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trainerspiral · 3 months ago

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Forrest leads me through the gate into the orchard, the Lombre marching at his side and muttering sullenly to itself. I can't help but sigh at the beauty of the old trees, their branches clustered with berries of all colors.

My mind glances back to my previous visit here, so long ago. Ro and I had been traveling together, and things between us were getting tense. The Berry Master's house had been a bright spot on that difficult journey--a much-needed reprieve that allowed us to clear the air while we did humble chores in exchange for berries.

Back then, though, a simple wooden fence had enclosed the orchard, providing a lovely view of the woods beyond. Now a formidable stone wall topped with spikes hides the outside world completely. Stretching over the trees, its jagged shadow casts a sinister pall over the idyllic orchard.

"Why the wall?" I ask.

Forrest sighs. "Same reason we need to patrol." He pauses at the end of a row of Oran trees and points. "See there?"

I draw in a sharp breath. Three of the trees at the end are stunted and dead.

The Lombre mutters in a discomfited way. Forrest pats its head. "That's from a Grimer outbreak."

"Grimer?" I ask in disbelief. "Out here in the woods?" There are some naturalized Grimer in Hoenn, but the only places I've ever known of them congregating in significant numbers are the underground passes near Mt. Chimney, where they enjoy the heat and volcanic fumes.

Forrest nods grimly. "That big tech company, Koynlab? They started mining up around Mt. Chimney three months ago. Grimer and Koffing are dangerous for the workers, so the company has made an effort to clear them out of the mines." He scowls, anger darkening his amiable features. "Of course, they insist that they're keeping their environmental impact low. There's been a media campaign to convince the public the outbreaks are caused by stuff like trash burning and littering and unsecured dumpsters. But they can't fool us."

Koynlab. I think of the V4ST, of Nifti, and my stomach sinks. "I'm guessing the government hasn't been much help?"

"You guess right," he says drily. "We think their new lab in Sootopolis is creating a lot more waste than they say, too...the outbreaks seem to be moving in that direction." He shrugs. "But nothing's come out in the official inspections, so who knows."

"Anyway." He gestures at the dead trees. "A few months after they started mining, some Grimer squeezed under the fence and did this. A couple weeks later a bunch of Koffing ruined an entire crop of Cheri berries. Our Pokemon are mostly grass types trained to help with planting - our main defense was a team of Gloom that kept pest Pokemon out with their smell. No help against Grimer and Koffing, obviously. So we had the wall put in, and me a few others started training guard Pokemon." He sighs. "Unfortunately, the berries are too tempting to Pokemon to leave them in here unsupervised. So someone has to patrol when there's an outbreak."

"That's terrible," I say sympathetically.

"Yeah. We're dealing with it though." He smiles. "Anyway, it's getting dark. I better start working on that garden. Just walk around the perimeter with your Pokemon and keep an eye out. If you see anything sneaking in, you know what to do."

I'm not so sure, but I make my best attempt at a reassuring smile and thumbs up. He returns the gesture and goes back to the garden with his Lombre, leaving me alone in the swiftly darkening orchard. I turn and begin and steady march along the forbidding wall.

As the orchard falls into twilight, electric lights on poles flicker to life among the trees. My shadow stretches and shrinks as I pass each one. An evening wind rises in the trees. After 30 uneventful minutes, my nervous vigilance dulls and my less immediate anxieties slink back into my skull.

I hate how much the Berry Master's words bother me. It's you that doesn't know how to fight. Despite the pain of losing my Pokemon and the shame of my years in obscurity, there's still a nasty little piece of ego left to wriggle to the surface. I think of my Kalos team, my Champion team, of all the hard years of training and battle. I think of the world-class trainers I defeated, the talented upstarts whose meteoric rises ended with me, and my pride burns like dragonfire in my chest.

Then I think of ASH's face, of his poor Metagross, of the satisfaction I felt as I ordered my Eelektross to deliver the attack that would prove fatal. The fire churns inside me, but it doesn't go out; it only ignites the old argument with myself again, the schism between the part of me that wishes I'd been the loser and the part of me that could never have swallowed that loss.

And I think of Coba, tangled in String Shot as the Silcoon prepared to strike. Would he have survived if it had hit him instead of me? Logic says the answer is almost certainly yes--Pokemon do get killed, but they're tough, so much tougher than humans, made for fighting in a way we can only envy. Jumping in front of him was pure stupidity. The old me would never have done such a thing, treating a Pokemon like a helpless baby.

I stop in my tracks. Why did the Silcoon attack Coba? I squeeze my brain, trying to remember every detail of the scene. I was yelling at the V4ST, and when I turned back around he had been attacked. And while it was not strictly impossible that I'd be stupid enough to turn my back on an aggressive wild Pokemon, I didn't think that was the case. After all, Coba had not been hostile to it in any way. He had refused to even approach it.

But I started yelling at the V4ST, and Pokemon almost universally hate yelling. Maybe I had been the one the Silcoon perceived as dangerous.

And if that was the case, maybe Coba got hit because he'd tried to protect me.

Pokemon may have trouble understanding your words, but they understand your heart just fine.

It's not that Coba can't fight. It's that he knows I don't want him to.

It's unclear how long I stand there in the deepening dark, feeling the weight of that thought, before the wind shifts and I notice the smell. Rank, rotten, rancid--few words are adequate to describe it. Sewage, formaldehyde, body odor, brimstone--a rich, full orchestra of putrescent notes.

It's not hard to pinpoint the direction it's coming from. Against all desire, I cut across the orchard and head toward it, praying it's coming from the other side of the wall. At first I see nothing; I think I've got lucky. But then I notice a gleam--wetness caught in the electric light. A mucilaginous tendril of purple ooze creeping through the tiniest hole in the masonry, already puddling on the dirt below. Within seconds a wide, wet eye squeezes through.

I tear out the V4ST's ball and throw it to the ground in front of me. The Porygon2 bursts out.

"V4ST! Psychic attack!" I order.

The V4ST looks at the quickly-coalescing Grimer. Then it spins in a circle, looking all around itself. Then it looks at me.

"Drr-drr," it drones.

My heart lurches, but maybe it just doesn't know that attack. "Tri-Attack!" I say. No Porygon2 would be without that attack.

"Drr-drrrrr," it repeats, with more emphasis this time.

"Why?!" I shout.

The V4ST swoops toward me with a series of caustic beeps as the last glob of the Grimer begins to slide toward the ground.

"Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you!" I say, my voice high and tight with fear. "I'll be nicer, I promise, but please, please help me!"

The V4ST beeps harshly. Then it taps its beak hard on my breast pocket, making a dull clunking noise as it hits Coba's ball through my coat.

"Drr-drr," it reiterates.

I lurch back as the Grimer makes a sudden lunge in my direction. The V4ST whirls around to look, but the sludgy beast seems satisfied that I'm no threat. It starts to ooze toward the trees.

There's only about 30 feet between the wall and the first row of trees. Grimer are slow, but if I don't do anything it will get there and start destroying the orchard.

And I understand the V4ST's meaning. It can protect me, but it can't act as my Pokemon.

It has to be Coba.

I look hard at the V4ST. It looks back at me, impossible to read. I feel my hatred for it rising and swallow it down. It's not fair to blame the V4ST for doing what it's meant to do. I have to trust it to take care of things if they get out of hand.

Even if getting out of hand means Coba turns out to be a Missingno. Even if it means losing him.

As I pull out his ball, I'm more afraid than I've ever been going into a battle. But I remember the words of the Berry Master--words that old youngster me apparently needed to hear after all--and I do my best to call up the old battle-readiness of days past, and I throw the ball with all the ferocity I can summon.

Hearing the ball, the Grimer whirls toward the new threat with a wet snarl, and its stench hits me with nauseating force. Coba squeaks in shock and turns, scampering back in my direction.

"Coba!" I say, speaking to him for the first time in a commanding tone. He stops, studying me quizzically with one little black eye.

Through the sickness and pain and fear, I manage to stab my finger toward the Grimer and snarl, "Mud-slap!"

For a terrifying second, Coba simply looks at the Grimer, which has fixed him with its full attention now. He takes a bound in my direction, and I'm afraid he's going to refuse again.

But then he digs his little forepaws into the earth and shoots backward, sending a plume of mud directly into the Grimer's face.

The Grimer folds in on itself, handlike pseudopods swiping at its mud-caked eyes. I let out a shrill whoop of triumph, then choke on it as the V4ST drifts forward, its eyes laser-focused on Coba. My heart throbs in my ears and I feel my knees weaken as it hangs there, calculating, and then slowly turns to face me.

"Bi-bing," it chirps.

A beautiful sound. An undeniably affirmative, happy sound. I fold over with a sob of relief.

But I can't collapse in a blubbering heap just yet, because the Grimer makes a disgusting phlegmy noise and hawks a glob of Acid in Coba's direction. It goes wide thanks to the blinding mud, but it's a timely reminder that the fight isn't over.

"Great job, Coba!" I shout hoarsely. "Mud-slap!"

Coba performs the move again, and the Grimer burbles with pain and rage. It flings out a pseudopod and this time the attack connects. Coba shrieks as he rolls end over end toward me, and the Grimer surges forward.

"Coba!" I shout, locking every muscle in my body to keep myself from repeating the stupidity of my Silcoon encounter. He stands up, looking shaken, but he turns and hisses at the Grimer. I order another Mud-slap as the toxic Pokemon bears down on him, but this time his aim goes wide and the Grimer's Acid attack hits true. He screeches in pain and staggers to the ground as the poison seeps in.

I withdraw him and turn to the V4ST. "Help!" I plead.

"Drr-drr," it says, and I realize the Grimer has turned from the fight and is closing in on the trees. The V4ST is under no obligation to protect the trees, and now I have no way of protecting them, either.

Except one.

Clenching my jaw, half-thanking and half-cursing Ro, I pull out an empty Ultra Ball and let it fly before I have a chance to change my mind. It pulls the Grimer less than a yard from the nearest tree. It rolls around a few times, and then the light goes out.

"Bi-bing," the V4ST says.

@novelistash

#pokemon rp #closed rp #novelistash

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birdo-is-here · 9 months ago

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also some writing I did, in which Phanuel and Dabria liberate a zoo

written from third-person perspective because why not

word length is 1390, no TWs that i can find! (let me know if i’ve missed any)

Phanuel manifested amidst a very crowded area. He looked around, taking in what he could of his surroundings that weren’t obscured by the bustling chatter of the human form. He was on some sort of flat, stone-esk path, likely built by humans. Hm, actually. As he looked around, he figured most of the things here were human-made.

Phanuel himself had made sure to take it upon himself to go incognito. Especially considering… recent events. He took the form of a blond-haired human with white highlights, because even if he was trying to be discreet he couldn’t possibly give up his theme – even if the colours had to be inverted. He wore some ‘denim jeans’ and an article of clothing he’d heard called a ‘letterman jacket’ atop a vibrant yellow ‘t-shirt’. All those funny human words.

Around him he figured were different types of fences: some metal and jutting out of the ground with more, muuuch longer metal bars running horizontally across the beams as support, creating some sort of grid pattern. Other fences were entirely clear – so clear he almost thought they weren’t there, but he wasn’t gonna be fooled twice by these dastardly demons supposedly called glass. The ‘glass’ ones were rather tall, and reinforced by wooden rims and beams.

Past the fences seemed to mimic several different natural environments. Admittedly, Phanuel only recognised a few of them. He saw animals resting in the trees and on the floors of the spaces, though!

A familiar, clawed, terribly feathery, figure landed on his shoulder, trilling something in his very human ear. He recognised the trills to be from the lovely Dabria, who seemed to be telling him not to stand in the middle of the road.

“Joke’s on you, I can’t even remember what a ‘road’ is,” The process of moving the lips to fit one’s speech was terribly redundant. He didn’t know why humans bothered with it.

Dabria made a small sound of disgruntlement. Just move to one side of the stone slab on the floor, it translated. He did as much, before finally doing what he had come here to do.

He scanned the environment, taking careful consideration not to have his head do a 360 degree turn, because apparently that wasn’t very natural for humans. And yet ‘glass’ was, he understood. Makes sense.

There were no signs of Jesus in the immediate vicinity, but he did pick up some other divine aura. Strange, he picked up quite a few divine auras, actually. They all seemed to be past the fences, but… lower. Underground, perhaps.

Dabria seemed to pick up on it as well, releasing a nervous scree. He could sympathise with her worries; most types of divine auras would mean bad news for them now. Still, Phanuel was a terribly curious angel. Fallen angel? Heaven-assigned fallen angel, he figured was closest. He didn’t really like to think about that too much.

He veered his attention back to the divinities underground. They seemed angelic, at least. Well, actually, that would be worse now, wouldn’t it… Hm. Anyway.

Phanuel approached the closest group of humans, waving to them in a very human fashion.

“Hello fellow humans! I must ask, is there anything underground?” For some reason Dabria did the owl equivalent of exclaiming her exasperation, which hurt Phanuel’s poor human ears, by the way.

The humans exchanged momentarily confused glances, before one of them responded, “uuuuhh… I guess there’s the underwater exhibit? Is that what you’re after?”

“Maybe! How would one get there?”

“Oh, it’s.. The entrance is just behind you, I believe,” Another pointed somewhere behind Phanuel, where he spotted a stairwell going down into the ground. There was an incredibly blue sign labelled ‘FISH AND FUN’ with a smaller sign next to the entrance that read ‘Come see the swimming harpies!’

Phanuel bid the humans farewell, before heading for the stairwell. As they got within typical eyeshot, Dabria released a small hoot. Harpies, she repeated the sign, once again slightly exasperated. Phanuel didn’t really know what those were.

When he expressed as much, Dabria gave another, slightly longer hoot. Mythological creatures. Not real at all. I think I can guess what those ‘harpies’ are supposed to be. He hummed, his attention drifting to the stairwell as he reached it. He hovered at the entrance a moment, though he was quickly ushered forward by a very impatient owl on his shoulder.

Inside was some sort of long human-made cave with rounded corners. Just ahead of him was more ‘glass’, barricading him from a very large, water-filled exhibit that held many, many scaled creatures of varying sizes. He recalled them to be the ‘fish’, if he wasn’t wrong.

There were also angels inside. About six or seven that he could see.

Oh that’s a problem actually. He momentarily stumbled back, preparing to leave the underwater exhibit before they noticed him and Dabria, but then he noticed something.

..Oh, they were Guardians. They had the odd scarf-like accessory to show as much. He debated his chances that they were unaware of the most recent news.

“Angels! Wherefore hast thou soggied yourselves?!” He called in a foreign language, in a way any human would not be able to hear. Dabria squawked very loudly in his ear. ARE YOU STUPID, she exclaimed, though Phanuel doubted he really needed to translate that one.

The angels looked over. A few of them were on the ‘sea’bed, resting gracefully on some rocks and slopes. Others were actually out swimming, playing in the currents. It was immediately obvious that they were trying to be dramatic about it, as if they were putting on some sort of show.

Their forms were distorted by the effect of the water, but it was easy to see how soaked they were – as one would be when spending all your time underwater. He wondered how heavy their feathers would be when they stepped out of the water.

“What?” The closest one replied. She had a sort of mustard-coloured halo, slightly distorted by the water just like her body. Fortunately, she didn’t immediately jump up to go apprehend him on sight, so he’d take any win he could get.

“Why are you in the water?” He clarified. Honestly he didn’t know where he learnt that other dialect.

“Oh! Uuuuh… it’s fun!”

“Oh, okay!”

Well that settles that, Phanuel thought. But then Dabria decided she wasn’t quite satisfied. Ask them if anyone knows what they actually are, she cooed. He repeated the bird’s question to them.

“The CEO does! And some other employees!” One called. “We’re working as interns!” Said another.

“Woah! I don’t know those words, but okay!”

Why would they be working as interns? Are they getting paid?

“Are you getting paid for it?”

“No! Mr. CEO man said we can stay to guard this place as long as we work as attractions!” One further up the back contributed.

Dabria made a rumbling noise of uncertainty. Phanuel didn’t really know any of these words, but he was happy to be here. She began to screech quietly again, giving quite a spiel of information for Phanuel to translate across.

“Okay— Have you ever heard of this thing called a union?”

“A bit! Not enough, though! What is that?”

“It’s this thing where like— You get money for your work, right?”

“Nah!”

“Well the.. Typical human gets money for their work, right?” He couldn’t really remember what money was all the time. It was brought up a lot, though, so he figured he’d have to get familiar with it.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah that happens!”

“You’re doing a work right now, and you’re not getting any money! And why would you need to intern for being a.. zoo attraction?”

Many of them hummed in strange unison. “That’s true! And we can get cool things with money!”

“Yes! . .. y. yes?” He looked to Dabria, who nodded in confirmation. “Yes!”

“Wooow! Oh, well– let’s go on strike!”

They said it very cheerfully, the one who spoke clasping her hands together in front of her torso. A moment later, all the angels were teleported out of the tank, and Phanuel heard screams of shock and a bit of fear upstairs.

Dabria bopped him on the head with a wing. Job well done, we should probably go before chaos erupts.

“Yes!” He replied with finality.

Truth be told, he didn’t know what he just did, but he enjoyed the validation from the owl. The scene began to change around him as he teleported away.

#birdo babbles for an extended period of time #angel goober shenanigans #birdo’s silly little guys

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thelocalguyspestcontrols3 · 2 months ago

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Effective Termite Treatment in Adelaide: Safeguard Your Home Today

Why Termite Treatment is Essential in Adelaide

Adelaide's climate is favorable for termites, especially species like subterranean termites that can cause extensive damage to homes and buildings. These termites typically build colonies underground and use mud tubes to travel to food sources, often targeting wooden structures. What makes them particularly dangerous is that they work silently and methodically, eating away at wood and other cellulose-based materials, causing structural damage that can be costly to repair.

Without regular inspections and preventive measures, homeowners may not notice termites until it's too late. By the time the infestation is visible, much of the damage could already be done, termite treatment adelaide costing thousands in repairs. This is why termite treatment in Adelaide is not just a luxury, but a necessity.

Signs of a Termite Infestation

One of the first steps to protecting your home is knowing the signs of a termite infestation. Some common indicators include:

Mud Tubes: Termites build mud tubes as a safe passageway from their colony to food sources. These can often be found along the foundations or walls of your home.

Hollow-Sounding Wood: If you tap on wood structures in your home and it sounds hollow, termites may have eaten away the interior.

Discarded Wings: Termite swarmers, or reproductive termites, termite treatment brisbane shed their wings after finding a mate and establishing a new colony. If you see piles of discarded wings near windows or doors, it’s a sign that termites may be nearby.

Frass (Termite Droppings): Drywood termites leave behind small pellets of frass, which resemble sawdust or sand, near areas where they are active.

Warped Wood or Bubbling Paint: Damage to wooden surfaces or paint that bubbles or peels can be a sign that termites are causing destruction behind the scenes.

If you notice any of these signs, it’s crucial to contact a termite treatment professional immediately to assess the severity of the infestation and begin treatment.

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There are several effective methods for termite treatment in Adelaide, depending on the extent of the infestation and the type of termites involved. The most common treatments include:

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Bait Systems: Termite baiting systems are strategically placed around your home to lure termites. The bait contains slow-acting toxins that the termites bring back to their colony, eventually eliminating the entire population.

Physical Barriers: Physical termite barriers can be installed during the construction of a new home or renovation. These barriers, made of materials like stainless steel mesh or crushed granite, prevent termites from entering your home through the foundation.

Fumigation: In severe cases of drywood termite infestations, fumigation may be necessary. This involves sealing the home and introducing a gas that permeates the structure, killing the termites.

Preventing Future Infestations

Termite treatment is only one part of the solution. Preventing future infestations is equally important. Homeowners should take steps to minimize the risk of termite activity by:

Reducing moisture around the home, as termites are attracted to damp areas.

Keeping woodpiles and debris away from the foundation of the home.

Ensuring proper drainage around the property to avoid water buildup near the foundation.

Regularly inspecting wooden structures, including fences, decks, and sheds, for any signs of termite activity.

