurry face stared back at me. I blinked, trying to make sense of the time. Next, I stared down at the absinthe bottle, where the green fairy seemed to dance, even though I had thought Gojyo tore the label off long ago. When I studied the fridge, I saw it tacked up there, swaying in a graceful rhythm. Our absinthe was more than halfway gone, but I couldn’t account for where it had disappeared to. I looked up at the clock again, watching the minute hand go around, seemingly backwards.

“Dude,” Gojyo called. “What’s up?”

Slowly, I turned to him. There were two of him now, and I didn’t know if I liked that. Two Gojyo’s meant twice as much mess and twice as much chaos.

“Is it really almost eleven?”

He twisted around in his chair to face the clock as well. “Tha’s what it says. Hey, you were tellin’ me somethin’.”

“Where on earth did the last six hours go?” I gazed down at the bottle between us again, scowling at the green fairy, and she beamed, as if she knew where the time and the drink had gotten to, but wouldn’t tell. I still couldn’t understand how she could be in two places at once.

“We’ve been sittin’ right here.” Gojyo leaned back in his chair, blowing smoke rings. “What were you tellin’ me?”

“Oh…” I did my best to wade back through my thoughts, but they seemed hazier than usual. “I was telling you about my eighteenth birthday, when Kanan and I went to the… Where did we go?”

“Some museum.”

“Ah, yes, the museum.” When I thought back, I could picture that day easily—late September, and the leaves were changing, blowing across the streets of the city. There’d been a distinct scent of fall in the air, and the wind had whipped Kanan’s loose hair. She’d worn her prettiest dress, and I could almost remember the warmth of her hand in mine. “It was the science museum, if I’m not mistaken. We had lunch in the food court there, and then we spent the whole day getting lost in the exhibits. I remember she really enjoyed the animal displays…especially the foreign ones, like the African ones. Do you know how dangerous the hippopotamus is? It’s possibly the most dangerous animal in the world. Fortunately, we don’t have them here. Of course we have plenty of creatures that are terribly dangerous as well. Animals are strange. You know, I think the ones who don’t kill for food—take the moose, for example—are particularly deadly, because when they take it into their head to attack you it isn’t because they’re hungry. A hungry predator might let you go simply because it’s recently made a separate kill, but things like moose and hippos must have some entirely different reason for attacking human beings. It seems they’re simply irascible. If you encounter one, you have such a likelihood of being killed for no particular reason. And on the other hand, there are so many animals that are willing to cooperate with man—such as the Indian elephant, or the camels of the Sahara, and God I’m talking a lot, aren’t I? Why am I telling you any of this?”

Gojyo burst out laughing. He laughed so hard I worried he’d fall out of his chair. “Damn, dude, I don’ remember! I think I asked ya what your best birthday ever was.”

“Oh, that’s right. Well, in any case, it was the day at the museum with Kanan. She treated me, of course—she was quite a lady when it came to things like that—she even paid for my lunch and for ice cream from the stand outside. She was a true lady.”

Picturing Kanan standing out in front of the marvelous museum, indelicately licking a strawberry ice cream cone while the wind tossed her hair and skirt around, made my small heart ache unbearably. I downed another large gulp of absinthe and then blinked at Gojyo. “What about you?”

“Me?” he echoed, sounding caught off guard.

“Yes. What was the best birthday you ever had?”

He chuckled, starting a new cigarette. “Hakkai, ya don’ even wanna know ‘bout that. There’s a ton of sex in that story.”

“And that’s what made it the best? Obscene amounts of sex?”

“Unprotected sex,” he added, smirking at me.

“That’s gross,” I decided, taking another swig of absinthe. It really did taste terrible. I looked around, not for the first time, trying to think of some way to improvise the sugar water I would need to make it right. “This is terrible, don’t you agree? This must be one of the top five most disgusting things I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Gojyo grinned, leaning closer, eyes gleaming with intoxication and cheekiness. “Tell me what the other four are.”

“None of them are what you’re thinking of.”

He fell back at once, laughing harder than ever. “Hakkai! Shit, man, I wasn’t thinkin’ ‘bout dick! Fuck, you’re nasty!”

“I said that’s not it.” I frowned at him. “You really can’t listen worth a damn.”

Ignoring me, he took the bottle so he could have a swig of his own. “For not likin’ it, you’re sure drinkin’ a lotta it.”

“We’re sharing,” I reminded him. “That’s part of sharing. I drink half, and you drink half. Isn’t that the unspoken arrangement here? If I let you drink any more than that I’ll likely be planning your funeral tomorrow. Though, I suppose planning your funeral will become inevitable, eventually. You act as if you’re determined to drink—or smoke—yourself to an early grave. At the rate you’re going, it can’t be too much longer now. That’s not especially fair, by the way, expecting me to plan your funeral after this lifetime of irresponsibility. If you were really my friend you’d at least attempt to restrain yourself, considering I’ve seen more than enough death already.”

Gojyo shook his head. “You are talkin’ a lot. Is it hittin’ you?”

“No,” I lied. “I’m bored. We should go somewhere.”

His eyes widened. “You wanna go somewhere? At ‘leven ‘clock at night?”

“What difference does the time make?” I wondered, getting up and walking very steadily to the coat closet to retrieve my jacket. “It’s the weekend, and it’s my birthday.”

“I thought ya wanted ta stay here.”

“Staying here is useless now that you’ve gotten me… That is, now that I’ve wasted so much time drinking with you. We may as well go out and see what goes on around here on a Friday night.”

“See?” A grin slipped slowly across his lips. “I knew you’re my age too. I fuckin’ knew it.”

Side by side, we clipped through the busy town, surrounded by people—old and young—bustling down the streets, chattering and laughing. Lights flashed and music blared, but I spent most of the walk paying close attention to each and every step I took so I wouldn’t as much as stumble, while Gojyo half-swaggered half-staggered next to me, and by the time I started to notice our surroundings again we’d reached downtown, where the noise and excitement was at its peak.

“No fighting,” I told Gojyo. “One thing I will absolutely not do on my birthday is break up a fist fight between you and some drunkard—not like last year. Last year, it seemed I was fishing you out of a fight every five minutes. I’m not doing that again. I will stand by and watch as you get your ass handed to you if I must, and I’ll even drag you to the emergency room if I have to, but I’m not stepping between you and someone else’s fist when you try to pick up someone else’s woman. I don’t think that’s unreasonable, do you? I wouldn’t expect you to do it on your birthday. All I’m asking for is a little common courtesy.”

Instead of answering, he wondered, “Wha’s with the swearing? You never swear.’

It must be because of the absinthe, I realized, but I wasn’t about to tell him that, so I said, “It bothers me that you didn’t answer me.”

“Duh. ‘Course, not gonna pick fights on your birthday. ‘Kay? Chill, Kai.”

I studied him. He didn’t seem all that drunk yet. Yes, he was slurring his words and walking unsteadily, and he had that unquestionably altered look in his eyes, but he wasn’t falling-down-stupid like I’d expected him to be, which made me question, again, where all the absinthe had gone. There was only a quarter of it left, and I couldn’t remember if I’d passed it to him even once on our way into town.

