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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

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Flame, Shadow, Beast : Beast II

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Angst and allusions to torture and death.

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

You sat on Eris’s bed, your gorgeous dress crumbled beside you with the crown resting on top of the heap. It silently mocked you as you wrapped his robe closer around your body, burying your face in his scent. You shut your eyes and looked away from the door where Bryaxis was currently pacing on the other side.

Eris, Halvor, and Aurelia had been gone for two hours. Locked away in his official chambers discussing the matter of your bond with Azriel.

“My Lady-”

“Don’t call me that, Myrah.” The blademaiden had similarly tossed aside her glittering gown of silk and metal, choosing instead thin armor of bronze and soft leather. It was better suited for her slick style of fighting. She didn’t say anything as she climbed onto the sheets behind you and began to brush the tangles out of your damp hair.

“He won’t send you away.” She finally said after your hair had been brushed, oiled, and braided.

The bond fluttered as if in disappointment. You shoved it deeper, willing it to disappear entirely.

“He may not have a choice.”

Autumn couldn’t risk another war. Prythian couldn’t risk another war. But if Azriel dared to invoke the Blood Duel, no matter the outcome more blood would be shed.

No, he wouldn’t do that. You thought to yourself. Would he?

You’d heard of males doing worse things for less and Azriel was no male to be trifled with. And… He was in pain.

As much as you tried to ignore it, and as much as he tried to shield you from it, Azriel was hurting. You felt muted waves of it through the bond like washes of tide against the shoreline.

If only you hadn’t chosen tonight to wear the crown or the dress or to subtly declare yourself the future Lady of Autumn. If only you’d had them leave sooner or… maybe this had all been a mistake. Maybe all the time you’d spent in Autumn had been a mistake, even if you were happy. Maybe…

You looked around the room. The bedposts soared into the sky, disappearing into a ceiling that had been painted to look like the forest canopy. Colors of the sunset swirled down like wind. The roaring fire spread its molten heat across the warm wood furniture. Everyone spoke of the cruel beauty of the Forest House, its opulence and the disloyalty it housed within amber-encrusted walls. But you had only ever felt safe here. You’d fallen in love with all its old-fashioned peculiarities and the tales that had written themselves into the wood without anyone ever knowing.

There in the corner was a dresser with burned handprints crawling up the sides- courtesy of Eris sneaking into the room to visit his mother after he’d just learned to walk. There above the vanity were two magnificent elk horns, altered to look like wings in flight. Lucien had found them shed by the river when Eris had first taken him hunting. Little trinkets you’d bought for him littered the room alongside the additions Myrah, Halvor, and Aurelia had gifted him over the years. Your own belongings filled the spaces previously left cold and empty, just like you spent most nights filling the empty spaces in his bed.

You set your jaw.

“Myrah,” She looked at you with wide eyes, “I think it’s time I got dressed.”

“Eris specifically said not to let you out of his room. It could be dangerous.” Myrah said with a half-concealed smirk, walking beside you as you made your way towards Eris’s office.

The Forest House was impenetrable… but a Shadowsinger could get into places others couldn’t. You felt the bond within you, daring to follow the string to wherever Azriel lay on the other side. The smallest tug and Azriel was stirring. You pulled away almost immediately. He wasn’t anywhere near the Forest House.

“He also said you were to be my blademaiden. Remind me of what that entails.” You said, refusing to slow down.

“To protect you with my life. To follow your orders… To care for you as my best friend.”

You blinked and shot her a look. “The last part isn’t in your oath.”

She shrugged, “It’s not in my oath as a blademaiden… doesn’t mean I don’t have personal oaths I adhere to.”

You squeezed her hand and she squeezed back harder.

Whatever conversations had been going on when you burst through the door died immediately. Halvor and Samson - third in command and Autumn’s spymaster - bowed when you entered, looking like a storm on a mission to render the room to splinters. Aurelia dipped her head, eyes shifting between Eris and you with a hint of sadness. It shaved away at your confidence.

“I need to speak with Eris. May we have the room?” You said, phrasing it more as a command and less of a question.

Halvor nodded, making his way out with Samson and Myrah in tow. Aurelia lingered behind, squeezing Eris’s shoulder before waltzing out.

“What have you been discussing?” You said once the door had shut and you felt Eris’s magic wall up the sound in the room.

“I think you already know.” Eris said, standing up behind his desk and rubbing away the pressure building behind his eyes. He still wore his clothes from dinner and although he’d taken off his crown, a greater weight seemed to have fallen onto his shoulders.

Eris swallowed. He had a letter crumpled up in his hand, half-written and blotted with ink spills. It began to smolder and burn.

“We weren’t sure-I wasn’t sure…” his voice trailed off, “I wasn’t sure if you’d already made up your mind.”

“About?” “About going to him. About being with him.” The words sounded strangled, like they were beasts that had fought against being spoken out loud. “He is your mate.”

“I don’t care.”

Eris closed his eyes, “Y/n, I’m not-” “I said I don’t care.”

He refused to look into your eyes, hands splaying out on the table as he fought back the fear in his chest. He didn’t want you to go. He’d given more of himself to you than he’d ever dared to before, and you had protected that trust with a fierceness he’d never seen. But this was something wholly out of his control. Something that had been dictated by the Mother. Who was he to stand between you and your mate? “What if… If you choose me, what if you come to regret it? What if I can’t give you what a mating bond can?” He said softly, as if he’d already given up on the hope that you’d stay. It lit a fire in your soul.

“I don’t care what the powers-that-be say about us.” You said, storming around the desk, “I don’t care if some force decided I am his equal or that we would make strong children together.”

The bond was a sacred thing, more precious than anything land, gold, or blood could buy. But it was no guarantee of happiness. No guarantee of love. You would know, because you’d already found your happiness and love elsewhere.

You rushed forward, taking Eris’s face in your hands and feeling immediate relief when he didn’t move away. He leaned into your touch, turning his head to kiss the palms of your hands with reverence.

“I choose you, Eris. This hasn’t changed anything. Not for me.” You said with conviction.

“It hasn’t changed anything for me either.” Eris sighed in relief and touched his forehead against yours, your breaths mixing sweetly in the space between you two.

“I would choose you.” He whispered fiercely, “Every. Single. Time. I would go to war for you, my love. Come hell or high water.”

“I know,” You smiled, gently kissing on the lips and sighing when his warm hands traveled up the skin of your back, holding you to him, “I would do the same for you. But let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Eris showed you the letter, the corners singed and flaking, and you smoothed it out on the mahogany table. Rhysand had been quick to request another meeting. Tension and worry were scratched into the curves of his flowery handwriting as he explained the situation in diplomatic terms:

He was sorry for not attending the dinner. The Inner Circle had been unaware of the mating bond until it was too late. Azriel would behave himself and only come if called. The decision was yours. Whatever you chose, they wanted to continue being Autumn’s allies for the good of Prythian and to have you in their lives as friends, not enemies. It was delicate. Hopeful. A letter from someone who wanted peace as much as you did. Peace for his family. Peace for his son.

The letter placed you in a position where you could wait for the tidal wave to settle. But just like the last time, this was not an issue you could ignore forever. An ax would always linger over your head, swaying dangerously close to your neck until you spoke with Azriel. So although you didn’t agree to another visit with the Inner Circle, you did allow Azriel to come to Autumn again.

You stood by the border, whispers of frost bitten wind snaking through the white gaps in the trees and reaching for your ankles.

Samson and twelve of his best males and females stood behind you, archers at the ready and swordsmen with their hands gripping their hilts. They were more for Eris’s comfort than your own, and you would have your privacy when it mattered most.

Azriel emerged from the blizzard beyond like an ink stain on porcelain paper, bleeding into existence with his shadows swarming around him. He hadn’t been sleeping - you could tell from the faint bruises beneath his eyes. Somehow the imperfection made him more handsome, more mysterious. But you hadn’t had eyes for him in a long time.

“Come on.” You said, tilting your head towards the river that rushed and danced in the distance. You walked in silence, Azriel trailing behind like the shadow that he was and matching your shorter footsteps. He didn’t want to alarm you by overtaking you. Still, it was even more unnerving to know he was behind you without hearing or seeing him. You could only feel that bond tying you together, pulling you towards the male who walked ten paces behind.

You glanced back and he stopped, teeth clenching tightly as he looked at you. You were beautiful, shining in the burning forest like a flame. You’d always been beautiful and he had known this, but he hadn’t fully recognized it until it was far, far too late.

“Will you be slinking behind me the whole time like a kicked dog or will you walk beside me?” There was a biting humor in your voice that eased the tension in his shoulders. He walked beside you until you finally led him to the river. Any concerns that he might take this opportunity to survey the Autumn Court disappeared. He had his eyes on you the entire time like you were the only thing left in the world.

You sat down on the slick rock, dipping your bare feet into one of the clear streams that branched off from the river beyond, tumbling over boulders and stones with crisp clarity. Azriel took the cue to lower to the ground as well, his knee barely brushing against yours as he settled his magnificent wings on the cool stone.

“I’m sorry about Elain.” You said after a while of staring at the water.

Azriel winced.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. It was no secret that five years after the Autumn Court war ended, Elain had quietly moved to the Sun Palace and mated Lucien. You’d met her briefly when he’d visited Eris, and as much as you wished you could resent her, she’d been lovely and kind, and kept good on her promise not to say anything about you to her family. You understood why Azriel had loved her… why he’d chosen her.

“I didn’t… I didn’t continue things with her after you were gone.” He said, choosing his words with care. His voice was rougher than usual, the sound rumbling out from his chest like the rolling of thunder. “It never felt right… I never felt right. I suppose I understand why now.”

He looked at you hopefully, hazel eyes wide and uncertain as he gently sent his thoughts down the bond. You shivered, feeling echoes of his love and longing for you along with the shame and guilt that accompanied it.

He hated himself for the decisions he’d made. He had thought that Elain was meant for him - three sisters for three brothers. It seemed so simple, so obvious. So with each year that the mating bond hadn’t fallen into place, dark voices had whispered in his mind that he wasn’t truly a member of his family. Always an outsider. Always alone. It was why he’d traded you for Elain. A choice born out of a desperate desire to be loved and accepted. It was the worst mistake he had made in his life.

“Azriel. I can’t.” You said, shaking your head and breaking eye contact.

“Can’t, or won’t.” He hadn’t touched you yet, but you saw his scarred hands flex out of the corner of his eyes, inching ever closer to where yours rested in your lap.

“Both.”

You thought back to the first days you’d spent in the caves: Your wounds fresh and bleeding, the itching and pulsing of your burned flesh somehow getting worse as they healed, the desperation that came from existing in complete and total darkness. The only sounds you’d heard being the crunch and moans of the other poor souls that Beron sent down.

It still hurt to think about and you didn’t believe it would ever go away.

“I learned something the day you left me.”

“Y/n. Please-” He whispered, begging. His hands reached out for yours, and you let him.

You smiled sadly, tracing the scars that marred his hands. All the terrible past things that still clung to him. Things he could never forget.

“Please.” He didn’t even know what he was begging for. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. He didn’t deserve the right to call you his mate. But… he could hope.

You traced over the scars once more, then let go of his hands.

“I learned I was never part of your family. Not truly. I was the one you were willing to sacrifice, not the one you’d burn down the world for.”

Azriel swallowed thickly, pulling back on the shadows that had escaped his control and had begun to curl around your arms and your legs.

He shook his head, “That’s not true. You have always been a part of this family. You will always be a part of this family.”

You stayed silent.

“Is there… is there any chance at all for me to fix this?” Azriel asked. His hands now rested in between his knees, clasped so tightly together the pale skin of his scars blended into nothing. “To convince you to come back.”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

He closed his eyes and deflated. A tear streaked down his cheek, dripping onto his lap.

“I won’t leave him, Azriel. I won’t. Not for anyone. Not even for you.” “I know.” He whispered.

“I don’t… I don’t hate you. I never did. And I’m glad that Elain is alright. It probably was the right decision to make. I don’t know if Beron would have let Elain live. Not even as his prisoner.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that just to spare my feelings or to try and make things better.”

“That’s not why I’m saying it.”

Azriel stood up, furiously wiping away his tears and burying the feelings deep. He buried the bond even deeper and for the first time since the bond had snapped into place for you, you felt silence.

You looked at him sadly. He hadn’t changed since the last time you saw him. He still loved deeply and hurt deeply too.

You stood by his side, watched the river wind its way through the woods.

“It’s a beautiful place.” Azriel said softly, “I can see why you love it. And I… I understand why you love him. I do. I just wish it was me.” He swallowed thickly.

“You’ll find someone else, Azriel. I know you will.” You said, offering him a small, sad smile.

He didn’t return it. Just looked at you for as long as he could, drinking in the sight of you.

The next time he saw you he’d be calling you High Lady of Autumn. You’d be bound to this place and its magic, and he would never see you like this again. Gone were the days when you’d collapse on his office couch, chatting his ear off to help him forget the terrible things he’d done, or the days where you’d perch by the window in silence just to remind him he wasn’t alone. Gone were the nights where he’d gather you in his arms and shoot off into the sky to count the stars and find peace. He wanted those days back. He would have done anything to get those days back.

“No. I won’t.” Azriel said quietly and then said nothing more.

You took the cue and led him through the woods, tracing a path between the trees no one from outside the Autumn Court would be able to recognize.

Samson bowed when you reached him, signaling his warriors to fall back. You would have your privacy.

When Azriel stepped over the threshold back into the Winter Court, you felt the magic in the air change, sealing the Shadowsinger out of your home. He pressed his hand against it, momentary panic freezing his lungs as he saw that you remained on the other side.

You breathed in deeply, steeling yourself for the words you were about to speak.

“Azriel, I will say this once, and only once. If you so much as lay a finger on Eris or my home, I will never forgive you. I won’t hesitate to protect what’s mine.”

“I know.” He said. The small smile he gave was full of heartache. He wished he’d done so many things differently, then maybe he would have been so lucky to hear you threaten someone to protect him. It was a terrible fate to be on this side of things.

“If… if anything happens - anything at all - know that I will always be here to help you. Promise me that you know.” “I know.” You said sadly. “I hope you find someone, Az. I really do. But that person will not be me.”

He nodded.

You didn’t look away, not as he held up both hands and pressed his forehead against the barrier. It was his own silent way of saying goodbye. Then, just as he had appeared, his shadows swallowed him whole, carrying him away to the Night Court where you hoped he would find a life that would make him forget all about this pain.

“Goodbye, Az.” You whispered.

But he was already gone.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Might write some Azriel x Reader oneshots to make myself feel better after wrecking my own heart.

Sorry for this chapter, everyone. But Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate. Lol.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy @esposadomd @imma-too-many-fandoms @bubybubsters @kalulakunundrum @chasing-autumns-chill @brujitafantomatico @emptyporsche @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @saltedcoffeescotch @djdjdhdheh

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #High Lord Eris #High Lady Reader #azriel x reader #azriel x mate reader #azriel x you #eris x you #eris x reader x azriel #azriel x reader x eris #acotar #acotar fanfiction #autumn court #acotar autumn court #the inner circle #inner circle #inner circle x reader #azriel shadowsinger

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dfortrafalgar · 10 months ago

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I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem. But sometimes, you just need a little bit of love... and a little bit of science.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings.

Chapter 29

[Prev] [Next]

The last thing you and Law were able to fully enjoy together to prepare for the arrival of your babies was setting up the nursery in the second bedroom, after having your friends assist with clearing it out and cleaning up the carpet, that was. Once completed, Law was now hunkered down to a strict schedule of meetings with almost hundreds of people in preparation for the biggest, longest, and most daunting surgery of his life.

But prior to that, he was able to spend an entire day with you, putting together cribs, assembling toys, installing two small dresser sets and changing tables, and organizing all of the baby clothing and supplies you received from your generous friends. You had never seen Law more delighted, except maybe on your wedding day. The way he carefully assembled one of the mobiles and hung it delicately over the top of one of the cribs brought a warm smile to your face. As the days grew closer and closer, the thought of Law holding your babies made your heart flutter more and more.

The room was much smaller than your master bedroom, but it still had ample room as a nursery for two babies. You had taken the opportunity (thanks in part to your lenient lease) to paint both of the walls a simple, muted mint-green color, calming to the eyes and yet still allowing the room to glow with light when the blinds were open. Law had even bought a paper trim decorated with animal prints to place on the highest points of the wall, surrounding the corner where it touched the ceiling. Both cribs were situated in opposite corners of the room, separated by a small window. At the ends of both cribs sat their small dressers where their respective clothing, bedding, and supplies were stored, and above the dressers sat their changing tables and changing mats. The rest of the room was dedicated to storing their plethora of toys until they were old enough to begin playing and exploring their world. In your kitchen, two high chairs were placed against the wall, ready to be used at your table. Two car seats with sturdy handles and foldable sun covers were ready and waiting in your extra closet, along with the folded up double stroller. In your bathroom, Law had installed a small additional storage container for you to keep your unused breastfeeding supplies in, which he insisted on sterilizing three times a week despite not being touched yet. Everything was ready to go, now the only thing left to do was wait.

But now, Law was spending more and more time at the hospital, which you completely understood, but that he lamented over. Before he left every single day, and the second he returned home from however long his shift was, he kissed you on the lips before traveling down and planting two tender kisses against your bump. The bump of which had become quite the hindrance as you approached the 36 week mark. You were at 34 now, and according to Robin, your twins’ organs were fully developed and they’d be able to breathe on their own once born… whenever that was.

And while you were happy to have made it to 34, overjoyed even, the Braxton Hicks contractions were incredibly annoying.

“They are not indicative of labor,” your doctor had said. “Trust me, you’ll know when your contractions go from false alarms to actual labor.”

You took her word for it. But that didn’t make the 30 second increments of sudden cramping rippling across your belly at all hours of the day any better. Sometimes, the pain would subside for an hour or two before coming back in full. And they weren’t agonizingly painful, but they were prevalent enough that it was near impossible to ignore them.

While Law was at work more and more frequently in preparation for the surgery, Shachi and Penguin basically moved in with you. They were walking Bepo, feeding Bepo, playing with Bepo, kissing Bepo, all while you were laying on your couch like a log. A log with a huge belly and spontaneous Braxton Hicks contractions.

“What does Mama want?” Penguin asked from your kitchen, rifling through your pantry.

“Please don’t call me ‘Mama,’” you groaned. It was endearing when Law did it, and very awkward when anyone else did.

“Got it. What does the fat woman on the couch want?” he called back.

“Don’t make me come over there and stab you,” you yelled. “I’m cranky enough as it is.”

Shachi emerged from the bathroom down the hall. “Penguin quit bugging her. That’s my job.”

“You guys are going to make me deliver early,” you snipped.

“Give the poor woman some food,” Shachi demanded, driving a harsh spank against Penguin’s ass through the man’s cargo shorts, resulting in a high-pitched yelp. That finally forced a smile to break out on your face.

“I’m glad to see you two finally came to your senses,” you chided, trying to push yourself up against the armrest of your couch where a pillow was situated against your back to support you. “What’s it like having graduated from roommates to sex?”

“It’s the exact same, but way hotter,” Shachi replied with a mischievous, toothy smile.

