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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years

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Back when things were still easy, Billy and Max used to have sibling days on the weekends when Neil wouldn’t be home, setting aside their issues to have just one day that was meant for doing something fun together.

The tradition had been dropped after the move to Hawkins, and Max thinks that’s where a lot of the strain on their relationship comes from. Without those designated times to let go of some of the tension building between them, they fall to pieces.

There’s one day in particular where it’s just Max at home all by herself, her mother and Neil having gone on a trip to the city she opted out of, when Billy shows up much earlier than he said he would be back, ruining the calm when he slammed the front door so hard a picture frame fell off the wall.

Neither of them say a word to the other, all she gets is an apologetic and glossy looking glance for the noise as he storms past her like she isn’t even there.

She doesn’t see Billy again for a long time after that, just hears the angry music blaring in his room. By now, she’s wisened up enough to know that meant he was probably crying in there, and though she doesn’t know what happened, she feels bad.

It’d been far too long since they acted anything like real siblings, not that they were actually related, but they used to be just as close, so after her brother’s been brooding for literal hours, she knows she wants to do something.

Her opportunity to bring it up comes when Billy makes his grand appearance at her door, stopping by to ask if she ate dinner just so he, quote ‘wouldn’t get any shit for it.’ She nods in agreement and asks, “Do you know what day it is, Billy?”

He shrugs, “28th of June.”

“Well, doy, but it’s also Friday.” Billy raises an eyebrow, missing the point, and Max rolls her eyes. “Friday. You know, like, the one day we get to hang out.”

Too cool for that stuff anymore apparently, he scoffs and leans against the doorframe, and she just knows he’s going to say something snarky, so she turns the puppy dog eyes up a notch, “Please? It’ll be fun.”

It works, Billy sighs way over dramatic and steps into her room, throwing himself down onto her beanbag chair. She can’t contain the smile on her face when he asks with fake defeat, “What did you want, shitbird?”

“I want a makeover day. Like we used to do.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Why?” She crosses her arms, “Just because that’s what I want to do?”

He fixes her with a look that says ‘seriously?’, and explains, an edge of frustration to his voice, “No, because you know what’ll happen if I’m struttin’ around in nail polish and shit when Neil gets back.”

“They’re not supposed to come back until like, Monday though,” in response to her excuses, he mimics her in crossing his arms over his chest, so she tries harder to reason with him, “And we can always just take it off when we’re done.”

“That’s just a waste of your stuff, then.”

“Come on, Billy, please?” she’s out of actual arguments and he’s winning, so she brings out the big guns, the little sister privilege, the one surefire way she knows will always knock her brother off guard, “I miss you.”

He squints at her, seeing through the attempted guilt trip, but he can’t muster a frown, and he must know it wasn’t all fake, because he says, “Whatever.”

She knows that’s his version of a yes and he’s just too proud to admit he caved, so she squeals and claps her hands together, taking off like a shot to dig under her bed for the stowed away beauty kit. It’s a little wicker basket filled to the brim with nail polish and makeup, the same one they’d used years ago before everything went wrong, and it makes her happy, bringing the old thing back out.

She stops to put a record in her player, choosing Queen as the closest thing to a middle ground between their respective music tastes, they at least both weren’t supposed to listen to it, and drops down into the other chair beside Billy.

On the latch-hook rug in front of them, she starts to empty the basket, lining up all her brightly colored bottles of nail polish, slightly dried out after months of not using them. “What color?”

“Why do I have to go first?” Billy asks. All Max has to say in response is a know-it-all “Because I said so.”

“Fine. You pick.” The moment he says it he looks like he regrets it, Max is notoriously bad at making decisions, but she ignores him and starts holding up bottles anyways.

First, after few minutes deliberation, she chooses a pretty dark green, and he scrunches his nose and doesn’t say anything. She picks a purplish color, which he tosses away on the bed, a very firm ‘no’ that makes Max giggle. Then she gives him a bright orange bottle, and he holds in front of his face, studying it before turning that one down too.

“God, if I knew you’d be so annoying I would’ve just painted them all the colors.” She remarks, lining up her polishes so she could do just that.

“That’s actually probably not a very good idea, kiddo.” Looking a little panicked, he digs through the bottles himself, settling on one he pulls away and stares at for a second before handing it to her and telling her, “Just do ‘em red.”

It confuses her, but she agrees regardless, and makes him turn in his seat so he’s facing her and his hands are flat on the floor. His hands are a little shaky, so her paint job isn’t the best, she even drips some on the carpet, which she hopes her mother won’t notice, but Billy doesn’t say anything about the mess.

With his nails done she moves onto his hair, she wants to do double braids like how he taught her to do in her own hair, so she shoves his arm to get him to turn around. “Scoot.”

He lets her push him around until he’s in the right place that she can reach his hair, but once he’s facing the far wall he tells her, “Don’t you dare use that brush on my hair, Maxine.”

“Jeez, relax. I’m not gonna mess up your princess curls.” She mocked, but she still went for the comb to run through his hair instead.

She waited until she could get it through without catching on any tangles before bothering trying to talk to him. When Billy was upset, he tended to clam up, but she didn’t particularly like feeling awkward in the silence, leaving all the talking to the record player. “Can we talk about why you were mad earlier?”

“Nope.”

“Would you tell me if I told you about my day?” She tries, but he shuts it down again with an “Unlikely.”

“I’ll tell you anyways.” Max didn’t know what had happened with Billy, but she knew she hadn’t had the greatest morning herself either. “I had to ask Lucas to bring me home early because me and Mike got in a fight.”

Billy snorted, and spoke with just as much sarcasm as Max had used on him. She learned that from him anyways. “You and Mike? No.”

“Yeah. He was being a total ass about El, trying to like, own her or something, so I told him to lay off ‘cause that’s totally not fair.”

She knew that Billy, having graduated and turned 18 now, was probably getting a little old for this type of drama, but he was a good listener, no matter how much he pretended not to care, always giving little bits of insight and saying things to make her laugh.

She continues, “Well, anyways he like, totally bit my head off for sticking up for her, so then I told him he was just a miserable mouth breather who’s jealous of El being happy, and he tried to kick me out.”

Billy laughed at that, muttering a little ‘ow’ when the action made Max pull his hair, “But you left before he could kick you out right?”

“Duh.” She sighs a little, the fun part of the story over. “Then when we pulled up outside, Lucas said something stupid about it being my fault or whatever, so I dumped him again.”

“Good. I told you not to take any shit from them anymore.” Billy had been less than happy with her friends a lot recently, when she’d come home from school or from hanging out upset over something they said. They never meant to hurt her feelings, but Billy didn’t like it all the same, and made her promise she’d stand up for herself a little more. Like she did to him.

“Yeah, I guess.” It makes her feel light on the inside, to know Billy was proud of her for following his advice, in his own way at least. “So? What happened to you?”

He shrugs again, and blows her off, “It’s nothing.”

“You were crying.”

“Yeah, and it’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not,” she fumbles with the braid and loses it, Billy’s stupid uneven mullet making it way too hard to braid so many different lengths of hair, “But I’m like, an expert now. El says she likes my advice.”

Under his breath, Billy mutters, “‘Course she does.”

Max purses her lips and pretends she didn’t hear that before continuing her offer, “Anyways, I can always try to help.”

“Listen, it’s just stupid dating stuff. Nothin’ you need to be worrying about.”

“But I’m a girl. I can give advice about that.” She thinks about it for a second, “I mean, I know more about being a girlfriend than having one, but it’s probably about the same.”

“Maybe.” Billy mumbles, focusing all his attention on picking at the nail polish that had missed the edges of his nails, and just from the way he tensed up she can tell she’d overstepped Billy’s boundaries in some way or another.

She finishes of the braid she had already started over twice now and puts a blue scrunchie on the end of it, giving him a minute.

When she starts combing out the rest of his hair is when Billy speaks again, not a drop of his distinctly Billy attitude in his words as he admitted softly, “You know, shitbird, I never said anything ‘bout having a girlfriend.”

That’s confusing to her at first, because he had just told her it was a dating thing, but Max’d been hearing all the nasty things Neil said about Billy for years now, and while she might just be a kid, might be the clueless and annoying little sister, she still knew the weight of what he’d just admitted to her.

It had always made her sad, to know Neil didn’t really like Billy, all the mean words he used, ones she wouldn’t dare repeat, to describe Billy and his friends, all the lies he told about him behind his back. But she doesn’t buy it, what her asshole step-dad had to say.

Her brother was cool, and she liked hanging out with him, when he wasn’t being such a jerk. The fact that he had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend didn’t change that in the least bit.

She hums, trying to gather words and, her voice strained against the outburst of happiness, says “See? I can totally help with boy stuff.”

#billy hargrove #max mayfield #billy and max #harringrove #it’s implied harringrove at least because Steve is the boyfriend in question #story by ej!#ej writer #this is really sloppy but I wanted to just get this outta my drafts so here ya go #it was also initially from a much larger story #I just decided this was the only part I like #if you take note of the date tho I think y’all can probably tell where I was going with this #just wanted to write Billy coming out to Max because we as a fandom kinda decided that she already knew bc of that one vague convo #but like that stuff is really hard to pick up on when you’re the clueless little sister #(trust me lol)#I think it’s more something like maybe she snitched on him for doing smthn neil knew was Bc he was gay but she didn’t #and she never put the pieces together until he told her #featuring (subtle) autistic Max bc when doesn’t my writing #and colorblind Billy if you squint with the nail polish

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crystal-moon-101 · 3 years

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Since I saw people talking about Ben's little big chill kids, I thought I'd finally do some headshots of my ones, who are also a part of my Ben 10 Next Gen. For me, I've always imagined that for young necrofriggians, they all start out looking the same (Beyond some size difference), but as they grow older, they'll start to develop their own patterns, small body traits and shades of colour, as showcased here. I'll share the little info on each sibling, and the basics of who they are as a person. When Ben first found them again, saving them from poachers and going full mum mode, they had been developing these different psychical traits, but not enough to identify each properly on their own, so while giving them names, Gwen used bandana pieces to colour code them, and each kid still wears theirs to this day, slightly modified. So here they are now, as full grown young adults. You can follow from left to right each row, or just the colours next to their names. -North (Black)- The largest and physically strongest of the kids, North acts as the leading member when Ben isn't around, doing their best to watch out for their siblings and be a middle ground to them. It's been this way since they were born, looking out for them and doing whatever they can to protect the others. This has resulted in North collecting quite a few scars and wing tears, though they wear them with pride, wanting to display how strong they are to others. They often looks up to Ben when it comes to being a hero, in how their mumdad protects others and the galaxy, and wants to be a fighter like him one day, often asking to train with their mumdad whenever he's around. Ben has suggested Plumber training for North, but they're still thinking about that. -Tundra (Red)- Tundra is a very curious one, and is known to wander off when things catch their interest. They prefer using experience to learn from, thus making them quick on their feet when something happens, and good at thinking logical. When the siblings are struggling with something, or come across some kind of problem, it's often Tundra who provides the quickest answers that should go well for them. That being said, due to their wandering, they gave gotten into trouble a few times and need to be saved by their siblings or Ben, as despite how smart they are, they can be a bit of a ditz when something catches their interest. -Grey (Silver)- Having a connection to the earth bellow, Grey often spends their time searching caves, and any hidden areas they can find. They especially love to research and find minerals of any kind, ranging from metals to gems, sometimes even studying their metal lunch for the day before eating it. Because of this, they can be carelessly dirty, and aren't the cleanest of people, but does pick up after themself when reminded. Grey is also pretty close with their sibling Storm, and surprising Gwen and Ben when first hearing the two call each other "Dweeb" and "Doofas", when first meeting them again. -Storm (Brown)- As someone who likes to spend a lot of time flying and high in the clouds, Storm is fascinated by the weather and how it behaves, and feeling the cold fresh air and challenging themself with flight training. This has provided them to have the most agility in the air, and knows the best ways to build up speeds, while also not draining themself. Whenever they aren't flying around, they're doing research on the weather, very keen to be a meteorologist one day. Whenever Ben visits, they will often ask him about the weather on other planets, and any adventures he's had in the sky. Storm is also pretty close with their sibling Grey, and surprising Gwen and Ben when first hearing the two call each other "Dweeb" and "Doofas", when first meeting them again. -Crystal (Blue)- Graceful on their feet, Crystal is a charming and gentle person, with a keenness for the art of dancing, especially when hovering in the air. This was something sparked in them when seeing how the patches in their wings, which are see through, glittered and reflected light through them, making Crystal often move around to see what they could get them to do, and the introduction of dancing was something they latched onto as a result. They are one of the hardest of the siblings to get angry, upset or rile up, and often goes with the flow and speaks in a slow and soft voice. Because of their kind nature and beautiful display of their wings, Crystal has attracted many others who are interested in them, many falling for them after meeting Crystal for a mere minute, though they tend to pretend not to notice, and turn down those who ask. -Orion (Orange)- Having an eye for art, Orion is a skilled painter and drawer, while also dabbling into other art forms to create things, their room filled with their works of art, and often creating gifts for others. From when they were little, Orion has always admired their auntie Gwen, and are always keen and eager to hang out with her when she visits, showing every new drawing and painting they have made while she was away. In fact their fondness for auntie Gwen is why they picked the orange bandana, as it reminded them of her hair. -Neva (Green)- Fashion focused and head strong, Neva is a keen one, who knows exactly what they like and isn't afraid to say it. They love designing things to wear, especially since fashion isn't that big on Kylmyys, and Ben brings them fabrics and items they request from earth whenever he comes by on a visit. Though, despite Neva's expensive tastes, they are most certainly aren't a snob, and more often than not create outfits and accessories for others that Neva knows they'd like, and wants to bring out the best beauty in them. Though admittedly, they can get a bit carried away if someone asks for fashion advice, or even brings up the idea of something related to it. Neva also a bit of a business mind too, having gotten some clients recently on their homeworld after seeing what Neva could make. -Raine (Aqua)- A very sweet young one, Raine has a keen eye for collecting things, particularly shiny or unknown stuff. From gemstones to simple earth utensil, if something interests them, Raine is known to take it with them, sometimes snatching without thinking. They don't mean any harm, and just sometimes think before acting, and will give something back if they've realized what they've done, but if it's clear they can keep it, then they aren't one to share, though do like to show off what they have with joy. They are also very well organized, knowing where everything they own is, and even when their siblings misplace something, having a photography memory and mental list of things. They may own a lot of stuff, but that doesn't mean they want to live in a pigsty. -Vale (Yellow)- Being one of the quiet ones, Vale likes to keep a lot to themself, and don't speak very often, only when they need to. They spend a lot of time outside, observing nature as it passes by them, using a little diary to note down what they see, hear, feel, smell and even taste. They like to appreciate silence and the world around them, and the beauty of nature, and collect little things to store away in their diary as memory. Whenever they visit earth, they love to visit the forests in the spring and summer, seeing the range of colours blooming from flowers, and has many flower prints because of this. -Lux (Beige)- Quite the basic of people, Lux likes to live life in a simple way, and tends to try and stare clear of any chaos, which is quite hard when you have 13 wild siblings. Because of them, they can come across as annoyed and frustrated at times, and can be blunt and honest, but they do love their siblings, and is often the one that says what's needed to be said. Lux also have massive wings compared to their body, a ratio none of the others have, and use to trip over their feet a lot growing up. Now, their massive wings are a great way to hide away when they're not in the mood to talk to read a book, or to hug a family member when seeing them down. -Micha (Pink)- Bubbly and sneaky, Micha has been dubbed the "Pink Ninja" for a reason, someone almost always able to hide away and sneak up on others. They love to jump scare people, and has found more and more crafty ways to get around without being noticed, even without their ability to go invisible. They love to pull jokes and get a laugh out of people, and Micha is known to have a snort with their own laughter. It's always their mission to catch Ben off guard when he visits, as each time it gets trickier due to him knowing it's coming, and his training and skills build up over the years, but Micha always finds a way in the end. -Zodiac (Gold)- Patient and often neutral toned, Zodiac is often seen to be pretty wise. From a young age, they've always loved stories from history, especially those about myths and legends they hear from around the galaxy, and spend a lot of their time reading and researching anything they hear about, always keen to hear a new story they may have never heard about before. It always fascinates them how much Ben has seen and done, and the stories he tells, Zodiac is practically fond of those about Alien X and Celestialsapians, and wants to meet one one day. -Alaska (White)- High on energy 99% of the time, Alaska is always zooming around and never has time to stop. They rarely sit still for long, and it takes a lot to drain them of their endless energy, always moving in a blink of an eye. Because of this, Alaska is the fastest of the crew, which has come in handy often. But they can be easily bored, and a little frustrating to deal with when they don't pay attention, but they do like to spend that energy by jumping around each sibling to spend the day with, and wants to engage in all of their activities to support them. -Arlo (Purple- The smallest of them, Arlo was born the runt of the group, but thanks to their siblings, especially North, they managed to survive childhood when most other necrofriggian runts would have died. This makes Arlo the baby of the group, and the one they all want to protect, even if it can be a little baring at much, wanting to prove they can be strong on their own. And Arlo somewhat got their wish, when reaching a certain age and Ben learning that one of his children had the spark, thus meaning Arlo is an Anodite, and is able to use magic, though they're far from being perfect at it, and their small body sometimes struggles to keep up. But each day Arlo practices, wanting to feel more than just the tiny one, but they are generally kind and great with emotions, being very supportive and just trying their hardest.

#ben 10 #B10 #ben 10 alien force #ben 10 ultimate alien #ben 10 omniverse #ben 10 original series #ben 10 ben tennyson #ben tennyson #Ben 10 Big Chill #Big Chill #necrofriggian #Baby Chills #Ben 10 Next Gen #next generation #My Art

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ialwaysknewyouwerepunk · 3 years

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fine line - a close reading

gonna cry bc i’m at the end, gonna cry bc it’s fine line.

(x x x)

want to give the same disclaimer as with lights up: this song is so layered, so multi-faceted, that i could never hope to give an exhaustive analysis. due to its vagueness and openness for interpretation, i assume that everyone, just like me, has their own ideas about it and has attached importance to it in ways that no one else’s words can or should alter. this song means the world to me for reasons that aren’t necessarily in this post, and that’s how it is with art that touches us deeply. i’ve tried my best to pull it apart, lay it bare, spread it open, if you will, so it’s almost as free as it can be for you all to form your own opinion on it. in the synthesis i will make my own conclusions, but feel free to ignore that if yours are totally different. i’m just one set of brain and heart taking in fine line and projecting whatever i think is right onto it. alright, let’s go

fine line, track 12

sung in falsetto

live version at the form: first verse not sung in falsetto - after first chorus goes into falsetto - like “thinking of her” has summoned her

Put a price on emotion

pouring emotions into the art you create: how much is genuine / how much do you show - line between being authentic to your audience and giving away too much, wanting to keep things to yourself and not feeling truthful with what you’ve written

exploits of the industry: lay your soul bare - or the exact opposite, some pretend emotion - to score that hit

I'm looking for something to buy

cynical. emotions aren’t genuine, right? where can i go buy some?

～ lights up themes. fake life, industry, being a sell-out

You've got my devotion

But man, I can hate you sometimes

“you” = career, music, Harry Styles™. devoted to the craft, to the job, all the ups and downs of it, despite the hardships it brings

“man” is deliberate: can be seen as an offhand interjection, like “man, that’s rough”, but nothing is casually placed in this song. “man” is: The Man, the heads in the industry, the people pulling the strings. The man in Harry, the man he’s been in the media all these years, the part he’s played/had to play, the man that’s in him

⟶ “hate you”: hate for industry shit, self-hate created by having to play pretend (～ only angel analysis, the persona of the Bukowski womaniser)

“sometimes” - it’s not fucked up all the time

“you” could also be a lover, but the sudden “hate” there then would be for that person, which is absent in any other song about them, doesn’t make any sense

I don't want to fight you

And I don't want to sleep in the dirt

like there’s a choice to me made, but he doesn’t want to make it: either I fight this “you” or I sleep in the dirt

“you” as the industry: if he doesn’t fight them, he might end up being a beggar, lose all his self-worth bc he gave in to everything they asked/told him to do

“you” as himself: fight your instincts, part of who you are/the persona. if he doesn’t fight to figure himself out, though, he fears he’ll also lose

“sleep in the dirt” as a sense of rejection, as well

We'll get the drinks in

So I'll get to thinking of her

drinks to cope - falling, only angel, from the dining table - or to be braver and confront emotions better - tbsl

who is “we”? who is “her”?

narrative of “you” as “lover” further disproven: if “I” and the lover get together over drinks and “I” starts thinking of “her”?

⟷ “her” could be the lover, but then who is “you”? the industry? some other person, besides that lover, harry is devoted to? multiple lovers, all of a sudden? no.

⟶ “I” and “you” are all harry, that get to thinking of “her” because she is in daydreams with him. the narrative that harry is fighting a part of him, the persona he has (had) to play bc of industry limits, makes most sense. that persona is within him now, and part of his work, but all of him, “we”, is begging to come into the light - of which she is a huge part

We'll be a fine line

balancing act. let everything coexist but pay attention that those lines don’t get crossed the wrong way. what we are, what i am, is a fine line between what makes us go under and what lets us thrive

we will be: determination to fulfil this prophecy, statement of fact “we always will be”

“we’ll be a fine line”: other way of interpreting it is that on both sides of that line is what entails “we”, all that is harry. what merges on that fine line is where it’s just right, when harry is fully himself in every way

“fine line” can also be an echo of criticism, bigotry, in the style of: it’s a fine line between being simply flamboyant and queer, between dressing like that and people thinking you’re a transvestite or summat (cause we wouldn’t want that, now, would we) - “we’ll be a fine line” could be owning all of it. putting himself in the middle of all those messy lines, as someone queer without a category

Test of my patience

patience with himself - kindness to self - took a long time to figure shit out and it was a challenge

waiting for change: industry and its allowances/openness

There's things that we'll never know

my favorite line

“we” = harry / harry and company / us in general, all of us listening

～ tpwk “i don’t need all the answers”: deep sense of acceptance

peace to be found in accepting this!!

You sunshine, you temptress

“sunshine” - as in all the love songs (blue skies, sunflowers, summer days…): lover - possible that there are multiple “you”s in this song?

sunshine could ofc also be directed at the temptress, still

female “temptress” - “i’ll get to thinking of her” - she - it’s tempting for harry to think of her all the time, to lose himself in the “her” in him

other interpretation for “temptress”: woman he knows with negative influence in his life - resemblance to woman “you flower, you feast”, so echo of Bukowski ～ only angel, kiwi (my sunshine, my love, who is involved with this temptress…)

My hand’s at risk, I fold

⟷ tpwk “dropping into the deep end”

not showing his cards just yet / forfeits

anxious to show all of him, to take the chance, with all the risks and consequences involved

Crisp trepidation

I’ll try to shake this soon

nervousness, anxiety - about (not) taking (enough) chances, (not) laying himself bare (release of the album that reveals much more than before)

“crisp” fresh, this feeling is unfamiliar - change is coming “soon”

sense of agency: I can get rid of this feeling by my own volition and make these changes - hesitant, insecure: “try”

wants to be braver. he’s not going back, but still needs to calmly coax himself further and further into the light, out into the open (“we’ll be alright”)

Spreading you open

Is the only way of knowing you

(can anyone else hear “spread thin” like a whisper under “spreading”? or am i imagining things.)