I hoisted it over my head suddenly to inspect the bottom, thinking there could be a leak. “Where is all this devil’s piss going?”

Gojyo paused to wrinkle his forehead at me in consternation. “Devil’s piss…”

“The absinthe, Gojyo.”

“I know. Jus’ not used ta hearin’ you talk like that. Uhh. What’dya mean? Where’s it goin’… We’ve been drinkin’ it.”

“Yeah, but…” I paused and started over. “Yes, but I mean… You’re drinking it too, aren’t you?”

“We’re sharing,” he told me, mimicking my voice and tone. “That’s part of sharing. See? I listen.”

“You’re insufferable,” I grumbled.

“I’m tryin’ ta drink it, but you’re bogarding it, man. I dunno where it went. I think ya drank a bunch of it.”

“Here.” I handed it to him suddenly and tucked my hands in my pockets. It was a cold night, and I wished I’d brought my scarf. “I don’t want any more.”

Dutifully, Gojyo took a sip and wiped his lips on his sleeve.

Immediately, I snagged it back from him. “Never mind. I just remembered—if you drink too much of this you’ll ruin my birthday, if you don’t just die.”

We popped into a club of Gojyo’s choosing. I was so intent on keeping myself under control—watching the way I walked and spoke and moved—I didn’t even notice the name of the place, and the next thing I knew I was standing against the bar, shoulder to shoulder with a sea of strangers, the low lights making every face mysterious, and the music was so loud I had to shout at the bartender to order a martini.

“Dirty!” I screamed at him, as he cupped one hand around his ear. “Very dirty!” I jerked my thumb at Gojyo. “He’s just having water!”

Gojyo rammed me with his shoulder, very nearly knocking me off-balance, and growled, “Don’t order for me, dick head!”

I received my martini and turned to look around the club, desperate for a place to sit, but there didn’t appear to be any chairs at all—it was just a massive dance floor, wall to wall with people grinding against one another.

“Why are we here?” I demanded.

Gojyo looked coolly at me through the haze of his cigarette smoke. “Ya wanted ta go out!”

“Yes, but why here? You know I’m not overly fond of places like this!”

“I was just cold! What did’ja want? The library?”

I glared at him. “Why are you fighting with me?”

“I’m not fighting with you, Hakkai! Drink your fuckin’ martini an’ chill the fuck out!”

Scowling, I sipped my beverage. I didn’t see how I could chill out at all with all the people jostling against me and screaming in my ear, and the god-awful music blaring, and the flashing lights threatening to send me into a seizure, and Gojyo being difficult.

Gojyo hooked his arm roughly around my neck. “Dude! Quit frownin’ like that! You’re gonna scare all the chicks away!”

“Is that why we’re here? To pick up women!”

“No! I’m teasing you! Chill!”

Before I could make my response, a woman crawled out of the crowd on the other side of me. She took a moment to hitch up her halter, seeing how she was just about to fall out of it—in fact it appeared to be a size too small—and then she smiled up at me with her ice-white lip piercing and glitter-coated eyelashes. “Hey, there!”

Immediately, Gojyo took his arm off me and turned away, engaging in conversation with the patron next to him, abandoning me in yet another awkward social situation.

“Hello,” I said back.

The woman proceeded to dance next to me, bumping her broad hips against me and pressing in close. “What’s you’re name?” she shouted to be heard over the music.

“Gonou—Hakkai! Cho Hakkai!”

That was my name. I’d picked it. Where on earth did I even get it? Destruction, that was me.

“Hakkai.” She giggled. “I like it! Do you wanna dance?”

I shook my head. “No, thank you!”

“Oh, c’mon!” She attached herself to my arm, fingers gliding up my bicep to my shoulder. “Don’t be shy! Dance with me!”

“I don’t dance!”

“Sure you do!” She slammed lightly against me, kinetic energy forcing me to sway in what was almost a rhythm.

“No, really! I don’t! It’s flattering,” I forced myself to add. “Very flattering! But no!”

She pretended to pout, but her eyes were bright with a hidden smile. “Buy me a drink then!”

“I’m afraid I don’t—”

A hulking man emerged from the crowd and stood behind her, bald head looking particularly shiny in the odd light. He had a huge septum piercing and his disgustingly long beard was damp from drinking. He glared down at me, booming, “What’re you up to, punk-ass? Tryin’ ta steal my girl?”

“No, I—”

She turned to him. “Oh! Don’t be such a Neanderthal! I was just talking to the guy!”

“Looks like he’s tryin’ ta pick you up!” he growled, moving in closer to tower over me. “Right, you little shit? Pickin’ up on my girl!?”

“As I said, no, I was just—”

“Smart ass son’vabitch!” One meaty hand snagged the front of my shirt, dragging me forward, while the other bunched up and cocked back for a strike.

I dropped my martini, ready to rip his arm off. My reflexes though. They weren’t as quick as—

His fist smashed into my face, knocking me back, and the next thing I knew I was slumped against Gojyo, staring up into his screaming face.

“Hakkai!”

I felt him holding me up, but I couldn’t make myself move for a few seconds. I counted them.

One, two, three…

Gojyo’s eyes flashed and turned dark. He heaved me to the side.

I made a grab at him. His slick jacket slipped through my fingers as he darted forward.

Disbelievingly, I watched him knock the huge man’s block off. The brute fell over backward and vanished into the crowd, likely out cold on impact. His girlfriend screamed. The crowd gasped, and everyone around us fell silent. Several more men surged forward—they were dressed as bouncers.

I got shuffled to the side all too easily and lost sight of my roommate in the chaos.

Someone gripped my arm. A concerned but unfamiliar face stared at me, yelling, “You okay?”

I pulled loose and stumbled away, looking around as if I was lost. I felt blood trickling down from my nose.

What the hell just happened?

My heart started to race. The crowd was in a frenzy, shoving against each other and screaming, running away and moving in closer, rolling back and forth like tides at the ocean, pushing me out and threatening to drag me back in.

When I finally had my senses again and was just beginning to charge forward to find him, Gojyo burst out from between the wall of people and grabbed me, shoving me ahead of him through the crowd. “Go, go, go!”

I heard tremulous voices cracking over the general din. Faces appeared in front of me, staring wide-eyed with gaping mouths, and then disappeared again as I was pushed past them.

Gojyo propelled me through the exit, out into the dark cold, and I nearly tripped down the stairs. Before I could right myself, he snatched the lapel of my jacket and dragged me around the corner, slamming me against the wall.

Face full of shock and looking pale in the shadows, he stared at me, cigarette busted in half and hanging from his mouth. I felt him grip both my shoulders. “Hey, you okay?”

Jerking away from him and cupping my bloody nose, I turned my back to him. Blood spattered the front of my sweater. I realized I was shaking and breathing hard, but I couldn’t understand what happened. I’d just watched that half-wit punch me in the face. How?

A voice bellowed through the quiet, “Don’t come back, if you know what’s good for you! Fucking gutter trash!”

“Shit.” Gojyo bumped me with his shoulder. “Let’s get outta here.”

Taking hold of me again, he led me several blocks away, to a less crowded part of the street, and then paused in an alleyway. “Are you okay?” he asked again.