“Okay, I’m sorry for calling you fat, please stop talking about my sex with this lunatic,” Penguin groaned, emerging from your pantry with a few unopened boxes of pasta while you and Shachi giggled over his modesty. “How does a simple baked ziti sound?”

You moaned from the couch. “That sounds heavenly.”

Shachi left the kitchen to enter the main living space with you, sitting on the floor with his legs spread and allowing Bepo to crawl onto his lap. “Nervous?” he asked, looking up at you.

Your hands soothed over your belly as another false contraction rippled through you in waves. “More than nervous. But I’ve been trying not to think about it. I’m worried that too much stress will induce labor.” After a brief pause, you added, “I’m worried that everything out of the ordinary will induce labor.”

The redhead hummed beside you, idly stroking the soft fur of Bepo’s head as the dog began to fall asleep on his lap. “Do you have a hospital bag packed?”

You nodded. “Law packed one for me a week ago. It has all of our stuff in it… it’s pretty heavy. He said, ‘If anything happens while I’m away and you have to go into L&D, have either Shachi or Penguin take this to the hospital.’”

“What’s ‘L&D’?” asked Penguin from the kitchen as he dumped two boxes of pasta into a large pot of boiling water.

“Labor and Delivery,” you clarified. “We’re all assuming a lot of this is going to be spontaneous, so there’s no real indication of when I’ll have to go in because… well, we don’t know when I’ll give birth,” you explained. “Most moms with one baby give birth at around 40 weeks, give or take. But with twins, the average is apparently 36. And I’m at 34.”

Shachi whistled through his lips. “So it really could be at any moment.”

“Great time for Law to have to replace a man’s organs, huh?” Penguin piped up from the kitchen.

You laughed. “The timing couldn’t have been better!”

The smell of baked ziti very slowly began to permeate your apartment as Penguin cooked, Shachi doted on Bepo, and you lounged on the couch, standing intermittently to continue to stretch your legs. The contractions didn’t stop, if anything they increased in frequency as time slowly ticked away. And every once in a while, one of your babies would kick against your muscle.

—

Law was fighting with every fiber in his body to stay awake. He was leading his surgical team, for crying out loud. He needed to be front and center for this meeting. He drove the tip of his pencil through his pant leg into the flesh of his thigh to snap him out of his dozed state. God, he needed coffee.

At the front of the conference room, directly in front of where Law sat, was the head of the hospital’s Transplant Transport team, which Law’s team joked was a very humorous name. He was quite a stocky older man with a distended belly that barely fit into the gray dress shirt he had tucked into his slacks. He was going through an itinerary on a pulled-down projector screen.

“The patient, to remind those of you who just arrived, is a 51 year old man with a history of cardiopulmonary failure. He has had two open heart surgeries in the past, and suffered a collapsed lung in his youth. Both he and his family have been willing to try every treatment possible, and that is why we are meeting here today. As far as I am aware, this hospital has never performed a double heart-lung transplant before, am I correct?” He turned his attention to Law, who crossed on leg over his knee, asking silently for the lead surgeon’s approval.

“Correct,” Law affirmed, nodding his head.

“Dr. Trafalgar, would you mind walking your team through the procedure step-by-step?” the man asked, stepping aside to allow Law room to stand up in front of the packed conference room.

With a silenced grunt, Law stood up and smoothed his white doctor’s coat over his chest. He took a deep breath and turned to face the room. In front of him, every seat at the table and scattered chairs against the wall were filled by his surgery team, ICU nurses and doctors, hospital technicians involved with the case, and members of the Transplant Transport team. “The surgery is scheduled to begin at 8:00 AM on May 12th. That morning, a helicopter will be arriving with the heart and lungs from the donor patient, where they will then be transported by the transplant team to our operating room and hooked up to an artificial body where they’ll be kept living while we remove the damaged tissue from our recipient. A coronary bypass machine will be used to keep the patient alive while his organs are removed and replaced. This is the simple explanation, whenever everyone’s ready, I will begin discussing the more heavy aspects of the procedure.”

A few nods and curt words of consent were shared amongst the room. Law took a deep breath and began speaking once more.

—

You were sitting naked on your bed, having just gotten out of the shower, when your phone started buzzing on your bedside table. Your husband’s name popped up, immediately making you smile.

“Hey, baby!” you called into the receiver. “How’d the presentation meeting go?”

A long, pent up sigh was heard through the speaker, making your heart pang with sympathy. [About as good as it could’ve. It’s hard explaining a 15 hour surgery to a group of 50-some-odd people.]

“Do you think your team is ready for it?” you asked, using one hand to slather moisturizing lotion onto your knees and calves.

[I think so. I mean, I damn hope so. I’ve had a lot of my nurses and team members review the same materials I’ve been studying to make sure everyone is on the same page. As the day gets closer, I’m having my assistants complete simulated operations on their down time.]

“You can do that?”

[It’s a teaching hospital, we’ve got plenty of equipment.]

You grinned, dropping your legs and falling backward onto your bed, rubbing your belly with one hand while your other held your phone to your ear. “Well, that’s good.”

Law’s voice hummed in agreement. You heard him take another deep breath. [I miss you.]

A part of you wanted to joke that he was only about five minutes away, but you knew what he meant. He was missing the last few weeks of your pregnancy, something he had wanted to avoid since the two of you started trying for a baby. It was vital to him that he was there to support you, to protect you, but once again, he wasn’t. He was kept away from you by his taxing job, a job that he loved with a deep passion, but one that fought with his unwavering commitment to you.

Instead of commenting something witty in response, you replied with, “I know… I do too.” A thought came into your mind, something you had read earlier in the day while your friends were out with your dog. “Hey… Law?”

[Yeah, baby?]

“I know it’s hard to ask this over the phone but… I read online that parents with twins are more likely to suffer relationship breakdown.”

Law seemed to know what you were alluding to immediately, even without you having to explicitly state your worry. [Remember everything I’ve been telling you? About how much I love you and how that’s not going to change at any point?]

A smile tugged to your lips. “Yeah…”

[Relationships break down because of stress. But we’re good at working things out together. We jump through hurdles at the same time because we communicate and we love each other. That’s not going to change with babies. Even with two new mouths to feed instead of one.]

“Your words always help me feel better,” you sighed into the receiver. “I love you.”

[Get some rest, sleeping beauty. I love you, too, always.]

—

34 weeks turned into 35.

The waiting was starting to take years off of your life, you thought.

Shachi and Penguin had bunked up in your living room. You only saw your husband about three times while he prepared religiously for the operation.

Somewhere at another hospital, a comatose man was being prepped and signed off to be removed from life support and have his organs harvested. And ten minutes from your apartment, a middle-aged man with his own family was getting ready to receive them.

And you were carrying two babies in your womb. Two babies who, according to your very last ultrasound, were both facing head-first toward your cervix. It was looking like a completely natural birth would be possible, as long as no complications arose in the moment.

Hopefully, according to your latest health workup, everything would be fine. Your blood pressure had remained steady throughout your pregnancy, all of your blood panel conditions had been very healthy. Your body felt ready, if the constant Braxton Hicks contractions were anything to go off of.

It was just. The. Waiting.

Your journal was almost completed. You only had two more pages before your prompts switched to journaling the post-birthing experience.

You uncapped your pen and began writing.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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artemistorm · 10 months ago

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Skyward Sword Skyloft Aesthetic

I love the aesthetic of Skyloft so let's analyze it and see what makes it tick. This will be a long post with lots and lots of photos.

First of all, In Skyloft there are two very different styles of architecture:

Ancient architecture, which are the stately grey stone structures like the light tower in the plaza and around the Statue of the Goddess (as well as various locations on the surface)

And the Skyloftian architecture, which is much more round, colorful and whimsical than the ancient architecture. I will be focusing on the Skyloftian architecture.

Skyloftian houses are built underground with one exposed side facing out. The roofs are flat and often have paths or grass growing on them in order to maximize surface area and places to walk. Each house is unique and is personalized to the occupant.

Non-house buildings like the bazaar, knight academy, and the Lumpy Pumpkin are built above-ground and have varying kinds of roofs, from wood to bamboo, to tented rugs.

Interior walls generally follow this pattern: the walls are painted (or possibly frescoed) with a primary color--it's not a solid color, but with a dappled 'paintbrush-stroke' pattern. Decorative stones or tiles of a contrasting color are placed in a horizontal wavy line in the bottom half of the wall and in another line near the ceiling.

At the base, is a layer of stones of a different color. Structurally, this is likely a foundational base on which the walls are constructed to protect them from groundwater damage, like in cob (a certain kind of mud-cement) house construction.

Buildings and rooms tend to be curvy or round and often have whimsical features built in, like the oven in the kitchen and the bird faucet and tiled round bathing pool in the bathroom of the Knight Academy. In houses, sinks and counters are sometimes built into the wall. This is another feature you see frequently in cob house construction.

In fact, the Skyloftian style of architecture seems to have taken heavy inspiration from cob house construction. Cob is a building material that is made of local mud with additives to turn it into cement with hay or grass mixed in. The cob is mounded up into the shape of the walls and sealed with sealant and plaster. It is very quick to construct cob buildings and they are highly customizable. Building made of cob tend to be whimsical--look up images and see for yourself.

Furniture is made with wood and often has decorative tiling, painting, or carvings in them.

In terms of decorations, the most common motifs are geometric designs, floral and plant designs, and bird-themed designs. Bright colors are preferred, and almost everything in the whole game, but especially in Skyloft, has a pink or purple tinge/undertone to it.

One thing Skyloftians love are ornate rugs. Every room and every house has a rug, usually multiple rugs. Each rug is unique, brightly colored, and usually geometric in design.

There is even an entire (unmanned) shop in the bazaar full of rugs and other textiles.

Other decorations you might find in homes and buildings are pots, vases, bottles, and plates with colorful designs

Lace, stuffed animals, decorative pillows

Turkish lamps, wall hangings, table placemats or a table runner

Mobiles and decorative ceiling hangings

Remlit tree

And some rooms/houses are themed, for example, Fledge's room has a tropical island theme.

Outdoors, the village is decorated with multi-colored banners, buntings, pinwheels, flags, and flowers.

Together all these things construct the aesthetic and style of Skyloft: rounded and curvy buildings, cob-style construction, geometric, floral and bird designs, bright colors, ornate rugs, pots, Turkish lamps, stained glass, wood carvings, and lots and lots of whimsy.

#long post #analysis post #aesthetic of skyloft #cob construction #will make more aesthetic/design analysis posts about SS in the future #wanna make my house look more like skyloft #loz #skyward sword #the legend of zelda #legend of zelda

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cf8wrk4u-us · 10 days ago

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TFA: Corpse Conjux

( A Transformers Animated X Corpse Bride Crossover)

(Featuring ProwlOp and MegOp)

The city of Iacon was a rather dismal place, sure it had an abundance of businesses, nice houses and manors, but that never did make up for the drab fog that hung in the air that painted the town in hues of depressing grays.

But it was home for young nobleman Optimus Magnus.

It was all he ever knew and all he was used to, but now it was suddenly going to change.

The poor young mech gazed at himself in the mirror, primed and polished to meet his future-future in-laws. And more importantly the bot who would become his conjux.

He felt sick at the thought that just in a few minutes he would be at his wedding rehearsal, and a few hours more the real ceremony would take place.

“Where is Optimus?! We might be late”!

Optimus cringed at the sound of his brother Sentinel's voice. But knew he needed to start moving soon enough, less his sire came for him.

So giving one last onceover to his now lonely little room Optimus raced down stairs into the carriage where Sentinel and his sire, Ultra Magnus, were currently waiting for him impatiently.

He gave a polite smile to their carriage driver Bulkhead, who gave a big grin back before a nasty cough overtook it, then the young noble hopped inside taking a seat.

“About time” Sentinel snarked

“Sentinel ” cautioned Ultra

His elder brother grumbled but remained quiet…for a few minutes.

“You’ve certainly hooked a winner this time” said Sentinel “Now all you have to do is riel him in”

“I’m already reeling, Sentinel” muttered Optimus “Shouldn’t someone like Prowl from House Praxian be promised to a Lord or someone of higher nobility or something”?

“Nonsense! We're every bit as good as the Praxians, maybe even more so”! Said Sentinel sticking up his chin.

Then why don’t you conjux with them?

But Optimus already knew the answer to that, as the eldest of their house he was entitled to the family name, home, and business; along with that the right to decide who he could be conjuxed to. While Optimus was the current youngest, a place acquired since the death of his sister Elita, and had to settle with any match his father had chosen for him.

Though Optimus wished he had more time, more years of function before being tied to someone so intimately. Logically he could see this as a good match given that his family merchant business relied heavily on trading and the Praxian family was an old house with many connections. Along with that the Praxians had been looking to lock down their house since the death of one of their patriarchs, Yoketron.

But still….

“We never even spoken” Optimus mumbled

“Least we have that in our favor” huffed Sentinel before yelling out and banging on the carriage ceiling when Bulkhead gave another round of hoarse coughing.

“Hey, Bulk-for-brains! Would you stop it with that coughing”!

Optimus cringed “We really should have Bulkhead see a medic, he doesn't sound the best”

“Or we just fire the big lug”

“Sentinel, you do well to care about the state of your employees” Ultra Magnus warned.

Optimus had to hide a smile as he saw Sentinel wilt under their sires gaze, only to straighten up when the head of the Magnus family looked at him steely.

“I’ll take your suggestion into consideration, but only after the ceremony”

Optimus nodded stiffly.

It was barely any time before the carriage stopped and Optimus was standing with his family at the steps of the Praxian estate. Optimus could almost consider it a palace; the mansion was far bigger than his own family's estate home. Made up of blue metal with white accents, the roof had additional light sapphire arches that pointed to the sky.

A lovely dash of color to the usual hazy greys.

Optimus decided that, if this was to be his new home, then he rather liked it.

He wasn’t allowed to admire the outside of the house for long before Sentinel had him walking up the steps towards the door.

The group didn't even have to knock as the door was immediately opened by a service drone.

“The Magnus Family has arrived, my lords” the droid said in a neutral glitching voice.

Then quickly stepped aside to reveal two mechs stepping down a lavish stair large staircase.

The taller of the two mechs, with grayish plating and brownish highlights, was Dai Atlas Praxian. His angular face and shoulder spikes matching the sharpness in his stare.

The bot next to him was almost his opposite, a mech with pure white plating and a lovely blue visor that shifted with his welcoming smile. This was Jazz, the eldest Praxian

“Welcome there”! The mech said brightly, stepping down the steps and holding out his servo.

Sentinel was the first to take it, shaking it briskly before stepping past the mech to let himself inside and give a gracious bow to the head of the house.

“Lord Praxian” said Sentinel “I must say you don’t look a day over 20 megacycles”!

The smile on Jazz’s face faltered a bit at that.

Dai Atlas hadn’t moved from his position, not addressing Sentinel, simply staring down Optimus and his sire as they stepped inside.

“Ultra” he finally spoke

“Atlas” responded to Ultra Magnus with the same dry tone.

Finally Dai Atlas shifted to Optimus.

“Is this him”?

Optimus stood stock still under the Praxian heads gaze, feeling like an examined mech animal brought in for purchase.

“My youngest, as agreed” Ultra Magnus said simply “I’m sure you have no qualms against him as conjux for your son”

With that Dai Atlas face finally shifted, a small smile formed on his face plate but had a melancholy to it.

“No, I supposed I don’t” he said, before stepping down the steps to stand beside his elder son “What a pleasure to have you all here, our soon to be family”!

Sentinel smiled “Why thank you, it's a….” the blue and orange mech hesitated as he took in the rather empty room “...lovely home”

Optimus too was a bit surprised by the lack of decor, perhaps it was an aesthetic of theirs?

Dai Atlas didn’t seem to notice or even care about Optimus' brother's hesitance as he turned to the left hallway.

“We will be taking tea in the west drawing room” said Dai Atlas as he beckoned the group “Do come this way”

Sentinel and his father didn’t hesitate, Optimus slowly trailing behind them, seemingly forgotten despite being HIS soon to be wedding.

But knowing he had very little choice in the matter, Optimus was going to just suck it all up and try to get to know his new family.

Though before heading over to join the others, the mech noticed one of the few pieces of furniture within the room.

A piano.

Optimus hesitated, before gently stroking his digits over the smooth keys of the large instrument. Dust came away from it, evidence that the instrument hadn't been used for quite a while besides being made an unconventional table setting by the vase of near withered crystal flowers placed on top of it.

He looked to the hall, seeing it empty as his family and the Praxians have long since left. Then with a found smile he began to press at the teeth of the piano, at first giving out a few soft little notes before daringly sitting down and thrumming out a full melody.

He remembers how he and his sister, Elita, had begged to learn to play, their father at first hesitating till on the eve of their shared birth cycle they woke to find a lovely black piano sitting in their drawing room.

Elita had squealed and given her father a hundred kisses while Optimus struggled to climb the seats. Sentinel had scoffed at their enthusiasm, calling the instrument a waste of time. But that of course didn’t stop him from sitting in to listen as Elita and Optimus learned to make the piano sing for them.

But…after Elita died Ultra Magnus had the piano removed.

Optimus had been too laden with guilt to even protest, too guilty to even attempt another song after all these years.

But now, with everything changing, Optimus wanted to resurrect that feeling he had during his youth. Wanting that connection with his lost sibling.

So caught up in the music that Optimus didn’t notice that someone was behind him till they were practically looking over his shoulders.

The youngest son of House Magnus shot up, stumbling out of the bench with apologies already out of his mouth.

“Do-do forgive me”!

The mech before him was a slim built bot, painted in black and gold, his narrowed shades looking at Optimus with a neutral expression.

This was the youngest son of House Praxian.

This was Prowl.

His soon to be conjux.

“You play beautifully” he said, his voice betraying no emotion.

“Again, I do apologize, Lord Prowl” stuttered Optimus “How rude of me to-well-excuse me-”

“My sire wouldn’t let me touch this since my carrier died” Prowl said “Said it wouldn’t be respectful, too passionate as we are to grieve the fallen”

The tone in Prowl's voice hadn’t changed, but the way he stared at the piano Optimus could make out a hint of longing hidden under those shaded optics. One that felt all too familiar to him.

“I apologize, Lord Prowl,” said Optimus

“Don’t be” Prowl responded “Yoketron would have been delighted to hear one of his most prized possessions being used”

Optimus coughed awkwardly “Well, so long as no offence was taken my Lord-”

“Perhaps…in light of the circumstances” Prowl cut in “You could just call me Prowl”?

The smaller mech started right up at him, a genuine smile easing over his face.

Optimus felt his face plate heat up, it wasn’t a lie that he and Prowl have never spoken but it wasn’t like he didn’t know the mech. They had attended the same academy together, Prowl was considered by all means an oddity. He spent most breaks by the edge of the grounds where the metallic trees were thickest, sitting in or under them as he coaxed small mecha animals to come sit by him.

Once even causing an incident when he accidentally let a wild retro-rat loose in the classroom.

Prowl Praxian was a strange mech for sure, but one that Optimus couldn’t help himself but admire.

He only wished he had gotten to know him sooner than in this sudden arrangement.

“Well, yes, Prowl..” said Optimus, not meeting his gaze.

“Yes, Optimus” said Prowl, stepping close to him.