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midori-laboratories · 2 years ago

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Ashes In The Fall - Chapter 20: Old World Underground I

Book 2 of the Calendula Chronicles

Resident evil, Wesker X OC

Story Summary: Marigold Ashford escaped the mansion, only to face new incarceration with a familiar jailor. She may yet have to make a deal with the devil, if she can unearth what this Faustian bargain would cost her.

There is always something left to lose.

Chapter summary: Marigold has a chance encounter while running to her next appointment.

6:40 a.m.

Marigold leaned against the window in the larger STARS office. The noise downstairs had died down, and the sound of lockers being opened and shut around the building had gone away. The shift change had finished up, and not a moment too soon.

Ada had pointed out the fire escape leading from that window to the alley. A fence blocked the way to the next street over, but that was hardly a dead end. Besides, the fence was old, broken, and seemed to barely serve as a roadblock outside of optics. The chain link barely seemed attached on the far side. Ada was the more vulnerable target on the surface of things…except that Ada was comfortable with the terrain, and wasn’t up against a ticking clock. “Your checkpoint, as you mentioned is four blocks past that fence, and you have a better chance of staying out of sight once you leave the station. I can take the back stairs here in a few more minutes.”

Ada had then promptly left. Marigold had locked the small office behind her, stumbling out into the wider space. She still felt a bit lightheaded after pushing so hard for so long, but the feeling was fading. The tenor of the G virus below had lost its fever pitch. It hadn’t gone anywhere.

That was the real trouble of being the only case for so long. Marigold had no real idea of why this had been so much easier on her body this time around, or if she had simply been this way the whole time. Would she mutate if she pushed too far? To some degree, she had already been changing internally.

What was it that Alexander had concluded after that ‘little incident’ back in 1972? Ah, yes: ‘high responses activate dormant Sonnetroppe reservoirs, increasing aggression and abilities, while also accelerating biological cycling’. He had compared it to the rumoured effects of Toxoplasmosis gondii in humans; males became more aggressive, females more receptive.

It had all sounded like Freudian trash to Marigold, but it was as good an explanation as any. It was just as well that there only seemed to be one genius in the family per generation at most. Their egos would never sustain more than that. Maybe science had lost some of its Victorian hangover since she’d gone away, but she doubted it.

In that respect, Alexander had found her situation almost funny. “You were always rather scary, even if Father never really saw it,” he’d joked when they were trying to unravel the unsettling new development. “So really, it’s just enhancing what was already there.”

The bruise on her neck, which refused to heal ‘normally’ had grown even more tender now than before. Increased aggression, indeed. Had he planned that? Had Wesker been two steps ahead the entire time?

Perhaps. But he hadn’t anticipated what she had just done. Or at least, why. She was mostly certain Wesker wouldn’t work it out without significant help.

There was a fifty-fifty chance that Ada would gloss over the details of what she had just done. Maybe better, now. Ada struck her as someone who knew the value of being owed a favor.

The uncertainty itself couldn’t be helped. Ada was cautious and she seemed to have access to everyone. Having someone who was known to have a free hand gave them both plausible deniability. The less Wesker knew about her network, the better. That meant extreme caution in creating new connections.

Besides, infecting Ada would have been rude. Going after anyone who’d been thrown into this nightmare scenario from outside Umbrella felt like a bridge too far, now.

Marigold’s rendezvous was set for seven. Outside the window, the sun began to rise.

Marigold eased the window open, letting the cool air fill the room. It had been a long night, and her day was only getting started.

----------

Jill Valentine had lurked within the copse of trees near the station’s entrance for a good fifteen, twenty minutes. Her source was to meet her around the corner from here once their shift ended.

That was, if they could get away unnoticed. People believed Irons. No- they had wanted to believe him, and we’re clinging to that belief with everything they had in the face of the alternative slowly creeping up around them. Brad Vickers had confirmed they had told the truth, but Brad Vickers had been told to shut the hell up if he knew what was good for him.

And now there had been all of this weird activity, starting early this morning. Military vehicles. CDC. RPD had been out all night responding to calls and cordoning off investigations. Had something else broken?

Something closer to home?

A woman with dark hair and wearing a trench coat appeared at the front door of the station. It took a moment for Jill to place her- one of the reporters who had been prodding Umbrella over the summer. The woman glanced over her shoulder and quickened her pace down towards the sidewalk. It seemed that Jill wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the chaos to get some answers.

Jill crept forward from her spot in the park to get a better look at where the reporter was heading. The shift change had ended a little while ago. Had her contact had second thoughts? Brad might know, but she wouldn’t be able to see him until much later in the day. She was tempted to follow, but…she had her own appointment to keep. This lead could be followed up on later.

Hopefully.

Movement from within a car parked across the alerted her to the real reason no one was coming out to her in the open. Two burly men in tailored suits, the sort meant to conceal a holster, emerged from a vehicle that seemed too small to contain their bulk. They’d been watching the station.

They must have spotted her in the trees and were now making their way over. Umbrella had hired thugs to follow and harass her for the last several days, trying to keep her pinned in place around her home. Apparently, they were beginning to lose patience with her.

Or, Umbrella was letting them off their leashes at last. One of them, wearing sunglasses and a bolo tie, began to reach inside his jacket as he stalked over.

Jill, who had turned in her weapon and didn’t dare carry her personal piece out in the open quite yet, straightened from her slight crouch, turned tail and began to walk quickly towards the alley behind her.

Running would trigger these two goons to do something drastic. The alley at least provided a narrow chute that would make it difficult to flank her, and some cover by the dumpster. There was also the fence - flimsy enough that someone her size could push through the gap without much delay. She didn’t think they would open fire here, but…Irons had covered for worse.

She wasn’t armed. There was a knife in her boot, but mercs -and these two definitely qualified - were unpredictable. The knife would require her to get in much too close for it to mean much in a fight.

Behind her, one of the men swore, and the sound of his pounding footsteps reached her. Halfway to the mouth of the alley, Jill broke into a flat run.

If she made it, it would be so close. In some ways, it was worse than the mansion. Zombies didn’t have guns. They didn’t do well with tactics. Their goals were predictable. And they were slow. These two were nearly breathing down her neck when Jill hit the ancient chainlink, pushing the flap back and ducking under. Looking back would cost precious seconds.

All of Jill’s focus had been channeled into fleeing, but the experience at the mansion had taught her to listen for danger like nothing else ever could have. It had cost her more than a few nights’ sleep over the last month or so. When a dull clang rang out behind them, Jill whipped around, reaching for her gun automatically before remembering how vulnerable she was.

The two thugs were slower to react, but they did pause their attempt to climb up over the fence. They saw Jill freeze in place, clutching at a phantom sidearm. Her eyes were wide.

She wasn’t looking at them.

The figure that had landed on the lid of the dumpster was slight, a woman around Rebecca’s age. She had landed on her feet, and balanced on the balls of her feet in a crouch that slowly unfurled itself. The newcomer radiated a sense of coiled energy, like a cat watching some particularly slow, stupid mice.

Something in the stance, in that sound which had come when she’d landed up there…it reminded Jill of the hunters at the mansion. All too much of them, somehow. She took a step backward.

The alley itself was still deep in shadow. The season had progressed to the point where the sunrise came slower and slower each day. The faint light from the street was to the woman’s back, obscuring her face in the darkness. The only clear detail was a strangely reflective sheen in the eyes, like those of a cat.

The moment stretched out between the four of them. One of the thugs, deeply devoid of anything resembling sense - the partner must have done all of the actual thinking between them - stepped towards the new arrival. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but this isn’t the day to be Batman, lady.” He started to draw his weapon, pulling himself up to full height.

The other thug, looking toward Jill, noted her stunned reaction. “Friend of yours?” He growled and began to shove his bulk through the little gap in the fence. He didn't see the woman behind them hop down and casually approach his partner.

Didn’t see her snatch the gun out of his hand like a cheap toy.

But Jill did.

Jill must have made a noise. She must have started backing away. She must have done something because the thug attempting to pursue her through the fence had finally realized that he was no longer the most dangerous thing in this alley. He turned just quickly enough to see his partner slammed into the brick wall like a rag doll. He landed on his back, face smashed and broken.

Jill’s paralysis broke. She turned to run again when the woman called out. “Just a moment, please.” The remaining thug realized his mistake too late, and tried to push through the gap again - now to escape this demented woman who had materialized out of nowhere. Hands caught him by the collar, hauling him back out.

The man - a good eight inches and 100 pounds larger than this new arrival - was spun around, obscuring Jill’s view. Two muffled thudding sounds came, before his hands shot up with a choking sound and fell to his knees before slumping over to his side.

The woman looked up at Jill, seeming unruffled by the show of violence she had just put on. Looking down, then behind her to the street, she made a distressed sound before grabbing the second man - and yep, that was a broken jaw, possibly combined with a probable cracked windpipe- dragging him over to his partner. Side by side, they were now hidden from the street by the large dumpster container. At least until they woke up.

If they woke up.

“Are they dead?” Jill asked, her voice a flat whisper.

The woman shook her head. “Not yet,” she replied. “Beyond that, it’s hard to say. The fighting thing’s always been a bit academic in the past.” Her soft British accent tugged at Jill’s memory. The lightness of her tone clashed badly with the abrupt violence of the situation.

Jill’s confusion and quiet fear must have been obvious because the woman gave her a wan smile when she looked up. “I need to go that way,” she said, pointing past Jill, “So I would appreciate it if you didn’t scream. Or panic. I’m not here to hurt you. Thank you for seeing Kate out of the city, by the way, I couldn’t be sure she would ask for help.” She stepped forward and ducked through the gap, hands raised to her shoulders as she gave Jill a wide berth. “I was just passing through here.”

Jill blinked, then found her tongue. “Rebecca said you were getting out of town.”

The woman grimaced. Closer up, she looked more like a harried white-collar flunkie than anything, like an intern who had been sent out with impossibly precise coffee orders to fill for her manager. Her eyes, though…her eyes were hard, like chips of bloodshot ice boring a hole through Jill.

“It’s all going to hell here, so I came back on an errand, while there was still a window to do it.” The woman continued to circle around until she had placed the exit firmly at her back. She looked uncertain, almost guilty, at finding herself there.

“An errand,” Jill repeated. The shock was beginning to wear off. “They’ve been sending them to watch my apartment for the last several days now. Umbrella knows I’m looking for proof.” She jerked her head back at the two men lying propped up in a row by the alley wall.

The woman - Marigold, that was her name - stared back at her. “Proof,” she said. “Haven’t you seen all of the government agents swarming the place? The military? You think having proof is going to matter if you’re still here in a few days?”

Jill paled. “The attacks.”

“It’s worse than that. It turns out that scientists are very, very good at killing everyone out of spite when the company tries to take away their toys and put them on a timeout.” The woman sighed, then reached for her bag. Jill tensed, and the woman stilled. The moment passed, and she continued. “Think about it. They may already be setting up a dead zone around the town.” She seemed to be slowly backing away, getting ready to take off.

“Why...why are you helping us?” Jill called after her. The woman seemed to freeze at the question. Swallowed. Finally, “I’m not safe to be around normal people - they, you, don’t deserve what could happen. I’m not going back to Umbrella.” She made a face, as if that were something she shouldn’t have even had to state. “They’re still looking for me out there, I’m told. That leaves very limited choices right now. If they find out I’m here, I’ll likely step right into another trap.”

She - Marigold - seemed to be flipping through a small stack of folders in her bag, pulling out two. “These won’t be missed where I’m headed, but if it helps speed things up, take it.” She tossed them to the ground between them. “Something particularly bad was released yesterday. It’s cascading. If you’re to dig something up, do it fast - your old boss is actively botching the evacuation on Umbrella orders.”

Jill groaned. “Of course they are. At least we actually know the people in charge are dirtbags this time.” She looked at Marigold speculatively. It was odd to think that they had both been utterly fucked over by the same person almost two decades apart. Bookends of a busy backstabbing career. Well, good riddance. The fact that he wasn’t around to hurt them further was one of the very few good things to come out of the horrors of that summer.

Marigold, for her part, grimaced again. The woman - the creature - that had casually dispatched the two linebackers with her bare hands - was uncomfortable. She was clearly eager to get away. “Don’t follow me.” She hesitated. Then, “good luck.” With that, she whirled on her heel and began to sprint towards the far end of the alley to the next street over. She reached the corner, turned left, and was gone.

Jill stared after her until one of the thugs behind her gave a weak moan. She startled at the sound, then jogged forward towards the folders, stamped with the RPD logo. Jill looked up - the STARS office had a slightly open window at the fire escape. Marigold had vaulted over the railing to land below, a good twenty feet. But not before slipping into the RPD to grab…Jill picked up the file to flip over the cover.

These were documents…names. Umbrella installations. The hospital was a major target, but there were other senior researchers named therein. These were people Irons was meant to keep tabs on for the company. On behalf of the company. Probably more than a few names on this list had mysteriously disappeared over the years.

Jill snapped the folder shut, and began to walk out at a fast, steady pace. She couldn’t afford to be seen here, especially with two Umbrella mercs who’d been ‘mysteriously’ beaten half to death.

She still had so much work to do.

#ashes in the fall #calendula chronicles #marigold ashford #albert wesker x oc #resident evil fanfiction

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hochmvt · 21 hours ago

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In front of the garden's white picket fence, the red apples hanging from the heavy branches of the tree, which leaned slightly to the right, appeared even more juicy, you think. The roots protruded from the ground in parts, peeking out of the green lawn every now and then until they disappeared completely underground. The leaves dance in the wind as you look outside, the sun's rays filtering through the leafy canopy on the other side of the window. The upper of the two windows is open, blowing the red and white checked curtains slightly forward; the late summer air is warm, but not suffocating. Quite pleasant, actually. As it always is, just after it rains. “Honey,” a woman's voice sounds from the left. You look away from the window, over to the cleared dark wood table in the kitchen. Your mother looks so gorgeous in the warm summer light, you think. You get why your father calls her the most beautiful woman there is. Curly, black hair (optionally all other colors and hair structures, he had to keep that in mind), sticking out in all directions, barely tameable and only loosely held together by a scarf. Her rolled-up sleeves kept slipping down, flour caught in the fine fabric. Whenever she tried to brush it off, she only made it worse. Her cheeks were flushed, either from the heat of the oven or from the smile that wouldn't leave her face. “My darling angel,” she finally said, her floury hands cupping your cheeks gently. Your mother was always gentle with you. And you feel the love, as she looks in your eyes. "Would you be so kind as to fetch me another apple from outside? The biggest one you can find.” And you nod eagerly because you know exactly which one is the biggest. It hangs a little higher up, you have to climb to get to it—but you climbed the tree so many times, it's not even a challenge for you. The tree a little further back in the garden on the right was a living altar of late summer, reminding you of how beautiful your childhood was. You see impressions of you helping your mom spread the apples in the metal cake-pan. How you burned your mouth on the still hot apple pie. It smells of cinnamon and butter and baked apples. That's what carefree smells like, you remember.

He took a few steps back from the scene, examined the picture, the people, the small details; and made minor changes to them. Placed the apple slices a little more irregularly, shaped the branches a little more crooked, positioned a few more props in the garden. Considered adding a dog, but then decided against it. Cinnamon and butter and baked apples. Isaiah sat down on the cushioned floor. The glass half-dome was kept entirely in warm white, as were his clothes: a large, cushioned surface beneath him, a white canvas. A bed that invited him to dream. He pondered for a while, looking at the little scenarios and details, replaying them several times until he was completely satisfied. A moment from a past that had never existed, but felt more real than anything the present could ever offer. In a way, there was a tragic beauty to it. While he saved the memory at the nearby panel and set the customizable parameters (hair color, eye color, mother's hair texture, when the sun was at its zenith, depending on where the recipients had grown up), he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and sat in the chair, watching as the world he had created gradually disintegrated and was uploaded in its individual components. This was the art he was doing, the temporary bliss he created. A garden in the summer, baking with mom, cinnamon and butter and baked apples—a simple truth. Hope in its purest form.

Tomorrow he would have something like a vacation. Two days away from the Capitol, this time they would visit the so-called Appalchians, he would be able to gather new inspiration. Feel the cool breeze around his nose. Draw. Take in moments that were his. And share them shortly afterwards to give people what they needed most at this time: Hope.

MeriTech had quickly realized after the great eclipse that people who had hope were much more malleable than those who had given up on it. Humanity, or rather what was left of it, could not survive on food, protection or order alone—the megacorporation had also realized this early on. The loss of the “old world” had robbed people of something fundamental: their sense of purpose. The past was not just an infinite collection of experiences that shaped everyone's being and made them unique; it was both an anchor and a foundation that told people who they were, where they came from and where they were supposed to go. The past had always been the cornerstone of the present and the future. Without it, people would collapse. Humanity would collapse. And the collapse would be swift and final. In the first months after the disaster, the bunkers had to deal with a crisis worse than famine or sickness: People who had lost the will to live. Hopelessness had become a national epidemic. Something MeriTech had dedicated itself to first after securing basic needs. People with fond memories that reminded them of days when life was easy and carefree question less. They are calmer and more compliant. They have goals, even if they are based on an illusion. The implanted memories were puppet strings with which MeriTech wove a new society—a society that worked toward the carefree days of the past, together with the company that promised to do everything in its power to restore that world order. MeriTech strove for stability and perfection. The idealized image of a past that did not exist. No wars, no poverty, no injustice. In these memories, shaped and crafted, resided a new history, one that MeriTech controlled. And those who controlled what people remembered also controlled what they were—their desires, their fears, their values.

With every crisis and every revolution in human history, new jobs were created. After a global apocalypse—one after which humanity started all over again—there was no longer a need for storytellers. Instead, MeriTech instead created so-called Memory Technicians: people who created memories that seemed so real that they blended seamlessly into a person's innermost being, as if they had always been there. People who brought together technical precision and a deep understanding of the human experience to create new memories. Memories that had to fulfill a life, that gave comfort, that awakened hope. Without this fabricated past, there was no connection. And without connection, there was no future.

There were only a few people who could maintain a certain balance that was needed for credible, real memories: Romanticized perfection of the past and human imperfection lay awfully close together, a balancing act that was not easy to navigate. Birthday memories with a gorgeous, perhaps a little too big, cake (you were a child after all), but the candles had to burn unevenly, a little wax had to drip onto the frosting and the sellotape had to slightly damage the wrapping paper so that it couldn't be reused. It was details like these that mattered most. Details that burn themselves into your memory almost unconsciously, and yet are inconspicuous enough not to be questioned. Isaiah had always been perceptive and observant enough to give even the small trivialities of life the attention they deserved. This ability to not beat reality and still paint over the pain of real life requires a sense of human emotion, an empathy that few people had. An empathy that was almost unbearable, mixed with an imagination that often exhausted itself in endless loneliness. Many failed because of it. Isaiah knew there were other Memory Technicians out there. He was one of five in the United States. Without them, there would be no hope in this barren world where no one without special abilities could survive in the outside world. There would be no illusion to drive people, no society to rebuild itself. And at the same time, Isaiah felt, these were the loneliest people: they were not lulled into the safety of the past, they saw what was real and knew how deep the abyss beneath really extended. Isaiah was well aware of the importance of his profession. Without the memories he molded with love and dedication to give people something to hold on to, humanity would not be able to go on. And yet he kept asking himself whether a future based on a lie was a future worth fighting for at all.