I stared down at the puddle of blood in my palm. “That…miscreant hit me…”

“I saw…” He popped a new cigarette in his mouth and chewed anxiously on it. “Are you all right?”

Suddenly, I turned on him, shouting, “This is all your fault, Gojyo! I told you I didn’t want to be in there!”

“Hey, I didn’t know somebody was gonna—”

“No! But you knew I just wanted to stay home tonight! You knew I didn’t want to drink absinthe and go to a club and get hit on by STD-infested women! You know that’s what you want to do—not me! You’re so incredibly selfish!”

“Hakkai, woah!” He raised his hands. “I—”

“What’s wrong with you?” I insisted. “You just had to know what I wanted for my birthday! I told you again and again I didn’t want anything from you, but you kept pushing and pushing, and then when the actual event arrives I find you didn’t get me any of the things I asked for! You give me a bottle of alcohol I never wanted and a bloody nose from a bar fight in a club I didn’t care to go into! Why?”

“Hakkai—”

“No excuses, dammit! I understand why you don’t listen to me when I ask you to do something—you’re lazy and immature and stubborn—but why do you just ignore me when I ask you not to do something? Is this funny to you?” I wiped my bleeding nose, suddenly feeling like I just wanted to cry. “Did you just want a laugh at my expense?”

He stared at me for such a long time I felt sure he wouldn’t have anything to say at all. I felt sure he’d simply turn around and walk away without a single word.

Instead, he gave a heavy sigh, reached up to unwind the bandana from his forehead, and pinched it to my nose, too quickly for me to stop him, and so gently it didn’t even hurt. He tapped his head against mine. “Sorry,” he husked. “I don’t have an ‘cuse, Sunshine. But I’m sorry.”

Slowly, I took the bandana from him, applying pressure to the bridge of my nose. It smelled like sweat and cigarettes.

Suddenly, my head felt light, and everything seemed to spin. I leaned back against the cold wall, murmuring, “Why…does everyone think I can get you to do whatever I want? You’re the one who convinces me to do all sorts of things I don’t want to do.”

“I know,” he said quietly, lowering his eyes in guilt. “I’ma jerk.”

My best friend, who’d just demolished a man nearly twice his size like a wrecking ball against a building, for my sake, and who’d given me an article of his own clothing to stop the bleeding of my injury, was not a jerk. He was a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them.

I threw my arms around him suddenly, pressing my bleeding face to his shoulder, and he held me up easily, while the world spun around and around. My stomach turned, and my knees buckled with weakness, and he’d never seemed so strong before. “I…miss Kanan…” I grated out, eyes stinging. “Even after all this time…”

Gojyo squeezed me carefully. “I know, Hakkai.”

“But I…I would never give you up…”

“Okay. I’d never give ya up either.”

Biting back tears, I held onto him all the tighter, and he let me.

After a few moments, he said, “So…this’s what you’re like when you’re drunk…”

“I’m not drunk,” I argued into his collar. “I’m just a little…”

“You’re drunk, Hakkai. Ya drank most that bottle by yourself. I mean, you ain’t human an’more, but you ain’t a machine…”

“I’ve drank much more than that in one sitting.”

“Yeah. Like I said though, that shit isn’t like normal booze. Give yourself a break for once.”

“Fine.” I snorted, standing up again, and the spinning worsened. “I’m drunk. You succeeded. I hope that makes you happy.”

“Not really. I didn’t know it was gonna be sucha shit storm. Shoulda known…” He gave a sad, wry, little smirk. “You’re a damn mess.”

Slowly, I looked away, watching the people passing on the street. Some of them gave us strange glances, but they continued to shuffle by, as they always had, not caring about the two of us. “I never thought I would be. I thought I’d be so much more than this.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with you, okay? It’s just that ev’rybody can only take so much. An’ you took a lot, Hakkai. That’s all it is.”

I faced him. “How much more can you take?”

His already serious expression darkened a shade. “Not much, lemme tell ya.”

“I’ve always assumed I’d be in a padded room if I were you.”

Gojyo rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was though. You—”

“I’m hungry,” he cut in. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

I let him guide me out onto the road again, absently dabbing at my nose. “It’s not time yet for breakfast.”

“Nah, but that’s what ya do when you’re drunk—eat breakfast.”

“That hardly makes sense.”

All the same, we walked a few blocks to a twenty-four-hour diner, and by the time we reached a booth in the back corner of the building, we were both stumbling rather badly, and I felt sick to my stomach. I rested my spinning head in my hands while the waitress served us coffee, and Gojyo perused the menu.

“Why did you let me drink so much of that awful stuff by myself?” I demanded quietly.

Gojyo lit a cigarette and even ashed a few times before answering. “I was tryin’ ta get ya drunk.”

“That…is so…uncool of you…”

“Like I said, I di’nt know it was gonna be like this. I just wanted ya ta forget ‘bout it for a coupla hours… All that nasty shit that happened.”

“How gallant,” I muttered dryly.

“Sorry. Really. If I knew you were gonna get all ‘gressive—”

“I’m not aggressive.”

“’Kai, you’re ‘gressive when you’re sober. Ya just hide it. Ya hide all kindsa shit. If I knew ya were gonna be ‘gressive, an’ moody, an’ sad I wouldnta done it.”

I glared up at him. There was three of him now. “As you pointed out, I’m like that anyway.”

Gojyo nodded, still skimming the menu. “I jus din’t know, ‘kay, dude? I wasn’t tryin’ ta…hurt you.”

Of course I believed that. Gojyo would never try to hurt me intentionally.

“Well, please don’t do this again. I don’t like feeling this way.”

His eyes flickered over the menu to meet my gaze. “I won’t,” he said flatly. “Drink your fuckin’ coffee.”

We ate our meals in relative quiet, and after I had some food in my stomach I did feel a bit better, so we struck out for home. The walk seemed to take twice as long as usual, and I had to try extra hard not to stagger as we went, so we spoke very little on the trip as well.

Back at the house, the lights were still on. Apparently I was intoxicated enough that I’d neglected to turn them off.

Inexcusable.

I dropped onto the couch, face first, trying to collect myself before going to bed. “When does the spinning stop?”

“Dunno. Whenever.” He sat down on the floor, leaning back against the couch. “You gonna be okay?”

“Presumably.”

“I’m really sorry, man. You’ve never been drunk like this before, huh?”

“Not exactly, no.”

Gojyo sighed. “Guess I fucked up your birthday—again.”

“Your intentions weren’t altogether horrible.”

“Right… Well, no worries. I won’t tell an’body I saw ya drunk. We can just pretend this din’t happen.”

“That would be nice, Gojyo.”

We fell silent again. I tried to focus on sleeping. To hell with shambling my way to bed—I was going to sleep right where I was, with my clothes still on, just like he did all the time.

When I’d nearly dozed off, Gojyo hissed, “Hey, ‘Kai. You ‘wake?”

“Mmhm.”

“Can I tell ya something?”

“Mm. Sure. Why the hell not?”

“I lied to ya earlier…’bout the best birthday I ever had.”

“Oh?”