Optimus fidgeted with this helm cap “Tomorrow we are to be ca-con-cah-”

“Conjuxed”? Finished Prowl, his voice chiding lightly, before taking a graceful seat on the piano bench “I never much cared for my conjuxing day, such things always seemed so far way…though I did hope I would have found a bot I was deeply in love with, someone to spend the rest of my function with” he looked to Optimus with his previously black expression “Silly, isn’t it”?

“Yes, silly, ha” Optimus tried to laugh nervously, but catching himself he gave a sincere “No! Not at all”! before sitting next to his intended, trying to copy his graceful sitting. But the move turned awkward with his large shoulder pads that bumped the small vase of flowers over.

“Oh dear”! Optimus cried, getting up and trying to fix the mess, his and Prowl hands fumbled together as they stood.

Optimus' face felt like a smelter as he and Prowl's hands interlocked to cradle the crystal flowers.

“Hey now”! A voice called suddenly.

The pair shifted around to see Jazz in the hall staring at them with a smile and showing off all his denta, Prowl was quick to pull his hands away making Optimus back away embarrassed.

“Save some of that for the rehearsal, my bots” Jazz said raising and optic ridge “Don’t want my sire accusing any one of “impropriety” and whatever”

Prowl immediately grew a sour look before hastily walking back towards the hall. Leaving Optimus standing awkwardly with Jazz still staring at him.

“Lord Jazz, sorry about that-”

“No apologies needed, my bot” said Jazz giving a disarming shrug “Besides, if all goes according to plan we could be calling each other family soon enough…. just be sure to hurry, Alpha Trion is here, and he doesn't like to be kept waiting”

Optimus nodded stiffly before heading out with him.

Three Joors Later~

“Master Magnus, from the beginning again” the priest, Alpha Trion, said frustratingly “With this servo I will lift your sorrows, your cup will never empty for I will be your energon, with this candle I will light your way in darkness, with this ring I ask you to be mine”

Optimus flinched as Alpha Trion leaned menacingly close to him on his walking stick “Lets try it again”!

They had all gathered in a ballroom in another part of the Praxian estate, where a small assembly of chairs was placed for immediate family. Meanwhile a small altar was set up holding a candle and a cup of energon. Optimus and Prowl were both in the front, each holding a candle.

“Yes sir” said Optimus before clearing his throat “With this candle-”! He announced before attempting to light it using the larger candle on the altar. But to his dismay the wick seemingly refused to light, simply pushing around the flame.

Optimus stood awkwardly as he attempted to light it several times, the glare of almost everyone there palpable.

“Do I seriously have to get up there and do it for him”?! he heard Sentinel mutter.

“Don’t get overheated Sentinel” said Ultra, but there was a clear frustration in his voice.

Optimus chanced a look over to his shoulder plates to see his family with an obviously shameful look on their faces while on the other side Dai Atlas looked on coldly while Jazz seemed simply bored.

Alpha Trion gave a sharp cough.

Optimus realized that the wick finally caught fire and gave a happy laugh as he leaned back, only for the flame to snuff out easily.

Everyone in the room groaned.

Just then a bell chimed that echoed throughout the house.

“Get the door, EM-1” ordered Dai Atlas

The service droid scurred off.

“Let's just continue from after the candle bit” said Alpha Trion

Optimus nodded enthusiastically but couldn’t help but stare at the newcomer that entered the room. It was a rather elegant looking Seeker, wings pointed upwards, painted in dark blacks and purples, the piercing red of his eyes matching the smile on his face.

“A Lord Starscream” announced EM-1

“I haven’t the head for dates” the large winged mech said, his voice posh “Apparently I’m a day early to the ceremony”

Dai Atlas looked questioningly at the mech with Jazz even asking in a low tone “Is he from your side or carriers”?

“I…can’t recall” said Dai Atlas, Optimus remembered a key fact of the Praxian family line did have seeker ties to it. The evidence being the door wings some of its heirs inherit. “EM-1, set down a chair for Lord Starscream”

The Seeker had little trouble taking the seat and casually waved to the group at the altar who were staring at him.

“Do carry on”~

Alpha Trion didn’t hesitate “Lets try it again, shall we Mister Magnus”?

“Yes, sir, certainly” Optimus said, his eyes drifting to Prowl who had helpfully lit his candle. His eyes couldn’t help but follow the Praxian’s gilded digits.

“Right” announced Alpha Trion

“Right” Optimus repeated hollowly

“RIGHT”! Barked the priest, making Optimus realize he was referring to using the wrong hand to hold the handle.

“Right”! Optimus repeatedly as he corrects himself, reaching out to clasp Prowl's small servo and holding it up.

“With this servo-” said Optimus, looking at Prowls bright blue shades “-I ask you to be mine-”!

He grunted as his knees hit the altar.

“Three steps”! Bellowed Alpha Trion “Can you not count? Do you not wish to be married, Master Magnus”?!

“No”! Optimus said urgently

“You don’t”? Said Prowl, sounding almost hurt.

“No! I meant no, I don’t want not to be married” Optimus explained hastily “That is something I very much-OW”! He cried as Alpha Trion whacked him on the helm.

“Pay attention”! Demanded Alpha Trion “Did you even remember the ring”?

With an optimistic smile Optimus reached into his subspace and pulled out the ring that his sire had given to him. This was at least one thing he had done correctly.

He grasped Prowls servo once more, straightening a digit to place the ring on. He found himself lighted to see it over Prowls finger…only for it to of course slip off being too big for his intended. Before bouncing comically across the organic mesh flooring.

The group gasped and moaned as Optimus chased after it.

“He dropped the ring”!

“Are you kidding me”?!

“Obviously this mech does not want to get conjuxed”! Roared Alpha Trion.

Optimus finally scraped it off the rug, smiling shyly but seeing the horrified faces of his family he noticed that unfortunately when he was leaning against the floor his candle had lit the fibers of the organic rug.

Optimus tried to snuff out the smoke by stomping on it but was quickly pushed aside by Dai Atlas.

“Out of the way you nitwit”! He yelled.

The whole group tried their best to kill the flame but the smoke just kept growing, the heat eating at the fibers.

“Hoping it doesn't stain,” commented Jazz with a quick kick.

“Stop aiming at my ped”! Yelled Sentinel.

The fire was finally doused out when Ultra Magnus poured the cup of energon onto the carpet. Optimus flinched both from the hard glare directed by his father and Alpha Trion.

“This wedding cannot take place until he is properly prepared”! Said the priest before raising a thin long digit in Optimus' direction “Young mech, learn your vows”!

Looking at the angry glares of most of the mechs in the room Optimus spotted Jazz sliding up to Prowl. With an arm on his shoulder plates in a gesture of concern. Optimus was sure that the pair loathed the mech their sibling was forced to marry.

He rushed out, the last thing he caught was something Lord Starscream said snidely.

“Well, isn’t he a catch”~

Optimus couldn’t bring himself to go home

He walked aimlessly through town, but even there he felt the eyes of every mech and femme passing already knowing his blunder that day.

He sulked against the bridge at the end of town that connected to the chapel, looking at the water as tried to find some relief in the reflection of the watery surface.

“Oh, Prowl” he said out loud “He must think I really am a nitwit….this day can’t get any worse”

“HEAR YE, HEAR YE! REHEARSAL IS RUINED AS MAGNUS YOUNGEST CAUSES CHAOS”! Shouted Cliffjumper the town crier “PRAXIAN FAMILY ALL FIRED UP AS MAGNUS SETS HOME ABLAZE”

Optimus sighed heavily, walking off the bridge and further into the woods nearby.

Up above cipher crows cawed as Optimus walked under the full moon light. Scolding himself further for his blunder at the conjuxing rehearsal, all because he couldn’t say a few lines!

“It really shouldn’t be all that difficult” he muttered “It’s just a few simple vows! I memorized whole textbooks back at the academy! I could do this”!

He breathed before saying “With this servo…I will take your energon-no”! He corrected himself frustrated “With this servo, I will cup-” Optimus face heated up as he yelled another “Oh Primus, no”!

He paced aimlessly around trying all he could to repeat those lines.

“With this candle..with this candle…I will set your house on fire…”

Optimus sighed, wondering if he should just go home in defeat, maybe hope the ceremony will be canceled all together. The mech slumped onto a tree stump before feeling around for the ring in his subspace. As he took it out a small crystal flower also came along with it, somehow twisting itself in Optimus seems.

He looked at the flower for the longest time, before rising to his feet with new determination.

“With this servo, I will lift your sorrows”! Optimus said, raising his own digits up “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your energon”!

Flicking the ring into the air, he smiled with confidence imagining himself in front of his soon to be conjux party “Aw, Lord Jazz! You look well this evening”! He said to large shortage shrub with blue leaves, before turning to a large cyber tree saying “What's that Lord Dai Atlas? Call you sire? Why if you say so”!

Getting into the scene Optimus broke a metal branch announcing, “With this candle, I will light your way in darkness”!

Finally with ring in hand he bent down, finding a perfect blackened dark metal root he slipped the jewelry over.

“With this ring! I ask you to be mine”! He stated, proud of himself for completing all the lines without a hitch.

Optimus took a second to admire the simple gold band that rested perfectly on the root, it was still too big for Prowl but maybe he could talk his sire into-

The wind howled loudly as the cipher crow's calls grew in volume, Optimus shivered as the gust made the root he placed the ring on sway and twitched in an unnerving manner.

Almost like it was really moving.

All of a sudden the roots flexed before grabbing at Optimus and attempting to pull him through the earth. The young mech screamed as he was tugged at. Desperately trying to pull himself free from the iron grip.

Finally his struggles found purchase as he was able to throw himself from the ground, before he could sigh in relief Optimus gasped as he noticed the root or rather the arm still grasping his wrist.

Shaking it away in disgust he watched in horror as the ground began to crack and erupt as something large rose from the earth. Soil and thin roots rolled off a figure who stood tall in front of Optimus, dressed in ratty and torn clothes that shifted eerily in the moonlight with a tarnished metal holding it in place. Two red glowing eyes, the color of burning coals, stared at Optimus.

“This is a certainly an unusual way to propose” the figure, a mech, said in a hollow grave voice “But…I accept”

The large mech then raised its one hand out to Optimus.

Snapped from his panic, the blue and red bot ran through the forest, bumping and tripping along the way. But no matter how much he ran the figure seemed to keep close behind him.

He struggled and fought his way through branches, a glimmer of hope arriving when he caught sight of the bridge leading back to Iacon. Optimus raced forward! Not stopping till he felt his pedes hit the cobblestone of the bridge.

He took a breath and chanced a look behind him and to his relief the nightmarish mech wasn’t there anymore.

Optimus sighed in relief and made to turn towards the direction into the town, but to his shock collided with a solid barreled chassis. Optimus squeaked as he saw it was the frightening mech from before stood in front of him, now with both arms boxing him into the side of the bridge.

And before Optimus could breath out a scream, he felt the mechs chillingly cold breath against his face.

“You may kiss your conjux” they whispered.

Then everything went black.

#transformers animated #optimus prime #tfa prowl #megatron #sentinel #ultra magnus #dai atlas #jazz #starscream #cliffjumper #tim burton corpse bride #corpse bride

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reticulating-splines · 1 year ago

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Chez Cromwell: Redux - Pt. 1

Magical Victorian Cat Mansion. Redone.

Part I: Exteriors | Part II

So after the long-awaited addition of Infants and Ceilings to the game, I realized I should probably update my one furnished build (so far) for these features. Unfortunately I got carried away again and just ended up revamping the whole build from the exterior, to each individual room + some new ones! This version has also been more extensively play-tested over time with all age groups and pets, with some extra fire hazard and accessibility issues addressed.

It still has all the original Lot Features:

Victorian era historical build, fully playtested

Off-the-grid compatible

9 Bed / 6 bath

Library Greenhouse

Spellcaster's room

Outdoor smokehouse

Pleasure + kitchen gardens

Portal to the magic realm

Hidden cat room, litterroom, + catway system for Familiars

Staff/Servant's lounge w/ private stairs

Bedrooms for Butler, Nanny/Governess, and Maids

Lot size 30x40, fully landscaped

Cat Hangout, Peace and Quiet

Spooky lot challenge

As well as an extensive Changelog and list of New Features:

Revamped exteriors + interiors, roofs, and gardens

Ceilings for all rooms

Added even more windows somehow

Skylights for 3rd floor and wraparound verandah

Rooftop meditation-garden-yoga-summoning-circle

Portals! Small library located off the spell-room has been converted into the Portal Room with 3 portals leading throughout the house: one to the tower on the roof, one to the greenhouse in the back, and one to the third floor hall.

Moved Magic Realm Portal to rooftop garden

Put more cat doors everywhere, they enjoy using the catdoors and portals for zoomies

Sprinklers, alarms, and fire resistant flooring have been added around fireplaces.

Fireplace in the tower was removed for it's propensity to set the roof on fire and become unreachable and inextinguishable

Tower room has been converted into a Collections display room instead, a la sims 3

Portal in the tower/Collections room also makes potential burglaries more threatening, but if you’re an occult you’re expected to employ practical DADA techniques to avert this

Updated Nursery and Playroom for Infants

Redid terrain paint. Twice. Why tf does it just vanish randomly sometimes

NEW Magic Bean Hunt! Stump is located where the magic realm portal used to be and beans are strategically hidden around the lot. I'd love to see how long it takes for you to catch them all!

Washbasins for rooms without bathrooms now look like washbasins and are actually useable, both on and off grid

Added privacy hedges and lattices to backyard and fenced in chicken run

Potions Crafting Table added to Spell-room

Crafters Supply Cabinet added to Kitchen

Pocketed pocket doors

Secret Cat Room color scheme updated and cat-approved artwork added

Another Cat room added to 3rd floor

Magic Well has been shrunk

Rooftop area outside 3rd floor Study converted into rooftop Pavilion with chessboard and painting easel

Jack-and-Jill bathroom added for two of the third floor bedrooms

Toilet room removed and bath added for staff washrooms, for an equal 2-toilet/2-bath arrangement, which means the build now has a total of 7 full baths, and 8 toilets.

More crafting tables (fizz machine and candle maker) added to Staff Lounge

Yoga/Meditation Balcony for staff above greenhouse

Small telescope added to rooftop outside tower room’s new 2nd door

Garden lights around yard configured for power + off grid lighting

‘Bike racks’ added by front gate

New Library shelves seem to allow sims to retrieve books but not put them back. However this is actually a feature, not a bug, since now you can put the books back yourself on on the right shelves and keep things organized 🙃

Should now be consistently able to feed and be eaten by the Cowplant

Homey trait replaced by Gnome lot trait since there is a proliferation of gnomes

Requirements

Lot: 40x30, $752,005, 9 bed 8 bath, Cat Hangout, Gnome, Peace and Quiet, Spooky Lot Challenge

Packs - packs in bold are essential:

EPs - Cottage Living, University, Island Living, Get Together, Get Famous, Seasons, Cats&Dogs, Eco Living, City Living, Get to Work

GPs - Realm Of Magic, Jungle Adventure, Parenthood, Vampires. Strangerville, Spa Day, Outdoor Retreat

SPs - Paranormal, Laundry Day, Romantic Garden. Nifty Knitting, Vintage Glamour

Kits - Blooming Rooms, Desert Luxe

Patreon Download

Public: Available Dec 15th!

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deletarius-draws · 5 months ago

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Baldur’s Gate 3 ~ “Harmonious Ardor”

Solus Aximand (Tav) & Lae’zel

So this piece took me the most time to touch up, originally it was supposed stay in a sketch to inked phase of the two, but then of course I decided to explore other possible additions to the piece. Such as background ideas, I knew for certain they’d be in the Astral Sea somewhere, so I looked into a few references, firstly being from an entirely different game. “The Siofra River” in Elden Ring, that underground area where the ceiling looks exactly like that of a cosmos, with stars and misty Nebula. It’s one of my favorite places in the game, the ruined architecture, white bark trees and ghostly figures that roam that there. This inspired the initial execution of the piece, then after setting the scenery of the background and adding a few things, I looked for more references of a cosmos, in other franchises as well as actual photos of space to further ground the foundation. I looked into Warhammer 40k’s Warp photos too, but of course, if one is familiar with 40k’s lore on the warp, I personally thought, “Nah… Far too chaotic of a depiction, lovely illustrations, but it wouldn’t mesh harmoniously with Sol & Lae’s tranquil & loving embrace, the center piece of the whole thing. I did want to convey the passion through certain use of colors however with just as much peace, respect and unconditional love the two have for one another. So finally I delved into some actual dnd Astral Sea references, browsing through the otherworldly and spiritually inspired illustrations, especially the older edition artworks. Eventually I came across Astral Plane lore and did a bit of reading as I absorbed what I could from the reference images, which helped with painting in proper colors for where the two are currently. Taking Color Pools and other atmospheric lore of the Astral Sea into consideration. I’ve currently been in a sci-fi fantasy mood for quite some time, again. Which helped bring the overall piece together here, I’ve been writing up my own lore of my world’s Astral Plane, keeping the drive to finish the piece alive. Of course I’ve also taken inspiration from the game itself from the screenshots I took while the party visited the Astral Plane for a few moments during my playthroughs.

They are on a floating landmass amidst other floating islands and debris, I honestly can’t say if this is before or after the wars against Vlaakith. Personally I’d like the think it’s after but it is also possible it’s some time in the middle, as they would also find and cherish the moments of repose and peace. The constant fighting, deepening bonding and venturing, the two stay as close together, only splitting if they tactically must, usually if not always in the same general area they reunite. Solus and Lae’zel prefer to be inseparable, they move and fight as one, they know this, that they are indomitable together, but if need-be, will separate, only to always rejoin shortly after during strategic planning. Being just as monumental in combat separately, ensuring the two do not ever fail to return to the other’s embrace, in their own love language they call this, “Our Eternal Return”.

I greatly appreciate you if you read all that, I usually don’t write out my thought and creative process, but it does help to keep the drive alive. I had more but thought this is long enough, I’m still writing head canon of the two as well as fleshing out Solus Aximand (one of my Tavs) as his own character more. I really appreciate the likes, reblogs and eyes that see my work. I’ll be in the shadows working on more in the meantime.

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defaulttwig · 2 years ago

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Spider Throwdown

Miguel O’Hara x gn!reader

Summary: Spider-Man 2099 entered a universe where the heroes punch a little harder and rarely ask questions. They’re a bit aggressive, but get their jobs done. As a variant Spider-person, he thinks you’ll make a fine addition to the team, but he first has to get you to hear him out.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: hopefully a cool fight scene with an appropriate amount of violence, no romance sadly

A/N: Practicing action sequences. I'm so rusty at writing omg, I'll probably edit this later. (He makes me go rah rah rah. I have so many ideas similar to this where it's just you and Miguel beating each other up. Idk. That train scene did smthg to me, I want Miguel to just- yeah)

No movement.

You pressed yourself against the wall, high out of the average person’s line of sight and tucked away into the dark corners of the building. New York’s City Bank was all too familiar to you. Far too many criminals ranging from low-lives to the most heinous have tried to either steal from the bank or run it to the ground. Tonight was no different. You got a lead that another hit would happen before the clock struck twelve. Ready to make the first strike, you came early. Now, you just had to wait.