“you” is back - the only way of knowing “you” is to spread them open - the physical

to spread someone open - very literal, don’t need to paint the picture, or to lay bare, to lay it all out

⟶ “you” as himself - the only way of knowing who i am is by doing this: writing this album, performing these songs, letting others listen in and form their own interpretations, let this world grow where i’m laid bare and OPEN and exist as this person who has issues, who is angry, who doesn’t know who he is a lot of the time, but is still so happy to be here - let it spread and let it all circle back to me so i can grow deeper into myself

We'll be a fine line

We'll be alright

“we” = h & self, h & lover, h & fans

collectiveness from tpwk

(notes on a piano sounding like drops, like he’s emerged from the water and dripping dry)

SYNTHESIS

Everything about this song is plural. Personal pronouns are all over the place. I, you, her, we. The sound is incredibly layered, with Harry’s own voice echoing through its verses like he’s singing to himself in an empty cave. Meanings can be attached to every word like it’s a wax tablet used too many times. What Harry has said in interviews for once holds pretty true to the actual meaning, in my opinion.

“It felt like it described to me the process of making it and how the album felt in terms of the different kinds of songs on it.” (Capital FM)

This can mean a lot of things, and I think it means all of the things, of course. It means Fine Line is a summary of all of his emotions he visited on the album, of the things he’s laid bare. And it means that the actual process was also described, as one that can be frustrating and challenging, with added industry shit.

Harry has expressed straightforward gratefulness to his label for "leaving (him) alone” while making the album and that speaks volumes. This time, he had the chance to make his art without the constant interference of a label, which meant he could weave in criticism as well. “Put a price on emotion” is first and foremost a critique on the industry. It’s the first line of the song, setting the tone for the interpretation of this song is about the risks I took while making this album. It involves criticism on an industry that creates such an atmosphere that only a certain type of music and artist breaks through or can be successful, that limits people in their personal expression. Convinces them that it’s better that way. That it’s better to hide who they love because the general public won’t accept them. That it’s better to create a song about a fake emotion than be honest. Harry loves writing songs and being on stage, but it’s taken a while for him to be fully comfortable there as a solo artist and bloom into the person that could make Fine Line. He loves his career, but it’s also limited his freedom in ways beyond our comprehension, and it’s exploited him to the point where he didn’t know who he was, in ways that have clearly taken a toll on his mental wellbeing. To a point where he finishes this album reassuring himself, most of all, that everything will be alright.

That process of making Fine Line obviously includes Harry confronting emotions he hadn’t before. He has stated that he experienced the highest highs and the lowest lows while making it. There are things he hates, he was fighting but doesn’t want to (anymore), uncertainties he was trying to figure out but had to accept he couldn’t, risks he still doesn’t know he can take without shaking. At the centre of it all is this sense of “knowing you.” The different personal pronouns in the song paint a fractured picture, which is ultimately deliberate. That the “you” Harry is devoted to and can hate sometimes doesn’t line up with “her,” that the end focus does seem to be this “you” that is mentioned in the same breath as “man” and “temptress,” forming the “we” together with “I”.

After having songs like Lights Up, She, Falling and even TPWK, one of the central themes on the album has undoubtedly been self-discovery, in all its pain and glory. There are no female pronouns on the album besides, obviously, in She, and then here, in Fine Line. She is about a man living with a woman “just in his head”, who “sleeps in his bed while he plays pretend.” It is very clearly a trans narrative, the story of someone struggling to put into words what they’re experiencing in terms of gender. To a point that they fantasise about running away. Fine Line brings the ideas of knowing what it all means, which Lights Up kicks off (“do you know who you are?”), Falling deepens (“what am I now?”) and Treat People With Kindness turns on its head (“I don’t need all the answers”), together. Harry is still doubtful, and the questions asked earlier in the album haven’t disappeared, but he has accepted that “some things we’ll never know.” His aim, however, is still “knowing you.”

To have Fine Line, as the summary of these emotions of self-growth and self-discovery, echo that one female pronoun, speaks volumes. It is a direct reference to She, to that story about gender. “Her” in this song refers to “she (who) lives in daydreams with (him).” The one who still only fully comes out when they’ve had a drink. The one he’s still working to include in who he is, as he tries to figure out who he is, all of it. The song where he sings in falsetto, just like on Fine Line. Of which he sang the first verse an octave lower live at the forum, switching between those voices, those perspectives. That’s also why “you” in this song is also Harry to me. We get this fractured sense of self, this “I” and “you” conversing over a drink, this “you” Harry is devoted to and wants to figure out. “You” and “I” form “we” and all of them are Harry. The lines are blurry on purpose, there is no way to figure out where “you” ends and “I” begins.

“You sunshine, you temptress” is the most enigmatic line in that respect, and to me blurs those lines even more between the pronouns. “You” is suddenly also identified by a female noun. And no this isn’t about some kind of love triangle. “Sunshine” aligns with all the odes to his lover in the rest of the album. So what does that mean? That there are multiple “you”s in this song, meaning that Harry is addressing both his lover and a temptress? So “her” he’ll get to thinking of, the only other female pronoun used in the song, is identified as a temptress, but tempting to do what? To take risks? And no I won’t forget the “man, I can hate you sometimes,” where "man” is not a casual interjection but an identifier of “you.”

Or is it an echo of “the light” from Golden’s “bring me back to the light” and Light’s Up’s “step into the light”? So that the “sunshine” symbolises being in the clear, being out of the darkness running through his heart, the darkness caused by not knowing who you are. “You sunshine,” you beacon of light. “You temptress,” risk-taker and source of anxiety. You, one I need to spread open to figure out, to know about, source of happiness and despair, one I’m devoted to but also hate. You, man, you, temptress. You there, in the mirror looking back at me.

All of you, and myself included, we’ll be a fine line. And we’ll be alright.

This song is about all of that. The self in art, the self on its own, the other, the journey, the chances, the fears, the passion. Hope. Reassurance. Confidence. And, most importantly, that everything will be alright in the end.

read all my lyric analyses here

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 4 years

Text

IOTA Reviews: Furious Fu

Well, I'm surprised this is here so quickly, but here we are. The first episode of Season 4. While I was on the fence about reviewing it even though it isn't in English (though there’s one in Spanish with English subtitles), but it seems like there are people that want to see me do it anyway, so who am I to let them down? Hopefully, I won't be regretting my decision to go over every episode of this season later on.

Will Marinette's new position as Guardian lead to more storylines other than her suffering? Will the show actually resolve the whole Love Square debacle this season? Why am I asking you all these questions?

Let's dive right into the first (actually sixth because of course it is) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season, Furious Fu.

We start off with all of the Kwamis under Marinette's care asking to see Former Master by Default Fu, before Marinette reminds them, and by extension, the audience, that he erased his memory during the events of last season, making her the new Guardian. They continue to act like hyperactive children until Marinette finally caves in and carries them in her backpack, although not before they give us one of the most unintentionally creepy images in the entire show.

I apologize in advance for your nightmares tonight.

The only Kwami who stays is the Dog Kwami, Barkk, who looks like she's going to see if Marinette's parents have any wine in the kitchen once she leaves.

Marinette heads down to the train station, where she meets up with Fu and Marianne, a former confidant/old flame who he recently reunited with. It turns out that inbetween Seasons 3 and 4, not only has Fu been living in London with Marianne while taking up painting as a hobby, but they've actually gotten married. So yeah, while Marinette has to deal with the stress of protecting some of the most dangerous artifacts on the planet, Fu's just been chilling in London, oblivious to the fact that he forced a teenage girl to do his job for him. Nothing but the best from this show's wise and lovable “mentor”.

After heading back home, Marinette sees a strange man who has broken into her room and demands to know where she got the Miracle Box from.

This is Master Su-Han, the former Guardians before Fu accidentally killed them all. He's naturally not happy with the “improper” form of the Miracle Box (he's not the only one) and wants to know how Marinette got in in the first place. When she says she got it from Fu...

Yeah... while it isn't as obvious as “Animaestro” and “Felix”, you can kind of tell that this is a “turn the critics into enemies” episode. Even though the criticism towards Master Fu isn't as prevalent as the criticism those episodes were meant to call out, there have been some fans on Tumblr and Reddit who have criticized Fu's actions in the show, calling out his decision to make Marinette a guardian in particular. Likewise, Su-Han is meant to be a strawman to mirror the complaints, and show why they are ridiculous. Though ironically, Su-Han's dialogue and rules also unintentionally highlight how incompetent the Order of the Guardians was, but we'll get to it later.

But because the script says she has to, Marinette defends Fu's decision to make her Guardian. She even refers to Fu being the reason the Guardians were all killed in the first place as a “mistake”.

NO HE DIDN'T! How was what Fu did in any way a sacrifice? When he made Marinette the new Guardian “Miracle Queen”, All Fu really did was make the box float for a bit before it immediately landed back in Chloe's hands. If the box had magically floated over to Ladybug in the process, I'd see why Fu would have done it. It'd still be reckless, but it would be a good way to escape from Hawkmoth and Mayura's trap. Hell, the Kwamis had already refused to let Chloe transform when she had their Miraculous, so there was no real threat there. We don't even know if Hawkmoth knew how to transform with the other Miraculous. So again, I raise the question: How was Fu forcing Ladybug to take his job while he gets to paint in London a heroic sacrifice? How can you even frame that as anything but cowardly?

Su-Han notices a few of the Kwamis are missing, and takes notice of Plagg, who was shown to devastate Paris with a single tap to the ground, being missing in particular. He's even more horrified to see Marinette's earrings, because, get this, Guardians aren't allowed to wear Miraculous.

You're telling me that if someone gets their hands on a Miraculous and goes rogue, the Guardians are supposed to fight them with their bare hands? They don't even explain it by saying something like how the Guardians aren't supposed to be tempted by the power of the Miraculous, we're just supposed to accept that rule as fact. How are you supposed to fight someone with superpowers like illusions, shapeshifting, teleportation, and time travel on your own?

So Su-Han orders the Kwamis back into the Miracle Box (still don't get why they have to listen to him) and lists off some of the rules Marinette broke like he was a Ferengi reading the Rules of Acquisition. He does all of this while voicing several concerns fans have about Marinette being Guardian, but rather than being out of concern or compassion for her, it's condescension.

It's pretty easy to understand Su-Han's side of the story, and if the episode actually acknowledged it, I wouldn't mind. But no, everything he says is automatically supposed to be wrong, because when has anything with a different viewpoint portrayed as a good guy in this show?

Su-Han orders Ladybug to take him to see Cat Noir before demanding they both hand over their Miraculous, and we learn something interesting about the Order of the Guardians.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?

Of all the stupid Guardian rules Master Fuckup didn't blindly follow, it's the rule that Miraculous are ONLY SUPPOSED TO GO TO ADULTS!? Why the hell did he even recruit Marinette and Adrien in the first place if Miraculous for adults to use? What did he even see in them? All they did was help him once!

And again, we're supposed to see Su-Han as wrong for doing this. Why can't Ladybug simply tell Su-Han about Hawkmoth and ask for his help before she returns her Miraculous to him? That way, Hawkmoth is defeated, and Su-Han gets the Miraculous back. And it's not like Ladybug doesn't try to talk things out with Su-Han, so you can't say she didn't consider it. Oh wait, that would imply Su-Han is supposed to have a point in his claims.

Though to the show's credit, Su-Han's words do get to Ladybug, causing herself to doubt herself and her ability to stop Hawkmoth, but Cat Noir helps to reassure her, saying he'll only return his Miraculous only if she asks him to. It's a brief moment, but it's nice to see him place his faith in his partner in a platonic way.

Less nice to see is Cat Noir finding out that if Ladybug gives up her position as Guardian, she'll lose her memory like Fu. Except... Cat Noir was there when Miraculous Ladybug failed to restore Fu's memory, so why does he see this as new information? Did he only think it would happen to Fu? Did he lose some of his memory at the end of the last season?

This information is enough for Cat Noir to start a fight with Su-Han, with Ladybug abandoning any attempts at diplomacy by declaring that Cat Noir won't lose his Miraculous. It's a little frustrating to see them engage Su-Han, but again, this is meant to show Cat Noir trying to protect Ladybug so she doesn't lose her memory. This scene still does a good job showcasing the bond the two heroes have. It's far better than anything we got from the New York special.

Su-Han is trained in... Oh God... Mirakung-Fu, which somehow gives him the ability to predict Ladybug and Cat Noir's moves before they make them, comparing it to his rage “adaptating and always finding a way”. Translation: Astruc ripped off something else from Dragon Ball, Ultra Instinct. Ladybug distracts Su-Han and gets the Miracle Box, while Cat Noir gets his staff. After briefly trapping him under some rubble (which I guess doesn't kill him because of his “Mirakung-Fu”), the two heroes escape.

Meanwhile, Shadowmoth, the upgraded form of Hawkmoth that I'll talk about in his debut proper, senses Su-Han's negative emotions and sends out an Akuma after him. Su-Han sees Fu painting in the park, and steals his cane, thinking it's a Guardian's staff he can sue to track down the Miraculous. When the Akuma reaches him, Su-Han uses a technique to repel the Akuma completely. I like this idea. It makes sense that a monk would find a way to mask their emotions and achieve enough of a state of zen to ward off an Akuma. The Akuma instead reaches Fu, turning him into Furious Fu.

I like the design of this Akuma. While I personally thought it could have made for a more interesting fight if he was still short (like Yoda's fight scenes in the prequels), I think it's really clever to incorporate Fu's Hawaiian shirt into what looks like a Chinese gi. Furious Fu's powers are kind of like Evilustrator, only he has to draw down a Chinese character on a talisman before the power takes immediate effect, and lacks the weakness Evilustrator had with his tablet being easily breakable, with the corrupted object, a paintbrush on his ear, being harder to reach.

Ladybug and Cat Noir retreat to the unnamed stadium that the local school has gym class in for some reason, where they're confronted by Su-Han, who in turn, is confronted by Furious Fu. This leads to a three-way fight for the Miracle Box, which they all kick around like a soccer ball. Cat Noir even gets a goal. All around, pretty fun bit, though not for the Kwamis, I guess.

As soon as he sees Furious Fu get the Miracle Ball, Su-Han hides while Ladybug and Cat Noir get beat up by the Akuma. While he does get up eventually, he's still taken out by Furious Fu. Apparently, Su-Han's “Mirakung-Fu” is only useful against Miraculous holders, not supervillains created with the powers of a Miraculous. How the hell does that work? That's like being a trained soldier in the Marine Corps who's terrible at laser tag.

Ladybug uses her Lucky Charm (again, I'll talk about the suit change for its proper debut episode), and gets a pair of wire cutters. She uses them go get a soccer ball from a nearby container while Cat Noir keeps Furious Fu busy. Furious Fu, in turn, uses one of his talismans to predict Ladybug's plan, and manages to immobilize both heroes, but not before Ladybug traps the soccer ball underneath Cat Noir's arm before Furious Fu can use his Cataclysm against him.

How do they stop him? By having Marianne casually walk up to him and break the paintbrush while he's distracted. Honestly, that's a pretty funny payoff. Not “Puppeteer” or “Bakerix” funny, but it's still one of the funnier Akuma defeats I've seen. Another funny joke is Cat Noir using his Cataclysm on a soccer ball before he accidentally uses it on Ladybug and Marianne for their post-victory fist bump.

Later on, after Marinette sees Marianne and Fu off while the latter continues to avoid responsibility, Su-Han apologizes to her, and decides to trust her. He'll still take away the Miracle Box if she screws up, but it's a start to someone Marinette can at least consult Guardian to Guardian.

And honestly? I think this episode is a pretty good start to Season 4. It really feels like the writers are learning from their mistakes in Season 3.

Yes, Marinette is blamed by Su-Han, and while it is frustrating to turn Su-Han into a strawman, unlike other Season 3 episodes where Marinette is blamed, the blame itself is unwarranted, and by the end of the episode, it looks like Su-Han is willing to change, as he apologizes to Fu after he's de-evilized. That's a lot more than I can say for Astruc's other straw characters like Chloe and Felix. Sure, some of Su-Han's concerns are brushed off, but it's still a start.

From what little we saw of him, Cat Noir is also a lot better, really showing the character development promised towards the end of “Miracle Queen”. He's thankfully turned down the flirting, and I can only hope he keeps his promise as the season goes on. I hope we get an episode or two showing his perspective on Ladybug becoming Guardian, and how he feels less like her actual partner now. You know, something that can reinforce their bond as partners.

My biggest complaints from the episode really come from the way Fu is portrayed, and even then, it's only because of events that happen because of what he did last season and how much of a screw-up he is, despite the narrative trying to tell the audience he isn't. Then there's the revelation that Fu's cane has the ability to track down Miraculous. So... we're seriously learning this now? Why didn't Fu use it earlier to look for the two missing Miraculous? He literally has a Miraculous detector! But hopefully, the consequences of Fu's actions won't affect this season too much.

So yeah, I'm actually feeling pretty optimistic about this season so far. Maybe Season 4 won't be that bad after all.

Oh.

Oh no...

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silma-words · 3 years

Note

Another prompt for Adrian and MC...

Number 5 / "say please"

not sure how you want to take this one, but I thought the smut could be next level... have fun! 😂