“Not ‘cause it was the wrong birthday… It was still that one—with all the nasty sex.”

“I see.”

“I lied ‘bout the reason.”

“Ah.”

“The real reason…” He took another pause, and I detected familiar insecurity in his tone. “Is ‘cause…when I fin’ly dragged my ass home after all that, super fucked up, feelin’ like a pieca shit, you were there. Ya came to find me. Remember?”

“I remember I made plans to have dinner with you and you broke them. I went out looking for you so I could give you a piece of my mind.”

Briefly, he chuckled. “Yeah. That. We jus’ met right? Ya din’t know what a fuck job I am yet.”

“Goj,” I sighed. “You’re not—”

“It was shitty. An’ t’night’s shitty. I always do shitty stuff. That ain’t the point. The point is, when ya saw how blasted I was ya din’t yell at me for ditchin’ you. Ya took care of me. Ya din’t even make me say sorry. Ya made me feel like I mattered. And…I dunno… Havin’ all that, for the first time ever, meant a lot to me.”

I opened my eyes finally to look at him, and he half turned his head to look back from the corner of his eye.

Quietly, he added, “I always wished I could do somethin’ that awesome for you…but I know I can’t.”

“Gojyo,” I shut my eyes again, putting my arm around his neck. “Shut up. You do that for me all the time.”

#saiyuk #missions #cho hakkai #sha gojyo #hakkai's birthday #fanfic

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julystorms · 7 years

Note

One thing I really dislike about Isayama’s handling of SnK, is his grasp and understanding (or lack thereof) of theme. Nothing about the thematic presence in SnK comes off as natural. It feels ham-fisted. When he sets out to draw a chapter, it’s like he’s trying his best to ensure there’s at least just a smidgen of thematic presence. I really wish he would just leave it fucking be. If it’s there, it’s there. If not, cool. Just keep trucking along anyway. The story has only suffered when [c]

[c] he’s bothered to bring up how cruel the world is, or how so and so is drunk on this. I’ve also noticed that the more he tries to cram theme into the story, the less concrete so much of it ends up being. I think the other side of this is the lack of showing. We get told these things time and time again, and it loses its charm quickly (or if you’re as cynical as I am, it never had any charm to begin with).

I’m pretty cynical sometimes. Having things spoon-fed to you is never charming. It feels demeaning and infantalizing. Google the phrase “Trust Your Readers”--that’s what this story needs.

And yeah, he’s a newer writer. It’s easy for him to get...confused, sidetracked; it’s easy to fail in this regard because as a writer you feel desperately that you’re a bad writer if your ideas don’t come across exactly as you intended them so you hammer it home. More often than not, this is what creates hamfisted messages and clumsy themes.

He might figure that out before the end of this story, buuuut sometimes it takes people a long time to get there. I’m pretty sure I had to be told to stop being so overt with my themes in my writing. Like “okay, we get it, shit’s sad.” When I was told my writing was Too Emotional I’m pretty sure what that person meant was “bitch you spend paragraphs between dialogue lines describing shit that doesn’t matter, that you can get across in a line.” Isayama doesn’t have wiggle room for description mayhem, but cramming a theme down someone’s throat is still a waste of space. Hell, in a manga, with such limited space (and so much work for each panel you have to draw), it’s even worse than in a novel. At least a novel can have a few slip-ups and not much is lost. Manga is, in a way, restrictive in its storytelling.

(This was 2007ish for me, so obviously I’ve been working on it, but it really takes a lot of time and practice to delete that way of thinking from your brain. Hamfisted morals and stuff belong in EC writing at best; even your average six year old can pick out themes in a book if you walk them through it.)

#snk #snk critical #writing discussion #snk hour with july #cute anons

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ghostsinthewoods · 7 years

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Mae work up feeling the worst she'd felt in a long, long time. Her head was pounding. She felt as if she was going to be sick. Somehow, she could still taste the soda from that stupid cocktail. Mae guessed that she hadn't eaten anything to get rid of the taste since leaving the club.

Had she? Mae's last memory was being essentially carried into her house by Gregg and Angus. Bea had helped her into bed and Germ… God, who knows? He'd disappeared sometime between her going to sleep and them arriving at her home.

Everything about last night was fuzzy. She'd had a serious talk with her friends. Mae remembered that, at least. She also remembered making an idiot out of herself in front of Cole. Again. At least she hadn't puked in front of him. That probably meant Cole's luck was improving!

When Mae went downstairs, she found that her mom had already left for church. Mae must have slept in even later than usual. That was probably for the best. After the dream she'd had about Aunt Mall Cop, Mae didn't know how she'd feel about talking to her mom.

Mae grabbed something quick to eat before she headed out the front door. The sudden sunlight hurt her eyes, and aggravated her hangover even further. Stupid spring with its stupid sunlight. This was why Mae loved the fall. It fitted her sleep cycle much better.

Mae almost didn't feel like she could make her way across town that day. Her late-evening breakfast felt heavy in her stomach. As she got walking, though, Mae gradually felt herself getting better. She still felt miserable, but at least she wasn't horribly miserable.

As usual, it didn't take Mae long to get to Underhill. Once she got there, she saw Possum Spring's greatest poet sitting on their front step. Mae wondered what all Selmers did with her day. Had she gotten that job at Ham Panther? Did she spend all day sitting on a stoop, thinking up poems?

Mae walked around to the front of the stoop. Selmers immediately gave a friendly, mellow smile when she saw her. "Heya, neighbor," she said. Her smile seemed to falter. "Oh, wow. You okay?"

Oh, jeez, was it really that obvious? Mae sighed. "Saw my ex at a club," she said. "Drank a bunch at a club. Then I had weird dreams and confronted my inner problems."

"Wow, jeez," Selmers said. "Bad hangover?"

"I've been asleep for, like, half a day," Mae grumbled. "How do I still have a hangover? Shouldn't it have worn off?"

"They can last for a while," Selmers said. "That's why I don't drink too much. I mean, if Miller's did karaoke more often, I'd prob'ly drink every night, but…"

"We need to get you a dedicated karaoke place," Mae said. "Or someone should buy one of those machines or something. Whatever you call 'em."

"I think they're just called karaoke machines," Selmers said.

"Oh," Mae said. For some reason, that was really disappointing.

"So, you up to anything today?" Selmers asked. Mae could only shrug in response.

"I dunno. It's been an intense weekend. I kinda just want to relax and do whatever." As soon as Mae said this, though, she realized she was tempting fate. Life hadn't been giving her any brakes lately. It was probably going to keep sucking for a while.

"That's cool," Selmers said. "I'm probably gonna work on my poems. Been having the worst writer's block lately. I've only written a little. Wanna hear what I wrote?"

"Do you even need to ask?" Mae said with a laugh. Selmers and her poems always helped cheer Mae up. Even if it was one of her long, intense poems, Selmers usually had something to improve Mae's mood. Today would probably be no exception.

Selmers smiled, cleared her throat, and began to recite. "I had a dream about a dog," she said, her voice carrying a certain rhythm as she spoke. When she was done, she paused.

Mae stood there and waited patiently for Selmer to continue. After a few second, however, Mae realized that Selmers hadn't been joking about the writer's block. "Is that it?" Mae asked.