The bank itself was bland, minimalist with high ceilings that reached three stories. At the front were the large double doors that led to the streets. The back doors led to the private offices. In the middle of the ceiling, a large, rectangular skylight cast a glow to the center of the room, faintly highlighting the benches and potted plants. From your position, you had eyes on all access points to the vault. Nothing would get past you.

Under the skylight, the leaves of potted ferns swayed. You scanned for any sign of an open window or movement. None. The ferns tilted, gravitating toward one point like they were pulled by a magnet.

Particles ignited in the middle of the room, bright and colorful in contrast to the somber glow of the skylight. They grew in size, expanding into geometric shapes. Each shape flashed in a hum your ears couldn’t quite catch. All at once, they disappeared. Gone, vanished, as if you imagined the whole thing, and the plants returned to their original position.

Left behind stood a man in a tight-fitting blue suit with his back turned to you. He had to have come out the other end of the thing. A portal, then. You scrutinized his muscular build, not yet deciding he was a threat. Muscle didn’t mean everything. He sure dressed like a villain, though. Red coated the upper half of his suit and his forearms sported two spike-like appendages.

A hologram appeared beside his head. He turned to address the small figure, too small for you to decipher from your spot. The emptiness of the room gave him the confidence to speak to the hologram. Despite being the only one talking, you failed to catch every word, hearing only bits and pieces.

“Find Spider-…Careful…Put up a fight.”

So, he came for you. What little you could understand helped paint a picture. This wasn’t just a hit, it was a trap to lure you into an ambush. He didn’t match the description from your informant, but that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be the first time your sources tried to pull a fast one on you.

“Scan the room.”

A device pulled away from him. It hovered, swiveled and moved around, shining a golden light on everything in sight, from down on the floor to up the walls. Occasionally, it beeped to signify nothing of importance. You fixed yourself onto the balls of your feet. When it turned in your direction and the yellow fixed itself onto you, you kicked off the wall.

An alert sounded and the man pivoted. You shot a ball of web onto the floating device, soaring past as it crashed to the ground, and aimed your web shooters at him. Two ropes shot out. He jumped to the side, dodging the webs. You tapped your web shooters and cut the ropes of web, landing on your feet. Up close, you got a better look at the man.

A spider symbol rested in the middle of his chest.

“That wasn’t cheap, you know?”

You looked into the sharply angled lenses of his mask. “This will be easier if you don’t call in for back-up.”

He straightened. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” You balled your hands into fists, ready to pounce. Any bite to his voice turned to hesitation. “Wait.”

“Can’t go back, now,” you grunted out, throwing your fist in his direction.

He caught your fist and held you still, even as you tried to pull away. “I have something to say.”

You used the grip he had on you to your advantage. Kicking off the ground, you raised your leg over yourself and hooked it around his neck. In one spin, you sent him to the ground and released his hold on your fist. Given an opening, you placed your hands on the floor and threw your leg out for another kick.

He raised his forearms, angling the suit’s appendages away from your body, and blocked the kick. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

You twisted your body and flipped upright, pushing yourself several feet away. “I find that hard to believe.”

He got to his feet and lowered his hands. “You’re going to have to trust me. I know that’s hard for you, but think with your brain for once and not your fists.”

You narrowed your eyes, the lenses on your mask copying the action. Your stance relaxed. He wasn’t swinging punches right out the gate like the others you’ve fought in the past. “You plan to make me listen to you through insults?”

“No. Let me explain-”

“Are you going to talk the entire time or fight me?” You crossed your arms, waiting for his next move. “My patience is wearing thin.”

“If you’d just let me speak.” He paused. You remained quiet, glaring at him with scrutiny. “My name is Miguel O’hara. I’m not from here. I’m from a different earth.”

You huffed through your nose. “Is that all you have? Be serious.”

He touched his temple. “It’s you who-” He groaned. “I am from a different universe and the multiverse is in danger. I’ve formed a group of people like us-”

“Us?” You upturned your nose. “What do they call you?”

He inhaled. “Spider-Man-”

“Ha,” you barked out a laugh. “I’ve heard enough.” You turned on your heel and walked in the direction of the back doors. “If you’re not here to fight, then leave. I’m expecting someone.”

“I’m trying to talk to you.” He groaned deeply. You could feel his agitation raise in waves. Goosebumps lined your arms and you slowed your steps. “Turn around and listen,” he grunted deeply. At the same time your spidey senses went on high alert, he cursed under his breath. “Shit.”

You leapt to the side, catching only a glimpse of a potted fern flying past you. With quick reflexes, you shot a web at it. You dug your foot into the ground, pivoting with the momentum of the pot as you swung it. Gritting your teeth, you let go and sent it flying back at him.

Miguel widened his stance. You used the pot as a cover, darting for the walls. He punched through the pot, causing a pile of dirt and ceramic to fall at his feet. He whipped his head to and fro, finding you climbing up where rows of windows could be an escape.

You looked past your feet at a digging sound. He quickly clawed his way up to you. While he drew nearer, close enough to swipe at you if he wanted, you leaned back and shot two webs at a higher spot on the wall. Pulling back, you stretched the webs as far as they could go before you relaxed your body.

Slingshotting higher up, you opted to run on all fours. Miguel followed dutifully. Together, you both climbed past the second story, nearing the ceiling. You stooped just below the third story window, waiting for the right moment.

“Stop running!”

You took one glance at him closing in on you once again. Digging your fingers into the wall, you shifted on your feet before springing backwards in an arch. Miguel’s head followed the twist of your body as your legs swung out below you. He flipped around and curled his fingers into the wall, looking all but ready to leap at you.

Your wrists extended past you, the lenses of your mask locked onto him. Two rope webs landed on either side of him and you wrapped the rope around your wrists. Your body propelled toward him with one knee curled up, slamming into his stomach and causing his body to dent the wall. Bits of plaster fell from behind him. Miguel grabbed your knee, shuffling his feet on the wall in an attempt to buck you off. He managed to push himself off the wall. You loosened your grip on the webs, letting them fall away before shooting two more and slamming him back into the wall. Another dent just below the other.

Your knee in his stomach and the sizable dent kept him rooted. You laid one hand on the wall by his head to steady yourself and reeled your other arm back. Miguel’s hands flew to your back, fruitlessly pulling at your suit. There was no way to get you off of him.

He snarled. “Stop!”

When your fist flew straight for his masked face, alarm bells went off in your head. Your whole body tensed, alerting you of impending danger. Miguel’s hands laid flat on your back, fingers digging into you and no longer trying to pry you off. Sharp pain sprang forth from his fingers. Claws cut through your suit and into your skin. You cried out, punch falling short of anything and fist hanging in the air.

Your grip on the wall grew slack. Miguel’s body peeled off the wall, falling over you. His masked face drew near yours before his wrist extended out. A web shot forth and pulled him toward the opposite wall. You regained your senses and shot out your webs at the ceiling. You swung around to the wall farthest from him.

Your back stung. You felt the small spurts of blood flowing from it, soaking the fabric of your suit. It was warm. Gross.

Miguel yelled out, “Can’t you see that I’m on your side?”

The blood trickling out of your back begged to differ. Your spidey sense simmered with the hint of a threat. You had no reason to believe him. “Forgive me for not seeing the obvious.”

“I came here to talk to you.”

He was the threat. “I’m done talking.”

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” He watched you shoot a web at the ceiling before you kicked off the wall.

Your body fell towards the floor, only to swing back up. You released the web and shot one straight at his chest. In one, strong tug, you pulled him off the wall and swung him around towards the floor. He swiped his claws through the rope and aimed his wrist at you.

A rope of web shot out past you, sticking to the wall. You had no time to dodge his body launching straight at you before he grabbed you by the neck, taking you with him. Your back slammed against the wall, taking your breath from you.

With his one wrist wrapped around the rope to keep you both suspended, he shifted his hold on your neck, exposing your jugular. You fixed your feet to the wall and threw your fist up from under, hitting him square in the jaw. He drew back and you took the opportunity to yank the rope, ripping it. Before gravity could do its thing, you placed your hands on his chest and kicked off the wall.

Miguel thrashed and grabbed at your wrists, just as he crashed to the floor. He grunted, grip loosening. You wrenched yourself from his grasp and slammed his wrists to the floor. With quick taps to your web shooters, his hands were bound to the sleek surface. His head jerked and he grunted.

You huffed. “Don’t try anything. You’re finished.”

The two of you were back under the skylight. From his wrist, a watch glinted, stealing your attention. It was bulky, complicated tech you didn’t recognize. If he’s been using this to contact the others and summon devices and portals, then it was just as dangerous as he was. You reached for it, ignoring his excuses and the way he hardly tried to fight you off anymore.

The way he spat out your name gave you pause. Your full name, your life story, the day you got bit by the spider. The night your uncle died. You whipped your head to lock eyes. He listed off things about you that nobody should have known about.

Your heart dropped to your stomach and, despite your rationality, you peeled off your mask to fully glare at him. Your eyes bounced around his mask, scrutinizing him in a panic. “How do you know who I am?”

The hesitation lasted long enough for him to break through his bonds. He pounced, flipping you over until your back smacked onto the ground. The cuts in your back stung, chilled by the cold floor. Your thoughts raced a mile a minute. You had absolutely no connection to this man. In your panic, his mask receded and revealed a handsome, unfamiliar face. A stranger knew too much about you.

He opened his mouth, revealing sharp canines. Fangs like a vampire. His eyes glowed red, the contours of his face shadowed by the sharp angles. Your hand pathetically pushed at his face, smushing his cheek. He took a fistful of the hair on your scalp, tilting your head to the side. In a blink, you shouted at the pain of his teeth sinking into your neck.

You fisted at his hair, tugging hard to pry him off of you. It was fruitless. A sickly warm feeling invaded your senses, sapping your energy by the millisecond. Your breaths quicked, all while your body went rigid, shutting down. Your hand fell away from his hair, landing on the floor.

“What-what did you do?” You struggled to use your mouth, only able to utter that one phrase before you lost your ability to speak.

He pulled away to look you in the eyes. The scowl on his face dropped to one of relief and his shoulders slumped. He let out a deep sigh, rolling his shoulders back. “You’re going to stay still and listen to what I have to say.” He glanced around the setting. Unceremoniously, he took you by your arms and hoisted you over his shoulder. “Here’s a little too open.”

Your spidey sense kicked into full gear. Goosebumps dotted your arms, hanging limply by your head.

Danger.

Get away.

Danger.

Move.

The wall behind Miguel exploded, sending you both flying. Your body slid across the floor and your eyes flicked over to the hole in the wall. The last thing you saw was a brick flying at your head and Shocker climbing over the debris into the bank.

+:+:+:+:+

Pain. Your head pounded and you winced. It felt like someone was squeezing your brain. Your head rolled and you groaned, not quite yet ready to open your eyes.

“Good. You’re awake.” You half-listened to the cold voice off in the distance. “It wasn’t my intention to get interrupted, or for you to get knocked out.”

You blinked several times, picking your head up. Everything was fuzzy, a blur. As you slowly came to, your eyes locked onto a family photo from some summer day nestled by a desk lamp. You looked around more, finding yourself in an office. You recognized this place. You were still in the bank, just in the back of it.

You tried to reach for your head to soothe the source of your headache. No doubt a large, ugly bump formed from Shocker’s grand entrance. Your wrists wouldn’t move. You looked down, finding red webs restraining your arms to the armrests of the chair you sat on. More red webbing wrapped around your torso. Your eyes jerked open, now fully awake.

“Where’s Shocker?”

“I took care of it.” From the shadows on the other side of the office, Miguel emerged. He approached with his mask receded, and only then did you realize yours was still off. A quick scan and you found the crumpled fabric on your lap. “He won’t be an issue, for now.”

“Gives us plenty of time to talk,” you said. Your spidey sense didn’t go off, so that was good. Your limbs still felt sluggish and your back pulsed from the cuts. You didn’t exactly have the upper hand here, if this was a fight.

He crossed his arms. “My name is Miguel O’hara. I come from another universe.”

“So, why are you here?”

“I’ve created a network of Spider-people, people like us, that work together to prevent anomalies from disrupting the multiverse.” He walked up to the desk, standing tall over you. “I came here to invite you to join us.”

You frowned. A part of you believed him. It wasn’t like you were a stranger to the multiverse theory, but you held off on any excitement. “Cut me out of these webs and I might consider.”

He huffed. “Cute, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“Afraid I’ll kick your ass again?”

“I was holding back.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, man.”

“If I wanted to-” His voice raised slightly before he curled his hand into a fist and took a deep breath. He relaxed his hand. “You’re not making this easy.”

“It’s hard to see your argument when I’m the one tied up.”

“I had to. You weren’t being-” He waved his hand. “Stay on topic. Will you join?”

You gave him a once over. Cocking your head back, you huffed through your nose. “So, there’s people like me? Same powers? Same story?”

“Similar powers. Similar stories.”

You leaned toward believing him, not just because he was easy on the eyes. He didn’t take the chance to kill you while you were out cold. That sort of gave you the impression he was something of a hero. Not quite. Vigilante, maybe.

“What’s your story?”

“Off topic.”

“You already know mine, apparently.” Your expression soured. “Was that important to your little club?”

He bit back a response. Turning his head, he set his hands on his hips. “Join or don’t join. I don’t care.”

“So, you traveled across the multiverse to just get your ass kicked?”

“I didn’t-”

“Ha.” You cracked a smile. Watching him bristle was amusing. “You know, Michael-”

“Miguel-”

Your smile widened. Just this once, you’d entertain a guy like him. “You’re a funny guy. I’ll join, but on one condition.”

His brows raised expectantly. “That is…”

“I want a rematch.”

He set his hands on his hips. “That’s all you want?”

“Just to prove I can kick your ass.”

His expression blanched. “That won’t happen, but I can agree to those terms.”

“Alright, then I accept your invitation.”

Your eyes followed his movement around the desk. Miguel brought his hand up where claws emerged from his fingertips. You watched, mildly intrigued, as he cut the webbing around you. He stepped away, giving you room to stand, as he headed toward the office door and touched the thick watch on his wrist.

You picked up your mask and maneuvered around the desk, standing an arm’s length away. “That’s what lets you jump dimensions,” you guessed. “Do I get one?”

A loud shout called out to you from the other side of the wall. “Spider! I know you’re still here!”

Miguel looked over his shoulder as a portal appeared in front of him. “I’ll let you take care of that.” He turned to step through it, pausing long enough to toss something back to you. You caught it and looked down to find a watch like his own. “Come to Headquarters when you’re finished. I’ll explain everything there.”

He walked into the portal, disappearing as it closed behind him. It was almost like he was never here. But the sting in your back said otherwise.

You attached the watch to your wrist, turning your wrist this way and that to admire it. Not bad. A bit ugly, but you could get used to it, if this was really happening. You read off the screen.

Earth-928.

“Come out and face me!”

You pushed the excitement to the back of your mind. More people like you, a multiverse, other worlds to explore, and a rematch with that guy. You’d deal with that afterwards.

You slid the mask over your head and rolled your shoulders. Confidently striding to the door, you couldn’t help but smile.

This wouldn’t be long.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #reader-insert #miguel o'hara fanfiction

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swayingluv · 11 months ago

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Prey of Hell - Chapter 2

Alastor x Buné (OC) Chapter 2: Cut in Half Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Word Count: 3958 Buné stood awkwardly in front of the door frame that was presented to her by Charlie. The room was quite spacious, although it was lacking completely. There was a singular twin-sized bed, which hardly had a bed frame. In addition, there was a miniature table and two chairs sitting on the balcony outside of the room, as well as a tacky-looking dresser. Other than that, the room was completely bare. Charlie threw up her hands in excitement, giving a giant smile to Buné as she announced the room. “-and here’s where you’ll be staying! Isn’t it cozy?” Charlie asked, her eyes practically beaming with pride.

Buné blinked slowly and she turned her head, taking in the room completely. She held an awkward smile, never faltering. She then slowly entered the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. “Absolutely… captivating,” Buné replied, nodding her head and stepping out onto the balcony. “Although, I can’t say it fits my tastes!” She turned swiftly, facing the room once more.

Charlie frowned at Buné’s response but quickly changed her demeanor back to her happy self. “We could get you new furniture!” She announced, pointing to the small table and chairs as well as the bed. “I know they’re not the most modern.” Charlie agreed.

Buné let out a small giggle, walking over to the bed. “No need. I can handle it!” She smiled, a pink glow engulfing the room. Charlie flinched at this, her eyes becoming wide as the room transformed itself into a 1920s-style bedroom, although with multiple personal touches.

The bed was now a queen-sized mattress with a canopy bed frame, the curtains being a dark pink. The bed frame itself was white, matching the new look of the ceiling. It obtained deep pink and white stripes disappearing at the center, almost like the top of a circus tent. A golden chandelier was adorned in the middle of the ceiling, lit with multiple counts of candles. There were golden and dark pink chairs that had a 1920s feel, along with a new table sitting in between the two of them. Old paintings decorated the walls, almost all of them having golden frames to compliment the pictures inside of them. The rug on the floor was white and gold, perfectly matching the color scheme already present in the room. The dresser was the same shade of white as the new bedframe, and a matching vanity accompanied it on the other side of the room. Two nightstands sat themselves on the sides of the bed, white in color as well. There was a full-length mirror in the corner, perfect for checking her delightful outfits. Buné turned around and smiled and Charlie, the girl’s eyes still wide from whatever just happened. The glow dimmed down, leaving the two women in the room alone. “There! I think I like this look much better.” Buné cheered, taking a bow as Charlie looked around the new room.

Charlie dragged her finger along the white dresser, surprised to see no dust on the older-looking piece of furniture. She turned around to Buné, giving her a wide smile. “I like it! It suits you.” She beamed, her eyes trailing to the paintings on the walls. They were all older looking, even older than Buné’s time alive on Earth. Charlie found herself looking at a small picture frame on the nightstand, it held a photo of Buné and an outline of what appeared to be another person, however, their face was not completely registered. It almost appeared like it was glitching, but Charlie could make out the same microphone that Alastor carried. Buné looked immensely happy in the photo, her eyes wide and mouth holding a giant smile, which was normal for her. She held up a peace sign, her other hand grabbing the other person’s coat, which Charlie assumed to be Alastor. They appeared to be in Cannibal Town, which perfectly aligned with their characteristics. Charlie jumped when she felt a hand rest itself on her shoulder, claws being felt rather than fingers. She turned around, eyes wide, but only saw Buné there with a small smile. Although Buné was a bit shorter than Charlie, her presence felt way more intimidating.

“Curious?” Buné questioned, looking at the photo on the nightstand. She released her hand from Charlie’s shoulder, putting her hands behind her back.

Charlie panicked, waving her hands defensively. She couldn’t help but stutter for some reason, although Buné gave her no reason to worry, she felt scared by just looking into her eyes. “Whaat? Pfft, no!” She laughed awkwardly, scooting away from the picture frame.

Buné giggled at this, she thought her reaction was too silly for such a trivial act. “Well, alright then!” She laughed, beginning to skip away as well.

Charlie looked back at the frame, sighing quietly. “I’m just surprised he has… friends! He’s so, what’s the word?” She trailed off, trying to think of the perfect word to describe the newfound facility manager of the Hazbin Hotel.

Buné turned around sharply, looking Charlie in the eyes. “Creeeepy?” She giggled, her eyes darting back and forth between the photo and Charlie.