His temporary refuge seemed to be divine intervention. Or fate. Upon returning to the Capitol, the unit that accompanied the Memory Technician, supposed to take Isaiah there and back unharmed, had been caught in the acid rain. The radio had cut out beforehand and he had heard the guards talking to each other over the intercoms. “Acid rain incoming. We should be seeking shelter immediately.” The sky above them, which had previously stretched to the horizon in a washed-out white-gray, had condensed faster than they would have liked. The vehicles they were traveling in would last a few minutes to half an hour, but they wouldn't have made it back. Especially as the engine failed. The team panicked. Grown men who drove several tours like this started to panic—and this caused panic in Isaiah, too. He put on his hood, grabbed his backpack and left the car with the men, who led him further towards the nearby rock formation, hoping for a cave or something similar that would offer them shelter and protection. But the acid rain was not what they should fear the most. Black, amorphous shadows came with the rain and with them came the inevitable demise of the rescue mission. “Run, kid! RUN!” one of the men had shouted at him, barely audible through the heavy downpour. And Isaiah just nodded diligently, running blindly in the direction that would at least increase his chances of survival to 2%. And every time he looked around, he saw fewer and fewer guards, they disappeared without a word of farewell. He felt torn in two: The desire to survive led him further and further towards the jagged rock formation, even if his curiosity kept urging him to stop and look around. There was something about these BTs that made him pay more attention. Perhaps it was a desperate attempt to draw inspiration from them, perhaps he wanted to fathom them, to know what lay behind them. Fear pushed him further, his curiosity made him pause.

The following day, when the rainfall had passed and the skies cleared up again, he saw the abandoned Distribution Center on the other side of the ridge in the distance and made his way there, hoping not to be surprised by the acid rain again. He had not seen his team, nor the vehicle they had used to get here. Only Isaiah had made it. Just as the guards had planned. He was the most important asset, and the team knew it. Still, he felt guilty.

The Distribution Center almost seemed like a relic from eons ago. By now, the Capitol was considered self-sufficient, as were the other major cities where people had taken refuge. The Center's systems were old, but against all odds, Isaiah was still able to boot them up with his MeriTech chip ID. The touch-sensitive display flickered under his palm and he stood on the large, circular platform that would take him to the living quarters. Forty people would have found shelter and refuge here, but MeriTech only made their rations and technology available to those who were in favor of the company. The food rations were neatly stacked in one of the back rooms, dust-covered plastic packets with the MeriTech logo: mac'n'cheese, chickpea curry, vegetable lasagna, pasta with creamy spinach. Simple food, but some that satisfied the soul nonetheless. They would last him for about eight days. After that, he would starve here if he didn't manage to call for help. If he was found and they weren't couriers hired by MeriTech, they might be looters who didn't care about Isaiah's misery. Hm. Outside, left by himself, he would most certainly die, too. And if Isaiah was honest, he was hanging on to his life. Or perhaps to the realities he himself created. First and foremost for others, but perhaps somewhere for himself as well.

As he walked the corridors of the Distribution Center and past the empty dormitories, he realized how desolate the scene was. On day one, he had tried to repair the communication channels, but they remained silent and his hopes of sending a help signal were slowly fading. The antennas were damaged, perhaps by rain, perhaps by time, perhaps by both. Without a working signal, he was trapped here and he was painfully aware of this truth.

When it rained or the day was drawing to a close, Isaiah continued to worked on repairing the communications system. He scavenged the center for spare parts, improvising tools from cables, scrap metal and anything else he could find. Sitting idly by and waiting for help was not in his nature. When the rain subsided, he ventured outside, the danger of the BTs always in the back of his mind, which is why he never strayed far from the Distribution Center. The sun rarely showed itself, a faint ray of light breaking through the dense, gray cloud cover. But when the repairs seemed hopeless and endless and the weather allowed him to find moments of peace, he would venture out onto the nearby cliffs—binoculars and notebook in hand—and just take in the surroundings. The mountains in the distance, their peaks emerging dimly against the sky: Not clearly recognizable, vague hints of rugged shapes and shadows. The light of the pale sun, which sometimes broke through the clouds, gently brushed over the terrain, tracing edges and adding a touch of warmth to the otherwise barren picture. Somehow, everything here was... beautiful. Everything out here was real. No warm white, sterile floor that gave way under his feet, no glass half-dome, a golden cage whose even, indirect lighting never lost its intensity. No perfect illusions that he created himself. He let the surroundings sink in, almost as if he wanted to absorb it, as if he wanted to preserve it in case this was the last place where he could feel the world. Because there was still something about the world that was worth fighting for. Did it really need people like him to give humanity hope when there were moments like this?

Isaiah took out his notebook, the leather soft and worn. And fake. It was one of the few things that truly connected him to the world, beyond the undoubtedly beautiful lies he created every day. He sketched the contours of the mountains, the grasses, the slightly more distant water. And sometimes, between observing and capturing, he simply let his surroundings engulf him. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the wind gently brushing his nose. Moments that made him hold on to this world, not to change or reproduce it, but to understand it. It was a strange feeling to see this beauty, to experience it, and at the same time to know that he could never convey it as it really was. No one was demanding these memories. MeriTech would delete them every time, never approve them for transfer to the end user and Isaiah's work would be for nothing. He had tried it anyway: the consequence of this was a year without a 'vacation'. 300 days of work without external inspiration.

Who knew what was in store for him now? The blonde was aware that MeriTech was certainly doing everything they could to get him back as soon as possible. That search parties were on their way. And if they were not sufficient, MeriTech would use their extensive network to send out mercenaries and outlaws as well. Even if he could only imagine the rewards, they were often the same for the megacorporation when it came to such important matters: Immunity from punishment, access to vital and high-value resources, maybe even a chance to rise to the upper ranks of MeriTech-if one wanted to. Or even great freedom. Something Isaiah liked to fantasize about and would probably never achieve. Perhaps this was the closest he would get to that feeling. Out here, there were no boundaries, no sterile light, no one to stop his sensations and impressions; only the vastness of Earth. And in this great expanse, he felt something he hadn't felt for a long time. Not hope, not freedom either—but perhaps the memory of what such things had once felt like.

It couldn't hurt to take a look, he had thought to himself on the third day when he saw the distant figures, sitting on the cliff again. BTs, most of which he had only heard stories about, had appeared not far from him. Just a glance. Just a minute that might give him a little more insight into what these shadow creatures were. Until he felt a hand on his mouth, someone pressing Isaiah's body firmly against his. And then, handprints appearing on the ground as if from nowhere. Isaiah's breathing became more panicked and the stranger tried to hold him still, calming him wordlessly and Isaiah closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, too. Panic would not only kill him, but the stranger, too. Now, he wasn't alone. His curiosity had almost cost him his life—and someone else's, too. Maybe it still did, but that didn't matter right now. “Traverse carefully,” the stranger had whispered to him as soon as the greatest danger was out of reach, but had by no means completely subsided. The blonde had nodded silently, strapped on his binoculars and clutched his notebook tightly in his hand. A drop of acid rain hit the back of his hand and he wiped it off on his overalls, following the stranger along exactly the same path. His footsteps followed already existing ones. He was following paths that others had already trodden. A strangely familiar picture.

“Thank you,” was the first thing Isaiah said when they arrived at the Distribution Center and the rain outside was already getting a little heavier. The blonde looked outside and chewed on the inside of his cheek, seeing animals fleeing the acid rain and those shadow creatures that had just gotten too close to him approaching slowly. His gaze went to the stranger, who was wearing a mask and suit—both damaged by the weather conditions. As soon as the rain became heavier, he would have to descend again to avoid breathing in the toxic fumes. The stranger, despite his mask, would certainly be no different. “Follow me, it's safer down below,” he offered and took a few steps towards the oval platform that led down. The stranger stopped and eyed him hesitantly. Oh. "Sorry, I'm Isaiah, it's a pleasure— I know, it's— I have food downstairs, I can get you something to eat. And a new suit perhaps, I found some in the abandoned living quarters. Just let me... I don't know, thank you for saving my life out there? Black is so not my color and I kind of like the molecular composition of— me.” A faint smile graced his lips, a failed attempt to ease the tension and his counterpart still hesitated. Of course he did. “It's okay. I'll just wait there and give you some time to think. As soon as the toxin levels rise I have to descend to not— die.” Gods, Isaiah, would you please shut up. “I'm sorry,” he finally apologized, smiling faintly at the stranger before walking down the large ramp and sitting down on the circular platform. He looked up for a while, the silhouette of the stranger was small and unassuming in size, even though Isaiah perceived him to be much taller. He had just saved his life. The Memory Technician bent his legs and chewed on the inside of his cheek, rested his head on his knees and opened the notebook again, trying to draw something from memory. And he drew a somewhat distorted, probably romanticized image of the world outside on the paper. He looked up again and scrutinized the stranger as he sat down, his eyes averted from him and the inside of the Distribution Center, looking outside. He didn't trust him. Hesitantly, he looked up at the stranger and then back down at the sheet of paper in front of himself. With his pencil, he drew the entrance to the Distribution Center around the scene and the stranger sitting in front of it. An outlaw, Isaiah guessed. Free. And well-versed in the world as it was today. A good fifteen minutes later, the toxin levels had risen considerably, Isaiah noticed how he was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, but he hadn't found any masks downstairs. Nevertheless, he gathered all the courage he could find and closed the notebook, left it on the platform and walked back up the large loading ramp. Near the entrance, his lungs burned when he breathed in, his eyes watered slightly, but he had not yet given up hope of somehow returning the favor. “I've got chickpea curry or pasta with spinach downstairs... If you want. And water, if you want to replenish your supplies,” he spoke down to him, examining the brown eyes as his counterpart looked up at him. “The communication systems are offline. No one knows I'm here. No one knows you're here. You can leave anytime,” he continued, turning away from him briefly, coughing heavily, turning back to him. “I promise you,” he added, speaking the truth. "I have to leave now. This is your last chance.”

Contrary to his expectations, the stranger had decided to go down to the living quarters with him. Isaiah found it easier and easier to breathe as they descended, he held the notebook tightly in his hands and kept looking at the stranger every now and then without making him uncomfortable. “There are living quarters there. You can get freshened up, too, if you want. I'll gather everything for you,” he offered politely and his counterpart nodded before looking straight ahead again. I won't bother you much, I promise, Isaiah added in silence. The stranger still hadn't taken off his mask, presumably it was still filtering toxins from the air.

The foreigner had taken up residence in a living quarter not far from Isaiah's. Meanwhile, the blonde had prepared food for him—the other had decided on the chickpea curry, it was the best choice, Isaiah had confirmed, and he had made him the last ration; the food supplies would now keep him afloat for seven days—and gotten a new suit ready, which should be about his size. He held the hot plate and the suit in both his hands as he walked down the long corridor, which, at least in terms of feeling, had been filled with a little life. At his room, the shower symbol lit up green and Isaiah looked up, chewing on the inside of his cheek and considered putting the plate outside the door, but then thought about the possibility of the stranger stepping in the hot curry. Not only would it be unfortunate about the food itself, or the fact that the stranger would have to shower again, but his savior would certainly be annoyed of him. And even if Isaiah didn't know the other's disposition or intentions, the stranger was his most realistic hope that he would come back to the Capitol. Not because he expected the other to take him there, but because he might be able to get help from somewhere else. Or deliver a message. If Isaiah annoyed him, his chances of survival would drop to zero again. So he tucked the new suit between his upper body and his arm so that he had a free hand, held it in front of his eyes so as not to violate the other man's privacy in any way, shape or form, and entered the room. His gaze was focused on the table to his right the whole time, he walked straight up to it and put the plate down, placing the suit next to it. “I'm dressed,” the stranger suddenly spoke and Isaiah jumped slightly, then turned a little towards him, peeked out from behind his hand and then smiled in embarrassment, taking down his improvised visual protector. “Sorry, I didn't know— the sign was still on, I'll— I'm sorry, I'll leave you be. I hope it's hot enough, the entire technology here is a little bit... dated. But it's— I mean, it's steaming, so... it's not cold,” he explained to himself, chewing the inside of his cheek. The other's eyes were dark and watchful, following the movements Isaiah made; and also the way he kneaded his hands lightly. It was a look that got deep under his skin, a mixture of suspicion and weariness that Isaiah knew all too well. The stranger was slender, but not emaciated, and his clothes spoke of weeks, if not months, on the run. The suit was the previous model. MeriTech had developed new technologies in the meantime and thus, released an updated version. “I put some new clothes with the suit. They don't look like they're from MeriTech,” he thought, feeling a pang of relief. Maybe that helped. Maybe it showed him that he was different. Or at least not quite like the others from MeriTech. That he could understand criticism of the megacorporation. Even if he had to keep quiet about his profession.

The silence in the room was suffocating. His own hands trembled slightly and gave him away, which was why he shoved them into the pockets of his trousers. He had taken off his suit as well and was wearing a simple white shirt and loose gray trousers underneath. The stranger still hadn't said a word except for 'Traverse carefully' and 'I'm dressed' (maybe he only gave two word answers), but Isaiah could feel his gaze, scrutinizing, as if trying to read Isaiah's intentions from his movements. What should I say to him? Should I say anything at all? Isaiah bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to do something to give him something to hold onto. Or maybe to build empathy bridges with him. But every possible topic he could think of felt false in his head. What could I tell you, he thought. That I spend half the day building false memories while the world out there is falling apart? That I live in a bubble of safety and privilege that I never wanted but could never leave? Maybe I should just leave him alone. Maybe he doesn't want to talk. “I'm sorry, I'll leave you be,” he repeated again and turned around before his counterpart spoke: “You can stay. I ate alone for months.” Five word answers it is.

Isaiah turned and looked at him speechlessly for a while, but then nodded understandingly and sat down on the free chair a little further away from him so as not to get too close: literally and metaphorically. For the first while he ate, Isaiah sat quietly beside him. He was the first person in months who wasn't a specially created figure in a memory or a voice from a terminal. Or a superior giving him orders, or a hologram of a human being telling him to open up in psychological assesments. Every time he felt bad, Isaiah lied because he didn't want to be singled out. He was real. And to Isaiah, this is what made him beautiful, too.

His name was Zeev, the stranger had revealed. And that was all Isaiah knew about him. “I hope it tastes good,” he had said, smiling weakly at him. The other had asked him if he wasn't hungry too. Isaiah shook his head. “I'll eat later.” And while Zeev ate, Isaiah took the time to look at him more closely. He recognized that face. The prominent cheekbones, the delicate nose, the full lips. His features had changed a little, of course, he most likely had been exposed to difficult challenges that Isaiah couldn't even imagine. No, he remembered a peaceful, sleeping face. A face he had returned daily to for about a week while he worked hard to create a life that had never existed. Zeev, he remembered. A name as unique as the person behind it.

Isaiah forced himself not to express his surprise, which he managed remarkably well. His fingers gripped the fabric of his pants tighter as the man across from him turned to his food and looked at the wall in front of him, on which images of picturesque beaches and beautiful sceneries alternated to create a sense of freedom and past normalcy. Memory Technicians' predecessors had created these false images. Prototypes of themselves, so to speak. How likely is it that we will meet here? How are you feeling? What has happened? You weren't in the Capitol anymore, you were gone and I couldn't even say goodbye. I was worried. But there was nothing in Zeev's eyes to indicate that he recognized Isaiah. No glint of recognition, no hint that he knew who was sitting in front of him.

Of course he doesn't remember, Isaiah thought bitterly. That was the point, wasn't it? To wipe everything away to make room for the beautiful. The perfect thing. Isaiah had only been with him while he'd been unconscious, just after they'd marked him. Even though the blonde knew Zeev's memory loss didn't even start with MeriTech's interventions, but was an inexplicable part of his being a Witch, Isaiah felt complicit and guilty. He had seen him before it all began, before the memories Isaiah created were meant to make him malleable and obedient in a world of false hope. They had led him to him when he was already sedated, the symbol of a rising sun on his palm. A bringer of hope. A tool. Promising a better future—just like sunrise. Just like he was. An asset. The wound was still fresh, Isaiah had noticed, which is why he only took his other hand while asleep, talking to him, promising all will be fine. It was the first time he had ever seen or met the person for whom he was supposed to create memories. Zeev had lain unconscious in front of him in the hospital room and Isaiah had looked at him for a long time, imagining what his childhood would have been like. He would give him plenty of sunshine, that much was certain. The Memory Technician had worked during the day, and at night he had sat with Zeev in the sterile room and held his hand. He felt sorry for the way MeriTech had treated him, he sympathized with the witcher and hoped that he might be able to give him something good with the work he did. He would have preferred to free him from MeriTech's clutches in a heroic act, but Isaiah had no idea how to do it—he would've gotten both of them killed within minutes. This stranger, Zeev as he had now learned, had grown on him so insanely fast because he had gotten to know a version of him that he wasn't, but thought he was once he regained consciousness. And every night Isaiah had apologized to him for what he will do and promised him that he would give him a beautiful childhood. The best one he had ever created. If Zeev was to have the life he never had, it would be a good one. No mistakes, no scars, no pain. Isaiah had spent days (and some nights) toiling away, trying to craft the perfect past for him—something to hold onto. Something to give him hope.

The summer sun casts playful reflections on the colorful, slightly damp forest floor. They were always your favorite. You found the sight so beautiful that you sometimes forgot to hide, which made it especially easy for your sister to find you playing hide and seek. But now, now you are really well hidden. Behind the bony oak tree that your sister is a little afraid of. Your breathing is hasty and quick, you ran here and slipped on the wet leaves. The knees of your pants are dirty, you never liked that, but now it doesn't matter, because you're having the time of your life. “Zeev!” your sister had shouted in the distance and you put your hand over your mouth and giggled with glee because you were so excited. You were guaranteed to win today. However, you found the evenings when you laid your head in your mother's lap the most beautiful. The twilight had bathed the evening sky in yellow, orange and purple pastel shades, the setting sun shone warmly on your face. Her fingers gently stroked through your hair, carefully undoing individual knots without ever hurting you. “I love you, Zeev,” she had said and the warmth of her body envelops you in a security you rarely find anywhere else. “I love you more than anything.” Your hair is a mess, which you, too, always hated, but your mother seems to take care of it with the utmost care. You've spent the whole day playing with your siblings and friends in the spacious garden behind the big house you grew up in. It was the best birthday you've had in a long time, you think.

And once you woke up drenched in sweat. You felt uncomfortable in your room and the darkness scared you. But you still managed to find courage: Because you are brave. Courageous to face things that might sometimes scare you. Things that make you swallow hard because you don't know what will happen next. But your courage allows you to outgrow yourself— Oh, the places you'll go. And yet you quickly trudge down the long corridor, barefoot. You outwitted the wooden floorboard, which always creaks, with a skillful jump. Clever you. You stood in front of your mother's bed, wiping the tears from your eyes. Your mom had woken up on her own and had wordlessly lifted the covers for you so that you could snuggle up to her. “Mom,” you whispered scared against her chest as she put her arm around you and hugged you close to her. You can hear her heartbeat, it's soothing how it pounds evenly in her chest. She gently kisses your forehead. Your mom was always gentle with you. “I'm with you, darling. No need to be afraid, huh?” she had spoken to you and you felt safe. It was quiet for a while, then she sang to you. See the sunset, the day is ending...

Now, here, in reality, Zeev's memories were nothing but an illusion, Isaiah knew that, and the man in front of him was not the cheerful boy Isaiah had created in his mind. He had hoped he would've been a cheerful man. Hopeful. Instead, Zeev was tired, taciturn, and full of caution—a stranger who had probably seen more suffering and resentment than Isaiah could have imagined. What's left of the world I built for you? Isaiah asked silently. Did it bring you at least a little comfort? And as much as he was, in some way, glad that Zeev was okay—Isaiah only heard that he'd escaped from the Capitol—Oh, you brave boy!—, because he was the only one Isaiah had ever asked about: because he was the only one he'd ever known—his shoulders slumped a little. The hope Isaiah had wanted to give him so desperately now seemed—lost. Perhaps his work wasn't as important as he had always imagined. Even though he knew who he really was, he now noticed the scar on his palm. For most people, the world had been reduced to its component parts: ruins, resources and survival. Witches, on the other hand, were different. They saw something that Isaiah would never understand, no matter how much he longed for it: the cosmic threads that ran through the world and the beings that came and went with the rain.