Selmers nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Don't know what to write next. I don't remember the dog dream all that well." She shrugged in a way that said 'What're you gonna do?' and leaned back on the stoop. Even when struggling in the face of creative sterility, Selmers remained mellow. Mae really admired that.

"Well," Mae said. "I'm gonna head out and see what Bea's doing. I feel like I need some Bea time."

Selmers shrugged again. "I don't really know who Bea is, but okay."

The Ol' Pickaxe. The ol'est store in town. It was so ol' that it had been built before they invented the letter D. At least, that's the lie Mae had told the Harleys once. They'd been dumber back then, though. Mae didn't know if they'd buy that sort of thing now.

The store was still open when Mae dropped by. She'd been a little worried that she'd slept past its closing. Mae really needed to start looking at clocks, or learning what time people did things. Eh. That was a chore for another day.

Bea was behind the counter, like always. She had a lit cigarette in her mouth. Mae always thought it was kind of odd that Bea could get away with smoking at work. Then again, Possum Springs was small enough that Bea likely didn't get many complaints. Possum Springs was like its own weird little world.

There was an awkward silence when Mae made her way to the counter. While Mae couldn't remember much about last night, she knew that she and Bea had kind of gotten into it. Mae hoped she hadn't forgotten about another of Bea's dead relatives. There'd be egg on her face then.

It was Bea who broke the silence. "Hey," she said. From the sound of her voice, she was clearly apologetic. "How you holding up?"

Mae sighed. The walk from Underhill to the Pickaxe had not helped her hangover. "Barely," she grumbled. "Sorry for being an ass last night."

"Me too," Bea said. "I mean, I'm glad I said what I said, but not how I said it. Just… yeah." Bea took a drag of her cigarette and pulled it from her lips. "I'm also sorry I didn't stop you from drinking a whole cocktail in less than three minutes."

Mae winced. "Can we just go ahead and blame Cole for that? I wouldn't have drunk it so fast if he hadn't shown up."

Bea raised an eyebrow and gave Mae a skeptical look. "I don't think you can blame your ex for your poor impulse control," she said. "If you'd talked to him like a normal person, you wouldn't have rushed to get wasted. Again."

"When have I ever been able to talk like a normal person?" Mae asked. "Especially around Cole? You can't talk like a normal person around someone you nearly killed and then puked on."

Bea considered this as she placed her cigarette back between her lips. "I mean, that's a good point," she said. "I guess I've never been in that position, so I wouldn't know."

That got Mae thinking a little. "Have you ever actually kissed someone?" She asked. "I mean, besides the dude you had sex with at math camp."

Mae, internally, had decided to call the guy who Bea had lost her virginity to 'Math Boy Joe.'

Bea groaned, rolling her eyes. "God, I wish you'd never heard that story," she said. "Look, I went on one or two dates while you were at college. Never went very far, though. So, yes, I have kissed and been kissed."

"Anyone I know?" Mae asked. She was feeling pretty gossipy.

Bea at least didn't look annoyed. She crossed her arms over her chest, seeming to think about it. "I went out for coffee with this guy Jackie introduced me to," she said. "Guy turned out to be a douche, though, so we only kissed once. Then there was Steve—"

That made Mae's eyes widen. As far as she knew, there was only one Steve in Possum Springs. "Scriggins?!" Mae blurted out. "You kissed Effing Steve Scriggins?!"

Bea looked a little bit embarrassed. Actually, she looked ashamed. If she'd kissed Steve, Mae couldn't blame her. "Believe me, it's not something I look back on fondly," Bea muttered. "It wasn't even a good kiss. He used too much tongue."

"You kissed with tongue?!" Mae asked.

"Is that really more surprising than me having sex?" Bea asked, perplexed.

Mae opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of the bell over the Pickaxe's door ringing interrupted her. Ordinarily, Mae would have kept on talking, but for some reason she didn't. Judging by the shocked, surprised look on Bea's face, it was probably a good thing Mae wasn't talking.

Bea gave Mae a worried look. The look in Bea's eyes said 'Mae, don't freak out or anything, but there's a dude behind you who you'll freak out about.'

Mae gave Bea a look of her own. The look in Mae's eyes said 'Jeez, Bea, I'm not a mind reader. I don't understand what you're trying to say.' And with that bit of non-conversation out of the way, Mae turned around. When she saw who was at the door, she immediately began to wonder if she was under some sort of curse.

Because standing in the front door of the Ol' Pickaxe was Cole.

Running into Cole at the club had been a pretty unbelievable coincidence. Running into him again, at the Ol' Pickaxe? That was God or whatever screwing with her.

For a second or two, Cole and Mae just stared at each other. It seemed that even stupid, well-balanced Cole felt awkward after last night. He nodded at Mae and Bea, waving a little. Mae couldn't do anything except return the nod.

There was an uncomfortable quiet all throughout the shop. Nobody seemed to know exactly what to say. The silence was shattered by someone in the back dropping something heavy onto their foot. That seemed to snap at least Bea back to reality.

"Uh, hey," she said. "Did you need anything?"

Cole cleared his throat, trying politely to avoid making eye contact with Mae. "My dad wanted me to pick up an order for him," he said. "I guess he ordered some sort of special hammer, or something?"

Bea nodded. "Oh, yeah," she said. "The special hammer. I know what you're talking about. It's in the back." She quietly observed the room.

Mae shot her a look that said 'Oh God Bea don't leave me here. I'll puke on him again somehow.'

Bea shot Mae a look that said 'I actually have a job to do. You can be alone with him for five minutes.' With that, she turned and walked into the back of the store. By the time Mae found enough voice to ask her to stop, Bea had disappeared behind the doorframe.

For a while, Mae and Cole just tried to politely avoid staring at each other. Mae found herself looking at anything else. Hammers, brochures, cash register, weird guy with a mustache in the back… nothing held Mae's attention long.

It was Cole who spoke first. Of course it was. Cole seemed determined to be as casual as possible about this whole weird thing.

"So, did you have a good birthday?" He asked. He didn't sound as friendly as he did last night. It seemed like he was just trying to make conversation. That asshole.

"God, what are you even doing here?" Mae said under her breath. When she actually heard herself, though, Mae realized she hadn't been as quiet as she'd hoped. She'd been loud enough for Cole to hear her, for one.

"My dad ordered a special hammer," Cole said.

Mae groaned. "No, I mean what are you doing in Possum Springs?"

Cole blinked. His stupid, cute, glasses-wearing face looked confused, and also stupid. "I told you all about it last night," he said. "I'm in town for a few weeks because of those scorpions."

Mae stared blankly at Cole. She must have really gotten drunk last night if she didn't remember a story involving scorpions. Scorpions were like little insect tanks, prowling the deserts in search for vengeance.

Unfortunately, Mae couldn't keep thinking about scorpions like she might have wanted to. She was too distracted by stupid Cole and his stupid standing around. What was taking Bea so long with that special hammer?

And what was a special hammer, anyway?

Stupid Cole, showing up out of the blue. Just like Andy Cullen. It was like coming back to Possum Springs was digging up all sorts of ghosts.