Charlie nodded, satisfied with Buné's word to describe him. He was mysterious as well as creepy, although it was still early on in the relationship between Charlie and Alastor, she couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy whenever she heard the familiar sound of static around her. “It’s just difficult to imagine him being genuine.” Charlie told the ringleader, which made her laugh loudly.

Buné laughed loudly at something that Charlie didn’t find funny at all, causing Charlie to tilt her head in confusion. Buné walked to the door, which was now only slightly cracked. She opened the door, replying to Charlie, “I can’t think of many people in Hell that are genuine! What’s life without an act?” Buné asked, obviously not expecting an answer from her. “Boring.” She replied to her own question, walking out of her new room with Charlie following.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably, giving her an awkward laugh as a response. “Right.” She followed Buné as they made their way to the lobby, which had now been altered to fit a more standard hotel.

…

A Week Later

“I’m sorry, what the fuck was that?” Vaggie hissed in resentment at Alastor who had just presented his commercial to everyone. Charlie and Vaggie sat on the couch, eyes wide in disbelief at how the commercial made the hotel look. It was interesting, that’s for sure. It depicted the hotel in a bad light, but Buné couldn’t help but find it a bit humorous as she tried to contain her laughter while standing next to Angel Dust, who was lying down on another couch.

Over the past week, everyone had been working hard to determine how to get the hotel up and running. Advertisements were made, including this new commercial that Alastor had made. Nothing seemed to be working, even with the promise of all the delightful people staying at the hotel.

Charlie tilted her head after watching the commercial, trying her best to be nice in regards to the commercial. “Uh, yeah,” She started, giving a small smile to show her appreciation. “One note, Alastor! I mean, first off, thank you so much for making this. Seriously, amazing! But, um, maybe the tone is a bit, off?” She continued, causing Alastor to tilt his head and narrow his eyes in annoyance. “We want people to want to come here, this makes it look, uhh-” Charlie sighed, trying to find the right word.

“Bad.” Vaggie interjected, looking over to her partner. “The word you’re looking for is bad.”

Buné looked over to Alastor, then back to Vaggie. “Did you see the part with Angel Dust though? Certainly hilarious!” She laughed loudly, tucking her hands behind her torso. She strolled over to Vaggie, leaning down to her since she was sitting on the couch. “You have no funny bone! I could get you one, just say the word.” She teased, poking Vaggie’s arm.

Vaggie cringed, leaning away from Buné. “Fuck no. It didn’t explain anything about how we’re trying to save demons from extermination, which is the whole fucking point!”

Charlie looked over to Alastor, a tinge of sadness in her voice. “Vaggie is right, Alastor. The commercial was to let sinners know we are trying to help them!” She agreed, trying to stay positive.

“Well, my dear, I haven’t been active in Hell for some time. And everyone remembers me from my radio show! The proper medium to express oneself. But you insisted on this noisy, picture box advertisement. So, I had a little fun with it.” Alastor shrugged, tossing his microphone into his other hand.

“Oh, fun? You had a little fun with it? Well, this is not what we want to represent us. When you showed up here a week ago, you told us you would help run this hotel. Instead, you’re mocking us. Nobodys gonna want to come to a place a powerful overlord like you thinks is a waste of time.” Vaggie groaned, going from standing on the couch back to sitting.

Angel Dust raised his hand on the couch, causing Buné’s ears to twitch. She looked over to see him lying on the couch with his legs somewhat in the air. She awkwardly looked around. “What?!” Vaggie snarled in annoyance.

“If’n ya filmin’ a commercial, can I just suggest ya take better advantage of the talented celebrity you have right here?” Angel Dust pointed to himself, a smirk wide on his face.

“Angel, you’re a porn star.” Vaggie replied monotonously.

Angel Dust perked up, ready to correct her. “A famous porn star! I’ll have the horniest sinners knockin’ these walls down to get in.”

Buné pranced over to Angel Dust, leaning against the couch. “With all due respect, Angel, I think that just might go against what Charlie is going for!” She giggled, appreciating the enthusiasm at least.

“We are not forming a porn as a commercial,” Vaggie told him, her eyes narrowed.

Angel Dust almost looked confused, shrugging his shoulders. “Why not? Sex sells, don’t it? I swear, if you film me goin’ at it with mister fancy talk-creepy voice here, you’d be rollin’ in participants willin’ to stay at this tacky hotel.” Angel smirked, pointing over to Alastor who had now traveled over next to Buné by melting into a shadow on the ground. Buné’s deep pink eyes widened and she looked back and forth between Angel and Alastor, eager to see his response.

Alastor laughed. “Haha! Never going to happen!” He furrowed his eyebrows and rejected Angel. Buné’s ear twitched at this, looking back over to Angel.

Charlie smiled at Angel, showing gratitude. “Angel, I appreciate you wanting to use your special skills to, um, attract folks to the hotel, but-- I really don’t want to exploit you, in that way!” Charlie admitted.

Angel turned to Charlie. “Oh, please, baby! This body was made to be exploited-” Angel continued to explain his attributes to everyone there, causing Buné and everyone else to awkwardly listen. She was definitely not fond of the idea, almost causing her a bit of discomfort. Charlie laughed awkwardly, noticing her phone had started ringing.

Charlie took her phone, standing up. “Hold that thought, I’ll be right back!” She smiled, walking over to take the call.

“I could keep going all night baby!” Angel Dust replied, holding a bottle of booze in his hands.

Buné laughed awkwardly too, looking down at Angel. “In what way?” She asked, giggling at her own joke.

Angel Dust looked up to her with a smirk. “Ya know exactly what way, babe.” He jested, a thought appearing in his head. “Hey, I have a question. If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can’t he just make people stay here?” Angel asked curiously, pointing over to Alastor.

Alastor smiled sinisterly. “Oh trust me,” He began, bringing his hand into himself. “I can.” He continued, antlers growing bigger and a dark aura began to surround him.

A deep and raspy voice sounded itself from over at the bar. “Why do you think I’m here?” The voice asked a rhetorical question. Buné’s ear twitched over to the sound of it, looking over to see Husk. “You actually think I’d be cleaning bottles and listening to you fucks bitch and moan all the time if he wasn’t forcing me?” Husk groaned, a bottle and rag in his hand.

Niffty popped up, raising her hand. “I like being forced.”

Husk recoiled. “Keep that to yourself, Niff.”

Buné glared at Husk, giving him a side eye like she always did. “You played your cards wrong, and now you’re here! Seems like you’re at fault.” She shrugged.

Husk jumped and realized it was Buné who said that snarky remark. He raised his bottle, almost as if he were going to throw it. He was about to respond before Angel interjected. “What, you don’t love bein’ here with me, Whiskers?”

Husk pointed angrily at Angel. “Call me ‘Whiskers’ again and I’ll jam that bottle down your throat.”

Angel raised his eyebrows. “Kiiinkyyy! C’mon, keep talkin’ dirty.”

Vaggie sighed and told Angel that it would defeat the whole purpose of the hotel if they forced people to stay there. Alastor strolled over to Buné, who was listening to the conversation between Angel and Vaggie.

“Your dislike for our feline friend is showing, my dear!” Alastor grinned at Buné, who turned her head to look at him.

“Oh, I have no clue what you’re talking about!” She giggled, leaning back to look at Husk. “I absolutely adore cats.” She said sarcastically, losing her smile as soon as she said that.

Alastor gave out a laugh. “Careful, dear! What if that cat harnesses claws?”

Buné glared at Husk. “They all do, but I’d hope you’ve declawed him!” She turned and looked at Alastor in the eyes, looking slightly up due to the height gap.

“Oh, I have! Don’t you worry, now.” Alastor wickedly smiled and leaned down to Buné, poking her on her rabbit nose.

Charlie rounded the corner of the wall, excitedly waving over to Vaggie. “Vaggie, holy shit!” She practically screamed, gesturing for Vaggie to come over to her.

Vaggie sighed and strolled over to her girlfriend, leaving Angel, Buné, and Alastor alone. Angel Dust looked back and forth between the pair of overlords, curiosity pricking him like a cactus. “Are you two fuckin’ or what?”

Buné blinked, staring directly at Angel Dust. Alastor did the same, simply looking at Angel Dust without saying anything. There was an awkward silence that filled the air, making everyone uncomfortable. Buné had the faintest shade of pink on her face from embarrassment, Alastor’s ears growing pricklier. Buné finally decided to say something. “You’re funny, Angel! No.” She answered, switching to a neutral face at once.

Before the conversation could continue, a singing voice could be heard from over by Charlie and Vaggie. Everyone turned and looked at Charlie, who was now singing and dancing. She swung Vaggie around, Vaggie looking somewhat unconfident. “Okay, but just don’t… sing to them.” Vaggie disputed, but Charlie was already long gone. Buné then strolled over to the door, watching as Charlie pranced down the street.

Angel Dust turned around to Vaggie, a bottle of booze still in hand. “That bitch is halfway down the street.” He smiled.

Vaggie held out her finger, trying not to cringe. “Is she--”

“Oh, she’s dancin’.” Angel Dust responded, smirking and downing more booze.

Buné watched in confusion as Charlie pranced down the street, singing and dancing as fire surrounded her. Vaggie disappeared shortly after, to who knows where. Buné shrugged, heading back over to the couch with Angel Dust. Shortly after, Vaggie returned. “Alright, we need to talk!” She announced, gesturing to the couch.

Husk groaned and walked over to the couch, Niffty not too far behind. She took a seat next to Buné and Husk, gladly separating the two of them. Alastor decided to sit in a golden and red chair, sitting peacefully.

Vaggie began pacing around the room. “Okay, so Charlie is dealing with something very important, so while she’s gone, we are making a new commercial.” One that represents her vision and what we’re doing here. So we need a camera. Alastor?” Vaggie declared with a smile, pointing to Alastor.

Alastor snapped, his eyes closed. A green aura dropped a 1920s camera into Vaggie’s hand, causing Vaggie to look annoyed. “A video camera.” She deadpanned.

Alastor hummed, changing the camera in her hand into a video camera. “Alright, let’s do this!” She excitedly began going over the different ideas of the commercial.

…

Vaggie glanced at Buné in the entertainment hall, almost like a ballroom with a stage. Buné, Alastor, Angel, and Vaggie were all in this room, preparing to film Buné’s commercial segment. Vaggie held out a slightly torn piece of paper, reading from it. “Okay Buné, your line is, ‘-and we’ll always keep you entertained. We have live events on different occasions.’” Vaggie shouted up to Buné, who was on the stage.

Buné smiled down at her, looking like she was up to no good. “But that’s so little! Why not add a bit more…” She trailed off, spreading her hands out. “Flair?” Confetti appeared from her hands, throwing it up in the air. She giggled, content with her added flair.

Vaggie facepalmed. “Whatever works, it can’t be any worse than Angel Dust’s take.” She jeered.

Angel Dust blinked in anger. “Hey, Vagina, you can’t do any better!” He hissed, causing Alastor to blink in annoyance, yet his smile was as bright as ever.

“And go!” Vaggie shouted.

Buné turned around with a twirl, facing the camera. Her smile was bright and she showed her sharp teeth. “We’ll always keep you entertained!” She started, taking off her hat. She reached into it, grabbed a bunch of confetti out, and threw it into the air. “Don’t ever miss one of our live performances!” Buné jested, taking a bow and laughing.

“Cut!” Vaggie yelled, cutting the camera’s video. “Was that a threat?” Vaggie asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

Buné laughed, making the confetti disappear with a pink glow. “Only if you took it as one!” She giggled, putting her hat back onto her head.

“Fine, whatever.” Vaggie sighed, replaying the footage on her camera.

…

Buné felt herself drop and suddenly she was back in the lobby, right in front of Vaggie and Alastor. She tilted her head in confusion, wondering what had just happened. Alastor sent a look over to her and gave her a grin. “Now then!”

Everyone else looked slightly confused, they had just been summoned too. Their clothes began morphing as a set crew of shadows manifested around the lobby. Buné was back in the flapper outfit she wore earlier, giggling. “Oh? Again?” She asked as Vaggie gave her a determined smile.

“Alright everyone, let’s make a fucking commercial!” Vaggie roared, and like that, they began filming.

…

Everyone sat around the TV once more as Vaggie dragged her girlfriend over to the lobby upon arrival. Buné stood next to the couch, somehow always standing when there was no other room. Vaggie walked over, holding Charlie’s hand. “Alastor pulled some strings, and it’s about to air.”

Alastor pressed his hand on his chest, his smile wide. “I pulled a few limbs too, haha!” He chuckled.

Buné let out a ‘pfft’, as bad as the joke was.

“Wait, the commercial? You all made a new one?” Charlie asked, mixed emotions rising in her.

“Yeah, one of my better performances, if I do say so myself.” Angel Dust smirked.

Charlie’s eyes began to tear up, overwhelmed with positive emotions. “That’s… that’s amazing.”

Angel Dust put a finger up to her mouth. “Shh, it’s startin’!”

The TV commercial began, starting with the group in front of the hotel. “Welcome to the Hazbin Ho-” Vaggie started, getting cut off almost immediately.

Everyone started groaning, extremely annoyed by the fact that the commercial got interrupted by the news. Buné didn’t particularly mind, holding in a laugh with a smile when everyone let out angry noises.

“Breaking news in Hell today!” The news faded out to Katie Killjoy and her business partner, Tom Trench. “We have just received word from the Heaven Embassy that the next extermination is happening sooner than ever before! Do you know what that means, Tom?” Katie Killjoy asked, turning her head over to Tom. Buné’s eyes widened and her head tilted, confused as to why they decided to cut the time in half.

“No, what does that mean, Katie?” Tom replied.

“It means we’re all royally fucked!” Katie cracked her neck and looked into the camera.

The news cut to screams of sinners as they noticed the timer being cut in half. Angel Dust furrowed his eyebrows and Alastor sat up while everyone else had horrified reactions on their faces. “Wait, what? Why?!” Angel yelled, panic setting in.

Buné looked over at everyone’s reaction, horror present. “I have a feeling this extermination will be one to remember!” She declared, walking behind the TV and shutting it off.

Charlie was panicking because of the reactions of her friends. She quickly grabbed Vaggie’s hand, dragging her into another corner of the hotel. Niffty just blinked at the TV until it shut off, and Husk also looked worried. Alastor stood up and began walking over to Buné.

“I would have to say I agree! Maybe next time they’ll cut it in half again.” Alastor suggested with a bright grin on his face.

“Oh, fuck off!” Husk hissed, standing up and trudging over to his bar. Angel immediately got on his phone and Niffty just followed Husk back over to the bar. Buné was sure that didn’t fully understand what was said.

Alastor looked over to Buné, who was standing right next to him. “Would you care to join me for tea?” He asked, offering her an arm and a smile.

Buné nodded with a laugh. “Of course!” She beamed as they began walking towards the balcony that was located upstairs. Once they reached the door, Alastor opened it for her politely. She skipped over to the table and chairs on the balcony as he began to make her tea. “Would you know why they cut the time in half?” She asked, curiosity poking at her.

Alastor continued making the tea, brewing himself coffee instead. “No, my dear, I have not the slightest clue. How have you held up these last few exterminations?” He questioned, stirring sugar into her tea, just how she liked it.

Buné shrugged with a smile. “Just as normal, picking up those affected and offering them a spot in my little family!” She excitedly told him as he brought the tea over to the table, sitting hers in front of her.

Alastor sat down across from her, looking out to the city that was on fire as usual. “You and your circus! I do miss our living days.” He admitted, taking a sip of his black coffee.

Buné gave him a soft smile. “I’d have to say I prefer Earth over Hell. At least Earth maintained some beauty!” She shook her head, looking to the city where screams and fire were just everyday activities.

Alastor chuckled. “Hell does have little beauty, you are right about that. I do think you make up a majority of it.” He flattered her, for whatever reason.

The rabbit demon giggled in response. “Such a charmer, on Earth and now!” She laughed, taking a sip of her tea. “We have much to catch up, Alastor.”

Alastor looked her in the eyes, his own unreadable. “Well, my old friend, we have eternity.”

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accidentallycurated · 4 months ago

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chez le cavalier ~ wip #1

[willow creek rebuild, house no. 1]

a lovely little sneak peek of house no. 1 in my willow creek rebuild - from 'crick cabana' to chez le cavalier.

I'm starting in the neighborhood foundry cove, as it has the smallest houses and what I'm thinking will be the most simple of my other plans. sims markets this neighborhood as 'modest homes' with 'lots of characters.' I'm spinning this into an up-and-coming young people & starter family neighborhood, with more spacious houses and some family-friendly amenities.

to me, it seems that houses on a canal like this would be worth more, and the generous green space would attract people wanting to be close to downtown crawdad quarters, but starting to explore suburban life.

crick cabana is a classic new orleans shotgun-style home. I kept the existing footprint and added a second story to add more bedrooms and increase value.

below is some before shots and what it looked like after day 1.

before:

post-demo and down to the drywall:

second-floor addition & new millwork:

from here, I started playing around with the floorpan, trying to establish where stairs/dining room/living room/kitchen would be. after that windows went in.

new windows going in & first shot of the interior:

walls painted & ceiling lights in:

I always start with white walls as I try to figure out what direction the interior style will go in.

living room:

foyer:

dining room:

you can a snippet of the kitchen after day one - I just had cabinets down to play with color/style.

& that's where I finished with the day! the style is kind of taking shape as eclectic midcentury with some traditional elements to pay homage to the original architecture of the home. I'm imagining a young couple who collects furniture from facebook marketplace and are super excited to decorate their first home after moving out of their city apartment.

super excited to share how it changed on day 2!

huge huge credit to @harrie-cc @pierisim @felixandresims @charlypancakes @bostyny @thecluttercat for creating such beautiful cc that makes it so easy to build spaces that reflect my own style so well 💌

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 months ago

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This is such a large, sprawling, house for the price. The 1968 mid century modern in Fairmont, WV has an interior I didn't really expect. 4bds, 6ba, 4,400 sq ft, $499,999.

I didn't expect a marble entry. It's kind of elegant.

Large sunken living room has a "walk" around it, plus a big rock fireplace wall.

Looks like they replaced the flooring, but everything else is original.

Off to the side, there's a tiki-look dining room.

Oh, wow, look at the counters and backsplash.

I don't usually like the faux Victorian ceilings in homes that aren't Victorian, but this one's painted black, so it doesn't look too bad.

The large kitchen has a dining area with a colorful original corner wall.

Look at the primary bedroom- stone walls and a bath in the room, with marble.

Nice secondary bedroom.

This is an interesting bath- the big gold trough sink is crazy.

Large 3rd bd. has a matching ensuite.

Downstairs there's another kitchen.

Plus a rec room.

Then, on the upper floor there's a large finished space with a big stone fireplace, a loft, and a vaulted ceiling with skylights. Sliders open to a terrace that overlooks the pool.

Then there's another area here that looks like an additional rec room.

Huge bedroom #4 is here, also.

Plus a stone and marble bath with a fireplace and spa wooden floor.

Large patio and pool on the side of the home.

There's the terrace overlooking the pool, plus a rooftop deck carved into the roof.

The front door has a "hello" sign.

Looks like this might be a little Zen area with a murky hot tub and a pond.