“You're a witcher,” Isaiah remarked, and Zeev eyed him, glanced at the scar and let his hand disappear under the table. “I'm sorry,” Isaiah apologized shortly after. To Zeev, the blonde was just another stranger in a world that had never been friendly to him. Distrust was the obvious thing to feel. “You can stay the night, if you want. I'll show you how to leave the bunker, if you want. You don't have to say anything or goodbye or something. I'll not ask any questions and I won't tell anyone you were here. If— Maybe you can tell someone I'm here though. There's only food left for four more days and— I can't get back to the capitol on my own. I'm sure they're searching for me, I'm a technician... Also— If you're deciding to rob me, can you please just leave one food ration here? Just something to—I don't know... To enjoy.”

⸻ 𝐖𝐄'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌. / @hochmvt

Thick, lush green grasses swayed gently in the spring breeze, though there was no higher reason anymore in differentiating between the seasons. In the warmest days of summer a sudden blizzard could occur, in the former cosy coldness of autumn, there were occasional outbursts of blossoming greenery and whenever it rained it poured. The grass tingled under his hands as their dampness got in contact with the nerve ends of his palms. Lost in thought, he looked at his fingertips and rubbed them together, the morning dew leaving tiny red streaks that irritated his skin and reminded him not to touch his face. Slowly, almost reverently, he pulled a cloth from his breast pocket and wiped his hands dry. Some of the fibrous cloth's stitches had already come loose, showing how the frequent use was straining the fabric and slowly but surely decomposing the handmade product. It was no comparison to the acid rain, unbeaten in its intensity and danger. However, the sky was blue and somehow he felt safe, enraptured by the soft warm blanket of the sun's might. Some saw her as a traitor, others knew she was a victim. Zeev had never felt betrayed by the universe, which was a surprising statement to admit.

The Great Eclipse, or as the scientists call it: the Blackout, had changed the world from one day to the next. Technically, it had been the same day, but it ended entirely differently. A total eclipse, a natural rare astronomical event, dependent on time and location, occurred two years ago, visible for the western hemisphere—but despite its invisibility for the eastern part of the world, had impacted every speck of the earth. Much like the big assumption of 2012, the anticipated event had caused a stir in much the same fashion. The end of the world, foretold by some, doubted by many, but for once the ones who had been deemed delusional were right. In some way, at least. In Zeev's eyes, the world seemed very much alive, but it had changed nonetheless. Within the glimpse of a moment, wrapped in darkness as the moon covered the sun, parts of humankind had vanished. Entire civilizations were left inhabited, families were ripped apart. The rain that followed did the rest to most, skinning them alive and leaving nothing but acid remnants, as if the sky had cried tears of bitterness and wrath, angered by something it didn't tell the rest of the world. The result of climate change to some, a cosmic doom to others. Suddenly, scientists listened to former conspiracy theorists, but both were faced by a development that seemed to have no real answer to their questions.

With time, the last survivors who hadn't given up on their lives, found refuge in bunkers underneath the earth, some had turned to organisations trying to rebuild what had been lost, while some just waited. Waiting for a life that most likely wouldn't come.

Truth be told, though, Zeev didn’t remember much of how it had been, considering the lack of memory regarding the past. He knew something, but it felt strangely detached. As if it were myths and legends that had been told to him like a bedtime story, filling his blonde head with fantasies of a life as it used to be, while he had been flowing with a much different tide. Perhaps it was his way to cope with the loss, to avoid the ever lingering question of why, as he, alone and powerless, wouldn’t be able to change the cause of events anyway. Why look at the past, when the rocky hills of surrounding mountains, the high growing trees of the woodlands and lucious fields of seemingly endless acres lay right before his eyes? A wide and vast freedom of nothingness and all at once. Somewhere to find yourself and lose yourself along the way entirely alike.

Touched by the sun, lungs filled with itching molecules within the oxygen, Zeev was aware once more why the empty fields were called lonesome. It hadn't been like that before. Zeev didn't know why, he just knew that. He remembered presences, feelings—something attached to faceless arrays of energy. A family he can't name, but he knows that has abandoned him. He couldn't blame them, hate them, feel guilty for or sorry with. He was devoid of any emotional connection except one: loss. A feeling so deep, it twisted his heart and left him breathless, urging him to move forward in a world where nothing seemed to follow a reachable goal.

He struggled to his feet and followed a path that was invisible, overgrown by nature and muddy soil. Zeev had no place to retreat to, so he went wherever he was welcomed. Which was a rather laborious effort and usually took hours of wandering. Sometimes he found shelter in dilapidated buildings, remnants of a civilization that had crumbled so tremendously in just 700 days that it was hard to imagine it had ever been different. It was essential for the blond to keep an eye on the weather and seek shelter early, before even the hint of a drop swirled through the air. Every now and then he came across equipment on his way, too careless to muster up enough compassion to wonder whether it still belonged to a living person or not. The umbrella on his backpack, whose material he couldn't even name, was marked with a symbol he knew very well.

The Meridian Technology Corporation, which had been considered innovative and progressive long before the Blackout, had risen to the top of the food chain after Day 0. When Americans spoke of science, Meritech had always been mentioned in hushed tones, with equal parts admiration and reserve. The future of the world, the progress of humanity, has been the fuel of research, without ignoring the state of the earth and the impact of society in these matters. Diseases, greenhouse gases, climate change, changes in living conditions and world hunger. MeriTech presumably had tried to find a solution to all these problems. Perhaps it was a testament to megalomania, the desire to be a savior who achieved god status. In a way, they had failed and won on all levels—because now MeriTech seemed to have become humanity's only hope. As quickly as they had created shelters and developed concepts of reconstruction, evil tongues could claim that they had seen it all coming. But no matter how bitterly they were confronted, they were literally all they had left.

The Meridian Corporation, however, was too broad and large a concept to be tangible to the remnants of the general public, and while they addressed all concerns of current conditions, they established a sub-organization dedicated solely to new world research: Project Failsafe.

Their research didn't just entail the possibility of using the acid rain and how to reverse it, the reason why the weather seemed to be indecisive or why people had disappeared without anyone noticing—after the Great Eclipse something else had happened, too. Something that was far more confusing and raising questions than weather ever could.

On some parts, changing with the wind and unpredictable like the outburst of sudden cones of sunlight between stratus clouds, one was able to see black lines reaching into the sky, moving like loose umbilical cords. In the beginning, they were just a phenomenon, seemingly leading to nothing like a colourful rainbow. But unlike the legendary and non existing pot of gold, they pointed at areas everyone needed to keep their distance from.

While humankind had disappeared, something else had come to existence.

The wailing of something invisible, of something that is there and simultaneously is not. A fragile structure that, if stirred, unleashes the full asset of antimatter and creates a chaos that Failsafe considers a so-called Voidout, a reaction to an action like a Newton Cradle that can't be avoided nor prevented when started. Humankind had been unable to identify the entities that were attached to the black cords for the longest time, not even aware of their existence except of their widespread destruction and deadliness when disrupted. That hadn't changed much, however, Failsafe—during their long search for willing scouts and volunteers for their cause—had found people with abilities that were as unexplainable as the events that had shaken their home planet.

Those people have been branded W.I.T.C.H, a necessary shortened down acronym translated to: Warpstream Intelligence for Transdimensional Contact and Hyperawareness. Humans with the ability to see beyond the confines of common perception, who were able to foretell the change of the weather and its upcoming danger, who seemed to be able to sense the tune of an earth that had become a stranger to most—but above all, were connected to the cosmic sources. They were able to see the beings clearly, who appeared and disappeared like the tide. With Witches, and considering the ever falling numbers of humans left it wasn't truly necessary to mention that those were rare, MeriTech had been able to not only make progress in their endeavours, they also managed to come to some conclusions. One of which was the impingement of cosmic influences. The entities looked somewhat human, as far as they could believe those who had tried to assist them, but they most likely weren't.

Witches were rare and with the promise of a better future, they were of high importance for their cause. Unfortunately, if you play with fire to this extent, you get burned sooner than later. And most had turned to the ashes at the stakes they had been forced to build themselves.

And Zeev truly didn't want to be reduced to a means to an end. He had dipped out weeks after he had assumed to have found safety and meaning in a mess he couldn't understand. At that time, he had thought his abilities weren't very special, until they had told him differently. At first, that revelation had been uplifting, motivating and in some egoistical way filling him with pride and an arrogant self-confidence—until, in reality, he was nothing more but a mere plaything they sent out in the name of science, just to risk his life. Zeev didn't mind helping, but if the burn scar that resembled a sun on his palm was any indicator, his survival meant little in the greater scheme of things.

And he had goals of his own. Goals more important in his eyes than the survival of people he didn't know. In a sense, he was still pridefully egoistical, but there was little he had of his own anyway. If being alive was all there was, he wanted to live on his own terms. Still, being on your own for the longest time turned one wary of one another, especially when being who he was.

And so the day had came when Zeev, with a group of scientists and an armed escort—although firearms only suggested a false sense of security—had been led to a place where a high density of antimatter had been measured. In the end, they only had to follow the tracks in the sky and the instinct that Zeev possessed like no one else. That day at the latest, the Witcher had realised that his cooperation with Failsafe was not voluntary and that the escort was not necessarily for his safety, but to prevent an escape. What they hadn't reckoned with was the lengths he would go to in order to ensure his freedom and that they, in their blindness, were inferior to his abilities. He was unable to stand up to their multitude and power, but the supernatural apparitions could—so he had taken advantage of them. His escape had not been without danger and he was lucky to have done so without as much as a scratch. If fortunate enough, MeriTech thought he was dead, as was everyone who had gone to this cosmic event that day. Zeev was not proud of what he had to do, but there was no room for regret in this world any longer.

Since then, Zeev tried to keep his heritage hidden, which wasn’t the hardest task to succeed in. The rare encounters never went deeper than smalltalk, everyone too wary of one another to put too much trust into each other and therefore as fleeting and forgetting as any dull day within grey walls built by a company that served as much as it took. MeriTech had created a network that only functioned under their supervision. All remaining people were dependent on their work and the mercy that their care brought to light. An unspoken propaganda, a loyalty without alternative was the result of a pervasive hopelessness. Anyone who wanted to survive inevitably had to stand up for MeriTech. In principle, Zeev would probably have found fulfilment in that if he wasn't who he was and thus, he felt more alone than anyone. Unable to stay in one place, even if the company felt soothing for a change. Afraid he might be forced back into the care of the company.

Wherever Zeev was really walking towards, not even his instincts could tell him, and more often than he would have liked, he was just wandering because it felt right to keep moving. In places he had been, run-down towns and deserted forests, he had not found what he was looking for and the answers had not yet opened up in front of his eyes like the clearing of the sky. So he wandered without a destination, driven only by the knowledge that somewhere, with all the luck he potentially had left, he might stumble upon something that felt like progress.

To conserve his resources, he rarely used the breathing mask and the oxygen canister that came with it, a rare commodity that he could only obtain from a few fallen travellers, unable to recharge the canisters at MeriTech's collection points and use them for safe travel. The air was not necessarily bad, but over time the acidity of the humidity took its toll.

The roughness of the terrain was sapping his strength, and as the day wore on, it became increasingly difficult for him to keep his concentration up and his eyes open. Zeev skirted mostly around the high mountain landscape, roaming instead through the nearby forests that had once been known as the Appalachians. The new weather conditions had literally diminished the appearance in places, creating craters out of mountains and cutting a swathe through the lowlands. Bare serpentines wound their way up to the peaks and promised the same as after every other milestone of his hikes. Fallow nothingness, devoid of human life or the possibility of creating any. The only signs that there was a spark of life anywhere were MeriTech's excavations, old and abandoned scaffoldings that were supposed to be used for research before being left behind due to lack of results..

The smell of ozone filled the air and Zeev turned his gaze to the sky, watching the colours of the sun as they refracted in the distant water droplets, shimmering with grim promises as the star sank lower. Zeev had to decide, moving upwards, slowing down, and hoping for shelter or darting fast through the open, diminished fields with no cover in sight. The umbrella he carried would only hold off a little and the suit he wore would soon need repairing. In the end, he decided for the latter and for another time, luck seemed to be on his side.

His eyes were only human in regards to earthly conditions, hence he hadn’t seen what lay beyond a hill along his way. Relief flooded through him when he spotted the characteristic grey structure of a MeriTech bunker. An unhoisted flagpole, indicating an absence of habitants and thus posing no threat to him, peeked out from behind the lush green hill. His gait slowed and he allowed the exhaustion to unfold, saturating his steps and taking away his sense of purpose. The entrances to the bunker reminded him of the wide-open mouths of whales feasting on krill. Not that he could remember ever having seen anything like it, but it was his first association. The firm concrete ground caused his skull to shake, while the soft grassland had cushioned his every step in comparison. Sighing, he slumped his shoulders and circled his head on his neck, about to pull a stranger’s keycard out of his pocket, when he noticed a rucksack.

Tattered, but no doubt not too old to be considered abandoned.

Interested and curious, he took a look inside. A few tinned foods, a bottle or two of water with MeriTech's logo, writing utensils and laundry. Before Zeev could consider taking the food and drink, he glanced back so as not to get into an awkward predicament and make a bad first impression on the person he wanted to pray to for a place to stay for the night and be sheltered from the approaching storm. At first he didn't spot anyone, so he straightened up and stepped outside.

And then he did.

A good three-hundred feet away from the bunker, sitting on a rise, resting on a collection of boulders.

They just sat there drawing, or so Zeev thought, which was an odd sight to begin with, but also something surprisingly relaxing. Every now and then they presumably checked the time, pulled out binoculars, chewed on the flat end of their pencil when in thought and then continued to scribble down something. Zeev couldn’t help but keep staring. Especially since he was trying to fathom if the person was safe to be approached. Zeev was in dire need of resting and he had learned to take every opportunity when given. The chance of coming across another bunker within the next hour—let alone one unoccupied—was below zero.

His first impulse was to go to them, to speak to another person, to feel the hoarseness of his own voice that he hadn't used for so long, to hear what they were doing and what they were looking for. A feeling of happiness as strong as the urge to sleep, but he held back and stood rooted to the spot. From experience, he left a friendly and welcoming impression on others who, like him, often succumbed to their loneliness. Nevertheless, he decided to wait until the person would start moving and see what their first reaction would be. Should the person be hostile against all expectations, he would at least still have the element of surprise. Minutes flew by and Zeev sat down at the edge of the bunker, knees bent and head leaning against the solid wall, which was cracked and crumbling due to the precipitation. He took off his mask for comfort and hissed briefly as the air scratched his throat. For a long time, he watched the person he identified as male as he performed the same procedures over and over again. Watching, observing, scribbling. Watching, observing, scribbling. There was something strangely calming about it, Zeev had to admit. The stranger was relaxed in a way he had rarely seen. As if he was exactly where he wanted to be. The longer he looked at him, the more Zeev wondered what he was even doing out here. Failsafe rarely acted alone and the scouts were usually not in one spot for a long period of time. Who was he observing for?

Suddenly, his body shook itself to the core, wiping out all air from his lungs, causing his body to tremble and heave. Every tiny hair on his body stood up, numbing and sharpening senses alike—and he rose to his feet within seconds, black spots dancing across his field of view in the process. Black lines fell from the sky like wet paint, changing the landscape from peaceful beauty to dawning danger. The bodies of seemingly sedated people came into view, connected to the cords that reached far beyond the clouds. Sometimes, it wasn’t hard to believe they were just peacefully asleep. Zeev, however, had seen what they were like when stirred awake. He wasn’t sure if the stranger could see them, too.

In awe, the guy's notebook fell to the ground, which he hurriedly saved off the ground, not wanting to risk its decomposition, Zeev assumed. His excitement was both fascinating as it was worrisome to witness.

“What in the sun's name are you doing?,” Zeev muttered under his breath, his voice muffled by the mask he covered half his face with again. And before he knew it, he was moving forward, to the male that willingly and too curious for his own good, did the same—towards a catastrophe—instead of retreating to the safehouse.

#(( PEOPLE THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST THINGS I'VE EVER WRITTEN ))#— ❛❛ // answers ¦ we are unusual and tragic and alive #(( oh you brave boy! ♥ ))#(( i live for dystopian futures ))#(( sorry for the length but i thrivvvvved ))#(( i love zeev and isaiah in every universe ))#(( just to clarify that ))#sonnenreich #(( jaja threads gehen einfach schneller von der hand ))

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architectuul · 4 years ago

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An Attempted Utopia

The city of Shumen in Bulgaria is home to the country’s largest monument to the Founders of the Bulgarian State. An enormous, cathedral-like complex on the plateau above Shumen tells the story of the early Bulgarian rulers through a series of larger-than-life modernist sculptures.

Shumen Central City Square (1988-1989), unfinished. Created by Ivan Sivrev, Elena Konyarska, Maya Petrova, and Tsvetan Vasilev; chief consultant architect Georgi Stoilov. | Photo © Darmon Richter

But while many other memorials built during the communist period have been doomed now to decay and obsolescence owing to their political symbolism – branded as they often are with hammers, sickles and stars – the Shumen monument, by focussing purely on the ancient past, has managed to remain relevant to, and loved by, its inheritors. Today this symbol of Bulgarian nationhood is better preserved than probably any other monument built during the 45 years of Bulgarian communism so many foreign visitors come to Shumen to marvel at it.

An upwards view, from deep within the abandoned construction site of the Central City Square concrete tower. | Photo © Darmon Richter

A vast concrete tower looms over Shumen’s city centre: phallic, foreboding, and visible from all ends of the city. Standing 18 storeys high, the tower rises from a construction site six storeys tall and spreading out to fill an entire city block. The Central City Square, a gargantuan experiment in urban design was intended to be revolutionary, incorporating shops, hotel, post office, cafes, restaurants, hall for weddings and rituals as well as municipal administrative offices but has never been finished.

Glimpsing the full scale of vast Central City Square. | Photo © Darmon Richter

When the Bulgarian Communist Party relinquished its single-party system at the end of 1989 the country slid into a chaotic and economically unstable democracy and many former state projects has been left incomplete. All over Bulgaria are the shells of abandoned construction projects, orphans of a dissolved government but nowhere any come close to the size of Shumen’s Central City Square. The tower, its most visible element, stood between two unfinished blocks which rise behind a security fence established right along the city’s central pedestrian area on Liberation Square. Only by peering over that fence, does one realise that the tower and both blocks are all the same building, joined through lower levels, dug into the hillside, with road access to the site from a street behind. The lower levels of Central City Square extend beneath the street, emerging behind you as tunnel entrances that look like metro stations. Hotel Madara, overlooking the square, was supposed to be connected with underground tunnels that would grant guests easy access to the complex.

Cross sections of Shumen Central City Square. | Drawing via Promisljena estetika (1988) Vol. 1

The street was redeveloped in tangent with the Central City Square project, around the pedestrianised area are motifs thematically connecting it to both the new complex and the monument on the hill above. For instance, the tallest column of the Monument to the Founders of the Bulgarian State is topped with a stylised black granite lion, based on a 7th century carving, a design that is echoed in the streets below, with sculpted bronze lion heads set like sentries along a sheer concrete wall. Opposite the lions, the outer wall of the new complex nods to a culture that predates even the first Bulgarians, Hermes the messenger appears in sculpted relief on the face of what would have been the new post office.

A modernist relief at the subterranean entrance. | Photo © Darmon Richter

This redesign of Shumen city centre was a world apart from the monumental design of previous decades. Nearby, the 1949 Monument to the Red Army on Slavyanski Boulevard was pure, unadulterated socialist-realism; even the 1965 Monument to Freedom leant heavily into safe political territory with its hero figure and engraved hammer-and-sickle motif.

Western block rises behind an advertising fence.| Photo © Darmon Richter

However, the complex at the heart of this city project was bolder still. Intended to revolutionise Shumen’s urban landscape in ways that would have made this city notable not just by Bulgarian standards, but potentially one of the more advanced urban centres anywhere in the socialist world.

In an interview with Ivan Sivrev appeared in Industrial Aesthetics, Decorative Arts (1988), a monthly magazine published by the Bulgarian State Committee for Science and Technical Progress, the architect described the project as a forum for this 100,000-person city. “Central City Square has been designed as a living organism,” said Sivrev, “the elements of which are interconnected and interdependent just like, figuratively speaking, the organs of a living creature. We intend for Shumen’s centre to materialise as a synthesis between aesthetic, artistic, social, engineering, ecological and other requirements, instilling the rich historical past of Bulgaria into a modern development.”