N/A: Omg I cannot thank you enough for this prompt @mssukeyna! This was so much fun, and a great prompt to push me a little out of my comfort zone! I literally woke up 2h earlier every day so that I could write more before work ;) I hope you’ll like it!

~~~~~

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: Explicit (NSFW, 18+)

Genre: Smut.Smut.Smut

AU Chronology: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – ‘Inevitable - Arc I: Before we part’ (Masterlist)

Summary: “We are travelling for business, Ellie, we’ll have to behave like professionals”, he had warned her, although he did not look so convinced about it himself….

Inspired by the following nsfw-prompts: #5. for sex in public / “say please”

Words: 4200

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down to business (Part I?)

Getting to travel was one of the perks Ellie enjoyed the most about her job as the CEO’s personal assistant. She never really had any opportunity to get out of her small town before she moved to NYC, and had always been of a curious nature. This job was a dream come true on that matter. But some trips were better than others. The ones that revolved around business negotiations, although exciting in their own ways, were not her favourites. By far, the ones she preferred were the ones that were meant for networking, for Adrian to maintain his relationships with previous business partners. There had not been many of those since she had started working at Raines Corp. but she loved those very much. These business trips revolved mostly around socializing. And socializing was one of her strengths.

But the reason she liked these trips the most was not because of the fancy dinner parties, the pricey hotels, or the designer dresses she got to wear to play the part. No. What she liked the most were the times she could have to herself in between social events, to explore around and satiate her curiosity about ‘the rest of the world’, and the times when she could get Adrian all to herself. He was more relaxed during these trips. More light hearted. More playful. As well as more tuned to her cues than when they were travelling for more serious business. And that, she loved to play around with. A lot.

Adrian was always doing his best to keep up the façade of the boss-assistant interactions between them when they were in public. And she completely understood why. Truly. But that was also so tempting for her to do her best to weave her way through that invisible barrier he was tentatively setting between them.

She would brush his fingers when he would hand her a drink. Sneak a hand up his thigh under the table at dinner. Fiddle with her long strands of hair to attract his attention to her neckline. Oh, his poker face was good. Spot on. Decades of practice truly paying off. But whenever she played her cards well, she could see that façade slowly crumble down. His cheeks slightly changing colour as she would whisper sweet - well maybe not so sweet - nothings to his ear. His Adam’s apple moving slightly at the sight of her legs shifting as she would change position on her seat, her skin exposed through the slit of her dress. His speech suddenly stammering slightly as she would slowly caress the inside of his calf with her foot, whenever she had been sitting across from him at dinner and had felt bold enough to risk reaching blindly under the cover of the table cloth.

She always made sure to keep her face composed so that the other guests would not notice how Adrian’s reactions were directly connected to her. But she would also cast him a challenging look as soon as the moment had passed, to make it perfectly clear that the game was on. And never once had she received back any kind of response that would indicate that Adrian was not on board with this. He might play the game by pretending that this behaviour was totally unprofessional, but they both knew that Adrian had never been anyone who cared much about the rules.

This time, their ‘socialising trip’ had led them further from home than ever before. Ellie was finally given the chance to fly out of the country and get a glimpse at Europe, with their first stops leaving her in awe at the wonders of the Italian countryside where they had stayed for five days to catch up with a couple of Adrian’s old ‘friends’ who had chosen to retire there. She did enjoy the socializing parts way more than she had anticipated: who would have dared to complain about the exquisite cuisine, the tours of the vineyards, the breath-taking views over lakes and mountains, and the luxurious guestrooms they could discreetly retreat to when the schmoozing was getting boring and the yearning had become too much.

The last part of their ten-days trip had also reached beyond of her expectations: she had always dreamt of discovering France, and although their journey would not grant her her secret wish of seeing Paris, she found out that the luxurious hills and valleys of the South-West of France were as equally magnificent as what she had seen so far over the last few days. There was so much history around, old medieval castles and ancient caves that she wished she could explore, that her curiosity and excitement seemed to be only matched by Adrian’s nerdy enthusiasm. European history was not necessarily his strongest suit, but he did know quite a few things about it, and gladly shared with her his knowledge about the places they travelled through. His expertise on French wines was definitely spot on though. And kind of sexy too.

Their guest was – unsurprisingly – a wealthy investor who had inherited a prosperous estate from his great-grandfather who was, originally, the business partner Adrian had been trading with at the beginning of the twentieth-century. Pretending to be his own descendant was apparently something Adrian was quite used to. Even though their current host – Emile – was pretty obnoxious.

They dined, visited local investors, attended a couple of art exhibitions grand opening nights. And indulged on wine, local delicacies, and smouldering gazes in between polite handshakes and casual conversations. Ellie’s French was not really up to the challenge when other guests could not speak English, but luckily Adrian was doing quite well in that department – another sexy trait to add to that very long list that Ellie kept filling up in her head.

That night, their host had been planning a special treat for his guests – Adrian and Ellie among a larger group of about thirty: a tour of his private ‘art collection’, followed by a fancy garden-party on his estate. Ellie had been looking forward to it, until the tour had started and she had realised that most of these ‘pieces of art’ were actually ancient remains that Emile had bought from lucky ‘discoverers’ around the world and snatched from the hands of archaeologists and museums to fill up his own little private gallery. As the tour was going on, she kept grumbling by Adrian’s side, drawing the attention of a few other guests that were marvelling at these stolen relics and obviously did not care much about how these had been acquired. As the group proceeded to move on to the next room, Adrian discreetly motioned her to move aside and slow her pace, grinning at her once they had managed to place themselves at the tail of the touring group.

“I know this is grating you, but this is quite a common thing these days – there is no point sulking about it now while there is not much we can do about it”.

“You’re the one to talk, ‘Mr-I-glare-at-that-old-British-dude-for-buying-an-original-John Trumbull-canvas-to-decorate-his-guestroom’!”, she retorted challengingly. “These objects are as important to historians as those Revolutionary War paintings you keep talking about. They shouldn’t be kept in here only to be displayed once a year to a bunch of rich morons who care more about how much he paid for it than about what these objects were”.

“I know, I know…” Adrian admitted with a sight, raising his hands in surrender. “But as I said, there is not much we can do about it now. Let try to survive through this tour and enjoy the night.”

Rolling her eyes, Ellie let out an annoyed sight and finally nodded, her tensed shoulders still betraying her frustration.

The tour proceeded, Adrian and Ellie sharing eye rolls and annoyed looks every time Emile would brag about the price of a unique item. They always kept behind when they could, making a point of looking at some of the glass panels in detail to at least try to learn a little something out of this display of wealth. But that revealed to be a nearly impossible endeavour. There was barely any labels or information attached to these objects whatsoever. Nothing there to keep them distracted from that never ending tour. Well. Apart from each other.

It started with just the tingle of his breath in her neck as he was hovering above her to look at an old grease-lamp from some ancient cave. And then continued as she would casually hook her arm through his while staring at the antic statue of a Roman god. And a brush of his fingers down her spine as he stood behind her pretending to listen to Emile’s dull blabber. Her hand sneaking along the side of his thigh as they followed the group around. The light pressure of his hand on her lower back as he led her to move past him into yet another room.

Pretending to pay attention to their host was increasingly difficult. Preventing their faces from betraying their very unprofessional thoughts even more so.

“I know I have said this before but…”, Adrian whispered in her ear, a playful smile forming on his lips, “I love that little tempter of yours… it makes me feel… a lot of things”.

He could hear Ellie’s heartbeat race in her chest at his words, even though she was keeping her eyes trained on the display panel before them, doing her best to keep her composure while the predatory tone in his voice was making her knees tremble slightly. The other guests were buzzing around them, pointing at glass display cases here and architectural features there, oblivious to the heat surrounding the two secret lovers as if the bubble Adrian and Ellie had formed around them had turned them into two of those trinkets exposed around the room that nobody was truly paying attention to.

Trying to break through the thick air that had been lingering between them, Ellie shifted on her heels to follow the flock of people that were regrouping to move along, casting a knowing smile at Adrian, and holding his gaze for a few seconds before walking away.

But before she could turn left into the next corridor, she felt his arm wrap around her middle, only to swiftly whoosh her aside to a secluded corner of the room, out of sight from the rest of the group thanks to one of the strong pillars that supported the roof of the exhibition room. A gasp escaped her lips as he sprung her around, pressing her back against the cold marble as he eagerly captured her lips in a searing kiss, his hands pressed against her neck, and his torso edging closer to her chest as she was gradually yielding to his powerful embrace.

Trailing her fingers up his neck until they reached his hair, she eventually gave a gentle tug so that she could make a break for air, their lips just a few inches apart as she teased, breathless: “I thought we had to keep our public appearances strictly professional, Mr Raines?”

She felt his grin against her mouth more than she could see it. “Well, what we are doing now is purely professional, Miss Reed. If there was anyone left around to see us, I’d just explain how I was telling all about...” he paused to nibble at her lower lip for a few seconds, “... about the sturdiness of these eighteenth-century pillars...”.

“Eighteenth century, han?” she giggled against his lips, her voice catching in her throat to form a silent moan as Adrian’s mouth began to trail down her chin to follow her jawline.

Her mind struggling between the will to keep her eyes open to check that no one was in sight, and the tantalizing swirls of his tongue against the skin beneath her ear, the shivers that were running down her spine quickly sorted that battle for her. She let her eyelids drop and her head fall back to rest against the stone behind her, focusing only on Adrian’s touch and on the way his hands had now started to drift from her neck to her shoulders, inching lower and lower as his mouth tasted the salt of the skin down her neck and along her collarbone.

Her hands unconsciously travelling from his hair to his back, they suddenly grabbed his shoulders a little tighter to press him closer as she felt him reach for the fabric of her dress to bunch the black silk over her hips. It took all of her will to remain silent when Adrian wedged his knee between her legs, her lips tightening in a thin line to repress a whimper as his fingers trailed down one of her thigh to her knee so he could lift her leg up against his hip, pressing himself forward to conquer the empty space between them.

She could feel his grin against her windpipes when her hips started to grind against his of their own accord, the tight grip of his fingers against her rear sending waves of heat down to where their bodies met.

“I think one of us should keep an eye on that corridor, in case anyone is sent out to look for us” he whispered against her skin, before lifting his gaze back to her, his golden eyes glimmering with mischief. “Would that be a mission you’d be happy to take on, Miss Reed?”

“Of course” she manages to answer, her voice croaking from anticipation.

“Good.” he grins. “Then, you’ll have to face the other way…”

She barely had time to register what he meant before she felt the heat of his body replace the cold marble that had been pressing against her back. She instinctively reached forward to place her palms on the pillar as Adrian resumed his pressing touches eagerly, one arm wrapped around her chest to keep her close, and the other finding its way between her thighs.

She could peek at the corridor ahead of them from where they stood, most of their bodies hidden by the imposing column that seemed to edge closer and closer to her as Adrian’s touch became more insistent. But being able to see ahead did not mean that she was actually looking. Even if she had wanted to fulfil her ‘mission’, the pressure of his left palm against her thigh and the hand that slipped under the fabric of her cleavage made it near impossible to focus on the task. The soft bites and kisses her neck were subjected to were not helping either.

Not being able to see or touch him was like torture, his quiet groans vibrating from his chest to her ribs, and his arousal pressing firmly against her back like a wicked promise that was for now beyond reach. Her back arched involuntarily when a firm hand grabbed her breast, his warm breath beneath her ear betraying his grin as the fingers on her thigh started to wander towards the edge of her underwear, playing with the seam of the lace before sneaking underneath with a deliberate slowness that had her whimper behind her tightened lips.

The light graze of his fingertips against her swollen nerves was all that was needed to weaken all muscles in her body, making both of them dangerously tumble forward as her arms gave in, removing the only leverage she had against Adrian’s pressure in her back, which had been keeping her so far from being flushed against the cold marble with no room to escape the sweet torment of his heated caresses.

Even though her eyes were now shut, she knew that Adrian was watching closely her features when she let her head fall back to rest in his shoulder, her brain going into overdrive when his touch became more pressing, kneading her breast and drawing lazy circles against her centre relentlessly. It was not long before she lost the last bit of control she had left over her own body, her lips parting slightly to let a moan escape, quickly muffled by Adrian’s mouth covering hers in an attempt to preserve the silence around them.

That might have worked perfectly, if only he had been able to kiss her with more restraint. Instead, his tongue had quickly found its way through her parted lips, brushing hers in patterns mirroring the movement of his fingertips between her legs, swallowing her whines as if he could taste her own pleasure through the ragged sounds that he was drawing out of her.

She was itching to touch him. One of her hands had left the cold surface of the pillar to find its way to his head and tangle in his hair, her entire body squirming against his to seek the friction that she was craving for. She knew he was trying to make her lose her mind. And it was working. She could feel his fingers slide gradually further down against her core, dipping into the wetness of her folds before retreating back, drawing growl after growl each time.

She could tell Adrian was relishing this by the way the corners of his mouth curled against hers. It was only when he suddenly pulled away from her swollen lips that she finally opened her eyes again, the lust and wickedness of his gaze sending a shiver all the way down to her toes. He had stopped moving, simply holding her petite form against his chest as tight as deemed possible, his golden eyes anchored to hers with an unmistakable gleam of challenge and promise.

“Adrian…” she mumbled feebly, desperately trying to grind against him but unable to resist his hold on her.

He smiled, remaining silent for a few seconds, before finally breaking the stillness with a low, husky voice, in a tone that was somehow both inviting and commanding: “Say please”.

There was no hesitation in her response, no control, her rasped voice echoing around the room as she begged, breathless: “Adrian, pleeeaaase…”

Thankfully, he did not make her say it again, barely waiting a few seconds before plugging a finger into her dampened slit, followed nearly immediately by a second, resuming his circular patterns over her swollen clit with the pad of his thumb. Withdrawing and dipping back into her with maddening slowness, she could feel her muscles clench around his fingers and her knees start to quiver as the pleasure was slowly building in.

Her dilated pupils could not tear away from his golden eyes, silently begging for more as he increased his pace, his hips grinding voraciously against her back, his mouth inches from hers as if resisting the urge to kiss her so that he could revel in the sweet music of her feverish whines echoing around them.

“Adrian… this is… so…” she tried to mutter between her gasps.

Adrian’s eyes flashed with a voracious gleam as he purred against her lips with a proud smirk, “so… good?”.

Her lips pursed weakly to form a teasing grin. “So… unprofessional”.

His smirk only widened further at her words, his hands suddenly moving away from her burning skin to grip her hips, making her head jerk up from his shoulder in surprise. She was about to complain when he swiftly swirled her body around and crashed his lips onto hers, pushing her back against the pillar, the contrast between the cold marble and the heat of her skin making her jump a little in his grasp.

It was not long before Adrian’s hands had found their way back beneath her dress, his fingers reaching hurriedly for the hem of her thong as his mouth started to descend from her mouth to her chin, roaming over her neck and her collarbone, until he sunk to his knees before her, skipping the parts of her that were covered by fabric to head straight for the space right below her navel. Dragging her underwear down her legs, he only broke the contact between his warm lips and her skin so that he could guide the lace over her heels, quickly shoving the fabric in his pocket before capturing her pulsing nub between his lips, not wasting any minute before expertly starting to explore her aching core, nibbling and suckling with an unmatched dedication.

Her hands were roaming all over his head, tangling her fingers in his hair and pushing her hips forward to demand more, her lower lip caught between her teeth to repress the urge to cry out with every stroke of his tongue, or every time the deft fingers that were slithering up and down her inner thigh came close enough to tease her entrance before retreating back wickedly. As much as part of her wanted to pull him back up to his feet and beg him to take her now, the other part could not even fathom the idea of making him stop his godly work between her legs.

There was no more coherent thought going through her fogged brain. Fragmentary visions of heated memories and unspoken fantasies were flashing before her eyes, mingling with the rousing sight of Adrian down on his knees before her, tasting her fervently in every way that she had ever dreamt of being tasted.

When she felt the intoxicating warmth of his mouth suddenly leave her centre, her mind unconsciously thanked him for ending this sweet torture, expecting the yearning in her core to be satiated soon enough when she would finally get to feel him inside her.

But that sweet release never came.

It took her a few seconds to realise that Adrian had jerked back up to his feet and hurriedly pulled down the fabric of her dress, unceremoniously grabbing Ellie’s waist to move her away from their hiding spot, releasing his grip once she was standing beside him in front of one of the display cases, their back turned away from the corridor.

She had to grip the edge of the display case to keep herself steady, her knees still trembling from Adrian’s handywork just a few seconds before, her eyes opening and closing at a maddening pace to try to clear her clouded brain and regain her senses. It was only when she heard the distinct sound of a pair of heels echoing towards them that she finally understood.

“Monsieur Raines?”, they heard a woman’s voice call out at a distance.

Adrian’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair completely tousled, but he made a quick work of fixing it as well as fixing his shirt with a smirk, mastering the art of regaining his composure in a flick of an eye, like the annoyingly perfect businessman that he was. Ellie fumbled around in an attempt to do the same, fully aware that she would never be able to be as efficient as Adrian, especially in the state of desperate yearning that he had just put her through. She was still panting, her heart thumping in her chest, pupils dilated and cheeks hot from so much blood rushing to her face, both from arousal and from the embarrassment that she knew was about to come.

Ellie jumped a little when the woman’s voice finally reached the room they were in: “Ah, Monsieur Raines! Je vous ai trouvé! Le buffet va commencer, si vous voulez bien rejoindre les autres invités dans le jardin?”.

Ellie had no clue what the woman had just said, and was in no shape to turn around and let the woman see the state of her. She was so grateful that Adrian knew exactly what to say and how to behave casually to buy her a few more minutes to sort out the mess he had made of her… although hearing him speak French was not helping much getting her arousal under control, as he politely answered the woman: “Merci, nous vous rejoignons dans quelques instants.”.

Ellie sighted with relief when she heard the woman’s footsteps retreat, turning around to face him, glaring at him with her best attempt at a reproachful scowl.

“That was….” she started, before being interrupted by Adrian’s mouth on hers, as he pressed a soft kiss on her swollen lips, before pulling away slowly with a grin.

“… unprofessional?” he teased, earning a falsely unamused eye-roll in return.

“We better get going, the party is starting, and all of the other guests are gathered in the gardens now” he announced, translating what the woman had said, but not releasing Ellie from his embrace just yet.

“I am in no state for socialising now” she admitted with a grimace, although she could not fight the teasing grin that was starting to form on her face. “I will never be able to focus properly after this… all I will be thinking about is sorting out this… hum, unfinished business…”

Adrian’s hold tightened a little more around her waist at her words, his eyes still gleaming with mischief and never leaving hers when he stepped slowly away, grabbing her hand to start dragging them both away from the room.

His voice was husky and full of promise when he casually answered with a teasing smile: “Well… unfortunately, we’ll have to play along a little bit longer I’m afraid… but I will certainly be looking forward all evening to the second part of this… unfinished business…”.