1.04 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1662-Fairmont-Ave-Fairmont-WV-26554/22729697_zpid/

#mid century modern homes #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour #homes under $500k

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rwby-soh · 6 months ago

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“Speaks No Evil”

Sex: Male

Race: Faunus (Monkey)

Height: 6’5”

Age (circa 99 AGW): 17

Aura Density: High

Aura Reserves: Above Average

Aura Color: Gold

Semblance: Drifter

Weapon: The Golden Path

The firstborn son of Yang and Blake (with Sun as his biological father and Yang as his birth mother), and the older brother to his twin siblings Guang & Liang. The logistics of his conception are a heated debate, as he claims to be the result of Blake and Yang seeking a sperm donation from Sun so they could start a family. However, some choose to believe a more… intimate version of that event, much to his torment. Jin is generally a funny and lovable guy, but he doesn’t exactly have the greatest communication skills, alongside being highly superstitious and deeply afraid of primates. Isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed either, but he finds great interest in the unlikeliest of things, like railway systems, horticulture, and miniature painting. As an older brother to two younger siblings, both with notable disabilities that heavily impact them, he has an unfortunate tendency to falsely place blame on himself, and tends to overcorrect when trying to rectify that perceived blame, often to his own detriment. Tallest and most athletic member of the main cast by a metric mile, standing at 6’5” and blessed with the physique of a Greek god. His weapon, The Golden Path, is a set of golden bracers and greaves that serve as both sword and shield in his martial-arts based lighting style. This is then used in conjunction with his Semblance, Drifter, which allows him to manipulate gravity’s effect on him, to improve his hand-to-hand prowess with gravity-defying moves and moving around the battlefield with surprising speed via leaping off walls and ceilings, unburdened by gravity’s embrace. Additionally, he can selectively extend Drifter’s effects to anything/anyone that he’s in contact with, provided that the additional mass does not exceed his own. Alludes to Iwazaru, the Third Wise Monkey who speaks no evil.

#rwby #rwbyfanart #rwby_fanfiction #bumblebeerwby #rwbabies #jinzi belladonna-xiao long #rwby fanfiction #rwby fanart #rwby fankids #rwby oc #rwby au

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courtforshort15 · 2 years ago

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Chapter 6

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 6,800

Summary: It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger Warning: Death...it’s a little dark here, y’all. Be cautious if that’s something that might trigger you.

Chapter Index

The inside of the gym is just as old as the outside of the building, faded paint and cracked walls and all. There’s a scent of sweat and used rubber that hits your nose, heightening by warm, stale air that’s unfortunately stopped circulating, likely due to numerous ceiling fans that have stopped spinning and an old AC unit that does not appear to be running.

The gym isn’t really anything special, a dull interior filled with gray lockers, old punching bags, and a boxing ring that had clearly seen better days. It looks like the mat inside the ring, and the ropes surrounding it, might have been replaced a little more recently, but overall the whole building is filled with equipment that has experienced the normal wear and tear of a well-loved but almost forgotten gym.

Your brain struggles to imagine what the gym might have looked like in the glory days, filled with boxers and crowds and screaming coaches, each one hyped up during a training session or match, beads of sweat flying and money switching hands.

Drops and smears of blood are splayed across the concrete floor, and you can’t help the violent shutter that rolls up your spine when you realize they’re fresh, not just old tinted memories left behind by some individual taking a fist to their nose.

You still don't see Matt when you take another few steps in, eyes tracing over the gym in front of you as you narrow your eyes in confusion. But there’s a brief silence that rests between crash after crash in the city, and the quiet murmur of voices and a loud, hacking cough coming through the other side of a door in the far corner echoes throughout the space. You know what a cough such as that means, the deep, rattling cough of someone who’s in pain and not bothering to hide it, and suddenly your feet are taking you across the gym before you've thought about it, cringing when you realize the drops of blood are headed in the same direction.

Walking around the random ceiling tiles and items that have been knocked over, it only takes you a few seconds before you’re in front of a door that says Office at eye level, the lettering bold and faded black. It’s pushed slightly open, just a few pieces of light sliding between the crack and into the gym, and your hands only hesitate for the amount of time it takes to gulp in a deep breath, terrified about what might be beyond the door.

With a racing heart behind ribs that feel like they’re about to shatter from the force, your bandaged hand pushes the door the rest of the way open, widening enough for you to look into a room that’s as equally dull a gray, your eyes flitting over the basic office furniture and additional lockers that rest against the far wall. The scent of the room hits you, something just as stale and old as the rest of the building, but your nose wrinkles when you realize that it’s almost completely covered by the smell of copper.

It only takes a second for you to turn your gaze downward, and you can’t help the way your eyes widen when you take in the sight before you, biting your lip and raising a hand to cover your mouth to help stifle a cry.

Matt’s dark hair stands out against the gray walls and white tile of the floor, the color deep and the strands looking like silk, but his dark head still pales in comparison to the red that is seeping through the ruined fabric of an older man’s t-shirt, sluggishly dripping to the concrete with noiseless drops. Matt’s arm has been wrapped around the man’s shoulders, lifting him into a slightly elevated position as he rests back against Matt’s knee and ever so slightly in his lap, his eyes squeezed shut as he shivers.

The older man is holding a hand to a wound in his abdomen, a deep wince on his face and breathing harshly in the face of whatever pain is likely to be spreading through his nerves like a never-ending wildfire. His gray hair, stained with dust and God knows what else, lays plastered to his forehead with sweat, a small trickle of blood sliding down his face from a knick above his eyebrow. Matt's talking in low tones, something soothing that you can't quite hear from the ten foot distance, as his hand lifts to gently shove the other man's hand away so that he can place another old, ratty towel over a wound you can’t yet see.

The rag is soaked within ten seconds, and it causes your heart to lurch.

Your eyes catch the sight of a stack of clean gym rags on a shelf to your left, so with quick thinking, you grab all of them and make your way towards the man’s side on wobbly feet. In your haste, you don’t bother getting to the ground slowly or gently, simply throwing yourself down next to Matt, knees crashing harshly on the scuffed tile that seems out of place in the old office. You’ll have bruises later, dark blue and purple from the force of falling to your knees, but you won’t be surprised if there’s not an inch of you that’s not marked up by today’s events when all is said and eventually done.

Better an array of bruises than lying in a street, forgotten even once the chaos dies down.

Wordlessly, you take the soaked rag out of Matt’s hands and throw it a few feet away, immediately placing a clean rag onto what you think might be the source of the bleeding. His shirt is too wet with blood for you to really tell exactly where the wound is in his abdomen, but Matt helps you adjust the rag slightly, no doubt helping you put pressure in the correct place.

“What happened, Bill?” Matt asks quietly, almost tenderly, grabbing the other man's hand in his. The grip on Matt’s hand is far too loose in return, almost limp and bone white, though when the man glances up at him, they’re slightly warm with recognition.

You swallow dryly when it suddenly hits you that Matt knows the man, that he’s not some stranger, that Matt has some sort of connection to this man, whether it be large or small. You bite your bottom lip to keep a mournful whine from clawing its way out, doing your best to not sully the sadness that is present on Matt’s face, heartbreakingly aware that this grief is far more his than it will ever be yours.

When you’re able to gain some semblance of control, you dare to ask a question that you don’t think you want to know the answer to, mostly because you’re sure you already know what it’s going to be, and the thought of the finality hurts your chest. Your voice is as close to silence as it’s ever been, but you know he’ll have no trouble hearing it, the words extremely reluctant when they come out. “Matt, is he going to make–”

He shakes his head immediately as he cuts you off before you can finish your question, the motion jerky, mouth grim as he all but confirms that the man isn’t going to live beyond a few more minutes. You have to force down the bile that suddenly rises up your throat.

Here, huddled in an old gym as the city shakes and groans in horror, this man’s story is about to end.

It’s not the time to cry.

Bill coughs, a small trail of blood staining his bottom lip, and you can’t bring yourself to turn away, not when someone needs a level of comfort in their last minutes. You swap the soaked rag with another clean one, hands shaking as you push pressure on the wound again. The man winces at your touch, twisting slightly away from the pain, and it’s almost enough to make you want to pull away, but you keep your hands on the wound, some part of you still hoping in vain that it might help. Matt’s hand settles over yours, his palm far cooler than the warmth of the blood that continues to seep out despite your efforts. The contrast makes you shiver.

“Got hit,” Bill finally manages to rasp out, voice sounding like his throat was made of nothing but razor sharp pieces of glass, shredding each syllable on its way out. He makes no indication that he heard your question or saw Matt’s answer. “One of those things caught–caught my side.”

“Where were you?” Matt questions softly, brow furrowed as the man looks up at him, gray eyes already glassy.

“On my way here,” BIll replies with another loud cough, one that causes his chest to spasm, and you ease up on the pressure to allow the movement. “Up a block. I was…I was able to drag myself in here.”

A new rag is swapped for the one currently pressed into his side, and you try to ignore both the dwindling stack of clean ones, and the heap of soaked ones, the red cruel and angry against the white of the floor.

“How…” Bill starts, a loud moan breaking the quiet when you press a little harder than before, as if adding more pressure will save him. “How did you know…how did you know I was in here?”

Slowly, you open your mouth to reply with a stilted excuse, but Matt beats you with a subtle shake of his head. “We don’t need to worry about that, Bill. We’re just lucky we found you.”

The grin that suddenly twists itself on to Bill’s lips lacks humor. “Lucky,” he says bitterly, “nothing lucky about being o-outside when shit went sideways just because….just because I decided to take an early lunch.”

The frown that deepens on Matt’s face is so sad that it easily becomes one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to look at. It’s completely devastated, though he tries to hide it, likely for the sake of the man dying in his arms, but you can see the way he’s struggling to hold it together. You take one blood soaked hand off of Bill’s side and place it on his leg, squeezing lightly with whatever comfort you’re able to provide in the moment, before it returns to add more pressure on the wound.

“I’m not–I’m not gonna make it,” the man says, a tear sliding down his face, mixing with the trickle of blood that’s still staining his cheek. “I’m not gonna…”

“Don’t say that,” you whimper quietly, squeezing your eyes tightly, turning your head into your shoulder to hide the way your face twists in a level of sorrow you haven’t felt in years, but one that seems to be the consistent theme of today’s massacre. You don’t think Bill hears you as he doesn’t acknowledge the words that you say, but Matt does, and he leans into your shoulder, both seeking and giving the comfort that the two of you are able to provide to one another.

When you look back, Bill’s eyes are fluttering, as if he’s fighting to keep them open, the drag of death continuing its journey to pull him under. “I’m not gonna make it,” he repeats quietly, “am I?”

Matt’s shoulders hunch in on themselves as his face cracks again, lip trembling for a quick second before he takes in a deep breath. “No, Bill. I don’t think you are.”

The older man shudders a nod in his grasp, eyes rolling back slightly, chest expanding rapidly in a hitched gasp, one that sounds painful on its exhale. His hand, still weak and pale, latches onto Matt’s dress shirt as if needing the additional physical comfort in these last moments.

“You gotta do me a favor, Matt,” Bill rasps out suddenly, and for the first time, his eyes meet yours, widening as if he was too out of it before to realize that someone else was there with him. You do your best to offer a small smile, but you know you fail, dry lips refusing to stretch. Bill’s own mouth smiles sadly at yours before his eyes shift back up to the man at your side.

“Anything,” Matt promises quietly.

“I got married,” he begins roughly, noting Matt’s small jilt of surprise at the revelation. “I got m-married two years ago. I need you to find her and tell her that I l-love her and that I’m s-sorry.”

Matt nods his head slowly, his breath hitching on a sudden gasp, hand squeezing Bill’s hand as the man’s speech begins to slur and stutter. “What’s her name?”

“Anne,” the other man replies with a shudder, wide eyes beginning to tear up again. His lips have lost their color, you notice with a shudder of your own, head dropping so that you can look away, just for a second, from the sadness that continues to pull at his face. “My Annie. My b-beautiful Annie. Annie Campbell. P-promise me you’ll find her.”

Matt can’t quite get the words out, so you respond instead once you’re able to look up again. “We promise,” you vow quietly, speaking for Matt who looks just shy of losing all composure, knuckles white from where they hold on to Bill’s shoulder.

“And t-take care of your girl,” he coughs out, chin shifting as if nodding in your direction, and your jaw can’t help but drop slightly at the comment, even as Matt swallows with another nod of his head. “Get–get her out of here. Keep each other safe.”

You don’t even bother objecting to the assumption, simply releasing the pressure from his side and grabbing the hand that’s buried in Matt’s shirt, taking it in yours and holding tight. Bill sends a watery, strained smile your way, one that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I will,” Matt whispers softly, not bothering to correct him. “We’ll keep each other safe.”

Bill’s eyes continue to flutter, staying closed for longer periods of time, only opening with a deep gasp that shudders his frame. He doesn’t speak again, merely focuses on breathing, hand weak and beginning to slide out of your hold. Your eyes tear up, the image of him blurry on the floor in front of you, the heat of the tears temporarily fogging your glasses. You don’t bother wiping at them, knowing that once you start crying for real, you won’t be able to stop.

“It’s okay, Bill,” Matt murmurs as his hand tightens around Bill’s even as it trembles, and you watch as the man’s face starts to go slack, fading away in front of your eyes. “It’s ok to let go. We’ll be right here.”

“Not going anywhere,” you affirm softly, ignoring the tears that continue to streak down your cheeks. “We’ll stay with you.”

Bill’s eyes slide open and meet yours again, deep gray glossing over, and it doesn’t take a genius for you to realize that his vision is slipping away with every single second that passes by. The pleading in them has shrunk back, a sense of resignation taking its place, and it takes everything in you to not lose it, to not break down. Bill deserves someone who is calm and assuring during his last minutes of life, and Matt deserves to be the one to have someone else be the strong one in this situation, and so you hold the grief in, wishing to give these moments to them.

He lets out a shaky breath, the sound lacking the pain that had been filtering through with every inhale and exhale. His hand falls limp in Matt’s hand, his lips fall open, and where there should have been another gasp for air, there is none.

Gone.

Matt’s face crumbles, head bowing in grief. You remember his comment about being able to hear heartbeats, and it causes you a swift and burning sensation of heartache, knowing that he must be far more aware of the silence than you are. You’d been focused on Bill’s rising and falling chest, the gasping for breath and quiet moans of pain, but Matt’s been forced to hear three heartbeats dwindling down to two.

A few tears slide down his face, followed by a quiet sniffle, and you imagine the sadness on his face matches yours, haunted by something so deep and so grief-stricken that it reminds you of the anguish that hadn’t left your features for months after your mother died.

“He’s been the manager here for thirty years,” Matt whispers, head tilted down towards his blood-soaked hands, the red still the color of life that had poured from Bill. “He knew my dad. Helped me with my homework when I’d come in with my dad so he could train.”

It takes you far too long to recognize that what’s haunting Matt’s face are memories of a time long past, of moments in time when his father had been around and taken him to places where people knew him and cared for him, and the pain that’s swallowing him is one you’re all too familiar with. Shifting your eyes to the man that lays dead next to you, your heart twinges at the sight of his wrinkled skin already losing warmth with every second that passes by. You reach forward, hand trembling as you shut the man’s eyes, hating the vacant look that’s settled in them.

“I’m so sorry, Matt,” you say quietly as you slowly sit back on your heels, turning your attention back to the man next to you, his shoulders slumped and defeated. Matt continues to sit at your side, silence settling over the room, such a shocking difference to the man who had been gasping in pain just minutes before while Matt held him in his lap. “I am so sorry. I don’t—I don’t even know what to say, or what to–”

“You don’t need to say anything,” he interrupts you softly, head lifting up in your direction, your reflection glinting in the black lenses of his glasses. “Just…just be here with me for a few minutes. Please?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” you tell him as you shift over a few inches, leaning into him. You lift your arm to wrap it around his shoulders, but he beats you to it, red hand trailing across your upper back before it lands on your shoulder and pulls you in closer. You wrap your arm around his waist instead, and it takes all of two seconds before his head is dropping to rest against yours, smooth skin and strands of silk brushing your face as he settles.

The two of you sit like that for what feels like hours but is likely only five minutes, leaning into each other, choosing to ignore the pool of blood that is still staining the ground you’re settled on. Neither of you move, not even as a loud crash shatters the silence from a few blocks away, instead focusing on the quiet shifting of air as your breathing syncs up with his. He doesn’t cry, not really, though there’s no mistaking the slight damp spot on your forehead and the hand that occasionally lifts to brush his cheek.

Your tears match his, silent and unheeded, nothing but the occasional sniffle and the faint smell of salt.

Matt finally stirs, lifting his head off of yours, and you immediately miss the light pressure that’s been removed as he begins to shift away. His warmth leaves you, and you’re left with a slight chill, one that makes its way through your body and down to your fingertips. His arm slides across your back as he lets go of your shoulders, hand trailing over your blouse in a way that’s almost soothing.

He stands up smoothly in one quick motion, his hand already reaching down and encouraging you to grab it so that he can pull you up. You take him up on his offer, knees stiff from kneeling on the concrete, and you’re standing upright in two seconds, wobbling into him before he helps you regain your balance.

Leaning over to brush the dust and dirt off your pants, you watch as he grabs a clean cloth from a few feet away to wipe the blood off of his hands. He tosses you a clean one as well, and you catch it easily despite your perpetually shaking hands, scrubbing at the red that’s already begun drying on your skin. Matt’s tie that is wrapped around your hand is already soaked through with blood from the gash in your palm, so you focus on your other hand, wanting nothing more than to clean under your fingernails.

The bus that had burned in reds and yellows and oranges is forever seared into your head, the sight of scalded flesh and melting metal likely to leave you with vicious nightmares anytime you close your eyes, but it’s almost nothing compared to the feeling of blood seeping over your skin and into your clothing. Both were bound to leave you haunted for the rest of your life, but one was merely visual while the other was forever going to be etched into your skin, the remembered feeling of someone’s life literally sliding out onto your fingers.

When you finish scrubbing your hands as best as you can, you glance up to where Matt stands, now only a few feet away from you, his hands placed on his hips as he tilts his head in thought.

“Should we–”

But before you can finish your question, the building suddenly rattles and groans, and you find yourself almost immediately shoved up against the lockers as Matt blocks you in, chest to yours as he raises his arms to protect your heads. The shaking doesn’t last long, though Matt stays close as you pant in his ear, your hands wrapped into what used to be his white dress shirt, the fabric covered in dust and dirt and blood, nothing but a brief montage of the horror of today.

When he finally steps back, your wide eyes flit across the room, taking in the few things that have been knocked to the ground off of the old, wooden desk that’s pressed up against the wall, and a ceiling tile that has fallen to the ground, leaving nothing behind but a dark wound against the white of the ceiling. All in all, the damage is minimal, the shaking nothing like what had happened at the bookstore.

“Is it–”

“It’s done, yeah,” Matt says in reply, accurately guessing your question and cutting you off with his answer. “Something crashed nearby, but the building itself is fine.”

The breath you release is shaky. “Okay.”

“We should get moving,” he tells you, hands back on his hips, head thrown back slightly as if studying the ceiling that seems as flimsy as it is sturdy. You can easily guess that the building isn’t as secure as you’d like it to be, far too fragile in its decades of existence, just a shell of what it might have been in its days of glory. But you suppose it’s lack of strength doesn’t really matter, seeing as how no building, new or old, can outrun or outmatch the force of the weapons that have been blasted at brick, concrete, and steel.