Ivan Sivrev (right) stands beside a model of Central City Square in 1988.

Sivrev lists the various facilities to be included in the complex “the ‘Man’s Industry’ Fashion House, ‘Pancho Vladigerov’ Festival Complex, the existing Hotel Madara, and on the first underground level, the House of Rituals and Services.” The Festival Complex alone was to feature “concert halls, a club house, recital halls, music rooms, a record shop and musical instrument outlets”, meanwhile, “the House of Rituals and Services consists of three ceremonial halls, a family centre and council offices where various administrative, legislative and technical services shall be provided. There shall be a conference hall with 400 seats and a club restaurant for the administrative workers.”

Preliminary (up left) and final (up right) building plan with silhouettes and cross sections (below). | Drawing via Promisljena estetika (1988) Vol. 1

Other outlets inside the building included tobacconists, pharmaceuticals, a panorama café, coffee shops, a luxury restaurant and nightclub for 250 guests. One particular theme that emerges from the interview is Sivrev’s commitment to environmental issues. The building was designed from the ground up with the goal of combatting congestion and pollution in the city; considerations which had been lacking from many of the Party’s previous large-scale constructions. The Shumen project was to feature open green spaces, rooftop gardens and planted terraces. It was planned with the intention of increasing the size of community green areas. Cascading water would provide a pleasantly refreshing spray in hot summers, while a unified public transport hub would free the neighbouring streets from traffic congestion.

A towering concrete skeleton of the complex today. | Photo © Darmon Richter

This effect would be achieved by moving some of the city’s essential functions underground. “The construction of underground levels is a social necessity” states Sivrev as “underground levels bring mass transportation stops immediately next to the city square without creating a conflict between pedestrians and motor vehicles. They improve usage of public transportation significantly and reduce noise pollution and car emissions.”

The first underground level was planned for public transport stations, flower shops, souvenir and jewellery shops, homewares, perfumes, a national lottery kiosk and ticket offices for Balkan airline, BDZ rail company, Avtotransport coach company. The second underground level was intended to feature a car park for 200 vehicles under the square and a space for 250 vehicles next to Georgi Dimitrov Boulevard. Below that, the third underground level would provide a united storage area for servicing all buildings in the square.

Silhouettes and cross sections along the main core axes of the central structure. | Drawing via Promisljena estetika (1988) Vol. 1

The project as a whole reflected new ways of thinking about urban space. There are parallels between Ivan Sivrev’s design and the Radiant City proposed by Le Corbusier in 1930, when he exhibited his design for the perfected future metropolis - a linear city formed of standardised blocks, with underground transit routes reducing the surface traffic to allow for an abundance of green spaces. Each block would take the form of a self-contained vertical village containing shops, laundries, even kindergartens. The architect likened his vision to a living organism, composed of interconnected organs working together in harmony.

Le Corbusier’s proposed extent of the Radiant City. | Photo via Stadtstreicher

“I believe we managed to achieve conceptual synergy between urbanisation and architectural-artistic concepts. The development and its attributed buildings create the necessary conditions and allow for creating a unified architectural organism in which all levels and structures are both spatially and functionally connected. This is the very first such development in Bulgaria and it applies the most advanced principles of underground urbanism” is certain Sivrev. His design sketches show that the plan for Shumen Central City Square would have seen it grow considerably larger than what’s visible today. Much like Le Corbusier’s Radiant City the project would remain unrealised and today, those who venture inside will find not utopia, but a sprawling warren of abandoned spaces and twisting concrete corridors.

Unfinished spaces on the easternmost block. | Photo © Darmon Richter

Plants have taken root in some of the airier regions of the complex. | Photo © Darmon Richter

Bulgaria’s communist leader Todor Zhivkov was kicked out by his own party in 1989 in response to a number of growing criticisms throughout the final years of his regime. The rise of nationalism had been a major factor, culminating in Zhivkov’s attempted ethnic cleansing of Turkish and Roma minorities, beside that there had also been serious environmental concerns. Zhivkov had continued his predecessors’ urbanisation schemes, with large-scale industrialisation as cities were rapidly expanded to accommodate new work forces. The state had done little, however, to offset the effect this was having on the environment. By 1989, The Ledger reported that 85% of Bulgaria’s river water and 70% of its farmland had been damaged by industrial wastes and pollutants.

The Danube city of Ruse had it worst of all, when a chemical plant was built across the river at Giurgiu in Romania, it began to exhale toxic gases towards Bulgaria. Soil around the Ruse area was shown to contain concentrations of mineral acid at 40 times over the safe limit. A cloud of chemical gas descended on a Ruse meeting of the Young Pioneer organisation in September 1987, and children as young as seven were seen choking, running for cover with their red neckerchiefs clutched over their mouths. Zhivkov refused to act, however, unwilling to upset his fraternal relationship with the Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu. The Committee for the Ecological Protection of Ruse was founded, and they began protesting Zhivkov’s lack of solutions. Initially these demonstrations were crushed, Zhivkov allegedly ordered the beating of a group of environmental activists outside an OSCE summit in October 1989, but national dissatisfaction grew. Organised, nationwide protest gave birth to the Ecological Openness movement: a forerunner to the contemporary Bulgarian Green Party.

As Detlef Pollack and Jan Wielgohs note in Dissent and Opposition in Communist Eastern Europe, “On November 3 1989, Ecoglasnost (Ecological Openness) delivered the crucial blow to the Communist political system. At least 10,000 people came and marched to parliament, carrying posters and chanting the word democracy. It was a crucial breakthrough. Just a week following the Ecoglasnost march, Zhivkov was sacked.”

Bare concrete facades on the north side. | Photo © Darmon Richter

Shumen from the rooftops. | Photo © Darmon Richter

Perhaps Shumen’s Central City Square, a Corbusian city of the future, designed for a new ecologically responsible mode for urban living, had been a belated response to the problems. Perhaps it was intended as a trial, as the first of a new wave of ecologically-friendly urban redevelopments, but even if that were the case it was too little, too late.

Even by 1988, the project had reportedly been fraught with difficulties and by disagreements amongst its creative team. Sivrev explained these as “the inability to comprehend the unity and yet simultaneously multi-faceted nature of the development.” One engineer had baulked at the prospect of building the tower and ran away from the project. “Atypical solutions require atypical thinking” Sivrev concluded.

The unfinished tower. | Photo © Darmon Richter

But the final blow came in 1989 when the communist state was dissolved and Shumen’s Central City Square, like so many other unfinished constructions in Bulgaria, had its funding cut off. In place of a unified architectural organism the people of Shumen would be left instead to deal with a colossal, crumbling skeleton.

by Darmon Richter [Adapted with permission from Ex Utopia]

#bulgaria #modernism #unfinished

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mellointheory · 3 years ago

Text

Metal Elephant, Carried By Mice

The rain transformed the city.

Most people stayed inside, unwilling to venture out into the downpour. This city had been pouring toxins into the sky for decades, and the rain was a palpable sign of it. Acid burns from prolonged exposure were common, and were part of the reason tattoos and metallic skin implants were common. Normal people went inside when it rained.

It was freaks like Sam who stayed outside.

The rain pattered on slick, dark streets, capturing the reflections of neon lights and twisting them across puddles in the ground. Drops soaked into Sam’s vest, darkening the already stained yellow fabric, and dripped into his eyes as he made his way through the streets. A small gang of figures wearing rain resistant hoods were gathered in the mouth of an alleyway he passed, passing around a small pipe of something. It glowed bright green in the darkness. They noticed him pass, but didn’t move to stop him. There was an unspoken agreement between them, fools of the streets who dared to wander in the rain.

In the broad daylight he have gotten far more of a reaction—a seven foot tall hybrid walking the streets was hardly ever viewed as an acceptable sight, especially not one of Sam’s type—but he was in his element right now, the time designated for people like him. The hybrids, the assassins, the gamblers, the belly of the underground. The people who decided when the wars went down.

Hypixel City’s less reputable areas were split up among the various gangs powerful enough to take control. It was all about where the prices were higher, where the water was cleaner, where the toxins were least dangerous. Of those three only price really made a difference to Sam, but he chose his side anyway. He never got directly involved in the wars, that was too dangerous for everyone present, but he protected their area in his own way. Alarms, traps, security cameras, the works. He had been expecting this to happen ever since the rain first started, and he’d asked the others to be on the alert.

Boomer and Hannah were at the break site when he got there. The chain link fence between two areas had been cut open, leaving an area big enough for even someone Sam’s size to slip through. Both of the racers were arguing loudly, voices audible over the rain as Sam approached them.

“Sam!” Hannah called as he came over, whipping towards him and cutting Boomer off in the middle of his sentence. She had her helmet on, but it was easy to identify her by the glowing rose tattoos on her bare arms. “Where did they go from here?”

“I don’t know, they knocked out the cameras.” Sam opened his communicator to the channel the entire squad shared. Rain spattered on the screen and he wiped it away to read the messages sent most recently. “Punz went north to look for them, Ant and Gumi went west.”

“They’re not dumb enough to go south.” Boomer took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm, milky-blue eyes narrowed. “I mean, Bad’s place down there.”

“What’s he gonna do, serve them a muffin?” Hannah rolled her eyes, pulling her bike from where it leaned against the fence and kicking the stand up. It was a sleek, dark thing held together by magnetism mostly, with glowing pink lights on the tailpipe and the front and peace and love sprayprainted across the side. Sam had built most of it for her, as a favor for helping out at the plant.

“Come on, Bad’s more dangerous than that.” Boomer raised the pitch of his voice to a gratingly high octave. “oh, hello, are you Skeppy? You’re not Skeppy! Time to die, muffin head!” His voice returned to its normal bass rumble. “Then boom, they’re dead.”

“Bad has enough of a reputation to keep them out of his bar, but Ant’s sanctuary is past that. They may just have avoided him to try to hit in a place where it’ll hurt.” Sam tapped his communicator, pulling up camera footage from near the southern side of their territory.

“Do you want us to head down there and guard it?” The tattooed roses on Hannah’s arms shone luminous pink in the dark, twisting as she stretched them up over her head.

“That would be the best plan.” Sam nodded, flicking through camera views. “They know our territory better than they should. I’ll keep checking the cameras, you two patrol the area by Ant’s sanctuary.”

“Got it, big man.” Boomer swung one leg over the seat of his bike. It was bulkier than Hannah’s—Sam had helped him put it together years ago—and shone silver despite the grime of the streets. He revved the motor, green light flaring up from the tailpipe, and took off with the splash of water beneath him. The lights left a visible trail in the air, caught on the mist of falling rain. Hannah’s bike darted after him, catching up within a few seconds.

Sam returned his attention to his communicator.

What if they’re baiting us out or something? Gumi had messaged in the past few seconds.

Baiting us away from what? Sam typed back.

Maybe they want a hostage. Antfrost sent. They’re rats enough for that.

The most available hostage is that DUNDERHEAD Skeppy >:[ Red replied.

If they take Skeppy I’ll destroy them Bad typed quickly. Typical. He had been offline for most of the evening, serving the customers in his bar, then as soon as Skeppy was suggested to be in danger he jumped into the chat.

Yeah, like you destroyed his asshole last night. Red sent. Sam sighed and shut his eyes.

Focus. He told them. Boomer and Hannah are going to check around the sanctuary. Gumi and Ant, I’m assuming you haven’t seen anything.

There was a nope, from Ant and a negative, Samuelson from Gumi

Punz, what about you? Sam asked.

No reply.

Dammit, he shouldn’t have let Punz go out alone. If Punz saw them he would probably just move in immediately, try to injure the intruders and slow them before he even called in with info.

Punz you WHORE give us an update!!! Gumi sent.

Sam groaned and put his communicator in his pocket. He bent to inspect the severed wires of the fence. It was a divider between the Pummel Squad’s territory and that of the NeoSkars. The wires were cut cleanly, not with clippers, but seared straight through. They had actual gear to infiltrate with. The size of the hole they’d needed to make also hinted that they had a few hybrids on their own side, or at least heavily modded humans.

They could take care of the intruders eventually. He knew the squad well, trusted them to handle themselves in a fight—well, most of them. The problem was what they would do while in Pummel territory. If they managed to make a hit at something that belonged to a member of the crew—like Ant’s sanctuary or Red’s enhancement dealership—they would deal a blow to both the gang’s reputation, and the members themselves. Ant would be heartbroken if any of his animals died. They were all strange creatures, chimeras created for the enjoyment of rich patrons, that were eventually decided to no longer be novelties and tossed out on the streets. Ant was probably the only person keeping abandoned creatures like them from dying on the roadside.

Boomer and Hannah would keep the sanctuary safe. They may argue and scream about it, but they would do it. Sam’s greatest worry at the moment was whatever was happening in Punz’s area. Everyone else was grouped up, had a buddy to keep them safe. Punz was being too reckless.

As always.

All Sam could hope was that it wasn't too bad this time.

#next chapter punz pov if i actually get down to working on it #TIME TO UPLOAD CONTENT EVEN IF IM NOT PROUD OF IT #ITS TIME TO ACCOMPLISH SHI #punz #boomerna #hannahxxrose #vgumiho #antfrost #pummel party squad #mello writes #ppcrew cyberpunk

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shyrose57 · 4 years ago

Text

Current Dreamland Locations:

L’manberg: A vast, beautiful nation protected by black and yellow walls. Lots of flowers and treats, and generally good all over. Slowly seems to shrink in on itself, becoming smaller and more crowded. The walls get bigger, and everyone is closed in by a large gate. Becomes dimmer. Eventually becomes abandoned, sinking into a crater in the ground and being covered by a glass floor. The nation beneath it looks crowded and somewhat singed. Still, it radiates comfort and the feeling of shelter.

Manberg: A dreary, darkly colored nation that gives off a bad vibe. It stands a few miles from L’manberg, connected to it by a dark stone path that eventually changes to birch. Despite the fact that the there are no walls to keep anyone out, nobody dares step inside the place. On the podium is a statue of Schlatt. The white house has eerie vibes, and the stench of alcohol is ever strong there. The whole area looks rundown and intimidating.

The Checkered Palace: A beautiful black and white palace placed atop an checkered obsidian grid, surrounded by homes and blooming with life. For a time, the homes disappeared, and the flora wilted away. The area seemed empty and....lonely. Recently, snow has began to fall near constantly in the area, and new residents who’ve moved in have taken to restoring the area, giving it a warm, cozy feeling it hasn’t had in awhile.

The Inbetween: The pristine and coldly beautiful realm of a wicked fae that preys on the minds of all who wander within. The entire area is dangerous to be in, as it messes with one’s head, and is known to change and shift constantly to confuse people.

The Other Side: A cozy black cottage with an autumn theme. It’s connected to large black walls lined with torches, that fence in the Inbetween to prevent people from falling victim to it. Also the residence of a powerful witch that protects people from the fae’s games.

Mushroom Valley: A valley full of lush vegetation-namely, mushrooms, all of shapes and sizes, though Redcaps are the most common. The whole place has a drowsy feel to it, thanks to the blue smoke created by burning mushrooms. Stay too long and you just might take a nap you’ll have a hard time waking up from.

Current Dreamland Residents:

Sally: A red-haired salmon hybrid who resides in the rivers of L’manberg. Unlike many of the Dreamland, she’s never really changed. Even now, she lives within the glass-covered nation, alongside Wilbur, and remains a source of comfort and understanding for Fundy.

Tommy: Originally a red-winged avian who fluttered about L’manberg with wild abandon and recklessness. Nowadays however, he is a weary and worn dragon, living in a underground burrow and seeking peace. Not on good terms with many people these days, though he seems to be close with Sam, and trying to repair his friendship with Tubbo.

Tubbo: He originally had the form of a bee hybrid, often found trailing behind Tommy and tending to his animal brethren. He eventually changed to a regally dressed royal who resides in the Checkered Palace as it’s ruler. Most of the time has more Queen-themed clothing on, but will occasionally switch to others, like pawn or knight-it depends on what he’s doing.

Ranboo: Both a dragon, and a knight, he’s unable to control when he switches forms, much to his dismay. One of the most loyal and caring people you’ll ever meet, he resides partially in the Checkered Palace, helping breath life back into it, and partially wanders the snowy tundra where Phil and Techno reside. Friends with many, but only truly trusted by a few.

Karl: A darkly dressed bunny hybrid who lives with the witch that guards the Inbetween. Formerly a victim of said place, he was rescued and freed by the witch, and now repays her by running errands around the area, and becoming her apprentice. He also seems to somehow time travel? Nobody really knows the specifics, but they’ve figured out a system of how to tell when they’re talking to a Karl who’s met them or not, simply by asking-if he has met them, then he says so, and when his last meeting with them was. If he hasn’t, then they tell him to do just that in the future. It works.

Dream: A man draped in red strings, who calls himself a god. He seems blatantly crazy most of the time, and will only do things for a deal. However, grow close enough to him, and he becomes softer and more open, genuinely caring for those who offer it in turn. Few witness this side to him. Dream can typically be found in Church Prime, doing his best to aggravate DreamXD. Avoids George and Sapnap like the plague. Seems to have mixed feelings on the topic of any of the minors.

#The Fox Early To Bed AU #dream smp #dream smp au #fundy #sally the salmon #tubbo #ranboo #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #karl jacobs

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bittersweetbiscotti · 4 years ago

Text

Fic

What Happens in the Black Garden Stays in the Black Garden

Fandom: Destiny

Rating: E for extremely explicit

Ship: Uldren Sov / Jolyon Till the Rachis

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Explicit Everything,

Word Count: 12k+ (I’m not kidding)

Summary: Jolyon Till the Rachis will follow his Prince anywhere, and that's not hyperbole, by the by. Otherwise, he most definitely would not be here in the Black Garden, a place beyond time and space, a place where the Vex come to pray, a place where everything grows. But Uldren wanted to be here, and Jolyon's place is by his side, always.

When Uldren suddenly vanishes like a toddler in a crowded mall, Jolyon ends up finding him in an underground cavern where all seems a little too normal. The water is warm and welcoming, perfect for a bath at Uldren's suggestion.

And Jolyon discovers the, erm, hard way that, yes, everything does indeed grow here.

Leave it to His Grace Uldren Sov, Prince of the Awoken, Master of Crows, Heir to the Reef, and a Royal Pain in Jolyon’s Ass to treat this venture into the Black Garden like an afternoon picnic.

The Black Garden, a strange dimension, either created or simply discovered by the Vex. It is here in this place that exists in its own pocket void beyond space and time where they stand. Uldren and his loyal companion, who honestly needs to start questioning his life decisions more critically, have just destroyed a ginormous, indestructible Gate Lord to do it. Or rather, they made the Cabal destroy a ginormous, indestructible Gate Lord, but whatever. Point is, the pair are in here now, the first humans to explore the Black Garden... as far as anyone knows. The Vex like this place a lot, and whatever the Vex develop an affinity to is bad news for the rest of the known universe. It's not exactly a place you can just romp around willy-nilly among the pretty flowers and colorful butterflies.

It's not that kind of garden.

It's a horrifying place. The breathtaking awe when you gaze upon the towering cliffs, the pearlescent waterfalls that fall from the shocking heights of skyscrapers, the endless fields of flowers that stretch into eternity, the emerald mist that covers everything like a nebula where dead stars are born again... this very same awe also strikes with a blade of sheer icy terror into your soul. The air is rich with all that you need, no helmets required, and it is the air that whispers all the secrets of the universe you won't be able to hear no matter how hard you strain in concentration. If there is a God who has created all things in existence in His image, then this place is definitely His backyard and these two Awoken have just broken through the picket fence.

They are not supposed to be here.

Jolyon knew this was a bad idea the moment Uldren first brought it up what feels like ages ago. They were at the range, of course, where Jolyon is too busy concentrating on maintaining his perfect marksmanship record to really think about what the Prince is asking of him. It's such a dirty trick, and Jolyon falls for it every time.