~~~

N/A: If anyone else is as eager as Adrian to see how ‘Part II’ of their little ‘public indiscretions’ is going to play out, let me know, and I’d be happy to oblige 😉 This prompt has inspired me way too much, thank you so much for the ask @mssukeyna 😉

~~~

Tagging @adriansbiss , @itsjustwinter , @shanzay44 , @purvishraick, @thefrenchiemama

@choicesficwriterscreations

#bloodbound #bloodbound choices #adrian raines #adrian raines x mc #bloodbound fanfiction #cfwc #choices fanfiction #play choices #choices stories you play #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #asked and answered

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babygirlkiki1016 · 4 years

Text

Masterlist

Chapter 10: A lovely bond

Chapter 11: Unexpected Betrayal

I resealed the door, drawing the same pattern as before to lock it in place. I was going to miss this little cave, for more memories than I ever could imagine happened here. I ran my fingers over my newly designed dwarven braid, after Thorin saw the one I made he decided to redo my braid into a dwarven rose. It was incredibly beautiful, I don't think I'd ever want to take it out.

"Well, you owe me a tooth." Kili wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we headed to the shifter's home. For he had more supplies that we needed, especially some from my home that we have supplied him with. "I found your courter, I will say I am surprised that it was my uncle. I never believed he could feel that way towards you, but now I understand why he didn't want you to think about marriage."

"Oh really? And why is that?"

"He didn't want you to marry anyone else but him, I guess that means we get to call you auntie now. Auntie Y/n, rolls off the tongue doesn't it?"

"Although I'm glad that my uncle has warmed up to you, why would you want to be with someone who hurt you more than once?" Fili came close to my right, giving me a curious look. I didn't know why I loved Thorin, all he has ever done was make me feel sad. Did I fall in love because I wanted a person that didn't want me?

"I don't know the answer to that Fili, I have no idea why I fell in love with him. Thought I'm glad I did, for he has made me feel something I haven't felt in years." My gaze trailed over to the King who is staring back at me with a soft smile, my heart fluttered. As we made our way to the shifter's home, I rejoined my beloved who led the company.

"Thorin." I greeted, making him glance over at me with the same grin from earlier.

"Good morning amralime, I was beginning to worry you were ignoring me. For you haven't said a thing to me all morning."

"I was busy helping the others pack their things, for some reason they kept bowing as I approached." They had never done that before, and to me it was weird they would treat me such way. It became highly annoying, I had to keep reminding them that they didn't have to do that.

"You are my betrothed, soon you will be the Queen under the mountain. They have recognized you as one of their own, and accepted you as their Queen."

"I've done nothing to prove I'm a good leader, how could they call me such?"

"They first started to admire you when you asked for me to set your people free if you fell. Then you protected us in the Goblin tunnels, and when we were fighting the trolls. Even when you left, you still came back, you showed loyalty. And that's all they can ever ask for, it's all I can ask for." He slipped his arm around my waist pulling me closer to him, that look of adoration now had a permanent place on his features. Yet the small romantic moment came to an end, darkness appeared behind us, an orc pack was not far behind.

"Thorin." The look on my face was obvious, he shouted to the others to get their weapons ready. "This way!" I led them far into the forest, and soon we made our way onto Beorn's land. We ran across the field, the Orcs hot on our heels stop when they hear the creature roaring close by. We rushed to his house with the insanely large bear traveling behind us, quickly I unlocked the door letting everyone in. The creature lunges its head through it, and we all push to close the door. After being slightly injured by the pressure of the gate, Beorn finally moves his head and we manage to shut and lock the entrance.

"What is that?" Ori asked turning to me and the great grey wizard that stood beside me.

"That is our host," Gandalf explained as my focus went to Thorin, who was leaning on the door tiredly. He held his side, I reached forward and pulled away his cloak to see that he was bleeding slightly. "His name is Beorn, he’s a skin-changer. Sometimes he’s a huge black bear, sometimes he’s a great strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However, he is not overly fond of dwarves."

"Come, let me fix your bandage." I let Thorin lean on me slightly, slowly I set him down on a nearby stool as the rest of the dwarves questioned if Beorn's abilities were dark magic or not. As Thorin slipped off his top clothing I grabbed a herb from my homeland that we had given to Beorn which he rarely ever uses. It's more of a 'just in case' necessity, good thing he has it.

"What is that?" Thorin took the red egg-like plant from my hand, examining it.

"It's called Arigonis, the juice inside has healing properties, it's a very rare plant. Well was, but we found a way to grow it, it'll heal your injuries all the way. However it will take time, a hour or so tops so don't scratch at it no matter how much it itches." I brought over a small bowl with water within, kneeling in front of him I took the plant and broke it apart. Using the juice and skin, I made this paste-like substance to put on his injuries. He had already taken his bandages off and discarded them to the side. When I looked up to cover him in the red-like paint, our faces were close, it was hard not to kiss him though I hardly doubt he would mind. I got to work in covering him with the herb, and it didn't take long before he went to scratch at it. "Hey, no don't do that." I slap his hand away playfully, he groans in frustration.

"It itches."

"That's how you know it's working, but if you scratch at it your wound won't heal all the way." He wants to scratch it badly, his fingers dug into his thigh so he wouldn't be tempted. Once I was done covering him in the agitating red paste, I washed my hands before making my way back over to him. I removed his hands from his thighs and made him focus on me. I was nervous, for I had never sang in front of anyone before but I figured it would help. I took a deep breath, keeping my gaze to the floor. "Wind howls in my hair, the world stops when you come this near. Starlight on your skin, the sky sways as you pull me in. And I, I wanna swim in your ocean. I wanna know how to love again, Ooh take me into your arm, sirens call, how fast I fall. Beneath your waves, no storm can take my eyes from you." Everyone turned to me, listening as I sang the song my mother used to hum to me when I was a child. "Crash down to my knees, their fears and hopes flood over me.

Your hand finds my own and shows me that I'm not alone. Now I, I'm diving deep in your ocean, I see the way to redemption, Ooh.

Take me into your arms, sirens call, how fast I fall. Beneath your waves, no storm can take

my eyes from you." All gathered around to listen as I sang the vocals, while others closed their eyes to sleep to the sound.

"Y/n." Thorin rested his hand upon my cheek, making me lean into his touch with a need to feel it. His eyes shined with a lovable glare, for he was stunned at my sudden talent.

"Take me into your arms, sirens call, how fast I fall. Beneath your waves, no storm can take

my eyes from you." (Song called Into Your Arms by Ryan Louder & Serena). Thorin's lips found it's way to mine, the rough skin made me crave more but we can only do so much in front of the others.

"You should sing more often." He gave me a pleading look, I rolled my eyes and retrieved another bandage to wrap around his torso.

"Perhaps I will, but for now you need to rest."

"Sing me to sleep, my Queen?" I kissed his forehead, smiling at his request. His hands landed on my waist pulling me in, but he kept me away just far enough where I wouldn't mess up the paste.

"Anything for you my King."

~♪♠♪~

My arms rested around the dwarven man, his hair tickling my nose slightly. Ever since we had proclaimed our love to each other he's been wanting me to sleep by his side. Which of course I was willing to do, but it made me think. How long would I have a moment like this? Surely the other dwarven kingdoms would want him to marry someone suitable, though maybe I am suitable. Once we get those reports and it's shown to the world that my kin is innocent they wouldn't be able to turn down an alliance with the Queen of the Digonisks.

"You seem deep in thought." Thorin's voice rumbled, a shiver ran down my spine at the sudden vibration.

"Have you been watching me this entire time?" He shifted onto his side, those beautiful blue orbs meeting mine.

"No, but I can tell when your asleep and when your not. And when you think deeply about certain things you tend to frown or smile. Today you did both." His thumb caressed my cheek, a gesture to make sure I was alright. "What is it amralime?"

"After this quest, and my kin goes free, won't your people want you to marry someone suitable?"

"You are suitable, there is evidence that digonisks are innocent. Once the humans and the rest of my people realize their mistake, they'll do anything to make their wrongs a right."

"...What if the scrolls aren't there? What if we never find them, will you still love me?"

"Of course." He seemed hurt that I began to doubt his feelings, a determined look appeared. He leaned forward and pecked my lips, but it soon became a more passionate kiss. Luckily we were in one of the empty stables for privacy, or the others would be grossed out. His arms wrapped tightly around me, I settled on top of him and straddle his waist. His bandages remained on his chest, for I had forgotten to take them off last night yet his wounds should be healed all the way now. With a smirk he flipped us over, his muscular figure now above my own.

"We're gonna get caught."

"Let them see." He goes to kiss me again but a loud fake gag was heard from behind him.

"No don't them see." Kili covered his eyes along with his brother, I gave Thorin an 'I told you so' look. "We came to tell you breakfast has been made." They quickly scurried away, sighing Thorin stood and we headed to the dining room. Everyone is sat at a table being served breakfast by Beorn, whose eyes widened when he saw me.

"Y/n." He nods his head slightly as a greeting, but a frown comes upon his features. "What are you doing here with a bunch of dwarves? Shouldn't you be in-" He stopped talking, for he did not want to give away our hidden home.

"No, I've been helping these men for the past few months. Don't worry Beorn they know, and they've accepted me." I stood in front of Thorin, undoing the white cloth that had been around his torso for far too long.

"If your here then who's running things?"

"Lani, my handmaiden why is there something wrong?"

"I've received word from your people that I must pay tribute for the Arigonis. They want me to cut wood so they can collect it." I stopped, pay tribute? I've never had him pay tribute before and Lani knows that, besides it's not that rare of a plant anymore.

"And if you refuse?"

"They wouldn't supply me with it anymore, and if I continue to refuse they threatened to imprison me. At first, I was angry for I never expected this out of you but seeing you now showed me that you had nothing to do with it." Imprisonment? That was nothing like my kin, what was going on while I was away?

"Who gave the order?"

"Fenris delivered me the scroll explaining how things were going to be handled from now on. Though I don't think it was him." There was no way Lani would take control like this, she was an innocent girl, right? Or was she abusing the power I gave her? Maybe it was a misunderstanding, that's not like her, she can barely ask me for something. "They're coming later to receive my answer, they should be here in a few-" Before he could finish his answer there was pounding on the door, well speak of the devil.

"Thorin wipe off the paste, I'll be back." Angrily I opened the barn door to see Fenris, the commander of my armies who immediately bowed along with the rest of his group.

"My Queen! I did not realize you were here."

"I did not realize someone gave the order to threaten my friend, who ordered that Beorn would have to give up his wood for the herb?"

"Well, you did my Queen." I was taken aback, and I could hear gasps behind me. The dwarves watched as I went from angry to absolutely furious.

"I gave no such command, for I haven't been in contact with anyone for quite some time. Where did you hear about this?"

"Lani showed us the paper you supposedly signed, that anyone we give supplies to must pay tribute in return and if not, they shall be imprisoned or worse...be sentenced to death."

@fili-is-my-lover @kirenia15 @lunariasilver @depressedchilipepper @tschrist1 @ayamenimthiriel @ask-the-elf-stuff

#bilbo x reader #fili and kili #fili x oc #gandalf #kili imagine #the company #the hobbit kili #the hobbit x reader #thorin x reader #bofur the dwarf #kili the dwarf #the hobbit x y/n #thorin fluff #thorin x y/n #thorin oakenshield fic

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

Text

The Shivering Days

Author: @rosegardeninwinter

Prompt: Lost in the woods with you. Cool air, leaves starting to fall, a little blanket of snow. You make a shelter, cuddle inside to keep warmth as it’s cooler now … enjoying it so much you don’t want to be found … because I’ve got my love to keep me warm. [submitted by @katnissandpeeta125]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: Thank you to my sweet sister Bethy (she doesn’t have a Tumblr) for doing a once over on this, as she’d much rather be watching historical documentaries. I took a little liberty with this prompt, and it’s a tad more angsty than I thought it was going to be. This story piggybacks off of this drabble, where Katniss and Peeta resolve some of their post-Game differences pre-Tour. You don’t need to have read it to understand this, but all the same. Enjoy!

___________

“Thank you, by the way,” I say. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about the woods.”

Peeta shrugs and buries his hands deeper in the pockets of his coat. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s prettier here.”

Prettier than the arena, he means. It is that. We’re in what my father would call “the shivering days” where everything seems to flicker and waver and change more than usual. The sunlight, peeking out from a cloud bank for a heartbeat, then gone again. The leaves, quaking and trembling in the breeze, rustling like gossip. People, teeth chattering, hands fidgeting for warmth, always moving.

But for some reason, he liked these days, my father. I can remember him standing almost exactly how Peeta does now, breath a cloud on the air, turning a slow circle to take everything in. The leaves overhead are a purple kind of red — a rich, decadent kind of color I’m sure they’d love to replicate in the Capitol, but never could. There’s a light snowfall, not more than a wisp here and there, but enough to remind us that November is nearing. Two months until the tour — and two weeks since I found Peeta on the floor of his bedroom, disoriented by phantom pains in his lost leg. I stayed with him until morning, both of us getting cramped sitting against the side of his bed, and he’d wheedled me to stay for breakfast, as a thank you. We ate toast and milk in the awkward tension of estranged friends, but it became harder, after that, to avoid each other’s gazes when we met in town.

“Can we talk?” he asked on Wednesday, catching me on the way home to get thread for my mother. “Not for long. If you don’t want. But I need to say something to you.”

Flicker. Waver. Change.

“Okay,” I said. “But not here.”

Even now, I’m surprised he made the trek out here with me. Maybe I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t be. A handful of poison berries says he’d follow me into the grave if I asked. Guilt squeezes around my lungs like a vice and I cough, pulling Peeta from his reverie.

“You alright?”

“Just cold. Here, let’s go down further. There’s a place we can sit. Out of the wind.”

Peeta smiles, a small smile, but it sends a hundred confused emotions rushing through me like a sip of strong tin can coffee. “I don’t know how you don’t get lost out here.”

“My father knew these woods like he had a map on the back of his hand.” I pull my fingerless glove loose and hold my hand up to Peeta. “We had the same hands, he and I.”

His hand comes up to brace mine, like an old superstitious Seam Granny doing a palm reading. Two weeks ago, I would have drawn away sharply, but I don’t. “So the veins are rivers,” Peeta says with a playful note to his tone I don’t think I’ve heard since the cave. “And the knuckles are hills?”

“Something like that,” I say, feeling the back of my neck prickle with a blush. Peeta lets my hand go. I slip my glove back on. “It’s only a short way,” I say, and dart a few paces ahead of him, trying to parse out my thoughts as I lead us to the little dry gully that will protect us from the wind — and from any surveillance.

What are we doing? No. Forget that: what are we? I was willing to lay down my life, my dignity, almost anything, to keep Peeta alive in the arena, but hurt feelings and miscommunication have us feeling like broken-hearted teenagers after a date to the Harvest Festival gone amiss, rather than allies who survived a deadly game together.

I pause at the top of the gully. It’s deeper than I remember. I turn to Peeta. “You might … do you want a hand down?”

He’d be well within his rights to scowl at me over the implication that his prosthesis leaves him any less capable — but he doesn’t. He nods and accepts my hand. I steady him as best I can with my slight frame, remembering another time not unlike this when I helped him drag himself to our cave. But right as we’re reaching the bottom of the slope, my foot catches on a branch and I go down, taking him with me. I yelp as I roll head over feet into a pile of yellow leaves at the bottom of the gully, and Peeta lands directly on top of me, half squashing the air out of me.

“Off!” I squeak, batting at his shoulders with my hands until I realize that his back is shaking. On instinct, my hands stop their assault and fretfully hover around his hair. Is he crying?

“Peeta,” I fuss. “I’m sorry. Are you alright? Is it your leg?”

He lifts his head from where it’s pillowed on my ribs, and I see that his eyes are teary, but with laughter.

“It’s not funny,” I protest, even as my own laugh escapes me. “We could have been hurt!”

“Oh, I’m fairly sure we’d have survived,” he jokes darkly. “Given our track record.”

“Peeta,” I say. The snow that was coming in starts and stops is picking up now, soft flurries coming down on Peeta’s hair. I don’t try to push him away anymore. The warmth of his body against mine is such a nice feeling, I push all the past months’ frustrations to the side.

“Sorry. I know that wasn’t funny.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I was saying.” I take a deep breath. “What … what I said on the train … I never meant to hurt you.”

“No, Katniss. You shouldn’t be apologizing to me.”

“But I should.”

“No, you shouldn’t. You were doing what it took to survive. To help us both survive. It wasn’t fair of me to hold you to anything you said in the Games.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you.”

“Katniss,” he says, “I know. I know you care. I haven’t known you for very long, all things considered, but I get the feeling that Katniss Everdeen isn’t the type of person to sacrifice her life for someone if she didn’t care about them … at least a little bit.”

“Only a very little bit,” I say softly. His eyes are bright robin’s egg blue against the autumn tones of the world around us.

“Well then.” He sighs. “Can we be friends, Katniss?”

Flicker. Waver. Change.

“Friends.” It’s a weighty answer. I’ve never been very good at friends, and after what Haymitch warned me about before our interviews … being my friend is like painting a target on your back. But refusing Peeta won’t keep him any safer. We’re in the same cart, he and I. We held out those berries together, didn’t we? And it’s like he said. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t care. Besides, he’s the only person in all Panem who understands what we went through. He was there. He helped me through it, held me through it. I’m not sure friends is even enough for what we are to each other, what we ought to be, after all that … but friends is a start.

“Friends,” I repeat, an affirmative. “Yes.”

Peeta nods, looking relieved. I feel the same, like a great burden has been lifted from me. Which is a little ironic given that I’m still pinned beneath Peeta’s—my friend’s—body. But I don’t try to move. Not even when he leans down and presses his forehead to mine. I welcome the contact. It’s soothing, steady.

He rolls away at last, helping me sit up. We’re both damp now, and our clothes are covered in twigs and leaves.

“We have to climb back up,” I lament. But I’m not dreading it. I have my ally back. I’m not alone.

“No,” he says, offering me his hand and pulling me to sit beside him on a fallen log. “Let’s stay a while. It’s quiet here.”

Quiet. He understands what a luxury that is too. My mind hasn’t been quiet since we came back. I crane my head back to look up at the trees. Red and orange against gray. Like fire against steel and glass buildings. I shudder.

“You cold?”

“Something like.”

“I get it.”

His arm goes around me and I sink into the half embrace gladly. Our shoulders press, our hips, our legs. I feel the anxiety in my body melt at the contact points, and I nestle closer to him. He smells of whatever he must have been baking before he met me: spices and sugars and … Peeta. Homey and comforting and good. He points to the foliage above.

“It’s my favorite color. Orange.”

My heart skips. Leave it to Peeta to distract me with something so ordinary as a favorite color. I glance back up where he points, and I don’t see fire in the vibrant hues. I see —

“Like a sunset,” he says.

“A sunset,” I echo.

“Yeah.” He bumps my side with his, playful. “Alright, friend. I’ve told you my favorite color. What’s yours?”

I smile.

Flicker. Waver. Change.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #rosegardeninwinter #submission #prompt

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angelofsmalldeathandthecodeine · 4 years

Text

Jealousy

Request: “Hello! Can i please request number 8 and 5 from the angst list and 14 from the fluff list with Fred Weasley please? Thank you!”

(”you said you wouldn’t do this again”/”you’re breaking my heart”/”I tried to move on but nobody is you”)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: I loved writing this! it put me in a really Weasley twin mood, I love the love they're getting in my inbox!!

Suddenly you felt a tap on your right shoulder, distracting you from the silence you had seemed to drown yourself in.

“Look at that, and right in front of your face” Cho whispered to you, carefully making sure she wasn’t caught by Snape. You looked in the direction pointed to be met with your newly ex-boyfriend asking Angelina Johnson to the Yule Ball in a rather comical manner.

Your heart sank, you weren’t quite sure how to feel in that moment, but it seemed to last a lifetime. “I guess he’s got over the situation a lot faster than you thought huh” Cho added, only breaking your heart a little more despite her good intentions.

You looked down the table to see Angelina mime a “yeah, alright then” before glancing at Fred who only winked at you in the most disrespectful way possible. He gained laughs from everyone around him, including his brother – it’s what he’s known for, but this time, at what cost?

Rage fuelled your body and your blood began to boil, ‘the audacity’ you thought to yourself, but then again you knew exactly what he was doing. You and Fred had broken up about a week ago, and surprisingly he had managed to make you consumed with jealousy for at least 4 times already in the space of that week. Every time he did it previously, you tried to justify it by telling yourself it was your own fault for breaking up with him – but this time you simply couldn’t.

Instead of kicking up a fuss you told yourself how much more important your studies are than some stupid boy and kept your head down, you were a Ravenclaw after all. Ignoring Fred’s crave for attention was difficult, but you were stronger than that. If you were strong enough to break up with him, you were strong enough to deal with his immaturity.

Once class was over you made your way to the Ravenclaw common room, talking to your friends Cho and Marietta about their Yule Ball dates, which became slightly disheartening and tedious, but you were happy for them both, nonetheless. You were guessing that people had just decided to stay away from you since your breakup with Fred, I mean it had been only a week after all.

“Y/N” you heard a panting voice call after you up the stairs. You turned around to see Roger Davies climbing the stairs to the Ravenclaw common room, short of breath which made you slightly giggle. “I thought he was supposed to be athletic” Cho whispered amongst you, letting out a laugh.

“Phew, sorry I forgot how much it takes it out of you running up these stairs” he laughed catching his breath, and you returned the favour, waiting for him to explain himself. You both looked at each other, which made you a little uncomfortable, so you shrugged your shoulders and shook your head, confused, as a sort of indicator of ‘what did you want?’.

“Oh right, sorry” he responded, only making the girls continue to giggle.

“I know things might be a little soon, you know with you and uh…never mind, anyway I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the Yule Ball” he tried to say casually, leaning on the bannister.

The moment was strange, you had always imagined it would be Fred who you went to the ball with. But nevertheless, it felt even stranger to be complaining about an invite.

“sure” you smiled, trying to hide your slight yet inevitable disappointment. Roger left with a huge grin on his face saying, “see you then”, and you tried to entertain the same response especially as the girls seemed more excited than you.

As you approached the common room for the second time you felt a grab at your arm, only turning around to face a very tall, towering Fred. You internally huffed and sighed, probably externally too.

“Hey Y/N” he said, seemingly happy which just frustrated you even more. Cho and Marietta had continued inside in anticipation of how the conversation may have panned out and quite frankly you didn’t blame them, you wish you could do the same.

“Ugh, leave me alone Fred” you sourly responded, both understanding exactly what you were getting at.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, again just annoying you further to the point where you wanted to hit him.

“You know exactly what’s wrong, you’re being pathetic!” you scolded back at him, ready to give him everything you had “you said you wouldn’t do this again” and with those words your eyes began to well up.

“I’m just trying to move on Y/N, you broke up with me remember!” Fred exclaimed. You could see the pain in his eyes, but he couldn’t see the pain in your heart.

“Yes because of my parents” you didn’t mean to yell, “You’re breaking my heart” you added, tears now running down your face. You had done it. You had caved despite telling yourself you wouldn’t

Fred came closer, you could sense he was going to embrace you, you could tell when he was “what do you want me to do-“

“Like I said, leave me alone” you quickly and sternly interrupted, taking a step back and wiping away your tears. You turned around and entered the common room without a second thought, you just needed to get away from him.

It was the day of the Yule Ball and you couldn’t help but feel crap about it, and every reason you had for this was Fred. He was all your mind would let you think about since your argument, and the only person you truly wanted to talk about it with. You knew deep in your heart that Fred was the boy you loved, the boy you wanted to be with, but your parents influence seemed to get the better of you in a pressured situation.

A knock at the door told you that Roger was outside, and so you wiped away your tears, took a deep breath, put on a smile, and got up to go.

The ball was truly beautiful, and ridiculously packed. You spent a lot of your time either dancing or watching the Goblet of Fire contestants dance, waving at your friend Cho who was centre stage with Cedric. You hadn’t seen Fred all night and you were glad of it

Suddenly there came a burst of fireworks through double doors of the hall, colours contrasting with the icy blue of the room. You turned to face George, miming a ‘what the hell?’ to which he only responded with a confused look and shrug of shoulders.

The firework burst into letters, gradually forming together to say the words ‘I LOVE YOU’ and you looked to your side to see Roger backing away, yet with a smile on his face. He gestured towards the stage in which you swiftly turned to face Fred, microphone in his hand.

The fireworks continued which uplifted the atmosphere of the ball in general. “I love you Y/N, and I want to be with you” Fred started, already causing tears to gather in your eyes.

“I tried to move on, but nobody is you” he continued, getting a simultaneous “Aww” from most of the crowd. Fred made his way towards you before dropping the microphone, “I don’t care about your parents, but I know that you do, which is why ill do anything to prove to them that I deserve to be with you” he said to you.

Before he could say anything else you reached your arms up to grab his face, pulling him down to kiss him and be welcomed by his warm and huge embrace. The entirety of the ball clapped and cheered, which made you turn a little red.

“So, do you want to go to the Ball with me?” he whispered in your ear mid hug, you felt his smile, causing you to giggle. “oh wait, what about Angelina?” you asked concerned.

“Oh, right yeah, she was in on it…and so was Roger after a bit of persuasion” he laughed, and you looked to see Angelina smiling.

“For goodness sake Weasley, I thought you’d never ask” you beamed, causing Fred’s face to be painted with the biggest smile imaginable.

“And I love you too” you whispered on your tiptoes, before kissing him.

#fred weasley #weasley twins #george weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fanfiction #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #fred weasley imagine

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mintyfrosty · 4 years

Text

Back To Square One

Hello all you wonderful people!!

Ya’ll want more merfolk Au stuff?? I gotchu fame. Small one-shot under the cut >:3333333

You know.

Most humans didn't find themselves to be half fish somewhere in your early 30s. Right happened to be an exception.