“Yeah, we should.” You wince as you shift your feet, shoes feeling more and more painful every time movement stops for a few minutes, but it doesn’t stop you from making your way to the door that opens into the gym, hand pushed out behind you for Matt to grasp on to.

But instead of grabbing your hand and following behind you, Matt suddenly turns on his heel and walks into the corner on the far opposite side of the room, his steps quick and hurried.

“What are you doing?” you ask with a frown as you turn back around, hand still slightly outstretched from where you had offered it to him. It drops to your side as confusion seeps in, watching as he continues walking away. “We need to go.”

Matt doesn’t really acknowledge your words as he bends down to grab something, lips pulled into a thin line of concentration. He’s dipped down slightly behind the desk in the office so you’re not able to see what he’s picked up until he’s standing back up and placing a large laundry basket next to an old computer. It’s filled to the brim in clothing and other items, and the quizzical frown on your face remains as Matt begins digging through it.

“What are you doing?” you question again, repeating your words from just twenty seconds ago. You step closer to the desk as Matt continues to sort through the items almost manically, his movements rapid and still somehow practiced and concise.

“This is an old lost and found basket,” he says in response, brow furrowed as he tosses various t-shirts and sweatpants onto the desk without much care. “I think it has–aha!” He pulls out a matching pair of tennis shoes and slaps them loudly onto the wood of the desk.

Bewildered, your eyes drift back and forth between the pair of shoes and the grim look on his face, though his mouth tilts briefly in success. “What…why were you looking for these?”

He pulls the right shoe into his hand and immediately begins undoing the ties before moving onto the left one. “You need to get rid of the heels,” he tells you as he pushes them towards you. “It’s not safe to be in those.”

Lips twisted in a grimace, you glance back down at the shoes. “But it’s…gross.”

Matt sighs loudly, a tear still faintly glistening on his cheek. “I know, but you’ll be much better off in these. We don’t–we don’t know how long this will last. This subway station may have collapsed, too, and we might need to keep moving for a while. I can’t…I just want to make sure you’re safe and that you can run if you need to.”

“How am I supposed to argue with that?” you ask rhetorically with a grumble as you reach forward to pick up the shoes. Luckily, they look to be about your size, if not a little small, but you suppose beggars can't be choosers in situations like this. The shoes look well-used, the black soles rubbed down and hot pink laces smudged with some dirt, but it seems like there’s little room to think about another solution.

Matt’s right. You’re not safe in the heels, not with the slower pace you’ve been forced to use in order to avoid crashing to the ground, not with the inability to run should something pop up in front of you. The tennis shoes will offer a steadier journey to the station, and it’s not necessarily smart to avoid taking the obvious solution that rests in front of you.

Besides, it’s not just your life at risk. He’s demonstrated by now that he’ll be with you every step of the way, despite whatever it may cost him, and you know you’ll never forgive yourself if anything happens to him while he’s saving you from a situation that could have been avoided.

Matt swings the office chair towards you, careful to avoid brushing against Bill’s foot in the process, and eases you down onto the seat. Without much further ado, you kick your heels off, letting them clack on to the concrete with a graceless fall.

“Are there any–”

Matt places a pair of socks onto the desk near the left shoe, his wince matching your own. Wearing someone else’s shoes was one thing, but wearing their socks was another, and the look on his face suggests that feels the exact same way about it as you.

“....awesome,” you mumble. You take a deep breath before biting the bullet and yanking on one sock and then the other, lips pursed in thinly veiled disgust. Before you can reach for the shoe, Matt’s placing it gently into your hand. You whisper your thanks as you bend back down to slip it on and tie the laces.

Once the shoes are secured on your feet, toes cramped together in a space that is just slightly too small, you stand up. Matt turns his body so that he’s fully facing Bill, lips pressed into a frown that is nothing short of grief-stricken. Blood has seeped out around him slowly, the color vibrant in shade but dull in purpose. Matt slowly lowers his head before crossing up and down, left and right, hand shaking as it does so. Without a word, he motions for you to exit the room, walking closely behind.

The heat of outside feels overwhelming as you step back on to the street, the smell of smoke and dust laying around the city and encasing it in a haze. The warm air sticks to the sweat on your skin, even while your bones seem colder with every step, a shiver racking its way up your spine as you struggle to put the past ten minutes into a corner of your mind that you’ll work through later, once you have time to scream and rage and sob out all of the horror you’ve seen today.

Matt immediately takes off, crossing back across the street and continuing the journey north, and you swallow swiftly after him, feet still in pain from the shoes that are slightly too small and the blisters that had been rubbed raw, but your ability to move quickly has increased, the pesky heel of a shoe no longer holding you back and making you unsteady with every step. He walks in front of you, no longer extremely concerned about the thought of you losing your balance, though his movements still offer you a path through the rubble and debris littering the sidewalk.

He pauses occasionally, tilting his head this way and that as if listening for something far off in the distance, before continuing on, his pace quick and almost grueling. You don’t take it personally that he’s put a small bit of distance between the two of you; you simply take it as Matt trying to get far away from Fogwell’s as quickly as possible, and you certainly don’t blame him.

The city remains in a constant state of chaos, sirens and explosions and the firing of guns and otherworldly weapons assaulting your ears relentlessly. You can’t imagine how the sound must be hurting Matt’s ears, and every fraction of a wince you’ve seen on his face since you pulled him into the bookstore suddenly makes more sense, now knowing the sharp level of his hearing.

You’ve barely reached the top of the second block, Matt perhaps a few yards ahead of you, when another explosion roars just yards behind you, and the blast that echoes is deafening in your head and over your skin. There’s a rumbling behind you, the force increasing in speed, and you're only given a split second to realize what’s happening before you're knocked off your feet and crashing to the ground.

Distantly, you hear Matt screaming your name as you fall, and the only thought you have is to cradle your head in your hands, attempting to provide an awful imitation of a helmet to keep your skull from landing on the concrete. As it is, you land with a devastating smack, your body sliding over cement, glass and rocks cutting through your blouse and digging into your skin. One of your forearms, in particular, takes the brunt of the landing, and you know without seeing that it’ll look like a horrible case of road rash, skin torn and red and bleeding.

The cry you let out is loud and completely involuntary, shredded with a pain you don’t think you’ve ever felt before.

Matt, who had already been around the corner and escaped the force of the blast that had knocked you from behind, is already at your side before you can reorient yourself, hands tightly grasping your forearms and hauling you back to your feet, no time to waste should something be heading your way. His hands are gentle even while the muscle behind his movements are rough, and you can’t help the loud groan that slips through your lips.

His face hovers in front of yours, mouth parted in shock and fear as he speaks, words rushed as he pushes a hand into your hair and tilts your head up so that you’re staring straight up at him. The blast is still ringing in your ears, so you aren’t able to hear more than a few words of what he's saying, though you pick up on enough to know he's asking if you're okay. A cold shiver slides down your back, one that has you standing stiff in horror as your mind speeds up and you succeed in dragging yourself back inside your head. But the more you look up at him, his hand hovering over your cheek as the sound of his voice slowly comes back, the more you realize something is off, something is wrong.

It’s just–

You can’t really….see him.

Eyes widen drastically as they leave his face, flitting across the city block that had been, just seconds early, a clear image to you, despite the layer of dusk and smoke that spreads through the New York City streets. Your head shifts this way and that, trying to find one thing, just one thing, that’s not fuzzy, and it’s with sheer terror that you finally understand that you can't really see anything. Nothing but blobs and blurs and faint splashes of color here and there. It’s not the haze of a possible head injury, or the loss of focus as eyes grow tired with exhaustion, it’s…worse.

Lifting your hands to your face, your fingertips land on your nose, and with a fresh wave of sheer dread you realize your glasses have disappeared from your face. A gasp rips itself from your mouth, and before you can think about it, you’re dropping back to the ground onto your hands and knees, literally crawling on broken glass as you search for your glasses. Your entire body aches with the movement, new scrapes and cuts and bruises hissing at you, but you’re somehow able to ignore it with your frantic search.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice rushed and loud, trying to compensate for the way his voice is threatening to be washed out by booming sounds resonating through the streets of Manhattan. “What–what’s going on?”

“I can’t see,” you whisper with a panicked gasp, barely noticing the new slice on your pointer finger as you feel around the concrete. “I can’t see.”

Matt’s voice is as sharp as the glass that’s digging into your knees as he asks, “What?”

Your head whips up towards him, noticing that he’s moved to a crouch directly to your left, his head not too far from yours. “My glasses…they’re gone. I–I don’t know where they are. I can’t see.”

Biting back the tears that are threatening to fall, you continue feeling the ground around you, body turning so that you’re facing the opposite direction. You feel a second panic attack building, but you brutally shove it back down, knowing that now is not the time to flip out, despite the anxiety that fills your system relentlessly.

Your hands continue feeling around on the ground, and without thought, you crawl over to where you think you had landed. With growing frustration and dread, you fail to find them, distorted objects swimming in and out of your vision. You can’t…your eyes can’t focus on anything. Not without your glasses.

Before you can crawl another foot, a hand settles on to your back, causing you to immediately lift your head sharply. Matt has made his way to your side again, his form kneeling next to you, his face the only thing that seems partially clear to you, as close as it is.

“We need to keep moving,” he says quietly, though his voice is no less urgent than what it’s been since you entered the bookstore, already in hyperdrive as he struggled to put a plan together.

“But…I can’t find them,” you tell him, voice exceedingly vulnerable as your fear spikes again, claws shredding your skin as it fights to get out. It matches the way your entire body throbs with every hit and hurt you’ve taken today. “I still can’t find them.”

“You’re not going to find them, not where there’s already so much glass and debris everywhere.” His voice is incredibly gentle as he pushes a lock of hair behind your ear. “Even I can’t—” He cuts himself off before he finishes the statement, and you might have questioned him further about what he meant, but you are too preoccupied to try and guess.

“Matt,” you start, hating the desperation that has started seeping into your voice as you struggle to take a deep breath. “I…I can’t see further than a few feet ahead of me. I can barely see your face.”

His face is all too knowing, and it doesn't take a genius to quickly remember that he's perfectly, uniquely aware of the struggle you're currently facing. You briefly feel ashamed, knowing your trouble with your vision can be solved by finding your glasses, whereas his is a permanent loss. “We can't stay here, we need to leave."

Terror is still flaring. “But how are we supposed–”

His jaw tightens, determination flashing across his face. “Let me handle that, okay?” Matt stands abruptly, his hand shooting out in front of your face, no doubt meant for you to grasp. When you hesitate to take his hand, eyes still wildly searching the ground for the blue frames of your glasses, Matt murmurs your name, trying to draw your attention back to him.

“Take my hand, sweetheart,” he says quietly, the words quiet but somehow the clearest thing you’ve heard all day. Your bottom lip trembles, giving in and ending your search with a mournful sigh, before you slide your hand into his. He effortlessly pulls you to a standing position by his side, though you stumble briefly as the new cuts in the left side of your body cause you to almost hunch over.

“I still don’t understand though,” you say as you slowly right yourself, shakily brushing the glass off of your pants and ignoring the sting on your knee. “What are we supposed to do? I don't–"

All at once, Matt's hand is lifting towards his face and pulling his glasses away, pocketing them. Beautiful dark eyes sit in a face covered in dirt and small cuts from glass, and he's just close enough that you can pick up small flecks of green. You’re not able to look away, not able to miss a single second of the eyes that have been covered by black lenses since you first saw his face, a barrier now lifted between the two of you..

"I know this is scary," he says, eyes flitting over your face blindly. "Believe me, I know. But I have lived without my sight for almost twenty years and I can navigate Hell's Kitchen like the back of my hand without it. You’ve seen me today, seen the way I move. I promise I know where we’re going and I promise I’ll get us there."

You trust this man with your whole life, and you know without a doubt that he’s more than capable of doing what he says he can. But it doesn’t stop the way you shudder in fear, your lack of focused sight yet another piece of you becoming far too vulnerable on this particular, horrific Wednesday.

How things have changed since you met him, offering guidance to a blind man in concern for his own vulnerability, only for him to now be the one offering a sense of safety.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” you finally say, voice wobbling slightly on a whimper. You take another deep breath and square your shoulders, face lifting to look at him directly. “Or I’ll find a way to kick your ass when this is all over.”

Matt lets out a loud bark of laughter despite the situation, shaking his head. “Noted and terms accepted.”

It takes a few minutes and another block and a half for you to realize that his face, while a little blurred, is still open and clear and beautiful, dark eyes shifting left and right as he pulls you along, black lenses on thin silver frames intentionally left in the pocket of his suit jacket.

For you, he’d chosen to keep them off.

#Matt Murdock #Daredevil #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x reader #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #Battle of New York #tw: death

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k155355 · 2 years ago

Text

[(the Muse)] DRABBLE

Start: 07/24 — Finish 07/24

Links: Rules & Masterpost

DISCLAIMER!! SFW. None really.

Featuring: Bloody Painter & GN!Reader

It was a strange thing.

The rustling of people alike all flooded down the hallway — Older woman in turtlenecks and glasses gazed upon abstract pieces, the grazing hand of a young child passing their leggings. Children running around or eating snacks as parents takes sighs of relief at their little one finally calming down. Young couples and single teens may occasionally pass by. You stared fixated, unmoving, among the sea of bustling folk chattering their days away.

The museum was high in people. But it was quiet. Talkative, but low in volume. You had worried when walking in it’d be unbearably loud and leave you no mental space to admire the different pieces hung on the walls in their cases.

You saw small displays of miniature paintings, paintings that took the whole wall, paintings, that spoke an undeniable message through detail and emotion, and, paintings with provoking thought placed upon the shapes and colors.

You were out of place.

You were not apart of the picture.

Wealthy families, upper middle class and upper class folk alike wandered the falls of the museum. And then there was you. A seeming statue dead center of the hallway. People walked past you, some peeking behind them as you stood there in complete fixation. “Something”, they thought, “Something must be captivating”.

Your weight was supported by one leg, the other bent slightly at the knee. Your left hand was on your hip and the only was loosely hung around ur abdomen.

Everything was so much brighter than before.

The fluorescent lights seemingly “not doing their job” in ur opinion.

Your breath was shallow and slow.

You stood there in ur baggy pajamas from the night before; A baggy sweatshirt, plaid pajama shorts and slippers. Your only addition this morning being a thick scarf. It was cold.

Your messy hair was sticking out in places and the bags under your eyes were more prominent the longer stared, your eyes squinting - mind floating around unaware of the bleeding bright lights on the ceiling. Your brain didn’t notice, but you did. Yet wanted more light.

He sat there in a seat, a small commune area with a couple picnic tables. In his hand was a ballpoint pen and on the table was a small sketchbook. Your were staring at some random man, and you didn’t know why. You didn’t know why seeing some random man was one of the things you were looking at in this place of beauty. But you didn’t want to look away.

It was a moment of piece away from your life. A moment of inspiration.

Taking aside the tough times, you dragged yourself out of bed. The slowly crept down the sidewalk to the museum, handed the security guard an entrance fee and wandered the halls. Looking. Looking for something to strike a nerve with you. Something to show you a new perspective or something to give you an answer to what you’ve been desperately searching for what seemed like forever now.

But it wasn’t some centuries old paintings or some new art from the painter down the road. It was man in a blue button up and black dress pants. He looked well off. He looked peaceful. Something you do desperately craved. His black hair waved over his face, his eyes unknown to you. His pale skin seemed to glow, and his calloused hand held the pen with dainty care.

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to think.

You were just staring.

Looking at a man you’ve never seen before in your entire life. A man that was so put together. Someone who didn’t look like their homeless, or some kind of druggy. Someone who could go their entire life without ever caring to know who you were or what you were doing. Someone who knew what they were doing.

Your heart ached. You didn’t know why.

This was all a moment of peace you didn’t expect, yet it all came fading away when his hair moved. His blue eyes came into view and he looked up for a moment, scanning the room, stoping when his gaze landed on you. He stared for only a moment before retreating back into his sketchbook and scribbling. A beautiful glass was drawn on his paper alongside other doodles at the bottom. But, in truth, you weren’t paying attention.

It was a drooping feeling. Something that grounded you. A single look - a single look to make you realize how weird you look. Slowly leaving the pose you were in, you glanced around and found no one looking at you. That was your cue to leave.

#creepypasta x reader #x female reader #x female y/n #x you fluff #x ftm reader #x m!reader #x male reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x male reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta yandere #creepypasta fanfic #Creepypasta bloody painter #bloody painter

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anons-has-hlvrai-aus · 10 months ago

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The Metamorphosis of Gordon Freeman [Chapter 1]

An Aftermath

Next Chapter

Summary: Gordon finds out four years too late that not wearing your helmet into a chamber filled with otherworldly radiation is going to have some strange effects on the human body. Luckily for him, there’s somebody that can help him accommodate to his new alien powers…unluckily for him, that somebody happens to be a certain former security guard that can’t seem to stay dead.

Chapter Summary: Gordon receives an unwanted visit from somebody he hasn’t seen in a long time.

Word Count: 4,406

Ao3 Version Link

Notes: So originally this chapter was much longer, and included Movie Night, but I realized it was getting REALLY long and I thought the initial conversation between Gordon and Benrey acted as a good introduction of things to come. The start of things getting jostled up in Gordon’s life.

Black Mesa had been busy for a while when it came to Xen. The details were of a need-to-know basis, and not everybody in Black Mesa had those qualifications, but that didn’t change the fact that the survey team’s most recent yield of specimens came with an unexpected addition.

Could they call it a man?

It looked like a man.

Correction, it almost looked like a man: average height, a slightly notable stomach, some dark and greasy hair…perfectly normal from a glance.

This wasn’t a normal man.

Normal men don’t bare razor sharp teeth.

Normal men didn’t tank loads of bullets with anything less than a few bruises.

Normal men didn’t come back from the dead.

Normal men don’t spew orbs of color from their snarling mouth.

Normal men don’t have scleras the color of honey and irises that were some sort of horrible color out of space.

Normal men don’t scale walls and ceilings completely nude, their eyes, fingertips, feet mysteriously concealed by shadows with no discernible source.

This wasn’t a normal man.

This wasn’t even a human, masculine or otherwise.

This was something else.

This was something unworldly.

This was something familiar to Black Mesa, despite the shape it currently took.

This was something Black Mesa’s scientists hadn’t seen for a long, long time, and they were going to take advantage of that.

SUBJECT: Gordon Freeman, PhD.

CURRENT LOCATION:

Random County Middle School

Poastgame, New Mexico

TIME: Containment Failure + 1491 days, 5 hours

EMPLOYMENT STATUS: It’s complicated

Gordon sat in front of a desk, a stern, withered figure staring back at him from the opposite side. Both were obnoxiously business casual, although his interviewer clearly had something a bit out of date. He grinned at the older gentleman, who simply maintained his analytical glare.

“You say you want to be a… science teacher… Dr. Freeman?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s why I’m uh… that’s why I applied for the job here, yeah.” He nodded.

“It says here you graduated from MIT, very impressive.”