Cole stood there, hands in his pockets. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his heels. He didn't seem to know exactly what to say. This whole situation was probably pretty bad for him, too.

The awkward silence was getting to Mae. God. Fine. If Cole wasn't going to be a mature adult and say something, Mae would.

"Every time I see you I start tasting candied almonds and I feel like I'm gonna puke up my guts," Mae said. Probably not the most flattering thing to say, but it at least ended the awkward silence.

Cole stared at Mae, baffled. "I'm sorry?" He said.

"Oh my god, stop apologizing, you huge nerd!" Mae said. "Why are you so nice all of the time?! I nearly killed you!"

Cole blinked, seemingly not understanding what Mae was saying. "You mean at prom?"

That threw Mae for a loop. What else could she possibly be talking about? "Yes, at prom!" Mae said, practically shouting in disbelief. "Why would I not be talking about prom?! That was, like, one of the most humiliating nights of my life!"

Cole was silent for a bit. He pulled his hand from his pocket and rubbed the back of his head. "I mean, I was unconscious for part of it," he said. His expression was fairly sheepish. "A lot of that night is fuzzy. I mostly remember hanging with you and then driving home."

Okay, that kind of made sense. Mae had seriously choked him out when she'd stuffed those paper towels into his mouth. Still, Mae felt like he was taking this far too lightly.

"Wait," Cole said. "Is that why you don't like seeing me? Because I remind you of prom?" Cole looked absolutely flabbergasted. Him and his ridiculous trucker hat that he'd apparently started wearing. "This whole time I thought you were mad at me for avoiding you."

"What?" Mae asked. She certainly hadn't expected to hear that. "Dude, I was mostly mad at you for, like, bailing on me and leaving me stranded at prom. You avoiding me was completely understandable."

After prom, they'd both sort of avoided each other. Mae supposed they hadn't so much broken up, as they'd just sort of… stopped talking to each other? It was sort of anticlimactic, but their relationship had been a big, dumb teenage nothing. It didn't really need a big, dramatic breakup.

When Mae brought up Cole leaving her at prom, his face took on a guilty expression. "Oh," he said. "Oh, yeah. I didn't even think to apologize for that until after I'd left for college. God, I don't blame you for hating me. How'd you even get home?"

Mae sighed. "Josh," she said. "The guy with the tractor. He gave me a ride because I was super pathetic and shit." Josh would always kind of be Mae's hero for that. She hoped he was kicking ass at whatever he was doing.

Another silence fell on them. This one wasn't nearly as awkward, though. It was the kind of silence that happened when you had a lot to process. Mae and Cole both stood in the Ol' Pickaxe, twiddling their thumbs and waiting for Bea to return.

Finally, Mae couldn't take it, and she said something she'd never thought she'd say to Cole again: "Let's go do something stupid."

The 'something stupid' in this case was only mildly stupid. At least, compared to Mae's long line of stupid experiences, it was. After a bit of a hike, Cole and Mae were sitting on top of the Ol' Pickaxe. They sat on the edge, their feet dangling off the side. Moving outside had made things even less awkward, which was okay.

"So, uh," Mae said. "How's college going?"

Cole nodded slowly. "Fine, fine," he said. "I mean, except for the scorpions. Once that's cleared up, it'll be good."

Quiet again; the sound of wind, and cars passing in the street below. Out towards the Video Outpost, Mae could hear someone arguing with someone else. Probably about something dumb. Like special hammers.

"How's, uh…" Cole fidgeted awkwardly on the roof's edge. "How are things with the hot girl you mentioned?"

Oh, jeez, he was bringing that up? While things weren't as bad as before, talking about relationships with Cole seemed like it would be pretty awkward. Even though Mae was more or less over with him, it felt weird to talk about stuff like this with her ex.

Then again, this was the first real conversation Mae had had with her ex since senior prom.

"Kinda good. Sort of," Mae said. "I've talked to her twice and forgotten to get her info both times."

"Maybe you should carry flash cards," Cole joked. That got a chuckle out of Mae. "Does she live far away? Like, Hunwick or something?"

Mae shook her head. "No, farther," Mae said. "I don't actually know where she lives. I met her in a club up in…" Mae paused. She'd been up to that club three times now, and Mae was only just realizing she had no idea what town it was in.

After a moment, Mae settled on giving the info she did know. "You know that town, like two hours away? College town? It has a theater, and an awful pizza place?" When Cole gave her a blank look, Mae continued. "Has a river called Red Winder?"

Cole shook his head slowly. "No, sorry," he said. "I'm, like, bad at directions. My college is out of state, anyway. I don't really know where any clubs are."

Mae nodded. Cole didn't exactly seem like the club-going type. He'd been more of a coffee house, bonfire party kind of guy. Not that Possum Springs had a coffee house. The closest thing was probably the Snack Falcon.

The two continued to sit in silence. Out in the distance, Mae could see the bright blue sky stretch on forever. The sun was way too bright today. Mae already missed the fall. She wanted to see the leaves changing, and feel the cold chill in the air. Oh, well. Spring came with its own nice things.

Longer days. Flowers on the hills. Light spring rain and the smell that came with it.

Mae wondered if she'd be able to enjoy the spring without Gregg and Angus. They hadn't set a date for their move, but Mae could feel the day drawing closer. Bright Harbor would eat up her two best friends, and Mae would be Gregg-less for the first time in years.

Whatever. Now wasn't the time for that. Mae was finally having a normal rooftop conversation with her ex. She couldn't get bogged down in her dumb emotions. Save that shit for Bort Feldman.

Mae wanted to say something and keep the conversation going. But she couldn't think of anything. Nothing except one question she'd always wondered.

"So, real talk," Mae said. She gazed down at her feet, dangling over the sidewalk below. "And don't think I'm fishing for compliments or whatever, but… what made you ask me out back in high school?"

Cole laughed quietly. For some reason, that put Mae on edge. Had she asked a dumb question? Well, screw you, Cole. She wasn't effing psychic. When Cole answered her, though, Mae's ire settled down. Slightly. A little.

"I dunno. I just liked you," Cole said. "I thought you were cute, and funny. That's kind of all teenagers need to ask someone out." He threw his shoulders up in a nonchalant shrug.

"Okay, I kind of get what you're saying," Mae said slowly. "But I was never cute. I was edgy and dangerous. I was bad news, kid. The kinda person your parents warned you about."

That brought another chuckle out of Cole. Mae had forgotten how easy it was to make him laugh. "My parents warned me about, like, perverts and kidnappers. Not you. My dad liked you a lot, remember?"

"Nope," Mae said. "I don't." Had she ever met Cole's parents? She felt like she would have remembered that. Then again, Mae could barely remember what she'd eaten before she left the house.

Mae's memory was kind of weird like that.

Cole sighed and looked out towards the horizon. Mae followed suit. Back when they were teenagers, Mae would have thought this sort of thing was super romantic. But now, after the puking, and the avoiding, and the puking again? It was just a thing. A nice thing, sure, but it wasn't the sign of something blossoming between them.

But maybe it was a sign they could be friends? Mae felt like she needed more friends.