Despair following his every moment, frame tight and compact against the rocky edging on the cave's underwater cavern. Caramel eyes gawked blankly at the dozens of grains of sand that littered the ocean floor. Too many to count in a lifetime. In a way, an odd sense of loneliness captured his spirit, mainly for two reasons. The first being he was alone in a literal sense, his fri-- acquaintance named Reginald had swum off somewhere to get the two of them a meal for the evening. And the second, well, he didn't know of any miracle stories of humans turning into merfolk, let alone if there was a way to revert it. It didn't make sense; he just...fell in a batch of glowing, purple water, sunk to the bottom and suddenly he was equipt with a tigerfish tail.

And with it, everything he was familiar with.

His whole life was gone.

His friends.

His family.

His crew.

His ship.

His food.

His bed.

Gone.

Simple as that.

But just because it was gone, didn't mean it didn't stab a deep wound in Right's spirit.

"Right?"

A voice. High pitched. Familiar.

Sullenly, the taller of the two looked up from his arms that were crunched in a huddled position, nothing less than a glare coming under the brim of his hat. The other had a satchel strung over his shoulder down to his left hip (Er- top of his tail on the left side?), swimming over gently to the man's side. It was good, however, that the two knew each other for about a month before this 'incident'; made the whole process a little bit more bearable. Or, at least it would if the two weren't in a slightly discourse at the moment.

When Right was still human, his ship had swept up the merman in a net and said merman immediately lost it. Turns out, merfolk don't take kindly to figuring out your species is the reason that your ocean has been limiting its food supply or polluting your oceans with junk (even if Right wasn't guilty of either of those. He was a pirate, not a fisher). As a result, Reginald...lost trust in him, even though Right had assisted him for about a month whilst the merman recovered. Perhaps it was related to Reginald's 'clan' situation. He didn't know. Didn't seem to matter now.

At least, however, Reginald was being much gentler and pushing his feelings on the matter behind him to assist the transformed human. That was something Right could appreciate.

The purple painted merman took a seat to the left of Right, pulling the satchel in front of him and unclipping the button that held it together. The shark mercreature was sure to slightly uncurl himself out of his misery as his gaze fell to the contents the other brought out. A variety. Recently slaughtered fish. Some kind of cod. Prawns. Was that octopus?

"I, erm, didn't know what you fancied, so I tried to find as much as I could." Explained Reginald, putting the batch of octopi to the side; seemed to be one of his favourites. Right, however, went slightly pale at the suggestion. Eating raw fish? Well, prawns were okay sometimes. But cod? Let alone octopi? That sounded like a slimy mess of distress.

The other must've caught his disgust, as he began saying something along the lines of: "I...understand you're not used to this. But, unless I'm wrong, you-- er-- drylanders don't eat fish fresh, so, it could be better?"

To be fair, Reginald was as much in the dark as he was. And, luckily, he was somewhat correct; getting fresh fish was extremely rare on the surface. Or, at least, being freshly killed.

So, hesitantly, Right reached an arm forward, hands grasping roughly at the cod and inspecting it. Quite clear to see that Reginald had done all the hard labour of cleaning the thing of its insides before presenting himself. A small feeling of gratefulness developed in his soul. Thoughtful, it was. Very kind.

The shark-merman did find, however, that it was much easier to bite into and chew things with his newly sharpened, second row of teeth. And, frankly, wasn't as bad as he was expecting. Yes, the texture was horrid and he had to push the thought back of eating the thing raw but...not terrible.

"'anks, Reg." Mumbled Right underneath his breath, eyes focused on the meal in his hands. Too focused to not see the bright light shine in Reginald's purple and black eyes, turning his head with a snap. Didn't last long, as the sound of crunching octopus flesh met his finned ears. Well, not after a soft 'you're welcome.'

And now it was quiet.

Both of them, Right knew, were confused. Of course, the taller of the two was much more distressed than he was bewildered, caught between a wave of different emotions. He didn't handle them well; that went for most emotions. Stupid feelings. Stupid attachment. Stupid; all of it.

"I...erm--" Reginald's voice hit his ears, eyes only turning to meet Reginald as his teeth sunk into his cod. The shorter cleared his throat. "I'm sorry-- I don't know of any known...solutions to this. But-- I'm sure I can find something in time. I-I can assure you, though, I'll try my best to be as fast as possible to get you back to normal."

... What?

"Yer gonna...find me a cure?" 'Cure' was probably a bad word to describe the term, but, both of them knew they were thinking about this situation as if it were a problem. Right turned his attention fully now, letting the cod rest in his hands that fell into his lap (lap?). The other had a crimson look on his face now, looking down at the ground, fumbling with his hands slightly.

"I...figured it would be...appropriate because, well, you helped me a great deal-- and that-- well-- how I--" Reginald brought a hand to his face, rubbing it with his webbed fingers, letting out a small groan of frustration. "--look. I'm sorry about being upset over the dry lander thing on the ship. Ugh-- the clan's been in such a slump. And we've messed up heist after heists because of those wooden whales. And I was frustrated and upset-- and I just--"

The purple and gold merman slumped his face into his hands. "I'm so sick of how miserable The Toppat Shells and the answer was right there, even though you were already so kind to me. I wasn't thinking; I was just mad and upset. And now that's led to--"

"Oi."

Reginald cut off his rambling, looking up from his hands to look at the small concerned yet stern expression of the other merman in the cavern. A hand came to his shoulder, grasping it gently. "If ye 'ink f' a second t'at...t'is--" Right gestured to his lower half. "--is yer fault, yer wrong. Yeah, maybe it was a result of some dumb s'it ye were upset wit', but t'ings were gonna turn out dis way because of the 'ole...raid on the s'ip t'ing."

"No-No, I'm not saying that." The brunette let out a sigh, brushing a curl out of his face and slumping against the back wall, not moving from the comforting presence on his shoulder. "I-- erm-- just believe I owe you some payment for...everything you've done for me. How I reacted was uncalled for and...consider this an apology, maybe."

Owed him payment? That was an odd thing for an ex-pirate to hear.

He wasn't paid back for anything; that's just how things were on the surface. Steal. Work as a crew. Get the job done. Do it all over again. Right supposed, however, that it did sort of match his out of character performance of helping a dying fish on the beach and growing slightly attached over time. A lot of things were out of character. This whole damn situation was wrong.

A sigh left Right's throat, coming out as a string of bubbles as he brought his hands back into his lap, too leaning back.

"Can't 'ave that, 'orry. If t'ere's one t'ing 've learned being a 'aptain, ye never play princess. Ain't yer responsibility ta change me back, when it ain't even yer fault. Kinda my business, 'onestly. But, if yer committed, we'll...figure it out together, suppose."

Octopi falling to the ground in a stunned grasp, Reginald's eyes turned up and met the brown ones that belonged to Right, blinking several times to understand what he had said. The ex-pirate held back a smirk, feeling slightly satisfied on getting an upper hand. Of course, it didn't last long, since his expression turned into painted, crimson blush at the response from the other.

"S-Sorry, could, erm, I hug you?"

...Hug? Uhm-- It wasn't an odd request, of course. But Hugging

"Erm--" Right let the cod drop into his lap, brushing a hand behind his head to scratch his hair, even if it wasn't itchy. Might as well not bring another problem to this situation. "I mean-- sur--"

Right didn't need to say one word more, as Reginald was suddenly on his chest, wrapping his arms around the other's torso in a tight embrace, face buried into his shoulder. Taking a sharp inhale, the taller of the two felt his face heat up, despite being the cool waters of the seafloor. With much hesitation, Right wrapping his arms around the other, trying his best to not hit his fins or something along those lines (he didn't have a clue to how sensitive they were). Heh. It almost seemed like Reginald was just as choked up at the situation as he was, despite that not being true in the slightest. However, he seemed to be greatly upset by it, at least.

It only lasted a moment, the smaller individual pulling back, keeping his distance and looking slightly awkward. It was clear that Reginald seemed to express appreciation and gratitude through physical affection, even if it was platonic. Didn't exactly clash well with Right's nature of pushing people away when he was emotional. But...it was manageable. The ex-pirate let out a chuckle, scratching his head once more with a cough of bubbles. "'ow about...we start again? Like, bef' all t'is bullshit 'appened."

Before the pirate ship. Before things had gone pear-shaped. Before when the last time they saw each other was on the beach.

The merman before him took a moment of stunned silence before his lips formed into a smile, sticking his hand forward.

"Alright. Hi there. My name is Reginald Coperbottom; second in command of The Toppats Shells!"

A firm handshake was met with a wave of bubbles.

"'ello. 'm Right."

#merfolk au #fanfiction #owo #merfolk #mintyfrosty's au #coperright #gay fish #reginald copperbottom #reginald #right #right hand man #rhm #thsc #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin

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skinsharpenedteeth · 4 years

Text

No clue what to call this one...

It’s PunkRock!Michael and Emo!Alex AU that pretty much no one asked for. That being said, it’s for @litwitlady per our previous conversation about the subtle difference with punk and emo kids. As a warning, it fluff n smut.

The ground vibrated under Alex Manes bright red converse and he wondered if he’d be able to hear anything once this night was over. He’d found the furthest wall and decided to hold it up for the evening as he waited for Maria to get done with her one-woman-mission to fuck SOMEONE in this derelict house that operated as a “music venue”. All the rooms were lit with harsh yellow lighting, bereft of all but the most untrustworthy looking furniture, and there were dents and holes in walls all over the place. Alex was a little afraid the second floor would cave in at some point and he’d have to find out that people actually lived here.

Looking back up towards the corner of what was once considered the dining room of the house, he was happy to see that he couldn’t see Maria anymore. Maybe she’d gotten lucky faster than he’d figured she would and soon they’d be able to get out of here. But that might still take a while, so Alex slid down the wall and took out the book he’d been reading about the perks of being a wallflower. He noted someone coming to stand next to him in this periphery but didn’t look up. He didn’t want to engage anyone here and the bouncing of their leg by his shoulder made him sure they weren’t looking to engage him either since they seemed to be enjoying the band.

When the band finally wound down, the figure that had been standing next to him practically fell onto the floor in a heap of legs and elbows. He turned to look and saw it was Michael Guerin, probably the most serious, mysterious, hard core punk kid at his school. His blonde curly hair had been streaked with green and slicked back from his face. He didn’t wear any make-up like some of the punk kids did or Alex himself for that matter. He had on a D.A.R.E. shirt with the sides and sleeves ripped off which showed off his lithe, strong body when he slumped forward. The shirt was tucked into tight black jeans with safety pinned holes up and down the legs. He wore the rattiest shit-kicker boots Alex had ever seen which were covered with patches, pins, and spikes. He’d left his spiked bracelets and collar that he’d worn at school at home for the evening and Alex felt like he was almost seeing him naked. Which wasn’t unwelcome because for all Michael Guerin’s faults, being unattractive was not among them.

“Having fun?” Michael asked, looking over at him in between nodding and slapping hands with various people milling around in the crowd. The band was breaking down their gear and everyone was moving to other parts of the house or out into the yard between acts. Alex pursed his lips at him and went back to his book. He was sure he was just fucking with him. Michael Guerin didn’t make small talk. He mostly just stalked the halls and kept his head down in classes. Alex couldn’t look at him without rolling his eyes sometimes, he was such a cliché.

“I, uh, don’t think I’ve seen you at many of these. Thought you liked fuckin’ Panic! At the Disco and shit…” he continued, sneaking looks over at Alex. Alex sighed through his nose loudly. Apparently, they were going to do this tonight.

“I’m here with Maria,” Alex finally responded, still not looking up from the book he was frankly only pretending to read at this point.

“Oh? I saw her leave with one of the guitarists from the first band. Was she your ride?” Michael asked, sounding nervous. Alex did look at him then, trying to see if he was just fucking with him or if he was being sincere. When he decided he couldn’t tell, he dug his phone out of his back pocket and saw a missed call and a text from Maria.

>Found something strange and hopefully wonderful. Won’t be back tonight.

“God fucking damnit, Maria,” Alex exclaimed, almost throwing his phone in frustration.

“So I guess that’s a yes?” Michael asked a little sheepishly.

“This is why you never see me at these things. I don’t have a fucking car and my ride likes to fuck strangers and ends up deserting me. I fucking know better. Ugh, fucking Maria,” he raged. Michael watched him at it for a while. Meanwhile the other band had finished setting up and people were starting to filter back into the room. Alex looked around at the people and groaned, just wanting to leave and get out of here.

“Hey, come on. Let’s go outside. It’s about to get loud,” Michael suggested, standing up and offering Alex his hand. Alex absently noted that his fingernails were painted, though the polish was cheap and had already chipped off in several places. At the first screech of feedback from the amps, Alex grabbed his hand and let Michael pull him up. He shoved the paperback into his back pocket and looked Guerin in the eyes, feeling a fluttery feeling in his chest when their eyes met. He was a bit surprised when Michael didn’t immediately drop his hand, but instead held it while leading him through the dingy kitchen and out to the backyard area. A group of smokers hung around the door chatting and they called ‘Hey-o!’ in excitement when they saw Michael. He waved and grinned at them but kept tugging Alex with him until they were past the property line. Apparently, someone had found a couch on the side of the road and had moved it out into the undeveloped desert behind the house to stare out at the dark nothing beyond. When they reached the front of the couch Michael finally let go of his hand and flopped down on the cushions at one end with a sigh.

“Uh, what are we doing?” Alex asked, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed them. He shuffled a little and stared down at the orange and white plaid couch dubiously.

“We’re hanging out. Chill, sit down, enjoy the night with me. We’ll still be able to hear the band from here,” he added, patting the spot next to him.

“Oh, goody,” Alex remarked sarcastically before sitting himself down on the cushion farthest from Michael’s. He still didn’t quite trust his intentions, but he was glad to be out of the house. They could, in fact, here the band still, but the lyrics were muffled and it almost sounded like the songs had a melody this far out.

“So, what’s up with the finger bruises on your arm?” Michael asked, pointing towards where Alex’s shirt sleeves had ridden up when he’d finally sat down. “Girlfriend like to get a little rough?”

“Uhh…. That would be pretty remarkable since I’m totally gay and you know it. Like, everyone knows it,” Alex accused, deflecting his question about the bruises. He didn’t want to talk about his problems with strangers. As hot as this guy was, he was still a stranger. Michael smiled widely at him.

“I didn’t know if that was a rumor or what, man,” he replied easily, seeming to take Alex’s correction in stride. For some reason that threw Alex off. He’d been waiting for an attack.

“Oh,” Alex said, feeling a little deflated, “Well, it’s not. I’m gay. Does that make you want to run back to the party? Afraid someone will see you out here with the emo faggot?”

Michael’s smile fell and he looked a little insulted. Alex almost apologized, but he didn’t owe this punk anything and he kind of wanted to see how he reacted to some pushing. His tone was less congenial when he finally answered.

“I don’t give a fuck who you’re into. Love is love. What I do want to know is who the fuck keeps bruising you up all the time? Those aren’t love taps I saw on your ribs the other day in the locker room and you don’t skate or play sports. Who’s fucking you up?”

He sounded mad, indignant on behalf of a stranger. On behalf of Alex, who was not used anyone giving a shit about him. It was a new feeling for Alex to have someone pay that much attention to him and care that he was being hurt. But he couldn’t just say ‘My dad knocks me around because I crave cock and hate the military’ so he kept his mouth shut and Michael watched him stay silent, watched him tense up with his shoulders closer to his ears and wrap his arms around his body. He obviously wasn’t going to say anything so Michael tried a different tactic.

“The foster family I’m with right now… they’re alright. But the family I was with before them? Fucking meth heads. And meth heads get mean when they’re coming down,” Michael said, turning and pulling his shirt over his head to show Alex his back. There were long thin grooves over the middle of his back and little round scars like burns. “Not all that is the meth heads. The long scars were from the religious zealots I got put with a couple years ago. Being exorcised isn’t fun, but the lead up was worse.”

Alex stared at the skin in horrified fascination, moving closer to see them better in the faint light of the moon. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out to trace along one of the scars with his fingers, but at the last minute came to his senses and brought his hand back.

“That’s awful, Michael,” Alex whispered. Michael pulled his shirt back down and turned to him, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Well, it’s all healed over now. Right now, no ones hurting me. So, who’s hurting you? Are you getting bullied? I know that Valenti kid is a fucking homophobic piece of shit jock bully, but if he’s literally beating you up I will get my boys and we’ll tear his ass in two,” Michael threatened with passion. Alex looked at him, feeling his face soften at how serious Michael was.

“You can’t defend me like that. Kyle’s a fucking jerk, but he’s not doing this. It’s..uh… It’s my dad. He’s the one hitting me,” Alex admitted quietly. Somewhere in the middle of his confession, he had started to find his own hands fascinating. So fascinating he couldn’t look up to see Michael’s expression over his confession, but instead just kept watching the way his skin pulled taut when he interlaced them and twisted one way or the other. One of Michael’s hands came into his view then and covered his own, stopping their anxious twisting. Alex froze and waited. He didn’t know what reaction he was hoping for but he felt himself bracing for it.

“Do you have somewhere to go to get away from him?” Michael asked, his voice now quiet next to Alex’s ear. The hand not on Alex’s came to rest between his shoulder blades, thumb rubbing soothing circles through the cotton of his shirt. Alex felt his body relax a fraction, slumping a little as he realized he wasn’t about to be attacked.

“Yeah, yeah. I have friends who will let me stay with them,” Alex managed to get out through the thickness in his throat.

“Add me to that list,” Michael said. Alex’s head jerked up to look at him and he realized he was only a couple breaths away from him. “I’m serious. Add me to the list of people you can call if you need an out. I’ve got a truck, I’ll come get you. No questions asked, nothing owed.”

“You don’t know me, Guerin,” Alex said in the stillness between them. He couldn’t stop his gaze from moving from his perfect hazel eyes down to his lips. He suddenly knew he wanted to kiss this guy. Whatever happened after was fine, but he wanted to do something reckless. Michael was pushing a long piece of hair back behind Alex’s ear and looking at him fondly and it made Alex’s gut clench with want.

“Sometimes people do nice things without an expectations. It’s been known to happen,” he replied. Alex nodded and swallowed, suddenly filled with nerves again, though for a very different reason than before.

He saw Michael watching him, watching the way his eyes kept darting down to look at his lips, watching the way he mirrored licking them with his own. Slowly Michael leaned forward, closing the distance between them and pressed his lips against Alex’s. Alex was cupping his jaw and keeping him close before Michael could back away and end the kiss. Alex opened his lips, his tongue lickeding over Michael’s in a request and a question. This wasn’t Alex’s first kiss, but it was the first one he was adamant about pursuing further. Michael hummed deep in his throat and opened to Alex’s advances, letting him explore his mouth with his tongue before doing the same with his own. Alex felt breathless and elated. He didn’t care that the music in the background was hardcore punk being played so badly Syd Vicious would be rolling over in his grave. He didn’t care that he was kissing Michael on a dirty, half rotten couch out in the desert where anyone could see them and tell his father what he’d been doing with another boy. He didn’t care that Maria had left him to fend for himself so she could chase boys. This half-crazed make out session with Michael Guerin was making it the best night of his life so far.

Maybe it was the lack of oxygen or the adrenaline of being seen by someone he’d never admitted to himself that he’d always been hyperaware of, but Alex couldn’t stop his hands from falling from Michael’s jaw and starting to grope at the skin exposed by the open sides of Michael’s shirt. In response, Michael turned his body and started to pull Alex until he was sitting straddled across his lap. Then it was Michael’s turn to slip his hands under the hem of Alex’s shirt and let his hands slide over the muscles of his back and waist. When it became too much, Alex finally broke their never-ending kiss to gasp air into his lungs. Michael didn’t miss a beat, his mouth attaching itself to Alex’s neck with sucking, stinging kisses that made Alex want to go crazy.

“Fuck,” Alex groaned when he felt Michael’s fingers start to slip past the waist band of his jeans. It was so hot to feel him against his skin. It was too much, though, just too much with someone he’d really just been introduced to. “Wait, wait, wait! We gotta slow down…”

Michael groaned and buried his head against Alex’s shoulder, hands immediately coming out from under his shirt and wrapping him up in a hug. Alex slowly withdrew his own hands, resting them on Michael’s shoulders while they both calmed down and regained their breath.

“Sorry,” Michael murmured against his shirt before lifting his head and giving him a quick, close-mouthed kiss. “Sorry.”

Alex smiled and laughed a little, rubbing his hands up and down Michael’s upper arms while he gathered himself. He was nervous about having stopped them, but he was still so fucking happy about what had happened.

“It’s okay. All of that was okay, I just… Where did this come from? You don’t even know me, you’ve never talked to me at school or even, like, acknowledged my presence…” Alex said, eyes flickering over Michael’s face. He saw the way his expression went soft and slightly incredulous.

“I may not know your favorite color, but I’ve wanted to kiss your emo eyeliner wearing ass since my first day at Roswell High. You’re always being so snarky and bratty to everyone and then when you’re with your friends? Your smile lights up the place and it’s so rare to see, but so fucking beautiful. It’s just… man, fuck school. Fuck those people. Fuck the kids, fuck the adults, fuck the institution. They’re answering just enough of the questions to keep us from asking more. It’s a fucking joke. I’m not in the right headspace at school. You’re about the only good thing about showing up every day. Just seeing you makes me hate humanity a little less.”

Alex felt the heat of a blush infusing his face, but he also couldn’t stop smiling. This guy. This fucking guy.

“Your,uh… your smile is pretty great too. I think tonight’s the first time I’ve even ever seen you smile,” Alex commented, his arms wrapping comfortably around Michael’s neck. Michael’s lips widened into a cheesy approximation of a smile that really just showed all his teeth with his lips pulled back while he crossed his eyes.

“Oh my God, staaahhhp,” Alex said laughing at the stupid face. When Michael let his features relax back to normal, Alex darted in and kissed him. He meant for it to be one kiss, but it quickly turned into more as the heat which had been banked earlier, now came back to life with more energy.

“Can we lay down? My legs are going to sleep,” Michael mumbled between kisses against Alex’s lips. Alex jumped and was about to scramble back and off his legs when he felt Michael’s hands under his butt and then he was being tilted backwards until his back rested against the cushions.

“I shudder to think what’s on these pillows,” Alex grumbled even as he widened his legs and let Michael sink between them to rest his body against Alex’s. The weight and friction felt amazing. He suddenly didn’t care about the scratchy upholstery where his shirt at ridden up his back. He just wanted Michael’s mouth back on his and to keep feeling his body writhing on top of him.

“You want to add to the mess?” Michael asked after breaking their kiss, raising an eyebrow and smiling mischievously. Alex looked at him confused for a moment and then his eyes followed Michael’s hand as it slid down to his own jeans, flicking the button open and leaving his hand on the zipper tongue. Alex’s eyes widened and he shot up to meet Michael in a kiss before glancing back down between them. It was so hot. He could tell Michael wasn’t wearing any underwear and his pants were almost painfully tight against his own body. “Alex?”

“Fuck, yes. So much yes. All the yes. Enthusiastic conset given,” Alex babbled between kisses, his hands sliding down to start undoing his own jeans. Michael’s hand followed his, pushing his away so he could cup Alex through the black cotton of his boxer briefs. Alex felt like he could come just from that. His body was vibrating, breath caught in his throat as he gasped at the feeling of someone else’s hand so close to his own dick. He wanted to reciprocate. He wanted to touch Michael back so with shaky hands, he slowly pulled down Michael’s zipper and pushed aside the fabric of his pants. He felt the velvety skin against the back of his hand and then he pulled it out. Michael was uncircumcised. Alex felt like he knew this somewhere in his hind brain from talk or the locker room showers or something, but it was different when it was something you glanced while trying to hide as much of your own body as possible. Now it was thick and heavy in his hand. The foreskin moved in such a hypnotic way as Alex pulled and then pushed gently until he could see the wet, spongey head of Michael’s cock. It was giving him all sorts of scary, wonderful ideas of things he wanted to do and try that was definitely way too fast for a random hook up on a murder couch.

“Does it freak you out?” Michael asked, voice a little breathy as he held still and let Alex play with him. Alex shook his head slowly, still watching his own hand as he jacked Michael’s cock, thumb swiping and spreading the precome over the head. Finally, Alex’s brain came back online and he looked up into Michael face. His eyes had closed and his mouth hung slightly slack. He looked like he was in pain, but he was enjoying every second of it. Alex didn’t stop his hand movements as he raised himself up enough to capture Michael’s bottom lip between his own. Immediately Michael responded, returning the kiss hungrily. His hand had stayed over Alex’s underwear, but now he pulled and tugged at the offending garment until he could get it far enough down to sit under Alex’s balls.

“OOhhhhh my God,” Alex cried out as Michael’s hand finally grasped flesh and he was overwhelmed by the heat of his hand and the roughness of his skin.

“You alright?” Michael asked, keeping his hand still to make sure Alex was still game. Alex nodded and sank back down against the sofa cushions. Michael was giving him a curious look from where he was holding himself up on one arm. Alex laughed a little and moved his hand to grip the back of Michael’s neck fondly.

“That feels so much better when someone else is doing it,” Alex admitted a little shyly. Alex was afraid this was going to become a Conversation, but thankfully Michael just smiled softly at him and moved back down onto his forearm so he could kiss Alex while still having enough room between their bodies for their hands. Michael’s hand was a little dry on him, but he didn’t care. It still felt amazing and everytime their knuckles bumped against each other a zing of pleasure rocketed up his spine. He was doing this to someone else. Someone else was touching him. It was a-fucking-mazing. He started to feel a familiar tightness beginning in his core, his body winding itself tighter before it let go. He broke away from Michael’s mouth, panting and making pained little “Ah” sounds against his cheek.

“Fuck, Michael, I’m about to—I’m going to—” he was trying to get out, even as his vision narrowed and his body became a singular being of exquisite pleasure. He felt Michael’s mouth cover his and then his own hand was wet as well. When it was over they laid there, panting against each other and then Michael tipped sideways to wall onto his side between Alex and the back of the couch.

“Shit,” Michael said succinctly, cheek against Alex’s shoulder and breath still short. Alex just nodded and looked down at himself. There was come all over his shirt. His come, Michael’s come, marring the black in white, viscous stripes.