“Thank you” spills from Gordon’s lips without a second thought, his scrutinizing assessor briefly redirects his gaze from the paper back to him. It feels like an eternity before he switches focus once more.

“I am very curious about your previous employment, as well as the noticeable gap in your resume.”

Shit. Fuck. Damnit.

What could he even bring up as an excuse that didn’t break his confidentiality agreement?

There was so much shit that went on in Black Mesa: the shady business practices were just the start, the blatant coverup of alien lifeforms wasn’t exactly a reasonable excuse either, nor the multitudes of identical human men that were apparently illegal and wanted by the state of New Mexico, and he was pretty sure so much as whispering about the experiment that destroyed his workplace would paint a target on his back. Again. And he really didn’t need a repeat of last year’s ‘Ed Balls Day Celebration’.

That wasn’t even mentioning the complete disregard for OSHA safety regulations (he didn’t care if Tommy said it had been up to code, it most certainly was NOT in his eyes), the medical malpractice (he was pretty sure what happened in the mixology department counted as this, but he really didn’t want to throw Darnold under the bus considering how nice and genuinely helpful the guy was), the clear disregard of human decency that was the accursed laundry room and it’s wretched coin-guzzling dryers, the-

“Doctor Freeman, I am waiting for you to answer my question.”

Gordon stuttered, suddenly his train of thought failed to provide any sort of plausible answer. He deployed his most reliable excuse. “I’m uh, I’m kinda not supposed to say anything? Kinda supposed to keep quiet about what happened to the place. As for the gap… well…” Most people don’t like it when you tell them the reason you have a gap in your employment is because you spent two years attempting to mentally recover from the trauma of your last workplace, and even more people dislike when you tell them the rest of your gap has been from you trying to get a job and then failing, because the idea of anybody having such a long gap in employment is an enigma to anybody trying to hire, at least as far as Poastgame, New Mexico was concerned. Still, he couldn’t exactly lie about what he’d been doing for the past four years, so he told them exactly what was up with the gap in his resume.

As expected, it did not please the other man in the slightest.

Gordon looked deflated by the end of the interview, looking much like one of the numerous tweens currently outside the office, waiting to hear about their grade-school criminal records.

“Doctor Freeman,” the interviewer started, “this is a middle school, as you are clearly aware. You, good Doctor, are an MIT graduate. As far as I’m concerned, this job is way below your paygrade, and even if it weren’t-“

Gordon zoned out, replaying the interview in his head. He was doing everything right: the right clothes, a nice resume, being totally honest with the guy, didn’t accidentally swear like he did at his previous interview…What sort of arbitrary rules could he have been forgetting?

For a guy that had once ragged on his former co-workers, both living and deceased, about not being able to act like normal people, he was starting to feel like maybe he was a hypocrite with how much he struggled to follow basic etiquette.

Surely, the Resonance Cascade hadn’t ruined his social skills that much in just a week, but who was he to judge? This was the same guy that got nervous about making phone calls (It’s not even that hard! It’s talking to people! You love to talk to people!). Even then, he probably shouldn’t judge, Tommy got nervous about phone calls too, but Tommy seemed a bit more justified given his tendency to change his words mid-sentence.

If there was any factor of justification for Gordon’s awkwardness (and this was a pretty big one that even HE forgot about sometimes), then it was the additional matter that he was a video game character, one whose entire personality and backstory had been sculpted together by some person bumbling around their room in a VR headset for several hours. Now that the video game was over, Gordon had to rely on what was “taught” to him by the player, and that was more than enough to make him feel like a badly rolled DND character. He couldn’t even air his grievances to the Player, they had left not long after exporting their save file to whatever server was housing the Post Game. He did have an opportunity to talk to them, once, but trying to remember too many details of the conversation hurt his head; if he had any chance to tweak or change himself, it was that conversation, and clearly he had wasted it.

So, yeah, Gordon didn’t have an excuse. He was kinda stuck being the prime antithesis of a normal person, it seemed.

He nodded at the interviewer when he seemed to finish his speal, shook the man’s sweaty hand, and gave his empty thanks for the “opportunity” to speak to the man at all before making the drive back home. He couldn’t recall the details between when he left the school and when he got home, his memories always got fuzzy when he was driving by himself. He had enough video game knowledge to suspect it was Fast Travel. For a moment, he wondered if it was possible to turn off, but knowing his luck his attempt to do so would just end up turning his prosthetic arm back into a mini-gun, and then he’d have to figure out how to switch it back to normal.

He should have just asked the rest of the Science Team about the car thing years ago, but he had been putting it off after he decided it was preferable to being left to stew in his thoughts for the entire drive. And now he was suffering the consequences of his inaction, wondering only now if he could toggle Fast Travel and Mini-Gun Hand. Hell, maybe he had the power to toggle game difficulty this entire time and he wasn’t utilizing it, he would really like to switch Job Hunting to “easy mode.”

Whatever. Too late to find out now.

Gordon didn’t really need a job, anyways, given the hush money and all, he just needed some form of normalcy to keep himself from focusing on the events that got him here, thinking about that stuff for too long got him stressed, and bad things tended to happen when Gordon got stressed.

Needless to say, he was pretty sure the horrid little man sitting in the middle of his lawn was not a good omen of things to come, both for his stress levels and his attempts at normalcy.

He let out a long, irritated sound, similar to when one needed to be vocal about an upset stomach, and stepped out of the car. Benrey didn’t seem to notice Gordon quite yet, but he knew better than to let the smaller man be left unattended outside. He could call the police but… he’d really rather not on principle alone. He and the Science Team had all agreed that in case of emergencies, they would call each other first (against Gordon’s better judgment), and then either an ambulance or the fire department second.

Benrey… technically wasn’t an emergency right now. He was just a minor annoyance at best, and if for some reason the man did escalate into a greater problem, Gordon had the benefit of it being movie night at his place tonight. If something went wrong, and he couldn’t contact the Science Team for whatever reason, they would know, and they would raise hell at whatever was causing the problem, because at this point not even a second Resonance Cascade (god hope no such a thing occurs) would be able to stop those people from executing their weekly plans after four years of proper bonding time.

Gordon moved between his house and Benrey, keeping a good distance as he did so before engaging in any sort of conversation. He wanted to be as close to the front door as possible in case the non-human gave chase…not that it meant much since Benrey could noclip, but the idea of safety gave him comfort, even if it wasn’t ensured.

“What are you doing here?” He asked a bit too casually. He was sure his voice would better convey the confusion and dread he was feeling once his brain snapped out of what he could only best describe as a new stage of grief dedicated solely for rediscovering somebody who really should have stayed dead.

Bafflement, he was pretty sure what he was experiencing was bafflement. He wasn’t sure why, though. He’d seen Benrey come back from the dead quite a few times, but that all been four years and 31 days ago (and still counting). At that point you can’t help but reasonably assume somebody like that is going to stay dead this time, but apparently that was not the case for Benrey. That also wasn’t surprising, when he thought about it; the cheapest way to create a threat in a sequel is to just bring back the final boss from the first game.

Oh god, was Benrey going to be his Dr. Wily? Was Gordon going to be stuck defeating the same creep over and over and over again for the next 30-something years? He couldn’t do that, his body still hadn’t recovered from the first time he fought Benrey.

The other man tilted his head slightly to Gordon, as if wanting to acknowledge him but not quite processing he was there. “mm…ding dong…” He poked at Gordon’s thrift store garden gnome, its cheeky smile and unbroken gaze were something Gordon had looked deeply into a few times too many since he got it. He wanted to think the longing it exuded wasn’t just his imagination, but he had accepted by now that it was probably his lonely mind playing tricks on him. He was more willing to accept this as imaginary compared to the skeletons.

“Hey,” Gordon spoke up, “Hey man, I asked you a question.”

“…what?” Benrey looked around again, less sluggish than before, this time locking eyes with Gordon. The smaller man’s face was almost an inverse of the gnome’s, they shared the same vacant stare, but the rest of his expression gave him a more pensive look.

Unlike the gnome, however, Benrey’s face could actually change, albeit subtly, such was the case when it morphed into a small smile upon recognizing Gordon. “Yooo! What’s up! Been a while, man. Been like…” He stared directly at the sun, or at least appeared to do so, his eyes squinting not from the glare but from his trying to process something. “…four years, and a month! That one month is pretty, uh, important.”

Gordon exhaled slowly. It sounded like one of those terrible, pig-shaped noise makers Tommy and Dr. Coomer had bought at the Dollar Store last week. “Whyyyyyy? Why now? Why are you-?” He felt a familiar anger boil over, and suddenly his tone and body language had gone from exhausted to brimming with rage. The edges of his vision went slightly red. “Okay! Okay, I’m going to disregard the fact that you can apparently tell how long it’s been since you last harassed me simply by looking at the position of the stars in broad-fucking-daylight, WHY, OF ALL TIMES, ARE YOU BACK? RIGHT FUCKING NOW?!?!”

He could swear he saw Benrey flinch slightly at his outburst, but he wasn’t sure. The man almost immediately responded with his usual calm.

“I told you man, that one month was important. I got, uh, my PS+ renewed. Played the whole time.”

Okay, that…sorta explained where he’d been for the past month, at least.

“Let me guess, Heavenly Sword?”

“Yeah!!!”

Gordon had the displeasure of witnessing the familiar sight of Sweet Voice spewing from Benrey’s lips. The man’s joy seemed to overflow at him remembering such a basic detail from his nonsensical monologue.

“It was so fun!” Benrey continued. “I got to play on a full server, throwing frags and shit at other people, really great cool stuff.”

The red faded from his vision. Despite wanting to so badly…Gordon simply could not stay mad at him. He was just sitting there, in the grass, blabbering on about Heavenly Sword like an excited child. Damnit, the man was even fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while he talked. Was Benrey even a threat, now? Did four years of whatever he was doing mellow him out?

Gordon’s brows furrowed, he should have been focused on the how and why of Benrey being in his front lawn like a sad dog, but for some reason his mind was derailed to the point of fascination by Benrey’s Adventures in Free PlayStation Plus.

“So you got PS Plus, were you, were you just doing that for four years? Were you just gaming the entire time?”

“Nah man, I was…sleep.”

“For four years? You slept for four entire years?”

“Yeah I got really tired after the uh, the heist. So I had a big sleep. I woke up though. That was kinda sucks.” That checked out, considering what happened after they had their heist in another world, but now Gordon was concerned about how Benrey remembered the heist; nobody was supposed to remember the heist except for Gordon, he vaguely recalls that he and the Player agreed to the Science Team forgetting the heist. Tommy kinda remembered, but only the parts where he had asbestos poisoning. Well, he supposed since Benrey didn’t count as a member of the Science Team, maybe him remembering wasn’t a problem, for now.

“They gave me one month of PS Plus after I woke up and came back. I like video games…can’t play video games in the other place though, so I agreed to the free month.” Benrey continued. He nodded and shook his head while explaining his story, always at the appropriate times where a head movement seemed necessary, almost like it was practiced.

“So you…” Gordon continued the conversation, trying to feel out if maybe he was being led into a false sense of security. “You played Heavenly Sword for a whole month without eating or sleeping?”

“Yea-no?? I ate…pigeons and…” He looked directly at Gordon, he was processing something again, “…tree rats.”

“Squirrels?”

“Yeah those.” His scrunched face changed to a neutral-looking smile.

He had seen Benrey eat pigeons back in Black Mesa, so he wasn’t too surprised the man had eaten squirrels; it seemed like a logical next step. It made sense, Gordon was pretty sure a diet consisting solely of cheese puffs and 7Up (he was pretty sure that’s what gamers ate) could kill even the hardiest of immortals.

Actually, Benrey didn’t mention eating any sort of fruit just now, did he just leave them out on purpose or, was he some sort of obligate carnivore? He probably should have focused on that more than on what he asked next.

“You cooked those before you ate them, right?”

“No. Sorry, I don’t have uh…microbe-wave.”

Gordon just stared at him. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was.

“Tastes better with the hair on ‘em anyways.”

“I’m not a medical doctor, but I’m pretty sure…that you’re gonna get a disease…” Gordon tried to choose his next words carefully. He really, really tried. But his brain was fried from the interview and the exhaustion was starting to catch up. “…Salmonella. You’re gonna get salmonella if you keep eating raw meat like that.”

It was Benrey’s turn to stare again.

“Oh, who am I fucking kidding?” Gordon threw his hands in the air, “You’re some sort of thing from another world, the bacteria probably just goes right through you!”

“There are…” Benrey paused, his face morphed into a mischievous, shark-toothed grin. “…yo there’s Bakugan in my meat?”

He laughed. Gordon laughed and laughed and laughed until he fell over drunk from the shock of Benrey’s statement, and then laughed until the tap ran dry and he was sober enough to wheeze a response. “No! That’s not-Benrey that’s not what I said at all. I expect that kind of joke from Tommy! Oh my god…”

All of the neighbors peaked over or around to see the commotion at this point. Gordon didn’t feel any need to acknowledge them any as he shakily pushed himself upright, they were used to the bullshit that followed him around by this point, they were just really nosy. They were gone as quickly as they arrived, by which point he was now sitting on the opposite side of his gnome. “Do…Do you wanna like…come inside or something, man?”

“No, I don’t like the color beige.”

In his hysterical drunkenness, Gordon had almost been willing to invite Benrey into his refuge, but the hospitality had now been lost.

He was seeing red again. “How did you know my walls were-? Did you noclip into my house?!” He took his glasses off and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Fucking-! I keep getting fucking distracted! Dude!!!!”

Benrey watched Gordon gesture wildly with the hand not carrying his glasses around, directing every movement towards him.

“Why are you HERE?!” He screamed.

Benrey looked at the ground. “That’s uh, private information.” Slowly his head drifted towards Gordon again, he could faintly see the man’s creepy eyes follow the seams of his suit. “…Yo, we dressing up for movie night tonight?”

Gordon stiffened, standing back up. “How do you know about movie night?”

If Benrey knew about movie night, then either somebody told him, or…

“Tommy told me.” Benrey answered quickly, “Well, uh…he told his dad, and his dad told me. Mister Coolguy, Mister Govern-Mant, he got me the free month of PS Plus.”

Benrey fidgeted with the hem of his shirt again, sort of messing with it like he was messing around with a game controller while his mouth bubbled Sweet Voice and word salad.

“Like…he said he was going to buy more when it ran out, and now it’s been a month and my PS Plus ran out…twenty minutes ago.”

“We’ve been talking for about five minutes or something,” Gordon looked at his wrists. There wasn’t a watch on either of them, but it felt important to visually convey the flow of time. “So you’re telling me that your PS Plus ran out fifteen minutes before you got here, and you couldn’t wait another five or so for Mister Coolatta, for Tommy’s dad to renew it again? The PlayStation has games that aren’t multiplayer, you couldn’t play any of those for a while?”

Benrey averted his gaze. “I could but…”

He waited, but Benrey didn’t continue his statement. He was starting to consider the possibility that Benrey was lying out of his ass right now and that he had simply stolen enough information from the Science Team to keep Gordon preoccupied while they all died a slow, painful and permanent death before killing Gordon himself. He waited another two minutes before breaking the silence, hoping maybe that Benrey didn’t know that Gordon knew what he was planning. “But what? Why won’t you play single player games?”

Benrey looked at the ground again. “…I’d like to go inside the house now please?”

“Uh-?”

“WAIT! Can we go to my house instead? Pretty please?” He asked in earnest, pulling off a fucked-up alien version of ‘sad anime eyes’.

Well, if Benrey really was distracting Gordon to leave the Science Team dying somewhere, he did a scarily good job at hiding that fact. He must have been trying to get him into a secondary location to finish the job.

Hastily, Gordon tried to come up with an excuse while he put his glasses back on.

“Uh, sorry man. I wish I could, but uh, the guys are gonna be here in about…an hour, and I still need to change into some normal clothes and figure out what we’re eating for movie night. So-“ He twisted away from Benrey pulling something out and trying to force it into his line of sight, reminding Gordon of his various intrusive thoughts of being kidnapped in the past few years.

Benrey frowned. “Bro it’s paper.” He shook the parchment around for demonstration.

Through a partially-covered mouth, Gordon asked “Can you please not shove paper in my face?”

Benrey responded by wobbling the paper more until Gordon finally accepted it.

“Fine, what is this?”

“Mm…list. Food list.”

“Food list?”

“Food list.”

The paper that the list was written on had been improperly torn from a spiral notebook; you could easily see where the lower half of the page was simply ripped instead of following the tear-away lines. The handwriting on it, by contrast, looked incredibly clean, almost like it was typed out aside from a few blemishes of human error like scribbles over spelling mistakes or a long line from where somebody had made an order and then at the last minute asked for something completely different, much to the chagrin of the transcriber.

“…This is really nice handwriting.” Gordon admitted.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, prompting him to look over his messages.

One of them was an unflattering picture of him from a few minutes ago, dying of laughter in his front yard, sent by his neighbors from across the street to the neighborhood group chat.

‘This idiot can’t even comprehend the true form of Gnome Chompski’s attack. XD Ignore the guy in the back dunno who he is.’

Thanks Gina and Colette, very cool.

The other message was from Bubby, so maybe the rest of the Science Team wasn’t dead after all. At the very least, Bubby wasn’t dead.

‘You’d better be goddamn home by now. I’m changing my order again. I want a Sausage Melt, and I want my hash browns smothered and diced. Also, Harold wanted to make sure you added pecans to his chocolate chip waffles. If you forget those nuts again and he cries, I WILL make it your problem.’

“Did Bubby change his order again?” Benrey asked, his expression dead serious. He didn’t wait for an answer, apparently he could just tell from Gordon’s expression and considered that enough to snatch the paper from his hands and scratch out one of the orders with a pen he pulled out from hammerspace. “This fuckin’ guy, I can’t believe it. This is the THIRD time man.”

“I think I can handle the orders from here.” Gordon said. He got the list back without much of a fight, which was preferable to getting into a tug-of-war over a piece of paper.

“I will…see you later?” He slowly backed away from Benrey to get inside his house, tripping as the terrain switched from grass to concrete beneath his feet. “I’m going to go inside now and…do the stuff I said I needed to do!” His hand clutched the door knob, and immediately Gordon turned around to wiggle it open. His face paled with realization that his initial plans to bolt at the first sign of a threat would not have worked anyways, not solely because Benrey could noclip through objects, but also because Gordon would not have had the time to unlock his front door before Benrey did…whatever the fuck he had planned.

Just like in the horror movies.

Shit.

Gordon was a fucking horror movie protagonist and he wasn’t even one of the long-lasting ones. He was the final girl from the first movie that they kill off at the start of the second to make a point.

“Hey man, you dropped this.”

A key ring appeared in his peripheral vision. Gordon strained his eyes to meet Benrey’s line of sight, the man had that deceptively innocent smile from before as he held the keys out like a joy-buzzer.

He took his keys back with the speed and grace of a claw machine, unlocked the door, and just stared longingly at the interior for a minute.

“Inside? Inside for Benrey?”

“Yeah, sure thing man…” Gordon sighed and walked inside, letting Benrey follow behind. If he was going to die, might as well get comfortable first.

#hlvrai metamorphosis au #metamorphosis au #hlvrai #hlvrai au #fanfic #half life but the ai is self aware #half life vr but the ai is self aware #the metamorphosis of gordon freeman

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