"Hey," Mae said finally. "Sorry for puking on you. And, like, avoiding you and getting hung up on past stuff."

"It's cool," Cole said. "Sorry for ditching you at prom."

Mae nodded in response. She didn't know if she could ever really forgive Cole for that, but she could at least not be upset with him about it. Even if that night had traumatized her for life, and even if she still had nightmares about it, Mae and Cole would still be cool.

"We should probably get down from here," Mae said. "Bea's probably pissed we left."

Cole's eyes widened behind his big, nerdy glasses. "Oh, god, I completely forgot," he said. "My dad's probably wondering why he doesn't have that hammer by now."

But, in fact, Cole's dad wasn't wondering that. Because Cole's dad was already at the Pickaxe.

Getting down from the top of a building is usually faster than getting to the top. More dangerous, but faster. Mae had been confident enough to just leap down to the ground. Cole, meanwhile, had to take the long, boring way, and climbed down. Scaredy-cat.

"I have no idea how you can jump off of stuff like that," Cole said when he finally reached the ground. The two made their way to the front of the shop. The awkward air from earlier was more or less gone. It was like old times between Mae and Cole.

Well, sort of. They weren't dumb teenagers anymore, and Cole wasn't letting Mae copy his homework. Also, Mae didn't want to smooch him nearly as much as she had when they were dating. But the atmosphere had definitely mellowed out between the two of them.

It occurred to Mae that this was what 'making amends' must have been all about. Repairing old relationships. Clearing the air. Getting closure. It hadn't felt good with Levy, because Levy had barely remembered what Mae was making up for.

With Cole, though? Something had been accomplished. Mae had confronted the ghost of the past and spat in its stupid, ghosty face.

The ghost was still there. It would always be there. But even if Mae couldn't unhaunt a haunted house, she could… make the ghost less… spooky?

Mae had lost her train of thought. How did she do that inside of her own head? That didn't seem possible. Whatever.

Cole was the one to open the door when they got to the shop. Mae snickered a bit as her ex held the door for her. Stupid, goofy Cole and his stupid, goofy courtesy.

Mae's levity faded before she was even in the shop; before the bell over the door had even stopped ringing. She felt a chill pass over her body as she took in the sight of the man who was in the shop, talking to Bea. When the bell rang, the man and Bea both turned towards the door. Bea looked annoyed. The man looked pleasantly surprised.

It was the man from the mines. An old guy, dressed all in flannel. Why was he wearing flannel in spring? Who did that? Maybe it was a cultist thing. Like, they wore flannel in the spring so they could recognize each other. But the other cultists were all dead, so Mae hadn't seen any other flannel.

This was all assuming that this guy was one of those cultists. Maybe he was just spooky.

But no, yeah, he was definitely a cultist.

"Where'd you two disappear to?" Bea asked.

Mae didn't answer. She shot Bea terrified look. It was a look that said 'Bea. This is the guy from the mine. This is the guy who was all cryptic about the cave-in. He's in your store.'

Bea shot Mae a look that said 'Whoa, are you having a panic attack? Also, what were you doing with your ex? Is this a thing? Is a thing happening?'

While Mae and Bea were having their nonverbal conversation, though, Cole was entering the shop. Mae wasn't looking at him, but when he spoke, she could practically picture the bashful smile on his face. He and the man were both smiling at each other.

That was when Mae finally realized where she knew the man from.

"I was wondering what was taking you so long!" The man said. His smile had grown into a jovial grin. There was a familiar chuckle in his voice that kind of pissed Mae off. "Look at you! Back two days, and already hobnobbing with your ex?"

"It's not like that, dad," Cole said, laughing. He didn't seem to register the look of panic on Mae's face. Nobody did, except for Bea. The Mom Friend was now the Concerned Friend.

Mae's first thought was that she felt like an idiot for not recognizing Cole's dad. When she'd hung out with Cole at his house, Cole's dad had been a constant friendly face. He'd really liked Mae, and had been happy about her relationship with his son. Cole's mom had hated her, though.

It was only after Mae got over her embarrassment that she realized Cole's dad was a murderer.

"You took so long getting my special hammer that I was worried you'd gotten lost!" Cole's dad, whose name Mae couldn't for the life of her remember, said. He held up a plastic shopping bag with his right hand. Mae could just barely make out something shaped like a hammer through the yellow plastic.

Cole chuckled, embarrassed. Now that they were in the same room, Mae was kind of amazed she hadn't recognized Cole's dad. The family resemblance was uncanny. Probably because they were related, Mae thought.

"Sorry," Cole said. "Kinda lost track of time catching up with Mae."

Cole's dad smiled. "That so?" He said. He turned that smile towards Mae. It wasn't a good smile. Mae had seen Cole's dad smile before, and it hadn't looked like this. Nothing about the way he was looking at Mae felt right.

"Well, I'll leave you kids to it, then," Cole's dad said. "I gotta head home with my new, special hammer. Prob'ly gonna need it for work tomorrow." He gave an exaggerated little eye roll. "You know how my boss is."

Cole's father began to push his way forward, towards the front entrance. "I'll see you around, Mae. Take care of yourself."

The bell over the door rang. Mae kept her back to the door as Cole's dad walked away. She couldn't bring herself to watch him go. She didn't want to see if he was still smiling with just his teeth.

Mae was almost certain he was one of them. He had to be. But, really, Mae didn't have any evidence. Mae didn't even have a gut feeling. All she was going off of was a sense of guilt and paranoia that she hadn't been able to shake since last year.

"Mae?" Bea said. Mae didn't respond right away. She almost felt as if she was dreaming. Mae did her best to focus, and turned towards Bea. Cole looked on in mildly concerned confusion.

Cole said something. Mae wasn't entirely aware of what it was. Nothing felt solid. Finally, Mae found the nerve to speak.

"I think I'm gonna head on home," she said. "I'll talk to you later, Bea."

By the time Bea thought to protest, Mae was already out the door, running towards home.

She could tell everyone later. Tomorrow. Mae could talk Gregg into holding band practice, and they could all talk about it then. Right now, though, Mae needed to think. She needed to clear her head. She needed to eat dinner with her parents and tell them about her day.

Mae needed to feel normal, if only for a little bit. Mae needed to pretend she didn't feel like she was going insane.

#part 12 #night in the woods #nitw #nitw postgame #nitw fanfic #bea #beatrice santello #mae borowski #nitw mae #nitw bea #fan fiction #postgame #nitw cole #nitw selmers #selmers

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theliterateape · 5 years

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Book Club Made Me Read It | The Changeling

By Kari Castor

I’m a member of a small, informal, friends, and friends-of-friends book club. We try to read one book every 5 five weeks or so. The rules are simple: Everyone gets an opportunity to pick a book for the book club to read. Each member must pick a book that they have not personally read before and each member is responsible for leading the discussion after we read their selection. Sometimes the books are good. Sometimes they are not. I review them here regardless of their quality.

I’m a bitch and don’t care about ruining the experience for you, so I’m going to include spoilers whenever I please. That’s your only warning. Proceed at your own risk.