This is still a bad idea, though, and Jolyon is as certain of it now as he is certain of his own name. Everything here is simply pure potential that has managed to hold itself together, like a dream. Does Uldren sit back and think about what the presence of mere mortals can do to a place of literal creation where one's very thoughts seed the ground and sprout into existence? Oh, he does, it's just that he thinks the consequences of his actions are exciting experiences and not important lessons that he probably shouldn't be so flippant about.

Speaking of Uldren, there he goes, racing through the rain and mud beneath the Garden's surface like a child in a candy store. His elegant royal garments are splattered with organic grime, and his boots slosh muck in all directions. Jolyon is stunned how anyone can run in this mess. Whenever he tries to lift his foot, it's like the mud tries to suck him back down into its goopy embrace. They aren't up above, where the flowers actually grow and maybe there are some butterflies or something, you know, the entire purpose of enjoying a garden in the first place. Uldren complains that its too Vex up there, too orderly, too unnatural.

So they are down here in the chasms between the manicured beds of flowers, the irrigation canals, where all is wild chaos and neverending rain to get the authentic experience.

Seriously, why are they even here?

Read More at AO3

#destiny 2 fanfiction #destiny the game #uldren sov #jolyon till the rachis #uldren x jolyon #IT IS FINALLY HERE #this was so stressful to edit #s-so many words #but srsly the black garden is like one of my favorite settings #shardy writes #fic: what happens in the black garden

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another-writer · 5 years ago

Text

Muted Colours

Summary: After a botched mission resulting in you taken captive, your team breaks you out.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: None? Some really brief mention of blood? Also Bucky being a literal fluff because why not.

Bucky knew you had to be alive. Only because he refused to conceive of anything otherwise. He was lying awake in the common area of the compound on his back, several screens surrounding him with various information reading locations and identities of the people he had managed to apprehend on the mission that had resulted in you -

In you getting left behind.

The image sent Bucky spiralling. He didn’t see you get taken. But he remembered running back to the jet, last in line, Tony yelling through the comms for everyone to retreat back, being too overwhelmed with enemy fire. When the hatch closed, Bucky had searched desperately for you - thought it wasn’t as if there was anywhere in the small jet you could hide.

Tony and Sam had scanned from the sky for you before the jet took off; there wasn’t a trace of you. You weren’t answering on the comms. And the best case scenario was for them all to assume you were taken captive.

So the priority became to get you back. There was enough of a lead, but any known location didn’t happen to hold you. And over time, nearly a month, your absence had become more and more of a lead block in Bucky’s mind, absorbing light and energy and he refused to succumb to it.

‘Anything?’

Bucky sat up at Natasha’s voice breaking the silence.

‘Waiting for a breakthrough,’ he admitted.

Natasha raised a brow and leaned against the doorframe. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve thought about sleeping while you wait?’

Bucky bit his lip, unable to meet her expectant stare. ‘We didn’t have much time, and she got separated so early, I know, but ... I feel like I should’ve been more careful.’

‘[Y/N] can watch herself the same as any of us can, it just ... wasn’t her day,’ Natasha said. For morale’s sake, she was doing her best to minimise the uncomfortable pit in her stomach. ‘When we’re out there, all of us are equally responsible for each other. This isn’t just on you.’

‘So what now?’ Bucky asked, trying not to sound defeated.

‘You haven’t slept. Go to bed; I'll wake Steve at a reasonable hour, we’ll work on it and wake you in the morning.’

Your hair was matted and you had dried blood from an open cut on your lip from your fight from last night. Given the circumstances, you were relatively well taken care of. You were a prize fighter in an underground tournament - your captors’ financial success depended on your survival. An Avenger participating against their will and purely for survival? Total cash grab.

So, at least you were guaranteed to live, so long as you kept winning.

Part of you knew you were lucky to be alive. On your first night in your cell, you worried about the others, whether they had all gotten away; the mission - hopefully - hadn’t been a total failure. You had been taken, sure, but perhaps in the midst of it all, the others had been able to complete it. They couldn’t have ended up where you were because you figured you would have fought them by now. You wondered whether they were looking for you. You thought about them nearly all the time - your training from Natasha (one of the most seasoned hand-to-hand combatants you knew) was what was keeping you alive in the ring; hers and Steve’s ability to maintain team morale kept you focused. But you missed Bucky the most. He was everything wrapped into one, your best friend, your confidant, a growing team player, an overall comfort zone.

You took a deep breath in and out through your nose. Remembering your team kept your hope steady but you couldn’t let it distract you. You weren’t sure how long you had been here, but you were embarrassed to admit you weren’t sure how you would get out.

You didn’t know exactly where you were, either. You had awoken in a cell, after falling unconscious, and were promptly led into an arena with a crowd of spectators. When a stranger - lumbering, tall, bloody and bruised - lunged at you, you figured you didn’t have much time for questions and quickly acclimated to the situation.

Currently, you were re-taping your knuckles to stem the bleeding sustained last night, as you were escorted to the ring through musty, poorly-lit corridors. You didn’t know who your opponents were. They were all good fighters - agile, strong, fast. You figured you were lucky, rather than better. You handed the gauze back to the guard walking you. Another opened the door.

A handful of dim spotlights lit the arena. The steel door was shut behind you, creating an echo that sent the spectators into a frenzy. You were welcomed by the buzzing crowd placing last-minute bets and screaming in excitement for you. The only thing that separated you from them was a steel fence.

Suddenly, you heard a strangled, stifled cry - it contrasted against the frequency of the spectators and your eyes flitted to the crowd who instantly were kicked into an unfamiliar mania.

Among shouts, the dim lights were accompanied by bright flashlights. You saw armoured men and women swarm the arena.

Heart pounding, you kept your eyes on the door where your opponent should have entered from, nearly going dizzy from the suspense before you steadily backed away to your own door. It would have been just your luck if you were arrested too.

But no one was letting you back out. You pressed yourself against the door, hearing bullets fire and rocket off the concrete as the arena’s guards began firing.

The door opposite you then swung open, hard enough to smack harshly into the wall and after a beat -

‘James?’

His stance was solid; rifle aimed and ready, black bulletproof vest and combat gear, dusty and matted like he had run through a war zone. But when he saw you, his eyes softened, and he lowered his weapon. You noticed how tired he looked. His skin was unusually pale.

‘God, I never thought I’d see you again,’ he breathed.

The sofftness of his voice constrasted sharply; it was as if everything else was muted.

Bucky wasted no time, striding across the arena, ready to engulf you in his arms and take you away, but when you faltered and immediately took a step back, he slowed and stopped a few feet away from you.

Your hands were in fists, shoved in the pockets of your black cargo pants; your entire body was aching to the point where it was numbing, breath hitched. Your bones felt like metal scaffolding scraping against each other. It was as if you finally felt tired. You stood stiffly, looking much more menacing than you felt. The light from the corridor behind Bucky flooded the otherwise dimly-lit room. You were able to leave - yet, part of you didn’t want to accept it in case it wasn’t true.

Bucky bit his lip. A strand of hair had fallen over his eye; he was trying to find a balance between his reaction to seeing you and keeping his focus. His stare honed in on a dark, blackening bruise under your right eye, your bleeding hands matted with dirt.

Bucky’s instict kicked in, grounded by the gunfire. As much as you were clearly hurt, it wasn’t the time to worry over the damage. He had to get you out first.

‘[Y/N], we don’t have time,’ he said carefully, taking the tactical belt from around his waist and holding it out to you; there were several grenades and a shotgun hanging from it. A small earpiece balanced between his fingers.

Your teeth gritted. As a strange discomfort swelled in your stomach, you took the belt with a shaking hand and wrapped it around you, adjusting the length so that it fit, and put the earpiece in place. A chill ran down your spine when your earpiece picked up familiar voices. Goosebumps rose on your arms.

Relieved, Bucky lead you out from where he had come. Your corridor was free from fire; you saw a handful of unconscious guards lying on the floor. The sounds were muted for a while, and slowly they began to grow again. But it wasn’t the sound of a gambling crowd, or arrests, it was pure battle.

‘Stay behind me,’ Bucky said lowly.

The both of you worked in tandem, you staying more careful since you were largely unprotected, shooting then taking cover.

When you worked your way to the main hanger, a hundred feet from the entrance, you spotted Natasha across the room from the corner of your eye and were nearly decaptitated by the flying red, white and blue shield before ducking and allowing it to slam into a guard behind you.

That damn platter of patriotism.

You bit your lip, a grin forming on your lips. You picked the shield up and used it to defend yourself as you fired several bullets all meeting their targets, before using all your might to throw the shield back in Steve’s direction.

Bucky glanced at you quickly, admiration amalgamating in the pit of his stomach. You looked like yourself. Or at least, your survival instincts were kicked in. Whatever you had been through, at least you were able to hold your ground.

It wasn’t long before Bucky was ushering you outside, the Quinjet hovering in the distance and approaching. The fight began to wind down behind you, arrests were being made; you thought you heard Tony talking to one of the cops but everything began to blur. When you stepped outside of the steel doors and felt the freezing air on your skin, saw the beginnings of the sun filtering through the dark sky lighting it a delicate purple - it all fell away. You welcomed the biting cold, the pinpricks along your arms and the tussling wind caused by the Quinjet’s engines as it landed close to you. You could have lay down and gone to sleep there and then.

When you entered, you couldn’t help it: you unfurled the utility belt and dropped it lazily in the corner, accepting the shock blanket that Bruce offered you, and wrapped it around yourself, allowing your knees to buckle, and curled up contentedly on the floor of the jet behind the passenger seats. It was an inconvenient placement, but it was available. And at least it was clean.

You heard footsteps, your team entering the jet, which prompted you to sit up and lean against the wall. You felt the shock blanket fall around you but your arms felt too heavy to lift it back.

‘[Y/N], lemme take a look,’ Bucky’s voice was gentle; he knelt in front of you, hand edging towards yours, picking it up and unravelling the botched layers of bandages. His touch was gentle and familiar and it didn’t take long for you to melt into him; a lump formed in your throat and your eyes began to water.

You watched him work, wincing at the sting of the anti-septic. ‘So,’ you breathed, steadying your voice, eyes flitting to the team, ‘we got everyone this time?’

Your humour was met with a ripple of relief that ran through the aircraft; despite their obvious success in getting you out and shutting the underground arena down, you had noticed a tension that you badly wanted to lift. It was as if they were waiting for you to give the green light.

‘Glad to see you in one piece,’ Natasha said as Bucky applied a paste to the bruise under your eye. ‘We should’ve brought snacks.’

You smirked. ‘Yeah, you should have.’

Bucky snickered, mostly out of repose, lifting your hand after sealing the bandage, and kissing your palm gently, leaning over to then kiss your forehead before engulfing you tightly. You felt the heat creep up your neck - Bucky wasn’t usually affectionate in front of other people.

‘Ease up,’ you said, meaning to sound affectionate but your exhaustion was amplified. ‘I’m all gross.’ As he pulled away, you squeezed his arms, calming him.

Bucky bit his lip, his forehead creasing slightly like he was finally starting to feel the overwhelming wave flood him. ‘Doll, I’m so s-’

‘James, c’mon don’t,’ you wavered, your eyes glossing over his face, taking in his piercing eyes that were glazed with comfort but also concern. You ran your fingers through his hair tenderly, resting your hand on his cheek. ‘I’m here. I’m fine.’ You looked up at the others. ‘I’m grateful you guys came for me,’ you said shyly, unable to find the words to express how you felt.

But they knew that. And you saw it in their eyes and heard it in the way they brushed off your thanks in various ways. And you would be forever thankful for the understanding that had been built between you.

‘I just haven’t eaten properly in a while - Sam, don’t you usually have protein bars or something?’

‘I think this is the first time you’ve ever asked for one.’ Sam smirked and pulled one out from a duffle bag where Bruce had pulled the shock blanket from.

He knelt in front of you, tearing the wrapper, and holding the protein bar out for you. You sat up straight and took it; the dryness of its texture was usually unwelcome, but now it overloaded your tastebuds. Bucky sat against the wall next to you, his hand holding yours securely; Natasha knelt next to Sam, reaching around you to re-adjust the blanket around your shoulders as Steve uncapped a water bottle for you to drink from. Your insides turned fuzzy from the literal bubble they created around you.

On the journey home, you melted into the warmth; the questions about your experience were broached but not pushed; your responses were met with patience, and your questions of where you had been taken were answered but you all quickly melted into the banter and the comfortable silence that followed as you grew tired in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush.

You leaned back against Bucky, head resting on his shoulder as his arm curled around you. Under the heavy smell of smoke and dust in his tactical gear was the comfort of his chest and the welcome, familiar fit of his hand.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel one shot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky fluff #another piece of writing #reader insert #bucky barnes imagine

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sixam-skies · 4 years ago

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The Extended Not So Berry Challenge

Here is the complete list of generations for my extended version of the Not So Berry challenge. This challenge consists of the 10 generations of the Not So Berry challenge by @lilsimsie and @alwaysimming, with a few extra skill and collection goals added, followed by the 11 generations of the Road Less Travelled challenge (created by myself (originally camisimblr) with help from Briar, Hope, and Fiona).

Generation One: Mint You’re a mischievous scientist that really loves the colour mint. You’re career driven but still make time for silly pranks and outings with your closest friends. You love luxury and want the best for yourself and your family.

Traits: Vegetarian, Jealous, Materialistic Aspiration: Chief of Mischief Career: Scientist

Goals: - Master scientist career and complete Chief of Mischief aspiration - Master mischief and logic skills - Complete elements, crystals, and metals collections

Generation Two: Rose You had everything you desired as a child, but you were always longing for more. As an adult you have a hard time committing to relationships as you’re so focused on your career. If we had a workaholic trait in The Sims 4 you would have it. You have absolutely no maternal instincts whatsoever, but you still love your child with all your heart.

Traits: Hot Headed, Snob, Romantic Aspiration: Serial Romantic Career: Politician

Goals: - Have only one child - Master the politician career and complete Serial Romantic aspiration - Master charisma skill - Leave someone at the alter (an interaction available during a wedding) - Get married for the first time as an elder

Generation Three: Yellow Growing up you never had a close relationship with your mother and spent the majority of your time alone in your room obsessing over space. You just really love space. You’ll do whatever it takes to get to Sixam no matter the cost.

Traits: Clumsy, Ambitious, Loner Aspiration: Nerd Brain Career: Astronaut

Goals: - Master rocket science and handiness skill - Master astronaut career and complete Nerd Brain aspiration - Must build a rocket ship and visit Sixam - Enter the secret lot in Oasis Springs (requiring max handiness) - Never have any close friends or relationships other than grandparent from Generation 1 until the grandparent dies - Complete space rocks, space prints, and aliens collections

Generation Four: Grey You always felt that you were different. While the rest of your family was busy messing around in the lab, you just wanted to be outside playing basketball. You’re very good at sports and you dream of becoming a professional athlete. To make up for your non-existent relationship with your parents you want to be there for your own children as much as possible. Oh, and you love to sing.

Traits: Active, Slob, Music Lover Aspiration: Bodybuilder Career: Athlete

Goals: - Master singing, parenting, and athletic skills - Master athlete career and complete Bodybuilder aspiration - Have three failed relationships before finding spouse, marry a neat Sim - Be good friends with all of your children - Have family movie night with your spouse and children every Sunday

Generation Five: Plum You’ve always been good at anything you tried. It’s hard to choose a career, so why not try a few? You work as a doctor for much of your life, but as an adult realize that your true dream is to become a professional dancer. You quit your job and join the entertainer career. Basically: you’re an indecisive oddball.

Traits: Genius, Noncommittal, Dance Machine Aspiration: Renaissance Sim Career: Fast Food, Doctor, Entertainer

Goals: - Master dance and two other skills of your choosing, achieve at least level eight in six skills - Complete Renaissance Sim aspiration - Get divorced and then later remarried to the same Sim - Must live in at least three different worlds over the course of your life

Generation Six: Orange You’re the black sheep of your family (but with orange hair) and you were raised in a hectic household. You’ve always wanted to cause mayhem, but you’re just really bad at being evil. You enjoy breaking into your neighbors’ houses and eating their food. You really love baking and spend the majority of your spare time eating sweets.

Traits: Evil, Self-Assured, Glutton Aspiration: Public Enemy Career: Criminal

Goals: - Master baking and charisma skills - Master criminal career and complete Public Enemy aspiration - Must live in a ‘needs TLC’ apartment for entire young adult life - Have twins, but only those two children (you may cheat for this). - Insist on being evil (claim to be criminal mastermind) but nobody believes you, not even your own children

Generation Seven: Pink You grew up poor and are living paycheck to paycheck working in the business career just as your parents did. You long to write romance novels but are too afraid to quit your steady job to follow your dreams. You’re very practical and you know the chances of making it as a writer are slim, so you stay working at your nine to five. As an adult you finally decide to pursue your dreams. You’re a hopeless romantic, but your unflirty nature makes it nearly impossible to find love.

Traits: Neat, Unflirty, Creative Aspiration: Best Selling Author Career: Business

Goals: - Complete postcard collection - Master writing and wellness skills - Complete Best-Selling Author aspiration - Have a well-maintained garden - Quit day job as an adult to pursue dreams (mid-life crisis much?)

Generation Eight: Peach Your mother always taught her to follow her dreams. You’ve always wanted to be a detective. You’ve always wanted to be a comedian. Well dang it, you can do both! Detective by day, comedian by night, you can do anything you set your mind to.

Traits: Foodie, Lazy, Goofball Aspiration: Joke Star Career: Detective

Goals: - Marry a co-worker - Must play an instrument - Master gourmet cooking and comedy skills - Master detective career - Must live in a different world than the one he/she was raised

Generation Nine: Green You were caught hacking by a major tech company that then offered you a position in their firm. You know Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds? That’s you. You’re dedicated to your work, but that doesn’t stop you from going out and having a good time. You’re the kind of person that will be at a party at 3am and then at work at 6am.

Traits: Squeamish, Geek, Cheerful Aspiration: Computer Whiz Career: Tech Guru

Goals: - Master mixology, video gaming, and programming skills - Master tech guru career and complete Computer Whiz aspiration - Must accept every invitation to parties/outings with your friends - Have at least five good friends and five enemies - Complete Voidcritters collection

Generation Ten: Blue You have the perfect life. White picket fence, loving spouse, beautiful children. But why do you still want more? You have a one-time secret affair and will regret it for the rest of your life. Afterward you pour your soul into raising your children and fixing your marriage. You never admit the affair to anyone and dedicate your life to being the perfect mother.

Traits: Gloomy, Perfectionist, Family Oriented Aspiration: Super Parent Career: Critic

Goals: - Adopt at least one child - Master the photography, cooking, and parenting skills - Master critic career and complete Super Parent aspiration - Must marry high school sweetheart and stay with them until you die - Have a one-time secret affair

Generation Eleven: Platinum You grew up in the perfect home, with a perfect childhood. What more could you want? Well, there’s fame, and money, and you’ll get both if you work hard… or marry rich.

Traits: Self-Absorbed, Insider, Materialistic Aspiration: Master Actor/Actress Career: Actor/Actress

Goals: - Become a 5-star Celebrity - Marry a celebrity (3-star or higher) - Master acting and media production skill - Have either a Pristine or Atrocious reputation - Throw 5 successful Charity Benefits or 5 successful Lampoon Parties (depending on reputation)

Generation Twelve: Lilac As the child of famous parents your entire childhood was spent in the spotlight, wishing to be anywhere else, and you couldn’t get any further from the spotlight than Selvadorada.

Traits: Loves Outdoors, Outgoing, Good Aspiration: Jungle Explorer Career: Writer (Journalism)

Goals: - Marry a Selvadoradian local - Master archaeology and Selvadoradian culture skills - Collect all Ancient Omiscan Artefacts and Omiscan Treasures - Explore the temple in Selvadorada three times. - See everything Selvadorada has to offer - Befriend a skeleton

Generation Thirteen: Copper Growing up with stories from your parent of exploring Selvadorada, you make it your mission to do some exploring of your own – by solving the mysteries of StrangerVille.