“Shit,” he repeated after Michael, his voice less in awe now that it was time for clean up. Michael looked down at his shirt and honest to god giggled a little. He brought his come covered hand up and wiped it over a clean expanse of Alex’s tee.

“Hey! I gotta wear this home!” Alex exclaimed, battling Michael’s hand away.

“No you don’t. Follow me to my truck, I’ll let you borrow a shirt. This one is fucking toast,” Michael snickered. Alex looked down again and had to agree. Soon after, they tucked themselves back up into their jeans and got off the couch. Alex found himself a little wobbly after the high of an orgasm. Michael caught him with a hand on waist and kissed his cheek.

“You get a little come drunk. Noted for next time.”

“So there will be a next time?” Alex asked, suddenly finding he was nervous to hear the answer.

“If you want there to be a next time, then yeah,” Michael said, holding out his hand to take Alex’s. Alex looked at it for a second and then up at Michael’s guileless face. He smiled then and reached his hand out to hold onto Michael’s. They slowly made their way around the outside of the house where the music was still rattling the glass panes left in the windows and out to the street where Michael had parked his truck. Alex stripped off his shirt and handed it off to Michael as Michael pawed through a backpack of clothes he kept under the passenger’s seat. Finally, he passed over a black Misfits shirt. When Alex put it on he noticed it smelled like rain, dust, and sage brush. It wasn’t a bad smell and in fact made him want to bury his nose in the collar to train it to memory. It was how Michael smelled and that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Want a ride home?” Michael asked a little shyly as he tugged the bottom of his shirt on Alex’s body in some attempt to ‘straighten it’.

“Sure,” Alex agreed, climbing in the passenger’s seat and buckling in. Michael closed his door for him and ran over to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting up the car. As soon as they were on the road, Alex slid his hand over the seat between them in a silent request for Michael to hold his hand. With a quick smile, Michael did.

#malex #malex fic #malex au #roswell nm #barely edited #no name #punkrock!michael querin and emo!alex manes #michael guerin #alex manes #high school au

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 years

Note

Top 10 favorite things about TFS?

Bold of you to assume I can narrow it down to just 10 things, but I’ll try my best.

Here’s a list of things I LOVE about The Final Season of TWDG, starting from #10 and working my way down to #1.

10. Rosie is best girl and doesn’t die

Listen, okay? If you give me a game with a doggo companion that I bond with only to have said doggo die for dramatic effect... you automatically lose 2 outta 5 stars on your rating. Case in point: Season 2.

However, tfs knew not to kill Rosie off for dramatic effect, knew it’d be cheap. Plus, Rosie is a sweetheart and I love that she helps Clementine come to terms with her past trauma with dogs and genuinely bonds with her. Rosie is best girl.

9. Over the shoulder camera/controls

They’re the best of the series, having come a LONG way since S1. Like, look... Don’t get me wrong. S1 isn’t unplayable or anything, far from it, but they’re not the greatest either. They’re pretty wonky at times, the fixed camera can get annoying when you’re moving around, and sometimes button presses don’t register. It’s definitely something I have to get used to whenever I go back and replay the entire series, and like I said, it’s not the worst controls in the world... but oh man, compared to TFS?

Have you ever played S1 and then jumped straight into TFS just to get a direct comparison of the two? Because I have and it’s jarring how much smoother, accurate, and overall better everything is in TFS.

Just... props, guys. Thank you for the over-the-shoulder, movable camera, thank you for the polished button prompts, and thank you for a run button that has Clementine go into a nice jog rather than a comical run or, eh... does nothing [lookin’ at you ANF... Javi slow].

It’s just so effortless to play. The most trouble I ever have is with doors but that’s a given- Doors make no goddamn sense in this series and I’ve given up trying to learn their secrets. Oh, and speaking of more improvements!

The shooting mechanic in this game is leaps better than in S1. Y’all remember the Motor-Inn shootout? The one that was such a frustrating pain in the ass?? So much death and anger...

I still die sometimes when shooting the walkers with the bow, especially the ones that are on fire, but it’s nothing compared to the shooting mechanic in S1, so the biggest THANK YOU for that one. It’s actually enjoyable to shoot stuff this time around.

8. Collectibles

You as Clementine get to pick up various collectibles to decorate her and AJ’s dorm with and it’s great. One of my favorite bits about this game is seeing Clementine wake up in this empty, lifeless room, and see it get brighter and brighter with every collectible you place throughout the game until you reach the final scene with AJ where the room is just FULL of life and personality. Like... it’s officially theirs. It’s such a good feeling!

And the devs totally didn’t have to add the collectible system in, but I’m so thankful they did. I’m one of those people who gets every single collectible every single time I play.

7. Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth

Y’know, I honestly can’t think of a better place for Clementine and AJ to end up than Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth. It’s awesome, I love it, what a great idea. I also love the sense of wonder when we step outside for the first time and see the inside of Ericson, as well as the others, walking around. Like even Clementine is taken back by it.

Because of course it makes sense for Clementine to end up in a school surrounded by people closer to her age rather than with a group of dumbass adults like in the past three games.

Here it feels like they’re all about on the same level. There’s no older person here belittling Clementine because “she’s just a child and doesn’t get it,” they’re just people, y’know? Hell, if anything, Clementine’s now the most experienced one!

The school’s great! I wouldn’t change a thing about TFS taking place here. The environments are beautiful and I love exploring the world.

6. Marlon as an antagonistic character/final confrontation

I have an entire Marlon character discussion/study so I won’t put too much time into this one, but I will say that I love Marlon’s part in tfs. I love him as a surprise antagonistic character, I love how chill he is in the beginning, I love the final confrontation at the end of ep1... I just really like Marlon, y’know?

Ray Chase gives a damn near perfect performance as Marlon, so much so that I wish he survived past ep1 just so that I could hear more of his acting. Marlon himself in an interesting look at a leader character hiding his shame and guilt while trying to maintain control over everyone [including himself] around him, only to be broken down when he’s found out.

5. James

I know people tend to be pretty split on James, but I personally really like his role in tfs. I love that they included a character who was apart of the Whisperers, and hell, if anything I’d like to know MORE about James’ past with them.

I just find him and his whole “walkers are sort of people? kinda?” beliefs. Again, I know some people get annoyed with him because of his beliefs but I think he adds an interesting spin on the whole thing, y’know? Though I do love what a bitch he is if you don’t agree with him hahaha

James is a bitch and I love him, okay? I love his dumb walker mask, I love his dumb boyband hair, I love his whispery voice, and I love his backstory with the Whisperers and Charlie. I love this he’s trying so hard to be this pacifist that he ends up doing the literal thing he said he doesn’t want to do-- hurt people. Y’know... like attempting to kidnap AJ and threatening to break Clementine’s leg in the caves if he’s alive.

Which, by the way, that whole cave scene is a thing. It’s wild and I love it but not for the reasons the devs probably wanted. Like... it’s a little hilarious? I know it’s not supposed to be! But I can’t take James seriously when he’s walkin’ around his hands on his hips all huffy and puffy, okay? It’s just wild.

Anyway, I love James and wouldn’t get rid of him. Hell, I’m still waiting for my James with the Whisperers mini-series, Skybound.

4. Ericson Crew

There isn’t a single character from Ericson that I don’t like, or that I’d get rid of, which is rare with these games. Thinking back to the previous games, there’s always at least one person I could do without or that I didn’t like. I adore all of them!

The Ericson crew just feels closer than previous groups. For starters, they’re way more likable than most in our previous groups. Even when there’s tension [and boy is there tension at points] you still get the sense that they don’t hate each other, unlike in our previous groups. They do in fact love each other as a family and will do what they can to protect one another.

Plus, they’re all interesting. They’re troubled youth and I love all of them!

Aasim keeps a daily journal where he chronicles everything in hopes of learning from past mistakes to prevent future ones, he’s damn good with a bow, and he’s got a neat little soul patch on his chin.

Ruby is the tiny yet fiery medic of the group who adamantly believes in manners yet used to chase teachers around with pitchforks.

Brody is caught up in the twin mess with Marlon but she’s also shown to want an escape, a road trip where she and her friends can go see the beach, but she also suffers with anxiety and panic attacks and isn’t afraid to knock Marlon on his ass or swear at Clementine.

Mitch is a grumpy, tall boy who looks after Willy like a brother, knows how to make bombs out of manure and propane, and used to fight his neighbors because they didn’t like his face.

Omar is a sassy chef who has to have every ingredient just right otherwise he’s salty for a week and he can take a bullet to the leg like a champ.

Willy’s a goober who can climb trees like you wouldn’t believe and he made a bomb of his own in Mitch’s honor that completely wrecked the delta’s ship.

Tenn is a soft, naïve boy who draws and reads but isn’t afraid to stab a walker bitch if he has to.

Violet was sent to the school after witnessing her grandmother’s dead, she used to date Minerva who is now “dead,” has abandonment issues, tries to give off the appearance of a grumpy grump but like once she’s comfortable with you she’ll tell you her life story and do romantic shit like dancing and painting you a pin.

Louis was sent to Ericson because he was a rich brat who broke up his parents marriage because they wouldn’t let him take singing lessons and has felt like garbage ever since, using humor to cope and push people away, and keeps the façade on until someone’s willing to see past it in which he’ll finally bare his soul to you, name a song he wrote after you, and do everything in his power to keep you and everyone else safe over himself.

I just... Love ‘em all.

3. Clementine and AJ’s dynamic

To think that they almost killed AJ off, or kept him a minor character. That would’ve been a shame and an absolute waste because Clementine and AJ’s dynamic is super fucking good in tfs.

It’s actually a little baffling that AJ’s as good as he is, from his writing to his voice acting, he’s just great. And his relationship with Clementine is definitely one of my favorites to come from this game. It’s not perfect, but I don’t want perfect.

I love that AJ looks to Clem for guidance and I love the way our choices affect him, even when it’s a case of the bridge scene. Hate the bridge scene knowing that I gotta sacrifice a character I care about for another I love, but I can’t deny that I love how that choice is made. After everything, do you trust AJ or not?

Plus, their conversations are so well done, their chemistry is through the roof, and I wouldn’t change it.

Oh, and the barn scene? Gets me every time, even though I already know everything’s fine and gonna work out. Still gets me.

2. Clementine is Bisexual

I’ve talked about this in the past, but lemme just say that I love the fact that Clementine is canonically bisexual.

Doesn’t matter if you’re dating Louis, Violet, or no one, Clementine is still bisexual. The game confirms it through it’s text/subtext and Clementine’s actions that we don’t have control over, and the devs confirmed it. She ain’t straight, she ain’t a lesbian, she is bisexual.

I can’t express how happy that makes me. Just... 💗💜💙

And with her being bisexual comes her two great love interests: Louis and Violet. They’re amazing, and such an improvement over the previous game’s attempt at love interests... ahem, y’know... Kate.

1. Louis as a character/his relationship with Clementine

I mean... c’mon. Y’all knew what #1 was gonna be. Do I even need to explain? This entire blog is just me gushing about Louis/clouis.

Look, Louis is my favorite non-playable character across the entire series. Hell, even when you factor in playable characters, he’s STILL my absolute favorite. Like, even outside of his relationship with Clementine, I find him to be such a compelling character by himself.

Like I mentioned above, he came from a stupid rich family who gave him everything he ever wanted, but when his father wouldn’t let him take singing lessons, he literally worked for over a year to break up his parents marriage because “you get to be happy or you get to be rich, can’t be both.”

He gets sent to Ericson where the apocalypse happens, he never gets to make up with his parents, and he ends up using jokes and piano as a coping mechanism to deal with everything, falls into a cycle of being unreliable and the butt of the joke, and lives one day at a time without much thought for the future.

He puts on the happy jokester persona to push people away from knowing the real him and rarely shares much about himself. Hell, when Clementine does hunting and decides to take care of the walker with him, he actually does let down the wall for a minute to share his view on “this moment” before looking away like “Oof, shared too much-- HEY, GO CHECK ON AASIM :D I’LL BE OVER HERE :D FIXING THE TRAP :D and adjusting the wall ahem--”

It’s so interesting because you’d think that he’d be more open about his past with Marlon or the twins or whatever [like Violet is] but no, he doesn’t tell you shit about his past until EPISODE 3 and you have to work to get that story.

I just... I just love him. Could talk about and analyze his character for hours. And I love his relationship with Clementine. It’s just so good. The piano scene where they finally admit their feelings for one another?? That shit has my entire heart. Their entire relationship is my favorite. What else is there to say?

#asks #twdg clementine #twdg aj #twdg louis #twdg violet #twdg aasim #twdg ruby #twdg brody #twdg marlon #twdg mitch #twdg willy #twdg james #twdg tenn #twdg omar #twdg minerva

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

Note

You've talked quite a bit about Shiwan Khan, would be OK with talking about the other villains who show up more than once, Benedict Stark and The Voodoo Master?

The Voodoo Master tends to get overshadowed by Khan by virtue of being less prominent and because, in a lot of ways, Mocquino does feel a bit like a prototype for Khan. Like Gibson was testing the waters of what kind of major supervillain he wanted the Shadow to have, and was gradually figuring details like the hypnotic traps and unique henchmen and mystic background and a fraudulent dark magician figure with Mocquino, before Khan blew it all up to bigger proportions. Twice already we’ve had instances where Mocquino was set to appear in a Shadow adaptation after Khan, and said adaptations got canned before he could show up (and I don’t think it does either character a favor if Mocquino comes after Khan). And of course Mocquino has the problem of being an ethnic supervillain whose identity and name are tied up to grotesque prejudice that twists cultures and beliefs into Hollywood boogeymen, and the novels sadly treat vodou beliefs far less charitably than how the other novels approach tibetan/asian mysticism. It’s definitely a problem, but not without it’s solutions.

Putting that aside, The Voodoo Master trilogy is very fun, the first novel in particular was the number one rated Shadow novel in a fan poll back then. Personally, my favorite is City of Doom because of it’s blend of gothic, urban and industrial settings, great battles even for a Shadow novel, and a spectacular finale, but they all have very strong points. And I do like Mocquino himself as a character. He is historically significant as the first true supervillain of Shadow Magazine (if you don’t count other odd criminals like The Black Master or The Cobra). He is different from Khan personality-wise in the sense that he is more of an old-school supervillain, who likens his conflict with The Shadow to a “game” they play, who likes to boast and brag about his powers and whose goals largely revolve around extortion. He has a vendetta against industrial society (although he himself employs industrial tactics, because he is a hypocrite), and said vendetta being largely just him trying to destroy it so he thinks people will fall in line with his cult more easily. Unlike with Khan, there’s no delusions or aspirations of grandeur and greater purpose here, it always comes down to crime and profit with Mocquino and he barely bothers to pretend otherwise.

He is resourceful and insidious and racks up a bigger body count than Khan on City of Doom alone, and there’s a real creepiness to his zombie minions as they are regular people stripped of all identity and forced into becoming walking meat shields. I think one way to make him work better on his own could be by playing up his ruthlessness and charm, and focus on the mind control/cult leader aspect. Make him the Jim Jones of Shadow villains.

Justice Inc redesigned him to look like Boris Karloff, divorced him of racist trappings, played up his dark magician persona and ballooned up his abilities into outright superpowers, all of which worked quite well as the closest he's ever had to an update And interestingly, there’s some odd Joker-esque aspects to him in his final appearence in Voodoo Trail:

Though almost silent, the explosion was forcible. The tank disgorged a greenish gas that spread like an expanding monster, filling the entire room that the trio had just left.

There was something parched and withery in his face, particularly noticeable when The Shadow saw the Voodoo Master's profile. Mocquino bore the scars of flame, not only on his face, but upon the scrawny arm he extended from his robe. Those burns showed like livid brands: a fitting mark for a supercriminal.

That hissing sound in the zombi cave! It was gas, leaking from underground pipes that led into Manhattan. Filtering through the porous stone, it gathered other chemical elements. Mocquino must have discovered that leakage and noted its effects. He had put the discovery to his own use.

...lips formed a grin so jagged that it was difficult to note where his mouth ended and his scar began.

Mocquino's shrill laugh told that he expected his men to overwhelm The Shadow through force of numbers.

Honestly, “Doctor Mocquino” I think is a better name for him than Voodoo Master. A Rogues Gallery isn’t complete without a major Doctor in there, and divorcing Mocquino of “Voodoo Master” and all that implies could be the better way of making this character work again. Play up the fact that he’s exploiting Caribbean religions and citizens for personal gain and roping them into his crime ring, maybe even have him use similar theatrics as The Shadow to paint himself as this great master of voodoo, but in the end, he’s always just Doctor Mocquino, an evil, rotten shyster who puts his knowledge to use for evil and evil alone.

Responsible for the first and only cliffhanger of Shadow Magazine with the kidnapping of Rutledge Mann, Benedict Stark is easily the single worst scumbag out of all Shadow supervillains. Just this completely horrible, wretched monster who ends up being somewhat dissappointing and frustrating of a villain in my view. Despite having quite a bit going on for him, Stark is not really interesting enough to warrant the 4 novels he gets, and where as Khan and Mocquino usually escape The Shadow thanks to prior planning and last-minute escape and strokes of luck, Stark seems to get away with it only because the narrative says so, not nearly as impressive as the other two despite being far, far worse, which makes it you don’t want The Shadow to match wits with him, so much as you just want The Shadow to kill him as soon as possible. In fact, here’s what Stark gets away with in the first ten pages of The Prince of Evil alone:

He gaslights a man named John Harmon into thinking he was developing amnesia

Gets Harmon to sign away enough money to be bankrupted for life, and no one, not even his wife, believe him when he says he was conned

Causes Harmon to commit suicide.

Then, while Cranston's talking with a friend of Harmon named Jackson who wanted to help him, the two go to Jackson's house to find it completely destroyed, his priceless belongings acid-ruined.

Then, they find Jackson's dog dead, with it's throat slit, and a Bible scattered nearby with the story of the good Samaritan marked, making it clear that this all happened because Jackson tried to help Harmon.

And then, as Cranston tries to stop one of Stark's goons from brutally assaulting a boy who was just paid by Cranston to watch his car, he gets attacked and knocked unconscious.

And THEN, the henchman gives the kid a brain concussion and then hauls him in front of a coming truck, with Cranston just barely saving the kid in time as the henchman escapes.

This is just the first 10 pages. Not even Spider novels usually start with this many atrocities happening all at once. Whatever problems Tinsley has as a Shadow writer, I’ll give him this: He definitely knows how to go from 0 to 100 in ways Gibson never would. The book obviously doesn’t keep this up forever (thank goodness), but The Prince of Evil is really all about building up Stark’s presence as this new ultimate Shadow villain, and I think the build up is quite solid up to a point.

He’s established as possibly the richest man in America. Where as Cranston is a millionaire, Stark is a billionaire, who owns “ailways and steamships, factories and mills all over the United States". Nobody knows what he looks like, nobody’s ever seen a picture of him, and Cranston, who knows everyone and everything, has never once laid eyes on the man. We also know in advance that he uses drugs delivered by chewing gum to turn his thugs into bloodthirsty savages who desire only terror and torture and inflict those at his beck and call, and we get a passage where Clyde Burke ingests one of these gums, experiences it’s effects, and ends up chasing down a mouse and killing it, for no reason other than it was the only living being nearby, much to his horror. And it very nearly develops into something even worse:

He could hear the snoring of a man sleeping inside a cellar apartment. Clyde halted. His fingers tightened on his iron bar. He guessed that the man asleep inside was the building janitor. He fought against a hot impulse that flared anew in his blood.

He wanted to kill that janitor! He wanted to smash at him with the iron bar until the man was battered and dead! Murder seemed so exciting. And so easy! Clyde could picture the terror of his victim as he struck at him. It would be sheer delight to maim the fool before he killed him.

The thing that saved Clyde was the thought of the chewing gum. He knew that the savage whisper that urged him on to murder was not his own brain talking, but the voice of a powerful drug.

Laying the bar on the concrete floor, he ran for the cellar exit. He didn't glance back. He was afraid that if he did, he'd be tempted to pick up the bar and commit a senseless and brutal crime.

The cold bite of the breeze was like a draft of cooling water against his parched lips. He began to get a grip on himself. Once more he was Clyde Burke, a normal human being who would go out of his way to avoid hurting a fly.

Stark has weaponized and mass-produced a drug that creates an army of Mr Hydes at his beck and call, that can turn even one of the kindest and most heroic characters into the series into a sadistic maniac itching to main and murder anything that’s in front of him, and that alone is not just a much more viscerally horrifying kind of mind control than what Khan and Mocquino use, it’s also got a an edge to it more suited for gritty urban drama. It’s an idea I definitely would have liked to see used again even after Stark’s out of the picture.

And then we actually get to see Stark for this first time, and he’s described as a grotesquely deformed baboon man leering at his beautiful secretaries, who deliberately employs the most attractive people to make his own deformities stand out further, and who is cartoonishly vile everytime he opens his mouth. He never really displays exceptional cleverness, compared to other Shadow villains, except for the fact that he keeps suspecting Cranston is The Shadow, and sometimes just seems to get really lucky. Stark tends to get much, much less interesting as the build-up evaporates and he has to stand on his own feet as a character, I barely remember anything he did in the following books. At the time, I thought Stark’s characterization was weak, and I still do.

This text blurb here was used on a promo S&S did for Prince of Evil, and it starts by talking about incredibly well-liked people who are kind and how Stark is the opposite because he's evil. Of course, as we all know, evil and well-liked are not opposites.

Stark may have been a tad more interesting had they went with the angle of him being a horrible monster who's also incredibly popular and beloved and friendly. About 70% of The Shadow’s villains are already middle-aged to elder rich businessmen pretending to be good, so maybe Stark being young and attractive and initially sympathetic-looking, atop being the richest and cruelest of them all, could also help set him apart. Sort of an evil Harry Vincent maybe.

But instead he's so obviously and viscerally awful all the time he shows up, so incapable of restraining himself, that it's impossible to buy him as a deceiver who’s pulled the wool over society’s eyes. At the time, I thought to myself that he was just painfully obvious of a villain and too brutish and stupid for me to buy that he’s supposed to be the richest criminal genius in America.

But then again, nowadays I’m well aware that wealthy and respected figures of society, who are cartoonishly horrible even openly in public, is just what billionaires are like, so maybe Tinsley had a point here.

#replies tag #the shadow #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #shadow magazine #dr mocquino #the voodoo master #benedict stark #the prince of evil

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bookandcranny · 4 years

Text

Little Angels

One]

It is dark inside a wolf’s belly, but up here the air is clear and bright. Atop the tower of Paradiso, above the city of mist and gray. The roof is all caved in and shattered, scattering brilliant prisms through the fragmented skylight and across the floor. A man stands alone in the wreckage, inside the skeletal remains of this holy animal. He sifts through the books that were left behind until he finds one with a red cover and no title, but the letters A-D embossed along its spine. He flips to a certain chapter, and begins to read.

It was in another kind of tower that it happened. The Detective entered into the penthouse apartment of the Deeds family, a couple from the upper crust who were in a state of panic over their missing teenage daughter. From that first frantic phone call with the grief-ridden Gloria Deeds, Sacha knew the shape of this case inside out, backwards, and upside down. It was a classic.

Teenage girl from a wealthy family, sheltered her whole life, the type who could do no wrong in the eyes of her doting, overbearing parents. One night she leaves without warning, to chase some guy or some band or some misplaced sense of adventure. The reasons didn’t matter as much as what they were willing to pay for the reassurance that their precious little angel would be home safe and sound.

There were just a couple of details he hadn’t counted on.

Sacha sat idling on the side of the road, looking down at the photo the Deeds’ had given him. It was a little roughed up at the edges and faded at the crease where he’d folded it. He’d forgotten how fragile these old-fashioned print photographs were. Despite the damage, the face of thirteen year old Renee Deeds still looked up at him with those same gentle brown eyes and private smile.

The girl in the photo, however accurate it was to real life, had her hair pulled back in a crowd of twin braids that crested over thick dark curls. She wore what Sacha presumed to be church clothes-- tidy blouse and long skirt, an heirloom brooch-- and a pair of crutches braced to her forearms. Her ankles were crossed and tucked limply to one side, away from the camera’s focus.

The girl’s disability put a complication in the narrative he’d been concocting. According to the Deedses, Renee could only go so far on foot without intense pain and she disliked using her chair. It remained in the hall closet, untouched since her disappearance. Mr Deeds worked from home most days so rather than send her off to school, she was homeschooled by a well-vetted private tutor under her father’s occasional supervision. She had few friends, being a reserved child, they said. Sacha thought it probably had more to do with the gilded cage she lived in, lined with bubblewrap and goose down lest she ever bruise her precious knees. But it wasn’t his place to say.

Regardless, this left him with a very limited pool of suspects. And suspects they were indeed, since the Deeds were certain Renee had been kidnapped. Such a good girl would never have just wandered off on her own.

If that was indeed the case, the culprit had done a remarkable job of covering their tracks. Renee was last seen by her mother who had put her to bed at 9 'o'clock on the dot. The security system had been armed all night and there were no signs of tampering. Besides which, the only way out of the penthouse that didn’t involve a several story drop to a very unhappy ending was through the front lobby and the cameras in and outside it didn’t detect anyone unusual, coming or going.

The parents’ first move, naturally, was to call the police. The cops questioned the other residents and scanned the security tapes but turned up empty handed and after a few weeks of daily calls the officers on the case all but told Mr and Mrs Deeds that their hands were tied. For once, even money and social standing couldn’t hasten the hand of justice. That was when they had called on private investigator Sacha Ferro to get the job done.