The Changeling by Victor LaValle

Sigh. I wanted to like this one. I thought I was going to like this one. Hell, I did rather like the first 128 pages of this one, which makes it a real shame when the whole thing shits the bed in the final two-thirds.

Here’s the problem: Victor LaValle’s The Changeling is not a novel. It is at least three separate stories that are loosely stitched together into some vague semblance of a novel. It is an effective and frightening novella stretched into an increasingly disappointing novel. It is a bunch of ideas, about parenthood and family legacies and the dangers of the internet, with which the author would like to whack you about the head. It is a heavy-handed fairy tale that bemoans the heavy-handedness of fairy tales.

The first 128 pages are primarily the story of a relationship. Apollo Kagwa’s father left when he was a child, and he has felt the loss echo acutely across his life. Apollo meets, woos, and marries Emma Valentine, and they have a child. Apollo is deliriously happy to be a father, and he vows to be everything to his own son that he wishes his father could have been to him. Meanwhile, Emma slips increasingly into darkness and despair, refusing to call baby Brian by his name, refusing to care for him, insisting that he isn’t Brian at all. Apollo and Emma’s relationship grows antagonistic. Frustrated and angry at her inability to snap out of it, he pushes her away and devotes himself wholly to Brian. Emma’s presence in the story (which is told primarily from Apollo’s perspective) begins to feel more like that of a malevolent spirit than of a co-parent and partner. And then one day, Apollo wakes up chained with a bike lock to a steam pipe in their apartment and a kettle is whistling on the stove, and Brian is wailing in his bedroom. And Emma, Emma who has been insisting that the baby is wrong, takes a hammer to Apollo’s face and the kettle of boiling water to Brian’s room with the words, “It’s not a baby.”

And holy shit if this book had ended right there, I’d be writing a very different review right now. The vibrancy of their early relationship with each other, the slow creep of horror as things become more and more wrong in the Kagwa-Valentine household, the awful question of whether Emma might actually be right, the visceral brutality of the final scenes… It works. It’s good.

Unfortunately, the book doesn’t end there. Instead, it takes one of the dullest turns for the fantastical that I’ve ever encountered.

The narrative continues after a time skip: Baby Brian is dead and buried, and Emma is missing, a fugitive from the law. Apollo, a used-bookseller, sells a rare book to a weird nerd who says he hopes to win his wife back with an extravagant gift, and then the nerd tells Apollo that he knows Emma is alive, and that his internet friends helped track her down. Apollo thinks this is great news, because he wants to kill Emma himself for murdering their child, so he and the weird nerd go on an adventure together to a magical island on the East River inhabited by women and children. The women there all, like Emma, killed their babies on the basis of a belief that it wasn’t their baby. Apollo starts to believe this fake baby thing might hold some water after all, and then we find out that his weird nerd buddy is actually a bad guy and the evidence of his badness is that… he killed his baby. Yeah, I know, but you see, he killed his real baby and not his fake baby, and that makes all the difference. Anyway, then his mysterious bad guy friends show up to wreak havoc and everyone flees the island and none of it really matters.

The whole island episode is about one hundred pages long and could be lifted entirely out of the book with no real loss to the plot.

I should probably curb my impulse to continue summarizing the absolutely whack plot of this book, in large part because I’m afraid that the short version will make it sound much more interesting than it actually is, but the whole thing ends with Apollo finding Emma, who is a witch now, and they fuck and get back together without ever bothering to have a conversation about the fact that she hammered his fucking face in and maybe they should look for a couples counselor or something. Also, a troll has been trying to raise the real not-dead baby Brian, so Apollo and Emma kill the troll and get their baby back and also murder both the weird nerd who bought the rare book and the nerd’s dad, but not before the dad does a straight-up Bond-villain exposition dump to explain everything about how a troll emigrated to New York with a bunch of Norwegians in the 1820s and now his family is responsible for stealing real babies and replacing them with fake changeling babies, so the troll can try to raise the real babies (except it always fucks up and eats them instead).

The book… takes one of the dullest turns for the fantastical that I’ve ever encountered.

Meanwhile, there’s a B-plot about Apollo’s absent father, which eventually reveals that Apollo’s dad tried to kill him (in a fit of If I can’t have him, no one gets to.) as a toddler. Also, Emma’s mom tried to kill her and her sister as part of a murder-suicide. Basically this book is an exercise in How many subplots and backstories centered on the themes of ‘family secrets’ and ‘violence committed by parents in the name of their children’ can I cram into a single book? There is a distinct lack of subtlety at work in this book.

Much to-do is made about the dangers of posting things on Facebook (people will know things about you!), which mostly reads as though it is written by someone who has never actually used Facebook himself but asked his friend to tell him about it. The book twice uses the exact same metaphor about how dangerous it is: That putting stuff about your life on the internet is like inviting a vampire into your home — you’ve compromised your safety by making your private world accessible to the monsters. One of the villains (the aforementioned weird nerd) is an internet troll working in cahoots with an actual troll. I cannot roll my eyes hard enough to convey my exasperation with this.

There’s a bunch of miscellaneous shit that seems like it’s meant to be symbolic or important but just… isn’t. There’s a room that has four space heaters in it, which seems like it’s an important detail given how many times the extreme heat in the room is referenced, but it turns out the only reason there are four space heaters in that room is that the plot requires a way for Apollo and Emma set a house fire later, and four space heaters fits the bill nicely. Another example: The narration specifically remarks upon a headstone with the name Catherine Linton on it, at the cemetery where not-Brian is buried, but it doesn’t appear to mean anything... Did the author intend some symbolic significance there that he failed to convey? (At best, I can come up with some loose connection to the general “fucked up families” theme that runs rampant in The Changeling.) Is it supposed to be a fun little easter egg for the lit nerd who recognizes that name as a character from Wuthering Heights? Is it just “Look at how smart I am, I can drop in random literary references” masturbatory bullshit?

Honestly, an extraordinary amount of stuff happens in this book, and most of it is a mix of astonishingly boring and ham-fisted. It tries really hard to weave an epic modern fairy tale about parenthood, but there are too many abrupt left turns into entirely new plots and not enough cohesion and interweaving of threads throughout the whole tale. Classic fairy tales can do that sort of thing and still work in no small part because they’re short, but this is a 430-page book, which is actually just several ideas for different novellas loosely Frankensteined together, and all of them end up being less interesting collectively than any one of them might have been on its own.

MY RATING: 2/5 stars

POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT FOR: Writing a solid 128-page novella about a woman who might have serious postpartum depression or might actually have identified that her baby is a changeling and no one else can see it.

PLEASE NO MORE: Everything after page 128.

SHOUT-OUT TO: Victor LaValle's Destroyer, which is a comic book unrelated to The Changeling aside from the fact that it has the same author. But the full title of the comic book is legit Victor LaValle's Destroyer, which is just… awful. Why would you do that? Sorry Victor LaValle, but you’re nowhere near good enough or famous enough to justify putting your own name as a possessive in the title, and I don’t care if it’s your fault or the publisher’s fault, fuck everyone involved in that decision.

#books #book club #Book Club Made Me Read It #The Changeling #Victor LaValle #infanticide #masturbatory literary bullshit #trolls

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