Traits: Paranoid, Noncommittal, Vegetarian Aspiration: StrangerVille Mystery Career: Military

Goals: - Become the Hero of StrangerVille - Befriend The Mother - Master fitness and charisma skills - Be enemies with at least 3 coworkers - Live underground as a Young Adult - Never have a serious relationship

Generation Fourteen: Turquoise Growing up with a paranoid parent is no easy feat, and you crave an easier, cruisier lifestyle. Nothing could be better than spending every day on the beautiful beaches of Sulani… if you can keep them beautiful.

Traits: Outgoing, Child of the Islands, Bro Aspiration: Beach Life Career: Conservationist

Goals: - Move to Sulani as a Young Adult - Master Photography skill - Throw a beach party every weekend - Marry an island local - Befriend a dolphin - Complete seashells collection

Generation Fifteen: Red You love animals far more than you love people, so much so that you’ve decided to dedicate your life to your critter friends.

Traits: Hates Children, Loves Cats, Loner Aspiration: Friend of the Animals Career: Vet Clinic

Goals: - Open and run a successful Vet Clinic - Master veterinarian and pet training skills - Always have at least two pets in your household - Cook your pets a weekly meal - Have only one pregnancy, leave your partner to do the parenting

Generation Sixteen: Navy What’s more enthralling than the pursuit of medicine? The pursuit of magic! You want to be the most spectacular Spellcaster to ever live and nothing will get in your way.

Traits: Self-Assured, Erratic, Ambitious Aspiration: Spellcraft & Sorcery Career: Painter

Goals: - Become a Spellcaster - Master painting, gardening, and herbalism skills - Mix every type of potion successfully - Learn every spell - Defeat all 3 Sages in a Duel

Generation Seventeen: Black As the child of a Sage you’re no stranger to the supernatural, but a chance encounter with a dark, dangerous stranger has you chasing your humanity.

Traits: Clumsy, Music Lover, Squeamish Aspiration: Good Vampire Career: Musician

Goals: - Become a Vampire as a Young Adult - Master vampiric lore, pipe organ, and guitar skills - Marry a human - Become human again before starting a family - Become a Grand Master Vampire

Generation Eighteen: Baby Blue Your parent overcome the greatest of obstacles to start their family, and it’s always inspired you to raise the perfect child. But every Stay-At-Home parent needs some me-time.

Traits: Perfectionist, Family Oriented, Creative Aspiration: Big, Happy Family Career: None

Goals: - Raise a perfect child (Max toddler skills, max child skills, complete all childhood aspirations, have all 5 positive character values) - Marry a childhood BFF or high school sweetheart - Max painting and bowling skills - Max any skill that brings a profit - Bowl a perfect game

Generation Nineteen (Option 1): Emerald (UBrite) You were the perfect child, and now you’ll be the perfect student. You’re going to excel on whichever path your academic life takes, but which path will it be?

Traits: Bookworm, Genius, Outgoing Aspiration: Academic Career: Law

Goals: - Get a full ride of scholarships - Max research & debate skill - Graduate without failing a class - Major in a Distinguished Degree - Reach the highest rank in an Organisation - Win the Debate Showdown

Generation Nineteen (Option 2): Maroon (Foxbury) You were the perfect child, and now you’ll be the perfect student. You’re going to excel on whichever path your academic life takes, but which path will it be?

Traits: Bookworm, Genius, Outgoing Aspiration: Academic Career: Engineer

Goals: - Get a full ride of scholarships - Max robotics skill - Graduate without failing a class - Major in a Distinguished Degree - Reach the highest rank in an Organisation - Build a Servo

Generation Twenty: Honey Your parents spent their lives with their noses buried in their textbooks, but you want to live with the sun on your face and your most loyal companion by your side.

Traits: Loves Dogs, Loves the Outdoors, Good Aspiration: The Curator Career: Gardener

Goals: - Live Off The Grid as a Young Adult - Max fishing, gardening, and flower arranging skills - Take your family camping every weekend - Always have a dog in your household - Complete the Fishing and Gardening collections

Bonus Generation: Fuschia You’ve lived most of your life in the peace of the woods, but long for the hustle and bustle of city life. You’ll find your place in the big city, and someone to share the view.

Traits: Art Lover, Foodie, Romantic Aspiration: City Native Career: Social Media

Goals: - Max charisma and comedy skills - Open a gallery to feature your photos - Accept every invitation for parties and events - Complete the City Posters collection - Marry a Sim with similar traits.

#not so berry #road less travelled #sims 4 #sims 4 challenge #repost

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promptsausandshit · 5 years ago

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Picture this; #378

A Month of Location Prompts;

(Note; While the goal is to do one a day, please go at your own pace, this is for fun after all!)

1. An underground bouncy castle party, with some very interesting dancers and very loud music.

2. Find three photos of completely different locations and use them as reference to create one location, take note of anything standout features or unique landmarks in particular.

3. You have been invited to the Experimental School for Inventors, the school grounds can be located suspended over a large river and requires either nautical or aerial entry, we apologise for any potential projectiles that may hinder your arrival.

4. A black and neon themed pub, all pieces of furniture are black with bright coloured patterns, decorations or accents, even the wall paintings are the same.

5. Organise several items into a pile then use the outline created as the silhouette for a mountain based city.

6. An apartment that has been split down the middle, one half is near pristine while the other is littered and crowded with innumerable items.

7. At the bottom of a drained lake surrounded by dried mud is a statue that seems to be reaching upwards to where the lakes surface would have been. There are stones positioned around this statue in an unnatural pattern.

8. A place of worship built entirely of recycled glass, metal, rock, wood and plastic from several other long destroyed places of worship. The floor is a mosaic of colour in celebration of being rebuilt from the ashes.

9. The middle of a kite festival, hundreds of kites in the air and picnic blankets all around, the breeze is just right and the suns rays bake the earth.

10. The back of a secret lab has a room with nothing in it but a half constructed inactive android that has a chain leading from it’s back to a bolt on the wall, one hand of the android is behind it’s back clutching something tightly.

11. The Galactic Court House, the judicial panel has twenty seats of different themes to signify where each judge hails from, the jury seated above the court with a layer of glass between them. The room is mainly of a smooth polished silver material, cushioned seating is coloured according to the role in court, the Galactic Pledge is carved into the back wall in all prevailing languages.

12. A small shelter made from a tarp attached to a three wheeled car, surrounded by moss, trees and mountains during a stormy night.

13. Holographic park that has projections of people walking through it, these projections change periodically to reflect a different time period for both entertainment and education purposes.

14. Look for a diagram of an insects wing, enlarge it. Now view it as the pathways of a forest and decide what caused these paths.

15. Within the branches of a tree is a few hammocks and fairy lights, baskets with pulley systems filled with books, food and other trinkets are adjacent to each hammock.

16. A shimmering lake with many small rowing boats tied to a board walk, these little boats are painted to resemble teacups. In the centre of the lake is a bowl like rock filled with marbles.

17. Desert landscape where parts of the sand are a shimmering pink colour, rocky structures carved by the wind peek out of the ever changing dunes and the snakes have ancient script on their scales.

18. Welcome to The Grand Library of Memoirs, where only journals, diaries and personal logs are stored, the history of peoples lives and thoughts. All books are categorised by last name and sectioned off by century. The ceiling is a large clock.

19. Within a forest in the depths of winter, all around is shades of white and ash with the exception of red berries and lines of red carved into several trees.

20. A tennis court long overgrown and covered in graffiti, some ribbons tied to the fencing around it. There are several posters and pieces of litter scattered on the ground.

21. The typical office setting except the interior designer had some strange obsession with frogs.

22. A memorable spot from your past but scaled to the size of a giant, the average person no larger than a squirrel.

23. Your typical ideal flower shop, blooms of all colours lovingly arranged and labelled, located right next to the gateway to the underworld.

24. Entering a company building that has been built between two cliffs, the walls are solid and shimmery while the roof is completely made out of glass, each floor part of a large atrium to allow the light through. In the centre is a themed water fountain with many coins left at the bottom.

25. An art gallery that only has gloves on display, some even pinned to the walls where paintings used to be.

26. Place three drops of ink or pain on paper, then either blow on or tip the paper at different angles. The lines left are now paths and roads of a map, create different locations and terrains for these paths then have your characters navigate this map.

27. At the top of a mountain surrounded in mist is a shrine decorated with copper leaves and carvings of various creatures.

28. The middle of a toy store, the floor is decorated with see-through solid plastic that has hundreds of different small toys and figures inside, in several areas are small huddles of pillows, cuddly toys and other soft things as rest areas and drones with toy passengers attached fly around the store.

29. A large swimming centre with several grand attractions, the colour theme is dark and cool to appeal to its main customer base; supernatural and mythical beings.

30. A cosy room with a lightly burning fireplace, in front of it is a plump sofa that has clearly been patched up in a few places, the window has its shutters closed and locked, a slightly chipped but well loved teas set it placed on a table beside it and thread and yard weaves through the rafters above.

31. Far inland stands a large lighthouse, the inside walls covered in ruins and ancient script and the stair case metal railings twist and curl into wave like patterns.

Completion Bonus!;

Do a one shot or a sketch for something you love that you haven’t had the chance to do for a while! Or read one chapter of an unfinished story! Or watch one episode or movie of that thing you like! Satisfy whatever urge you have right now, you have all the time in the world for this so relax and treat yourself, you did great!

#prompts #prompt #writing prompt #drawing prompt #art prompt #au #alternative universe #fanfiction prompt #writing ideas #art ideas #promptsausandshit #month of prompts #month challenge #month challenges #location #setting #tbh these were hard to do for some reason #and i am very very tired so it took way longer than expected

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nightwingshero · 5 years ago

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Hold Me Down Chapter 2

Yasss! Not only did I find the original chapter, but it’s way better than it was before. I’m super happy for this one! @ja-crispea @chazz-anova @faithchel I thought it would be important for you to know what happened with Wren and her ice cream, because let’s be honest, that’s the true ship of this fic. There’s the twist, spoiler alert. Wren x Ice cream.

It was a hot day, hotter than what it had been for the past few days. I huffed as I made my ascent, my ponytail swayed, sweat gathering at the back of my neck and my shoes slapped against the ruined tile as I went. A small plastic bag in one hand, and a large brown bag cradled with my arm. I was eager to enjoy the rest of my day in my apartment, eating ice cream and wallowing in my self-pity before coming up with another score. My pride was still wounded from getting caught. It pissed me off even more when I had found a chip in my throwing knife. Fucking bastard.

I hated grocery shopping only due to the fact that I didn’t like being around people. Dutch often joked to us darkly that we were in the business of people. Just that most of the time, they ended up dead. He wasn’t wrong, and perhaps that was what twisted my stomach so much. Despite him taking me off the street and teaching me everything all he knew, creating who and what I was, I could never come to agree or appreciate his values. I didn’t like killing and cutting my emotions out was nearly impossible. I was his greatest failure but was far from his greatest disappointment. No, she would always hold that place.

I freeze when I come to my floor, eyeing the man leaning against the wall next to my apartment door that was cracked open. He had a hand in his pocket, the other fidgeting with the toothpick in his mouth as he looked at his shoes. I could tell that his dark tan suit was cheap, his longish dark hair swept back just a bit, and I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose in disgust from his demeanor. I could almost guarantee that he was showered in cheap cologne as he used his false confidence to throw his weight around and I crinkled my nose at the sight of his badge on his belt. Cops. My veins turn to ice as I eye it, fear twisting in my gut. I had been so careful. But I square my shoulders, because I know my rights well enough that he needed a warrant.

“Can I help you?” I asked, my voice curious and a bit annoyed. He wasn’t welcome here, not from a long shot, and I wanted him out of my space.

He looked up, his brown eyes sweeping over me before giving me a lopsided smirk. “Well, hey there.” He straightened, shifting his weight. I eyed his stubble and his hair was gelled and combed back half assed. I fought the urge to rip into him, I didn’t need a detective who believed he was nothing by a womanizer sniffing around me. “Wren Blake, right?”

“Who’s asking?” I replied, narrowing my eyes at him.

He just chuckled. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“We?” I asked, glancing in my apartment. A woman stood taking pictures with her cell phone in gloved hands. Her dark hair was braided to the side and shined in the light my living room as she took pictures. His partner, I was sure. Her suit was crisp, the black blouse unbuttoned a bit to show off the golden cross around her neck. It’s fast, the way I take her in, but I was trained to be observant. One of the reasons I had survived as long as I have. But I’m tense as her dark eyes find mine, stern and professional. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Do you have a warrant? Because breaking and entering is illegal, Detective.”

“You bet your sweet ass we have a warrant.” The man cut in, taunting me with a smirk. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you, sweetheart. You think you could charm your way out of this?”

“Pratt.” His partner scolded before giving another glance around the apartment as she lowered the phone. She barley acknowledged the underlining threat as she turned and studied me. “Wren Marie Blake. You are wanted for assault, larceny, false pretenses, and I believe there’s a count against you for arson. There’s more, should I continue?” Her voice is confident, borderline cocky, but I don’t rise to the bait. “Wanted in many cities, at that. Word is you made quite the splash in Los Angeles. You’ve been busy.”

“And you didn’t answer my question.” I shot back, shift my weight to my other foot as I adjust the paper bag full of food. “Do you have a warrant?”

The woman took a step forward, her eyes drilling into mine. “You’ve got one helluva rep sheet, Blake.” She whipped a piece of paper out in front of me and I frowned. “And I’m going to need you to come with us.”

I sigh, glaring at the floor by her feet. Defeated, I sigh. “Fine, but can I at least put my food away? I have ice cream in here.”

I couldn’t tell you how long I waited in the interrogation room, but it felt like hours. The room was only lit by shitty fluorescent lighting that gave the room a more eerily feel. I could almost roll my eyes from the drama of it. I leaned back and crossed my arms. I knew they were doing this on purpose, a tactic I wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with. It didn’t really do any good, all things considered. If anything, it gave me time to prepare for whatever they were going to slap me with and asking for a lawyer was the card up my sleeve if this went south quickly. I was ready for every scenario.

The door opened, bringing my attention from my inner musings and to the four people that had graced me with their presence. Two of them were the same detectives I had seen earlier, Thing One and Thing Two. An older man stood next to them, to the side with big glasses and a weird mustache. I could take a guess that he was the Captain of the precinct, but I wasn’t for sure. The other man was pretty much bald, his hair cut tight against his head, and a goatee that almost had me laughing. His dark skin looked almost pale with the lighting of the room, especially with the cheap blue suit and white oxford shirt underneath. He held himself with an air of authority that put him on a pedestal. I groaned internally. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get along with this man.

He slammed a file down on the metal table, watching me close for a reaction, and I raised a brow at him. It was apparent he had an air for dramatics. “I’m Special Agent Cameron Burke, this is Captain Whitehorse, and you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Detective Pratt and Detective Hudson.” Ah. He was a fed. That explained so much. He leaned against the chair in front of me as he stared me down. “You see that? We have a whole file against you. You’re gonna go away for a long time.”

I just continued to stare at him, unimpressed. “Yeah. It’s a file. That was a little unnecessary, don’t you think? Things echo in here.”

He sneered. “You think this is funny? A game?”

“No, on the contrary, I find this rather irritating. What so-called evidence do you have against me?” I replied icily. I didn’t have the patience for this, I wanted the hell out of here. He smirked and flipped open the file, spreading pictures and documents across the table.

I kept my face neutral, still unimpressed, but my insides were panicked. I schooled my expression as I studied the black and white shots of me doing different jobs in different cities. Some in wigs, different outfits, and even one from last night before I had walked into the charity gala. I studied the bank statements from an offshore account before I looked at him. “What’s this supposed to prove? Other than the fact that you’re stalking me for no reason?”

Burke scoffed, a dark glint in his eyes. “We shook down one of your fences, Blake. I’m sure Victor Boshaw rings a bell?” He pushed a photo forward of the gruffy bearded man, and right there next to him, was me.

Victor “Sharky” Boshaw was a fence I had been using for a few years, first meeting in Montana. He was completely erratic an unorthodox, and definitely obnoxious. There wasn’t ever a boring moment with that idiot. But I could always depend on him to move whatever I brought him, and he always gave me a decent price. One of the few people in the market that didn’t screw me over, and as off-the-wall he was, he wasn’t snitch. Sharky always had my back, I knew better. He wouldn’t say a damn thing.

I glared at him. “You’re starting to sound like my father who is telling me its illegal to have friends.”

His face burned as he shoved the chair out of his way, slamming his hands on the table. I jumped as he growled at me. “I’ve had it with your bullshit!” I pursed my lips as his eyes pinned me down. “Look, I’ve been onto you, watching you for a few years now. I know you have ties that you try to hide. I’ve been trying to pin down Dutch and that entire organization.”

I paled immediately, swallowing as I felt my body become weightless. That wasn’t expected. “What?” I breathed out and he smirked.

“That’s right, princess. I know all about that.” He slowly straightened, crossing his arms as he began to circle me. “Taking teenagers off the streets, kids that have no future or have been victims of tragedy. Training them young is key, isn’t it? Teaching how to steal, trick, and to read people. Running cons…but it gets a bit darker than that, doesn’t it? That’s just tip of the iceberg.”

I clench my teeth as flashbacks hit me. The abandoned factory had lighting much like this room. It was always cold in that damn place, and the memory sent a chill down my spine. I hated that building. I hated the way that I had looked up to him as a father figure as he put a knife in my hand, and a gun next. Hand-to-hand combat, knife throwing, shooting…the real operation was far darker than stealing diamonds from a plastered elite.

He grabbed the back of my chair leaning to talk in my ear, the smell of his hot coffee breath fanned across my face. “Training future hitmen and assassins in the underground is definitely something the FBI is interested in taking down. I’ve tracked your every step; I have eyes and ears everywhere. Sounds like a certain someone is pretty upset that their perfect little protégé turned her back on them.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How the hell had he found out? My palms became sweaty, my heart racing as thoughts flew through my mind. I wanted to scream out of frustration, but I knew I couldn’t. That stupid male detective, Pratt, wouldn’t stop smirking and I was ready to claw his face off. My pride was shot to hell and I was pissed that he had known.

“It would be…such a shame if someone were to leak your position to them, wouldn’t it?”

Pure dread settled in as anger raged through my veins. I clenched my fists tightly. “What’s your point?” I hissed. Burke moved again, walking away with a sickening swagger.

“Well, despite the fact that we’re hunting down Dutch and his posse, it occurs to me that well…it seems a bit pointless to use you to track him down with you being defective.” I flinched at his word choice when he finally turned back to me. “The DA believes he has a bigger issue than what us feds have going on, being less concerned for the bigger picture. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Seed family by now?” I furrowed my brow as I looked at him. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Perfect. That makes this easier.”

“What do they have to do anything? What’s your point?”

Hudson stepped forward with another file, placing it down like a normal human being. “Joseph Seed is at the head of a major crime family, as you know.” Flipping the file open, she placed four pictures in front of me, pointing as she went. “His brother Jacob is in charge of security and running guns. He’s involved with underground fighting rings and training their personnel. His military background helps him out, obviously.” His beard was gruffer than Sharky’s, but his red hair was to the side, with a tight cut on the side. Scars littered his face, almost like burn marks. She would recognize those anywhere. “Then there’s the little sister. The little angel. We don’t have much detail on her, but as far as I know, she seems to be the one recruiting. She’s also their loan shark, so to speak. She also helps set up deals for this one,” she lands on a picture of a man I’m all too familiar with. “In particular. And he is hard to tie down. John is their lawyer, and he’s a damn good one. Knows how to read people like the back of his hand. He’s known for extortion, blackmail, and a few others. He has a lot of important people in his back pocket, making him practically untouchable. And as scary and dangerous as Jacob is, John is the one to look out for. He is known for cutting into people as punishment and is merciless.”