All these facts laid out before him, Sacha found himself no closer to the answer than he had been at the start. The difference between then and now was not information but desperation, the heights of which had brought him here. Orphan’s Hollow.

The last few years had hit this city hard, same as it did all of them. It wasn’t a single sudden thing, but rather a combination of natural disasters, a virulent epidemic, and the consequential economic collapse that left entire districts barren, now inhabited only by clustered communities of the homeless. The handful of city blocks now known as Orphan’s Hollow was one such district, named so because it was, if stories were to be believed, populated entirely by children. Hollowed out department stores and office buildings and, most notably, the abandoned fairgrounds of Fun Town West became a tragic Neverland for runaways and other parentless youth in hiding from the overburdened childcare system.

Recently, there had been an epidemic of another kind in many of the nearby boroughs. Kids were going missing, just like Renee Deeds had, except most families weren’t fortunate enough to be able to hire someone to track them down. From what Sacha could pick up, most of them-- those that were reported-- were girls between the ages of six and sixteen. Other than that, the demographics were all over the map: black, white, rich, poor, healthy, sick. Missing posters spawned and spread like mold across the billboards and telephone poles, while the local government processed statistics with dead eyes and shrugging shoulders.

The unspoken truth seemed to be that if they were anywhere, if they were alive, the missing girls were somewhere in here. But the kids of Orphan’s Hollow were protective of their own and wouldn’t likely allow any cops to sift through their ranks even if they did trust their motives. It became one of those open secrets that everyone knew about but no one wanted to touch.

On top of that, not every orphan was some scrawny Dickens novel side character; there were rumors of gang activity and even some sort of cult that made the teenagers who ended up in this part of town vicious towards outsiders. Orphan’s Row was a name with more than one meaning, they said, because if you took those kids lightly they’d turn yours into orphans as well. None of that mattered to Sacha though. At this point, he had little left to lose.

There was a gun in the glovebox of the Detective’s hatchback, unloaded, and he hoped it would stay that way. The idea of turning any weapon on a kid, no matter their alleged viciousness, turned his stomach. He would bring it with him to be used, in only the most absolutely dire circumstances, as a threat. Leverage. If it came down to it, he could rationalize that.

As he turned down another vacant street into the ghost town, the weather began to turn as well. It had been drizzling steadily since the evening prior, making the humidity all the more unbearable, but now the rain relented and in its place a clotted mist settled low over the city, like ink diffusing in water. Sacha kept his lights low and foot barely pressing on the gas pedal. Though it was irrational he felt uneasy at the idea of making himself any more noticeable than he was already.

When the car jolted it was like being shaken awake from a dream. At first he thought it was another pothole-- the roads were a wreck after so long untended-- but then there was an audible crunch and a lurch as his front-left tire burst. Without bothering to pull over he got out and found the problem right away. Deep in the tire, lodged between the wheel and its socket, was a doll. Or at least, something that was trying to be a doll.

The body was made out of metal; scraps from perhaps an aluminum can worked together with screws and painted to give it the look of a hoop-skirted dress. Its head was a christmas ornament. He recognized the pink painted cherub cheeks and curling synthetic hair. Some broken edge of the makeshift toy had punctured the tire, and of course Sacha didn’t have a spare on hand, even if he could figure out how to rip the damn thing out of the wheel well.

He muttered a curse to himself. He’d have to leave it here and keep going on foot. At least there wasn’t anything in the car worth stealing, and he didn’t exactly have to worry about getting a ticket.

A sudden shriek made Sacha jump, hand going blindly to the holster under his shirt.

“My doll!” the child cried again. “You killed Jessika! My dolly!”

Sacha turned around and saw a young girl, barefoot and wearing what looked like an old halloween costume, standing across the street from him like a specter out of the fog. Appropriate, since she was so keen on howling like a banshee.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about your dolly,” he gentled, crossing to meet her.

The girl seemed to be considering running away from the strange man, as would well be her right, but stood her ground instead as her face grew redder.

“You killed her,” she said again. “She was a person and you killed her.”

Sacha dropped to one knee. “ I’m sorry about your Jessica--”

“Jessika!”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I am sorry, but it was an accident, really. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She sniffled. “I’m Princess Ladybird,” she said, as though it should have been obvious. She gestured at her costume, a pink sparkly dress studded with plastic gems around the collar. “Who are you? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“My name is Sacha. I’m a private investigator-- a detective,” he corrected, seeing her confused expression. “I’m looking for someone. They’re not in any trouble, I just need to make sure they’re safe. Do you think you could help me, your highness?”

He kept his voice low and comforting. Dealing with kids wasn’t exactly his specialty, but he knew what he was doing well enough.

“No! No!” the girl cried, more agitated than ever. “No grownups allowed! You’ll just hurt them, just like Jessika!”

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he insisted, growing frustrated. “And I told you didn’t mean to break your doll. I could buy you a new doll? A nicer doll.”

She shook her head adamantly. “The store dolls aren’t alive. I only play with alive dolls.”

Play along, Sacha. “Okay, where can I get you a new ‘alive’ doll?”

“You can’t make an alive doll, you’re too old,” she huffed.

Sacha was not going to let himself be offended by a six year old. He wasn’t. “If your dolls are so precious, maybe you shouldn’t leave them in the street!”

“Maybe you should look where you’re going!” With that, she stomped on his foot and ran away. Sacha barely felt it through his shoes, but that was a small consolation. In a blink the princess was gone again.

He sighed. It was no less than he expected, but it still didn’t feel good. With the world they’d been living in, it wasn’t any surprise that the kids here were a bit strange. At least this one had seemed healthy enough, certainly energetic. That meant there was probably someone making sure she was kept fed.

He reminded himself that there was nothing he could do for these kids. Better to focus on what he was here for.

Two]

Sacha walked along the sidewalk without any real sense of where he was going. He occasionally saw clusters of children playing games or jumping in puddles in the street, but most were inside keeping out of the weather. When he looked up he sometimes saw tiny faces peering down at him from high windows or crouched on fire escapes. The ones on the ground didn’t spare him a look except in fleeting disgust. There was a girl reading fortunes for her friends from a dented pack of playing cards who went abruptly silent when he passed by, and Sacha came to realize that they were deliberately ignoring him, hoping to shun him into leaving the way he came.

When he tried to approach a pair of tweens doing some sort of craft project in a sheltered doorway, they quickly picked up their things and scampered away, leaving only a trail of paint droplets behind them. They didn’t look too terribly hard-off; their clothes were sometimes dirty but they were all in one piece and their eyes were bright and lively. It was sort of amazing, Sacha thought, how they’d really managed to build something of a community here, away from adults. Part of him almost envied them.

“Excuse me,” he tried again with a girl who was a bit older than the last. Her age didn’t make her look any more mature really, only sharper, as if she were growing but growing into the wrong shape. “I’m looking for--”

“Everyone knows what you’re looking for,” the young woman said. “You’re loud enough about it.”

This one wasn’t exactly friendly but at least she hadn’t run away yet. Sacha went to pull out a photo.

“Put that away, man,” she hissed. “You’re not going to find any girls who look like that here, and the wrong fledgling might just eat you alive for having it.”

“For having a photograph?” He didn’t bother to ask what a “fledgling” was supposed to be. Some sort of weird slang he was too dated to recognize, he guessed.

“For keeping another girl’s face! All you need is a face and a real-name and you can make that person do and say whatever you want.”

“Is this some kind of game you kids play? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not a game,” she said gravely. “You don’t understand anything. Walking into this world when you don’t know the rules is as good digging your own grave.”

“Help me catch up, then. Level with me,” Sacha pressed. “I can make it worth your while.”

He didn’t have much money on hand, but he had medicine credits set aside for emergencies and that should be worth its bytes in gold in a place like this. Or if not, she could pawn it and buy some earrings or animal crackers or whatever kids liked.

“Save it, I don’t have an account. Legally, most of the kids here don’t even exist. You’ll have to trade for what you want the old fashioned way, outsider.”

Exasperated, Sacha rooted around in his pockets and came up with a protein bar and a keychain that doubled as a bottle opener. The girl didn’t look impressed.

“Okay look, hand over the picture and the rest of it and I’ll tell you where you need to go, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Outsiders don’t survive long here.”

Sacha wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all some intimidation game, but he folded up the photo of Renee and handed it to her anyway. If he really needed the visuals he had pictures on his phone. He’d turned it off shortly after setting out, when the calls and texts from his sister started pouring in, but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave it behind in the car. He could just picture Maria pacing around the house scowling at his number as another message failed to go through.

I’ll make it up to you, he promised her silently.

“There’s a spot two blocks that way,” She pointed. “Left, left, right, down some steps, and you’ll see a sign for The Love Nest. It’s hard to miss.”

Something about the name said through her lips made him want to recoil. The girl scoffed at his unease.

“Relax, it’s just the name left from the old owners. It belongs to the brood now. It’s a good place, a sacred place.” She sighed, looking up and around as if projecting to an imaginary audience. “Not that someone like you would get any of that, I guess. A lot of fledglings hang around there. If your girl can be found, you’ll find her there. If not, she’s already gone.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” he demanded.

“I mean gone.” she held up the photograph, still folded. “Gone like this.”

She tore the square neatly in two and let the halves flutter to the ground.

“I’m not even supposed to tell you this much, so if you missed your window don’t even think about hanging around here trying to dig out more information. You’re pushing your luck as it is.”

What an angry kid, Sacha thought to himself as he departed. He wasn’t too different when he was that age, but outright threatening someone who was only trying to do good seemed a bit extreme, especially when that someone had a good head of height on you as well. Was it the conditions they lived in that made them so temperamental here? Or just adolescent angst? Hopefully he wouldn’t be staying long enough to find out.

And just how was he planning to leave, even if he was successful, he wondered. He’d have to drive them out on three tires. Ruining his car would be well worth it though if it meant ending this.

Angry girl’s directions turned out to be sound and soon enough Sacha found himself at the door of a closed down club that proudly announced itself as “The Love Nest” in faded pink letters above the door. The windows were boarded up but there were still some old posters for the upcoming live entertainment pinned to the plywood. It appeared the place had been at least marginally more legitimate than Sacha had guessed by the name, while it had been in operation.

Pushing through the double doors the Detective found himself in a gloomy ballroom, styled vaguely like a vintage cabaret club or perhaps someone’s romanticized idea of a 1920s speakeasy. There were a few tables-- standing only by virtue of the bolts that held them to the hardwood-- a bar, and a large circular stage in the middle of it all. Sacha toed aside what he’d thought was a trash bag only to hear a grumbled complaint and find another of the hollow’s orphans crawling out of a sleeping bag on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” the kid asked, with such pointed accusation you’d think he’d personally wronged them. They were wearing an oversized “Fun Town” t-shirt and flannel bottoms with a paw print pattern.

Roused by the noise, some other children began emerging from their own napping spots to investigate.

“Are you a cop?” one asked.

“No, I’m more of a detective,” he replied.

“Sounds like a cop to me. And you look like a cop.”

Sacha frowned. “How so?”

“You’re old,” the kid said. “And you have blood on you.”

He looked down at his hands, his clothes. He saw brown khakis, dusty black loafers, pale patterned button-up shirt. No tie; he’d spilled coffee on it on the drive, hands already shaky from the ill-advised extra caffeine. To his embarrassment, he noticed a faint dampness where the weather and his own nerves had painted sweat across his collar, but no blood.

“It’s okay,” said the first child, yawning. “Snowy sees blood on everyone.”

“I don’t see it, I smell it,” challenged Snowy. She took a deep breath through her nose. “And you stink of it. Dirty blood, blood that wasn’t ready to be shed. Have you ever killed anybody, Mr Detective?”

Sacha fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Have you been talking to a girl in a princess dress?”

“You mean Princess Ladybird?”

“Never mind,” he said quickly, as if simply mentioning that ridiculous name might conjure up her horrible wailing. “I’m looking for someone. Two someones actually.”

He considered taking out his phone but, remembering how Angry Girl had reacted to the photo, decided to try a different approach.

“I was told I might find them here. One is named Renee Deeds and the other is Ana Ferro-Silver, eighteen and fifteen years old. Anything you can tell me about either of them would be a huge help. I’m sort of hoping one will lead me to the other.” He forced a smile.

Kid in the pajamas frowned. “There’s no one with names like that here. You woke us up over something as dumb as that?”

“I don’t think it’s dumb to want to find two girls who might be in a lot of trouble,” he said tersely. “And why were you asleep anyway? It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Growing makes us tired,” Pajamas shot back. They rolled their shoulders. “And sore.”

“And hungry!” added a third child. “Did you bring us any food?”

“Why would I have any food?”

“I heard the gargoyles say you gave Singing Finch a candy bar.”

“It was a protein bar,” he said before he could think to deny it. “What kind of name is ‘Singing Finch’ anyway?”

“It would’ve been Evening Finch, but she tattled so now she’s Singing Finch,” they explained patiently. “She tattled on us and then she tattled on you to the gargoyles and the kestrels. She can’t help it though. She’s a songbird, it’s what they do.”

“So you don’t have any candy?” the other cut in. Sacha put out his empty hands so she could verify and she bit him.

Pajamas laughed as he pulled away with a curse and a cry. “You are dumb. There aren’t any girls in trouble here. You’re the only one in trouble, but that’s because you’re an outsider and a cop, so you probably deserve it.”

Sacha felt a muscle in his jaw tense. He was beginning to think this had all been a huge waste of time. These kids operated on their own kind of logic, their own language, one which was foreign to him.

“Please,” he said. “Please. I know a lot of you are without families, but these girls still have people who care for them, who are looking for them. I have to bring them home.”

The children looked at him, and then a few of them looked at each other, huddling together in hushed conference. The one called Snowy, who was sitting on top of the bar, glared at him, tilting her head as if she were trying to read something written on the side of his head in very small print. He caught himself raising a hand to touch his neck and let it drop self-consciously back to his side.

“If you keep going like this, you might die,” she told him innocently. “Did you know that?”

The presence of the gun against his stomach, empty though it was, made his skin tingle. “I considered the possibility,” he said, and it was the honest truth.

“When you die, will you go to paradise?”

“You’re too young to be thinking this much about blood and death.”

“I’ve seen death.” Her voice was without intonation, no defensiveness or accusation anywhere in her tone. She couldn’t have been any older than ten. “My mom died in front of me. She had a fever, but I stayed cold. That’s why they call me Snowy.” She paused, shrugged one shoulder. “Also because I can eat a whole mouse in one bite, like a snowy owl.”

“Oh,” Sacha said lamely. “I’m- I’m so sorry.”

She gave another shrug. “S’okay, I’m with the brood now and they take care of me just as good as mom would. I’m just saying, you don’t really seem like a guy who’s ready to die for anyone.”

Amongst all the riddles and nonsense, this at least was something he could understand.

“I promise you, I am.”

Pajamas tugged at his sleeve. “Hey, hey Detective, have you ever been to Fun Town?”

He blinked, reeling from the non sequitur. “Excuse me?”

They pointed at the garish logo on their shirt. “‘Fun Town: It’s the funnest place on earth!’ Maybe your friends are there.”

“You’re not going to tell me I should just turn back now? That I’m dumb and the kids I’m looking for are gone forever?” he couldn’t help but snark.

“Don’t listen to Finch, she’s a liar. Nobody’s gone. Different, but not gone.”

Fun Town was an amusement park franchise with a handful of locations all over North America. Had been, that is. They’d had to shut down all their locations more than ten years ago, due in part to the outbreak at the time as well as some unsettling information about the eccentric late founder that came out after his death. Something about swaying elections and pouring company funds into an illicit genetic engineering project. Another day, another megalomaniac billionaire exposé. It had been big news at the time but now it was just another piece of pop culture trivia.

The Fun Town West fairgrounds were now little more than a fancy animatronics graveyard. The rides-- what of them hadn’t been torn down and picked clean by opportunistic scavengers-- were sparkling rusted monuments. Any sense of childhood wonder that remained had long since been siphoned off and sold. The kids didn’t seem to mind though, for how they’d congregated around the place. Maybe Pajamas had a point. It was a big, bright landmark, impossible to miss, and as good a place to search as any.

Three]

The Detective left Snowy and Pajamas and the other strange flock of The Love Nest behind, feeling a grim sense of determination The puckered bite mark on his hand throbbed; the little creep had managed to break skin!

As he navigated his way to the outskirts of the district, Sacha mulled over the interactions he’d had so far. Reluctantly he pulled out his phone to take some notes, ignoring the voicemail notifications cluttering the screen.

The kids call themselves “brood”-- some sort of gang name? The younger ones and/or newcomers to their group seem to be called fledglings. Everyone has a nickname; real names and pictures of faces have some sort of negative significance. And what of the “songbirds”, “kestrels”, etc? Songbirds: spread information. Kestrels: Unknown.

He huffed. None of this was bringing him anywhere closer to the truth about the missing girls. None of it was helping him find Ana.

By the time he power-walked to the long neglected fairgrounds, the hazy sky was becoming downright dour. The clouds had turned the color of smoke. Combine that with the stench of burnt plastic wafting from some of the attractions, it made for an unpleasant effect. He felt that a storm was brewing, and hoped that whatever came he’d be able to find shelter before the sky opened up around him.

He’d been here only twice while it was still in operation; once just him and his parents and once with Maria. By the second visit he’d already lost his sense of wonderment when it came to a day at the fair. The weather was hot and the crowds were annoying and all the games were rigged. Yet there was still a part of him that felt deeply sad to see what Fun Town had become. This was the sort of place that should’ve been beautiful forever, even as the children grew up and out of their love for it.

As he wove through the rows of darkened kiosks, the fairgrounds suddenly erupted into light. Sacha startled and shielded his eyes. The tired bulbs cracked and fizzled and when he looked up again the desiccated corpse of Fun Town had been revived in a great pulse of electricity. Against the backdrop of perpetual gloom the friendly colors were all the more headache-inducing, and somewhere a tinny recording of calliope music began to play. It all made Sacha’s skin crawl.

Against his every instinct, he let the music lead him to a shack next to the arcade with a mounted loudspeaker, the door marked with a firm “employees only”. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. Inside, another brood girl in coveralls was fiddling with a fuse box and leaning her hip against a desk with an old CCTV. The security system was so antiquated that it didn’t look like it should turn on at all, yet there upon the pixelated screen Sacha could still make out the shape of himself entering the park on a loop.

The girl turned around, flipping a frizzy head of hair over her shoulder. Although, it turned out she wasn’t so much a girl as a young woman, pushing against the line between teenage and adulthood. His gut reaction was relief. This might be the closest thing to a rational adult he would find around here. Hopefully she’d be of more help than the others.

Come to think of it, he realized, he’d never considered what happened to the Orphan’s Hollow kids once they grew up. Surely there must be some adults here, somewhere. But then, everyone who’d met him so far had treated him as a foreign invader. Were all adults so unwelcome, as he’d assumed, or was there something about him in particular?

The most rational assumption was that the homeless kids simply became homeless adults. No need for any additional fanfare. They would graduate from the Hollows and go on to squat in other parts of the city. There was certainly no shortage of slums these days, he thought glumly.

Did any ex-runaways ever try to go home, those that still had them? Did that Renee ever think about home?

“What ho, outsider!” the teen greeted. Sacha felt himself relax despite himself, so glad to be met with at least one friendly face.

“‘What ho’?” he parroted lamely.

“It’s theatre-speak for ‘wassup’. As in, what the hell are you doing in brood territory?”

She moved quickly. He didn’t notice the knife until it was tucked under his chin, pointed at his throat.

Sacha’s back hit the wall and he put up his hands in surrender. “Hold on, I’m not looking for a fight.”

“Oh yeah?” she giggled. She wrenched up the front of his shirt. “What’s this then? A prop? If I shoot it, will a little flag come out that says ‘bang’?”

She un-holstered the pistol and pointed it at his forehead.

“That’s not a toy,” he said slowly. “Just a little insurance. Like your knife there, I’m sure. I don’t think either of us wants anybody to get hurt.”

“This?” She tossed it in the air and caught it. “Nah, this is part of the act. Tonight, I’m a knife thrower. I’ve never been a knife thrower before. I hope it goes well.”

Sacha tried to speak, but the girl pressed the cold flat of the blade to his lips.

“The older girls put on shows for the fledglings. Sometimes here in Fun Town, sometimes over in the Nest, or up on the rooftops when the weather is nice. I’d invite you, but I don’t think you’d be welcome.” She adjusted her grip again so that the knife was touching the tip of his nose. “All day there’ve been whispers about some kind of detective guy putting his nose in our business.”

“I don’t care about you brood kids do here.”

“Liar.”

“I swear, I don’t. I’m just trying to find someone. I’m not even a real detective anymore,” he confessed. “I wouldn’t tell anyone what you’re doing here. Even if I did, no one would believe me. I’m nobody.”

The knife thrower gave a big, hearty laugh, and Sacha’s throat tightened with fear. He didn’t consider himself a violent person, but over his career he’d come to blows with enough unruly targets and bitter clients alike that he knew when someone was posturing, and when someone was really out for blood. Normally there was a clear indicator of one kind or another; a tightening of the jaw, a certain nervous tick, a look in their eyes.

But this girl he couldn’t get a read on at all. He hoped that meant she was still on the fence about the subject.

Struggling to keep his voice level he said, “You don’t have to do this. Something like this will haunt you your whole life, you know, and you’ve got so much life left. You’re still just a kid--”

She reared her hand back and struck at his head with the butt of the pistol. Sacha dodged. It slammed into the fuse box she’d been working on instead and the lights went out. Taking advantage of the darkness, he shoved past her and in a stroke of blind fortune found the door. There was a sound then, like the rush of wind in his ears. Then a sharp flash of pain as a flying knife split the cartilage of one ear.

He stumbled and hit the pavement. When Sacha turned around, hand clutched to his head, he saw the young woman’s silhouette bracketed by two iridescent black wings. Again that sound, ferocious wingbeats stirring the air. All he saw were two but it sounded like hundreds, a massive flock taking off in perfect synchronicity.

“It’s really frustrating when people don’t take me seriously,” said the winged creature as she approached him. Maybe it was an effect of the many colored lights, but her skin appeared to have a glossy sheen to it, like an oil painting in motion. “But you look like you’re starting to get it now.”

“What the hell are you?” Sacha asked with a mix of horror and feverish reverence.

“What do you think I am?”

The thought came to him unbidden. It was an insane thought, one he didn’t even truly believe in, yet this was an insane situation. “The angel of death.”

That gave her pause. “You’re not right, but you’re not really wrong either I guess. Truth be told, I’m heaven on earth. Maybe I’ll cut you some slack if you worship me”

A wing brushed over his skin, however faintly, and it felt warm and real as the blood cooling on his skin. Not ethereal or dreamlike as he might’ve expected but so real, and all the more hideous for it. He shuddered and said nothing.

The false angel, this predatory animal, took a step back. She spun the pistol around one long finger until it slipped and fell to the ground. She looked at it for a moment, as if surprised.

“Huh. It was lighter than I expected,” she said. Then she kicked it aside. “You win this one I guess. I’ll let you go.”

He stared at her, mouth agape, sure it was some trick.

“What? You don’t believe me. I put it in fate’s hand, and for some reason it looks like fate wants to keep you alive a little longer. It’s not how I saw this going, but I can roll with some improv.” She put up her hands. “Don’t bother groveling. I won’t kill you even if you beg. I know guys like you love punishment. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Here… in Fun Town? Or, are you asking why I’m alive?”

She laughed. She so loved laughing. “Morbid! You’re morbid, man. I mean, why are you here among the brood? At… what do the outsiders call it? The Orphan Hole?” she snickered. “You kind of stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I’m trying to find someone,” Sacha repeated quietly. He’d said the line so many times he felt it was starting to lose its meaning. “And to make up for something I did.”

“Well you should’ve said so in the first place! If you’re looking to atone you need to meet with the broodmother. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch her. Tonight’s going to be kind of a crazy night once it kicks off, but if you plead your case I’m sure she’ll hear you out.

“I have to keep setting up here. You go on ahead.” She pointed out in the direction he’d come from. “It’s a straight shot to Paradiso. You can tell her the angel of death sent you.”

She spared him one last smirk and then shot up into the air like an arrow loosed from a taut bowstring.

Or a bullet from a gun, even. Sacha considered the discarded pistol for a moment. It seemed so useless now, just a hunk of metal and plastic, just a prop. He walked away without it, pain pulsing dully from his ear. His journey was nearly over.

Time dragged on as he walked, but not enough for him to find the space to contend with what he’d seen. That girl, that creature. She was no angel, that much he was certain of. Angels didn’t attack strangers with a knife, he didn’t think.

What he wasn’t certain of was… just about everything else. Was he meant to understand that all these girls, these brood, were some kind of bird-beasts taking human shape? Was everyone he’d met an imposter masquerading in the form of a child? Or did they start out as ordinary children and then transform somehow?

He half hated himself for even entertaining such wild ideas, but he had little other choice. “When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth” wasn’t that so? In any case, speculation did him little good at this point. He could only hope that this paradise and “broodmother” the girl had spoken of could give him some answers.

Four]

Just when Sacha was beginning to wonder if the knife throwing angel imposter was fully fucking with him, he found his destination: The Paradiso Hotel, although the damaged neon sign now read only PRDIO.