“Grade A psycho.” Pratt muttered with a twist of his mouth and his eyes cast downward.

“The point is, if I had to choose, he’s going to be the most dangerous to you.” Hudson continued, and I looked up at her confused. They hadn’t known about what happened a couple nights ago, did they?

“What do you mean?” I asked. “What the fuck do I have to be worried about? That sounds like your problem.” I replied with a snarky tone, and Hudson glared at me with her jaw ticking.

“Its your problem,” Finally, the Captain spoke and stepped forward a bit. He tried to seem confident, but there was a weariness that I couldn’t exactly place. “Because you’re going to be working with them.”

I stared at him as I let it sink in, and turned my gaze to the fed. “What?” I whispered harshly.

Burke seemed to be enjoying this a little too much as he grinned like the damn Cheshire cat. “We’re going to use those skills of yours to our advantage, since you’re here with your hands tied and off Dutch’s radar. You’re going in as a double agent for us. You’ll be feeding us intel as you spy on the family and help us take them down by providing incriminating evidence that will put them away for life. Things that even the baby brother can’t weasel out of.”

“Are you fucking insane?” I breathed out, eyes wide. “You want me to be a mole? Do you know how hard it is to get into a family like that? And assuming that, by some fucking miracle, I do…you know what they do to people like that? Do you have any fucking idea what they would do to me? They would kill me after making an example of me, you know they would!” I snapped. Frustration was so close to turning to tears as I shifted in the metal chair, but I quickly blinked them away.

“Then I suggest not getting caught.” Burke sneered. “But you would die for a greater cause, Blake. Maybe that makes you feel better.”

“And if I say no?”

He leaned forward slowly, menacingly, and got in my face. “You’re either with us or against us. You either do this…or you go to prison. From my position, it doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice. But what do you say? You in or are you out?”

I walked quickly in the Georgia night, anger and determination fueling every step. I stopped only to light a cigarette, inhaling and savoring the burn in my lungs. I was nothing but a bundle of nerves. They had told me the family would be at the club tonight, celebrating something, but their intel was good. My mind reeled, trying to come up with a plan that could even work. I hadn’t told Burke that John and I had already met, making this nearly impossible. I contemplated approaching him, admitting what was happening, and then getting the hell out of dodge. But the feds were following my every move now, and there was no guarantee John would let me walk away from that meeting alive.

I was going to do this my way, at my pace, and on my own. I had insisted. A dead informant wasn’t exactly beneficial. They laid down the ground rules with check ins and all that. I wasn’t allowed to leave town, let alone the state. I had to stay where they could keep an eye on me at all times. Something told me that Burke had a control issue.

I looked at the half-smoked cigarette before throwing it on the concrete, smashing it with my heel. My black dress hugged my curves tightly, the plunging neckline just subtle enough to keep the classy look. I kept my hair down again, curled just a bit. I pulled it up a bit, adjusting the top so my boobs weren’t spilling out. I sometimes loved this side of it, dressing up in cute, and even sexy, outfits. Sometimes I absolutely hated it, and tonight was one of those nights. I had planned to take it easy for a while, but after the loving conversation with the officers earlier, I had a change of heart. Apparently.

All it took for the bouncer to let me in was a bat of my lashes and coy smile, which I dropped the second I crossed the threshold. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but a dark lounge wasn’t it. Not that I complained at all, considering that I’ve had a rough day so far. I took the dimmed lights, the neon accents creating an ambiance of something I couldn’t quite describe. But it was as if I had stepping into a completely different world. I could get lost to the music playing through the speakers as a group of people danced.

Making my way to the bar, I motioned for the bartender as I folded my hands in my lap with my clutch. I smile brightly at the younger man. Blonde, curly hair with bright eyes, and maybe just a little too eager. I lean forward just a tad, a small smile on my lips. “Martini, dry with extra olives.”

He gave a quick nod before hastily getting everything together, but I paid him no mind. I searched, my eyes scanning face after face, desperate for the target. Detective Hudson had sworn they would be here, no doubt in her mind. Well, good for her. That didn’t ease my doubt one bit. Then again that she had to say could, I felt like I was being fed to the wolves. I hated every bit of it. The bartender returned, placing the glass down gently. I knew he was waiting to engage, but I just grabbed it and kept my attention on the crowd. I wasn’t here for social hour. I was here to watch. And so, I did, taking a sip of my drink.

I spot the sister first. A perfect white short dress with sleeves, her hair falling in waves and her ankles are crossed, ever the lady. Then the rest came into view, my heart pounding hard. A red-haired woman sat with her, holding her hand. They had mentioned that there were significant others, spouses, involved, and as I find Joseph Seed, I see his blonde wife with him. His hair is long, pulled back into a bun, and even though it was late at night and inside, he wore yellow aviators. Just like he had in the photo.

“I believe,” a voice called from behind me, and I freeze for only a second as he placed his hand on the bar behind me, his breath ruffling my hair as spoke in my ear. “I told you the next time I saw you, I would kill you.”

I take another drink as he moved from me, circling around with his eyes on me before taking the seat next to mine. Finally, I found my tongue and spine. “I think it was ‘if I catch you doing this again, I won’t hesitate to kill you’. If I remember correctly.”

John gave a charming smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “You think you’re clever.”

“No, I know I’m clever.” I scoffed, taking another sip, my eyes falling on his family again. I finally see his other brother, Jacob, standing with his arms crossed in his grey shirt.

“How cute.” he taunted. I opened my mouth to say something, but that’s when I see her. It takes all the years of my training to maintain my composure, because there was nothing I would love to do than to let the glass in my hand shatter against the floor. Rowan.

She looked the same, just a few more years older. Her dark hair was still long and wavy, her bright smile hadn’t changed a bit. It’s a shock that I can’t really shake, because she’s there, after all these years. I had thought she died, someone finally hunted her down. That’s what Dutch led us, me, to believe. To prove and show what happened if you turned your back on the family. And yet, here we both were, survivors of the dark world Dutch had brought us in.

I feel a hand on my knee the second her dark eyes catch mine and move away, not even hesitating as she looked around the room and the hand squeezed, bringing my attention to the company I was keeping. “I warned you about coming near my family.”

I turned to him with a glare. “You threatened me with your family’s name, and if I’m being honest here, I’m getting tired of it, Johnny.” I sneered, shoving his hand off my knee. I grabbed the toothpick out of my drink, angrily eating the olives. I glanced over again, but she continued to laugh in that dark green dress, like she hadn’t seen a blast from her past. As if she didn’t know me at all. It stung, but I couldn’t tell if her noticing me was a good thing or not. She would blow the whole thing before I could even get started.

John’s mouth twisted and I felt my stomach sink in dread at the realization of what I had just done. Rowan was just one issue, but I completely forgot the one sitting with me. “Better be careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire and you’ve been warned already.”

“And you owe me a new knife, Johnny. They are custom made and expensive, and due to your carelessness, the one has a chip in it. Where shall I send the bill?”

“You’re not as charming as you think you are, darling.” He leaned in with a sneer, his eyes promising danger. “And my patience is running very thin with it.”

I leaned forward, my nose crinkling unimpressed. “And you’re not nearly as scary as you believe you are. Now, if you don’t mind, run and get the big bad brother. I’m above dealing with the baby, Johnny Boy.”

His hand flew back to my leg, squeezing and digging his fingers hard into the meat of my leg. My back straightened as I clenched my teeth from the mix of pain and something else. I kept my composure the best I could, but I never hated John Seed more than I did in this moment. Pure loathing like venom on my tongue for the way he always found the upper hand.

“Would you like another, miss?”

I turned to see the young bartender smiling at me, his eyes wandering down before meeting my eyes again. “No.” John replied, throwing the guy a charming smile. “She’s just leaving.”

“Cool. Well, it’s on the house.” He said, throwing me a wink. I gave a fake smile as he walked away.

“It most certainly is not on the house.” John snapped. “I’m not paying for your drink.”

I raised a brow at him. “Oh, the big-time lawyer owns a bar and can’t afford to buy a lady a drink?”

“It’s a lounge.” He growled at me. “And you are not a lady.”

I smirked, my hand finding its way back into my clutch. Grabbing what I was looking for, I quickly press the tip of my knife against his inner thigh. He stiffened, and my burgundy lips curved even more. “Now, I think that you should know a few things about me, darling.” I leaned, my lips finding his ear to whisper. “I don’t like it when men feel the need to put their hands on me without my permission, no matter how big they think they are. And when they do, well…I’m very skilled with knives, John. I’m sure you can use your imagination. Now, if you don’t mind.” He slowly removed his hand, and as he did, I shifted, rising from the barstool. “Thank you. You’re such a dear. Here’s to hoping our next meeting is as lovely as this one.”

“You should hope we don’t meet again, sweetheart. Because I’m not going to be so kind anymore.” He breathed out, his voice ice. I placed a kiss on his cheek.

“If this was you call being kind, then I look forward to seeing the big bad wolf. I don’t mind playing rough. Just make sure you can take it as well as you can dish it.”

I move away before he can register and react. My heart was hammering in my chest, shocked by what I had just done and cursing myself. I was supposed to get in and win them over, and instead I was antagonizing the youngest and one of the most crucial members of that damn family. The one that I needed to watch out for even before any of this happened. And no one knew. I made the decision to keep it to myself out of fear. If they thought I couldn’t do it, I would’ve been done for. I needed to play along until I could find a way out of this damn mess.

I took a turn, a block away from the lounge, and I started to relax. The fear of him coming after me melted away with each step. Passing a dark alley, I slowed to light a cigarette for good measure. A hand slapped my cigarette and lighter out of my hands, and another grabbed a fistful of hair, painfully yanking it back. Fear pierced its way into my chest as I tried to fight back, a black bag being shoved over my head. I screamed, punching and kicking blindly. I suddenly felt sharp pain at the base of my neck, and I dropped to the ground.

`The bag got yanked off harshly, and I squinted from the bright light. It took me a moment to adjust, and then I was finally able to take in my surroundings. I was in a mansion, that was obvious. Marble floors with weird ass designs that rich people swore made them look classier. That was a fucking lie. There was a double staircase wrapping around the room, and directly across from me, the double doors were open and gave me a good view of their pool area at night as thin white curtains danced in the evening breeze.

I go to move, but find my wrists and ankles were duct taped to the chair I was sitting in. It was then that I finally took account for the bulky men in black, standing around quietly with their hands clasped behind their backs. “Well, look who decided to wake up!” A loud and obnoxious southern voice pierced my eardrums, making me cringe. An overweight older gentleman began to make his way towards me, a cane in his hand. He wore just a polo and tan dress pants. I made a face at his sleazy appearance, the slicked back hair and stupid mustache. “It’s about damn time. We have some business to discuss.”

I sighed heavily, a sneer on my lips. “Oh, you got to be kidding me.” He stopped his advance for a moment, glaring at me. But I didn’t care. Tossing all caution to the wind, my anger got the best of me. “I’m not in the fucking mood for any of you. Do you know what kind of day I’ve had? Seriously? What is this? Some backwash hillbilly mob family from the fucking Georgia swamps? Is this what I’ve come to? Which one is the jackass?” I snapped.

His mouth twisted, and he moved faster than I had given him credit for. The sting of my face and the blood that filled my mouth was the only way I registered him hitting me. I spit out blood on his floor, some running down my chin as I slowly gave him a death glare. “Now I have your attention. Damn women.” He turned to the side, eyeing an older blonde in a red dress. She pursed her lips as she held her head high. “None of you listen. It’s why they should never do a damn man’s job. But here we are.”

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” I growled.

He scoffed. “Hurk Drubman Sr. I own one of the biggest marinas in Atlanta, selling sailboats. Also give those damn Seeds a run for their money when it comes to smuggling and gun dealing.”

“Haven’t been giving them much of a run, darlin’.” The blonde mocked with a smirk. He muttered something before turning back to me.

“I heard that you’re gonna help those damn feds take ‘em down. That true?”

I just stared at him, my face twisting in shock at the absurdity of the situation. “Where the fuck did you hear that?” I asked, completely exasperated.

“John fucking Seed isn’t the one with ties in the fucking police department.” I frowned, but he didn’t give me time to process that. “Either way, they’re undermining my slave trade, beating my gun deals—”

“Your…what?” I asked, hoping I heard him wrong.

His sick smile grew wider. “Slave trade, girlie. Sex trafficking. Its what’s making most of my money with that damn family taking the most of our business. And if you’re a good girl, you won’t have to worry about it.” A shiver went down my spine as I tried to wriggle in my restraints, but he paid me no mind. “Now, I know you cut a deal with those pigs downtown, but don’t worry about that. What I need you to do, is spy on them and get me information that will help my business grow.”

I sighed, giving up and glaring at the old man. “Are you serious? You expect me to play the Seeds and the feds? What the hell is wrong with this city?” I breathed out. “You’re insane. I would be lucky to even get close—”

“You got pretty close tonight.” He snarked back. “Left a pretty little mark on little Johnny’s check, my men say.” He walked, a cane in his hand as he limped forward. “We can do this the easy way, which is you agreeing and being a good little girl, doing what she’s told. Or, we could do this the hard way. I torture you, force you to agree, and if that doesn’t work…well, I could sell you or kill you. We could flip on it, make it a surprise.”

I forced the bile back down as my stomach twisted. I glanced to my right, catching the eyes of the old woman. She held a frown, glaring at her husband. When her eyes caught mine, she gave the slightest smile and nod, almost reassuring. “Well, let’s assume I say yes and do this, what do you plan on doing? You have the feds on my ass, and if your men aren’t totally blind, they would know that John and I aren’t exactly friendly. I don’t know what you expect.”

“I would like you to learn the ins and outs. Nothing too different than what you’re already doin’. Except you’re gonna give the information to me, frame the family, and take them down from the inside, while I get all their business.”

I made a face. “Oh, you’ve been watching way too many movies. There’s no fucking way—”

The end of the cane was pressed against my throat, cutting me off completely as I gagged. “There is a fucking way.” He leaned in closer, the cane pressing harder. I fidgeted, trying to catch my breath. “And I know something the feds don’t. That tonight hasn’t been your first run-in with John. They know you went to that stupid charity gala, but they have no clue what happened. Johnny can be handsy, can’t he? Especially when he finds out you’re workin’ a job on his turf.”

Stepping back, he finally removed the cane. I took a greedy breath of air. “Then you know that it’s going to be impossible. He hates me. And I would take him ignoring my personal space over this. He isn’t the one that has kidnapped me and tied me to a goddamn chair.”

Hurk laughed, with a shake of his head. “Not yet, he hasn’t. You think is bad, sweetheart? Oh, you’re not that smart, are you? Johnny would have you in the dark with knives digging into that pretty skin of yours, and he would be more than happy to do the honors. And he’s done it to men who have done less than what you’ve done already. People don’t get a second warning from the Seeds. You have, and I’m goin’ to use that.”

I rolled my eyes. “The fact is that I’m on some seriously thin ice with that man, and I won’t be able to get away with whatever it is you have planned. He won’t let me anywhere near that family.”

“You’re going to do this, and I don’t care what you have to do to do it. Become one of his coked-up buddies he keeps around, for all I fucking care. If you value your life, you’ll do this.”

Silence fell between us as I stared at the shiny floor. I weighed my options, not that I had many, and I couldn’t find a way to get out of this one. It just went from bad to worse in less than 24 hours, and I couldn’t believe the amount of trouble I had brought upon myself from going to one damn gala. Swallowing my pride was bitter, but I did it anyway. “Fine.” I bit out. “Whatever. I’ll help you steal the business and take the family down.”

A twist of guilt settled in the pit of my stomach as Hurk smiled. “Perfect! I’m so glad we could see eye to eye. I look forward to our business relationship, Blake.”

“And what do I get out of this?” I asked with a roll of my eyes.

“Hmm…well, how about you don’t go to prison? That you’ll get to leave Atlanta? I think that seems fair, don’t you?”

No. “Sure.” Not in the fucking slightest.

He gave a nod to his men. “Get her out of here. I’m done.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but only a strangled shout of surprise escaped at the black bag returned, blinding me once more.

They had dragged me out of the damn house and thrown me into a van, fully restrained. I had no idea where we were going, but it wasn’t a smooth ride. It’s when we stop do they finally pull the damn bag off and cut my restraints. The bulky man grabbed me while the other slide the door open with more force than necessary, and the shoved me out before speeding away.

I hit the concrete hard, my palms and knees immediately getting scraped. I grunted in frustration as I sat on the sidewalk, yanking my heels off. My body was exhausted, muscles screaming at me with bruises forming on my leg. There were angry red lines on my wrists, complimenting the tattoos on my wrists. I wanted nothing more than a cigarette, and I cursed, realizing that they never returned the clutch purse I had. Anger swelled in me and I fought to keep the tears at bay. I had smoked more in the last few days than I had in months. I had quit, but the new stress was threatening to give me the habit again, and I was more than pissed that I couldn’t indulge in this moment.

Snatching my feels off the ground, I stood and walked into my apartment building. I longed for my bed, and I was set and determined to do absolutely nothing tomorrow. I could practically hear my ice cream calling for me.

The stairs were harder to take than they were this morning, and I hated every step I took with a fiery passion. This night, this whole day, had been nothing but a clusterfuck, and I didn’t know how all this shit could happen in 24 hours. Arrested, manhandled twice, threatening and being threatened, finding a new way to piss off the youngest Seed, being kidnapped, hit, blackmailed…what the fuck could happen next? I was done with the bullshit. I could put a smile on my face, figuratively, and agree to help Drubman so I could get the fuck out of there. I could off both parties while I made arrangements. I was getting the fuck out of dodge while I could, while I was still breathing.

Coming to the floor, it was like déjà vu. I froze seeing the door to my apartment wide open and dread settled heavily in the pit of my stomach. I rushed forward, my hands resting on the doorframe as I looked around.

The door had clearly been kicked in, the frame busted and a small dent in the cheap door. I swallowed as I took in the busted coffee table, torn up and flipped couch and chair. My TV was on and flickering, the screen cracked as the static filled the room. I stepped in cautiously, watching my bare feet so not to step in the broken glass of the table and some of my vases. Water, rocks, and flowers littered the floor. Down the hall, I could see my bed flipped on its side with the bedding ripped to shreds, the feathers from the comforter and pillows blanketing everything like freshly fallen snow.

The kitchen wasn’t spared, with cabinets thrown open, and broken glasses and plate along the counter tops and floor. My fridge and freezer were left ajar as food had been strewn, almost shoved, from its place. My face twisted and I clenched my fist at the site of melted ice cream on the tile. The wall against my counter bar held my busted landline and a note with my knives embedded in the wall to hang it. The same knives that was in my clutch.

I stepped forward and read the note, each line fueling my anger more and more. A threat, clear as day, from my most humble hosts this evening. My hand fell to my side as I look around hopelessly. It was a message within itself. The note was just a cherry on top. Whatever the Drubmans had planned, they were serious, and they wanted to make it clear. I did get some relief when I spotted my clutch on my small kitchen table, my cell phone falling out.

Grabbing it with shaking hands, I send a quick text, trying hard to focus on the keyboard. We need to meet asap. Tomorrow afternoon good?

I only waited a few more minutes before I received the confirmation text, and I fall to my knees, clinging the phone to my chest as I run my hand through my hair. The shaking becomes worse and I let out a sob as the tears break through. I can’t help the panic attack, there’s nothing for me cling to in order to keep me from the spiral. It’s a mixture of rage, helplessness, and stress. I didn’t ask for any of this. I wanted a better life, and I tried to stay in my lane the best I could, keeping my head down. And in less than a week, I had the threat of a rival crime family and the feds breathing down my neck. And worst of all, the potential of Dutch finding me was too close for comfort. Everything I had built, all the work I had done over the years, would come tumbling down around me. And I didn’t even have the chance to process of Rowan being alive. I needed to leave, get out of Atlanta as fast as I could, and never look back.

#deputy wren blake #wren blake #john seed #wren x john #ice cream #wren x ice cream #mafia au #Far Cry 5 #far cry fic #my writing

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