The building was tall and narrow, so wedged between its neighbors that it looked like any moment it might be crushed. The brickwork was crumbling as it was. Creeping plant life climbed the sides and snuck in through broken windows. The ominous, weathered shape of gargoyles watched from above, jutting strangely out of high corners. This place must have been in dire straits long before it had been taken over by the brood. At the same time, looking at it Sacha got the impression that it had been something glorious in its heyday.

There was something almost inviting about the faint glow that came from the topmost windows, filtering pink light through heavy red curtains, and yet Sacha was terrified. His hands trembled on the railing as he climbed the winding stairway.

The higher he went, the more his surroundings began to change. The carpet beneath his feet grew soft, damp, dipping slightly with his weight, and when he looked down he found it thick with patchy moss. Mushrooms sprouted from the junction where the floor met the wall. Sacha tore his foot from a tangle of roots he’d caught himself in and wondered, when was the last time he’d seen so much wild living plantlife in person?

Finally he reached the top of the tower and opened the door not onto identical hallways and bland hotel decor, but onto a sprawling private library.

The detective could hardly see the walls for the shelves, lined top to bottom with books upon books upon books. There was a desk against the far wall piled high with precarious stacks of paper. They overflowed and spilled onto the loamy floor, whispering under his every step.

Beyond a towering skylight, storm clouds billowed, but that wasn’t of any concern to the flock of brood congregated in their wake. The scene looked like something rendered from stained glass, at least a dozen girls with wings of all colors stretched out and fluttering idly behind them as they sat around some sort of shrub or young sapling that was, quite impossibly, growing out of the floor. Its tender boughs bore tiny fruit, several perfectly round red orbs plump and shiny with juice.

The room smelled like a greenhouse, like heat and green growth, flowers and fruit. Intrigue drew Sacha nearer and he detected an undercurrent of something metallic as well. He rounded the desk and his stomach plummeted. The tree was not growing out of the floor. It was growing out of a human corpse nested in a bed of soil.

The Detective choked on a gasp and the brood children looked up. Their hands and knees were dark from their work. A flash of gore passed before Sacha’s eyes and he flinched, expecting to be struck down where he stood. When no killing blow came, morbid desire took hold of him and he took a second look. The tree was still there, and the body, but the body was not as he’d thought. It looked dry, mummified, more root than rot. Still staring, one of the brood girls plucked a berry and crushed it between her teeth. The smell intensified, iron and something sweet, heady as any wine.

One of the girl-beasts stood, and she seemed older than the rest somehow, not just in body but in her eyes, gray as the growing storm and so clear that Sacha feared if he looked too long he would fall through them. Her face was smooth and free of wrinkles or worry, but the long hair that fell about her shoulders was white as bone. She wore something like a shawl that hung lazily off her shoulders and down past her knees. Unlike the others, she had no wings.

“So you’re the one all my girls have been making such a fuss about,” she said, and her voice was a choir, her words an indictment.

Sacha felt a strange spike of anger at this creature that looked like a woman and talked like a mystic and was neither. “And you’re the broodmother, whatever that means! Your girls make you out to some kind of god. But you’re not a god, and you’re not their mother. I don’t know what you are and I don’t care. I just want to know why you’re doing this.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re- you’re taking them!” he stammered furiously. The pieces were coming together, albeit in a hectic jumble. “All the missing girls! You abduct them, or call them to you, or something! It changes them!” He flung his hand out towards the body. “You’re a killer! You're some kind of crazy death cultist and you turn these kids into killers!”

The broodmother quirked her head to the side, not quite smiling. “You talk with a lot of confidence for a man with only half the story.”

“Then explain it to me,” he demanded. “Make it make sense. Because I’ve been running around this madhouse all day and so far, nothing does.”

She hummed to herself, considering. “If you’re so eager for a tale, let’s start with yours.”

One of the other little brood leapt up and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Is it time for a story, Nightingale?”

“Yes, I think so. Do you know which book to get?”

“D for Detective!” she cheered.

“Very good.”

The girl scampered off and returned with a big book bound in red. Nightingale took it and ran her thumb over the pages, flipping it open with a calm certainty that boiled Sacha’s blood.

“Let’s see… Detective Sacha Ferro. You were born in this very city, had a fairly normal childhood until,” She traced the tip of her finger along the page and Sacha noticed for the first time how it curled, a ghastly hook-like talon. “Oh, that’s right. There was an accident. Your parents… Tragic. Just terrible.”

Astonishingly, she sounded as though she meant it.

“You were in high school at the time. But your sister, Maria, she was still just a kid. You always struggled to relate to her as a brother, with her being so much younger than you, but after that day you had to become like a parent too. You really stepped up, it looks like. That didn’t change the fact that you were still a kid yourself. You made mistakes, and the two of you grew apart.”

Shame curdled in Sacha’s gut. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The most he was capable of was curling his hands into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

“Get out of my head.”

“I’m not in it. Frankly, I’m not that interested in your editorializing. This is the truth. Now, where was I?

“You’d always dreamed of being a police detective, like the ones on TV,” she continued. “But became disillusioned with the idea once you grew older. So you became a private eye, but that too got old. You were tired of acquiring blackmail material for shady characters and helping angry wives catch their cheating husbands and so on. Meanwhile little Maria had grown up and moved on and the neighborhood you’d lived in all your life was going more and more downhill by the year. You wanted out.

“Then you got a call from a Mrs Gloria Deeds.” Her eyes widened dramatically. “She wanted you to track down her poor missing daughter. The Deedses were wealthy, desperate, and just perfect. You requested an advance payment, a big one, big enough for a down payment on a new life and the gas to get you there. They didn’t even blink as they pulled out the checkbook. It was all so easy.

“You took the Deedses money and you ran away. Forget the kid, chances were she’d turn up on her own in a week or two after getting whatever rebellious phase out of her system. That’s not what happened though, is it? More and more girls started disappearing. Renee wasn’t the first though, or was she? Could she have been the catalyst for all this? You’d never know for certain. The wondering ate you up inside, but not enough to make you turn back.

“You got yourself a new apartment and a regular nine-to-five job. You quit smoking. You adopted a dog. You started letting people in. You even called up Maria begging to be a part of her life again and shockingly, she agreed! You started spending weekends with her and her wife Kara and their sweet little girl Ana. Your mother’s name, wasn’t it? Well, anyway.

“Everything was all going so terribly well until just a few days ago. Nearly five years on the dot since you took the Deeds case and Maria calls you in tears, tells you that Ana has gone missing. You drop the phone, your blood running cold. She’s fifteen. Just a year or two and she’d be out of the target demographic. Neither you or your sister has set foot in this city in years. What are the odds she got taken? But you can’t let it go until you know for sure.

“Feeling frantic, you pull up the stuff from the Deeds case for the first time in what feels like an eternity. You do some digging. Renee Deeds was never found, nor were any of the others who vanished after her. The cops are still as apathetic and incompetent as you left them. They’re blaming it all on an epidemic of gang activity stemming from somewhere the locals have started calling ‘Orphan’s Hollow’. It didn’t used to be called that though, did it? Do you remember? How gutted you were when you found out? No way you could tell Maria where you were going. Back home, back to where it all started.”

“Stop.” Sacha found his voice at last, though to what end?

Nightingale looked up at him, feigning shock. “But don’t you want to know how it ends? Whatever does happen to the guilt-ridden detective trying to right a wrong? Hoping against hope that if he can fulfill the promise he broke that all of this will be set to rights, and little Ana will return home with him safe and sound.”

“Please, please, stop.” He covered his ears and felt the cut throb against his fingers.

“You’re not really in any position to be making demands, Detective. You came to me. You followed my song. It doesn’t usually work on grown-ups, you know, but you were always sort of a special case I think. I’m glad I kept an eye on you. This has turned out more interesting than I thought.”

She crossed the room to stand before him, cupping his hands with her own. “You never really stopped being that kid, did you Sacha? You run and run and just keep him right there, locked away in your chest. Look at me Sacha. Look at me. You need to be a grown-up now. I don’t have her, Sacha. I don’t have Ana.”

Slowly Sacha’s hands dropped to his sides, his eyes wide and wet. “What?”

“That’s right,” the broodmother said cheerily. “Ana isn’t here. In fact, she’s at home with her moms right now. Maria’s been trying to call you for days now. You were too ashamed to pick up, couldn’t tell her how this was all your fault. It’s not actually, by the way. You were a self-serving bastard, but not enough to bring down that kind of karmic wrath.

“Although I’d’ve been happy to have her, Ana already has two loving mothers, and an uncle that… has his moments.” She patted him on the shoulder. “The children who follow my song aren’t like that. They come willingly, and they change because change is what they need. I won’t pretend it’s not a messy process. Sometimes blood needs to be spilled to create a paradise. But ‘be not afraid’, Detective. I would never let my little angels get hurt.”

“I still don’t understand,” he all but wept. “What about Renee Deeds?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Nightingale groaned. “‘What are you? What are you? Where’s the girl? Pow! Blam! I’m a big scary action hero and I’m here to save you or kill you trying!’”

She shook her head. “You’re not the hero of this story, Detective. The girl you knew as Renee doesn’t exist anymore, but she’s alive, not because of your intervention, or lack thereof. Not even in spite of it. What am I? What is she? And what are we when we’re together? A thing that lives without your permission. You need to understand for it to be true.”

She looked at him then with all the sympathy of a mother comforting a crying child. She handed off the storybook to one of her young attendants, and as she turned around she swept aside the cover of her shawl to reveal her bare back. Her skin was twisted with badly healed scars, the flesh raised in the shape of two jagged cuts curving around the shape of her scapula.

“Here’s another story for you. Once upon a time,” she said. “A ship of men was cast from its course and lost at sea. Just when it seemed all hope was lost, they found themselves on the shores of a mysterious island full of the tallest, greenest trees they’d ever seen. The people there had wings like a bird, and they were so beautiful and kind that the men decided they must be angels, and this was paradise.

“The angels let them stay there a while and lick their wounds, but warned them that they couldn't remain forever. At first they accepted this, but as the time to leave for home grew nearer they became obsessed with the wonders of the island and couldn’t bear to go without taking a piece with them.

“So enamoured by the beauty of the angels, yet fearing their heavenly wrath, they lured away the smallest one and imprisoned her in the lower decks of the ship. When she realized what had happened, she tried to escape, so they broke her wings until just moving them caused her horrible pain. She did get free in the end, but only once the ship returned to port and by then she was far, far from home and knew not how to find her way back.

“She knew she wasn’t safe among the wingless people, so she hid herself away until nightfall, singing her song by the light of the moon in hopes that one day someone would return her call. When someone finally did, it wasn’t at all who she expected. It was a young human girl, a daughter of man, who recognized her song of pain and loneliness because these were things she knew well herself. When the angel and the girl finally found each other, the angel bid her to cut her useless wings and drink her blood, and together they escaped on new wings.”

As she spoke, the storm outside grew stronger until the wind rattled the very walls, knocking books loose from their shelves. The brood, with their many colored wings and many sweet voices, began to sing in wordless harmony, a hymn from such unfathomable depths and dizzying heights that Sacha’s legs nearly gave out beneath him.

“Don’t be sad, my mourning dove. This is a happy story. The Nightingale fell in love with the Swiftlet, the song and the storm, and they carried each other to a place where they could make a new paradise, a garden of their own.”

That was when the ceiling began to cave in. Sacha fell to his knees and covered his head with his hands, blinded by what he was sure was a bolt of lightning. When he looks back on it later, he won’t be so sure.

Again came that sound, the torrent of wind and a hundred wings beating within it. Sacha forced himself to raise his head, squinting against the light, and there he saw dancing in the open air above the wreckage-- for dancing was the only way he could think to describe it-- a girl he once knew. Though they were less than strangers, especially now, he recognized her kind dark eyes, her secretive smile.

Her hair was loose, a halo of electrified black curls, and her wings a dusky brown with the sharp, precise plumage of a swift. Her legs still didn’t move so freely as the rest of her, but she wasn’t bothered. She didn’t need them.

Nightingale ran and leapt and took her in her arms with a lover’s embrace. Off a ways behind them, their brood took flight as well, swooping and shrieking their delight as if they were a single entity, metamorphosing into something new, something so nearly divine.

Sacha did weep then. His vision blurred with the shape of his grief, then his longing, a child and a man and a hair’s width away from paradise. Eventually the storm subsided, but he didn’t see the angel and her love again after that. He thought perhaps that was for the better.

The sky cleared. The sun came out. Elsewhere, young girls planted gardens and played games and put on shows. The world went on, however changed.

This is where past and present collide. In the aftermath of a mystery, a man named Sacha Ferro picks up a book from in amidst the rubble and holds it up to the light. He flips to D for Detective and begins to read, anxious to find out what happens next.

Epilogue]

“Everyone settle down. Places! Starling, for the last time, ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ doesn’t call for a knife thrower.”

“And why not?” She wiggles the blade in her direction. “This show’s so boring. Everyone already knows how it goes. Let me spice it up a bit.”

Finch rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Just, don’t jump ahead of your cue this time. And stop making up extra lines. You almost blew it last time.”

Starling sticks her tongue out but she has a skip in her step when she returns backstage. On the other side of the curtain, the audience is starting to take their seats. There aren’t enough chairs-- and most of the “chairs” are actually old boxes and things to begin with-- so some of them have to stand. An older brood allows Pajamas to climb up onto her shoulders, reminding her to be mindful of her wings, which are still fairly fresh and tender where they join with her back.

“Greetings, Princess,” says the fortune teller Resplendent, dressed in her good theatre clothes, as she sits down beside her. “Who’s this?”

Princess Ladybird holds up the dented ornament head. “This is Jessika. The doctors managed to save her but she needs an emergency body transplant, stat! I’m going to find her a new one after the show.”

She nods. “Greetings, Lady Jessika. I hope you have a speedy recovery.”

Ladybird holds the doll head up to her ear and hums as if in response to something.

“Can I hear too?”

She obliges, and Resplendent listens. There’s a quiet buzzing from inside the hollow tin skull and it echoes hauntingly in the emptiness.

She whispers, “There’s a bug inside of Jessika’s brain keeping her alive. That’s why she can still talk without a body. If Jessika dies, the bug will get out. Ick!”

The other girl chuckles. “Your name is a kind of bug, you know.”

“No! It’s a bird! Lady-bird!”

She bites back another laugh and points towards the stage. “Shh, the show’s starting.”

Sure enough, the songbird choir starts up, bidding the chattering spectators to quiet down and listen up. A girl comes out on stage wearing a corner of the curtain as a makeshift hood. She says,

“It is dark inside a wolf’s belly.”

#dark fantasy #horror #angels #short fiction #novella #dystopia #long fic #mystery #My writing #writeblr #original fiction

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hopeatermeetsgodzilla · 4 years

Text

Chapter 21

“Uh, Serizawa?” Florès started, taking the opening of Graham being called elsewhere to attempt his question.

The older man turned toward him, the mechanic wincing as he saw the dark undereye circles. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one working ridiculous hours. “What is it?”

“Uh... weird things have been happening to Russellita, and I think it might be linked to the Titans?” He started, Serizawa frowning in confusion. “Nothing worrying, just... dreams. And she can actually hear what they’re saying.”

Serizawa’s eyes widened. “What!?”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Florès started dismissively. “She can only hear them if she’s here in person. She actually hears what everyone else hears in recordings, so I wasn’t really able to add a lot of soundbanks-”

“No, Florès, this isn’t about that-” Serizawa cut him off, carding his hands through his hairs. “マディソンは本当にアウグルになることができますか？...”

“... ¿Qué?”

“I- you should go ask Dr. Chen.” Serizawa started, turning back toward Florès, who tilted his head in confusion. “There is a myth of peculiar humans having a link with Titans, but she’s more knowledgeable about it than I am.”

“Alright. Where is she right now?”

“Her office, third floor, trying to figure out if there is something similar that happened to Mara in the past.”

“‘Kay, thanks.” Florès said before leaving the main room, waving the Serizawa as another scientist came to talk to him.

He entered the elevator, where Madison was waiting. “So?”

“We need to go talk to Dr Chen.” Florès started, pressing the button to the third floor. “She’s the one that made that PowerPoint on the Titans.”

“Oh!” The elevator started, rising rapidly. “Did you remember to tell Mr. Serizawa about Godzilla still being alive?”

“... He started panicking when I told him you could hear Titans, so I decided to save it for later.” Florès explained, deciding it had less of a chance of making Madison mock him then ‘No, I forgot’.

Luckily for him, the elevator door opened just after, and the two walked out, searching for the mythologist’s office. Finally, they found a door with a plaque that read ‘Ilene Chen’. Florès knocked on it. “Come in” a voice on the other side said, and the two entered.

The first thing that Madison noticed was how different Chen’s office was from Florès’. The walls were covered in bookcases, all filled to the brim, instead of the occasional article for living like a mini-fridge. There was also an actual desk she worked at, also covered in books, instead of a worktable with a computer and multiple tools laying around on it.

Chen raised her head. “Oh, Florès! And... Madison?” Madison nodded. “How can I help you two?”

“I... I think I might have powers.” Madison started, taking a few steps forward. “Powers linked to the Titans.”

Chen’s eyes widened, getting up from her seat. “What kind of powers?”

“I can hear them speak without any assistance, and I also have dreams about them.” She explained, Chen nodding as she started looking through folders stashed in a bookcase.

Florès raised an eyebrow. “Wait, there’s actually a myth about people being able to talk to Titans!?” Chne turned toward him momentarily to nod, before turning back toward the bookcase. “... Why do we need the ORCA, then?”

“1) Because it’s a myth.” Chen started, taking a folder and sitting back down. She opened it, showing the other two pictures of engraved walls and cave paintings. “We had no actual proof of it... until now, at least. 2) According to the myths, there can only be one Augur at a time.”

Florès and Madison frowned, looking at each other before turning their eyes toward Chen. “Uh... what’s an Augur in this context?”

“... Oh boy.” Chen sighed, flipping through the notes and photos in the file before closing it. She took a deep breath. “The Augur is, essentially, the link between humanity and Titans. They speak the will of the Titans to humans, and they explain humans’ actions to Titans. To do so, they are granted abilities, often when they are children. Amongst those abilities, being a spectator to Titan’s interacting through their dreams and understanding their language are usually the first ones that appear.”

“...Holy shit, Russellita, you actually do have magical powers!” Florès exclaimed, eyes wide.

Madison numbly nodded, staring at her hands. The link between humans and Titans... She frowned. “Why me? I’m nothing special, I’m just- I’m a regular girl, and being an Augur sounds like something great people should be doing.”

“You’re also part of the very rare category of people who neither worship, fear, or hate Titans. Your only wish is to understand them.” Chen explained. “Monarch and the T.L.F. falls in the first category-”

“Uh, didn’t expect you guys to be self-aware.”

“-albeit for different reasons,” Chen snapped, the mechanic raising his hands when she sent him a frustrated look. ”The military falls in the third category, and most civilians would fall in the second. The only other person I can think of that falls into your category is, well...” She tilted her head in Florès’ direction, who shrugged.

“Oh, I do fear them, don’t get me wrong.” He started. “Just not in the way one would fear God. More like one would fear an extremely unhinged neighbor who owns a flamethrower and keeps giving you the evil eye. And anyway, we only fear what we don’t understand, and I don’t like being scared. So understand them I’ll have to.” There was a pause. “Also, you guys are selling yourselves short. Isn’t the whole point of Monarch trying to understand the Titans?”

Chen snorted. “Would you look at that? You are capable of being nice!”

There was snickering, and then a pause. “Can we... wait until I’m ready to tell more people?” Madison asked. This was still a lot to process. “Or at least until we’re a 100 percent sure about the Augur thing? I mean, it could be just a fluke, or...”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“-and that’s pretty much all I can think of for basic sentences to use on your brothers.” Rodan finished, putting his hands on his knees as Ni nodded. “Now, repeat what I just did.”

Ni raised his hands, signing the sentences as he spoke. “This is for ‘thank you’ and that’s for ‘please’, this is for ‘stop doing that’, that’s for asking them to do something, that’s light-hearted ribbing, telling them to leave me alone, asking for affection, and finally, this for ‘I... I... lov... I lo...’ urgh. You know what it’s for.”

Rodan nodded. Apparently, Ni was unable to say ‘I love you’ out loud for some reason. When asked about it, he had snapped that neither could Ichi or San and that it wasn’t just him being bad with words. This was... worrying, especially since it was clear to anyone who had eyes that can see that the three of them cared about each other more than anything.

But his hands had recreated the sign to perfection, and that was enough for Rodan. He nodded, clapping his hands a bit in encouragement. “Yeah, that’s it!” Ni’s lips twitched up. “Do you want to stop here for today, or...?”

Ni nodded, getting back up and offering a hand to Rodan as he did so. The shorter one took it, not very keen on the idea of staying seated and letting Ghidorah look even taller to him. “I’m done for the day. Do you want to stay with us for a bit?”

Rodan nodded, following Ni to the beach. Ghidorah had pretty much claimed this part of the coast as their own, setting up a mock-nest there. Ichi and San were already there, Ichi listening calmly and occasionally offering something as San rambled on in a language he didn’t understand. The bird watched as Ni joined them, kneeling on the ground as his brothers turned toward him.

He also saw him lift his hands to sign something, unable to say what it was from the angle he stood at. But considering a strange warbling noise left San’s mouth before he jumped Ni, squealing happily, it was probably positive.

Rodan made his way to Ichi, carefully avoiding the Ghidorah pile were strange thrilling and chirping noises were rising from. Ichi was looking at said pile, a dumbstruck look on his face. Rodan hesitantly raised his hand. “Hi.”

Ichi snapped toward him, before avoiding his gaze toward what Rodan could only assume was a very interesting rock. “Fire bird. Do you know where Ni learned those... symbols?”

“Oh, it’s sign words.” Rodan explained, oblivious to Ichi’s discomfort. “Ni told me he wasn’t really good with words, so I’ve been teaching him.”

“And you thought it would be a good idea to to teach him how to say ‘I lo’-” Ichi suddenly gagged on nothing, catching the both of them off-guard. For a few seconds, the only sound filling the air was the continuous, soft growling noise coming from San a distance away.

“Uh. So you guys really can’t say ‘I love you’, uh?” Rodan noted, Ichi glaring at him.

“... Why would you teach him that?” He asked again, voice softer this time.

“Because I found it really sad and a bit worrying that you guys can’t say that you love each other out loud. Plus,” Rodan jerked his thumb toward Ni and San. They were now sitting up, San chirping happily and limbs wrapped around his brother as they cuddled. “your brothers seem pretty fine with it.”

Ichi groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Shut up...”

Rodan snorted at that, sitting down. “What, the ~Golden Demise~ can’t handle a bit of affection?” He taunted, Ichi sending him a look that could kill humans.

However, just as he opened his mouth, San jumped on him. Ichi yelped as the two fell to the ground, the strange growling chirps still leaving San as he rambled on in a manner that was just coherent enough for Rodan to realize it wasn’t just gibberish. The fact that Ichi was answering in the same non-sensical speech also helped.

Rodan barely noticed Ni as he came to sit down, his hands signing ‘thank you’ as he did so. “For showing me how to say it.” He then clarified.

Rodan nodded, shrugging. “It’s nothing, really. No need to make a big deal out of it.”

“I’m being honest.” Ni insisted. “And not just because I don’t like lying: being able to tell my brothers I... care... for them almost makes me want to dance in joy.”

“I wanna sing!” San suddenly exclaimed, getting off of Ichi who had apparently been content to lay on the ground as his brother attempted to cuddle him to death. He was onto Ni again, eyes shining with unbridled joy. “I wanna sing while you dance!!!”

Ni yelped, putting a hand on San’s shoulder and pushing him away. “Emphasis on almost, San!”

San pouted, sending a pleading at his brother, to no avail. Rodan looked off awkwardly to the side. “I... could dance?” He proposed, San snapping his head toward him with a big smile.

“Really!?”

“... yeah. I could.” Never mind that last time he danced, it was back when he was courting Quetzalcoatl. Was he so desperate for people that not only understood his anger, but supported him despite it that he was about to dance for the incarnations of Terra’s death? Was he really ready to sacrifice his integrity as a Guardian for Ghidorah’s possible support and affection-

Ichi must have sensed his hesitation, because he rose up, looking at Rodan with a neutral expression. “If you want, I could dance with you.”

This proposal made Rodan feel both better and worse for the exact same reason: the possibility that Ghidorah felt the same budding attraction. Nonetheless, he simply snorted, crossing his arms as he got up. “Wait, that’s how you invite someone to a dance? Thought you had more charm to you.”

Ichi laughed. Not the usual sinister giggle or mad cackle Ghidorah gave, but an actual, genuine laugh. “I’m sorry about that, let me try again.” He cleared his throat, before bending down, offering his hand to Rodan. “May I have this dance?~”

Oh, there’s no way this beautiful fucker isn’t doing it on purpose. He took a deep breath, taking of his sleeves in the process. “... You may.” Rodan accepted, putting his hand Ichi’s. He gasped as he was dragged closer, Ichi’s legs bent in such a way that Rodan was eye level with his collarbone.

He looked off to the side, feeling his cheeks warm up as a chuckle left Ichi. “Don’t get shy now, fire bird. I do prefer it when your bite matches your bark.”

Rodan raised an eyebrow at the challenge. “Oh, do you, Ichi?” He jerked his hand out of Ghidorah’s grasp, bringing both to Ichi’s waist before flipping their position. He used the new leverage to bend him down. He smirked at Ichi’s surprised expression. “You know, you should try getting on my level sometimes. Might get your head out of the clouds~”

Ichi’s expression changed to a grin at that, echoed by his brothers laughing a distance away. “Here’s that bite~” One of his hand came up, clawing at the back of Rodan’s head and using as leverage as he rose up a bit. “If you’re a good lead, I might just listen.” Their faces were dangerously close now, their lips almost brushing as he spoke- no, sang. “Show me what you’ve got, Rodan.”

Well, he didn’t have any reason to disobey that.

He lifted Ichi up, hands coming to hold his as he twisted him up, back against his front. Rodan moved his hands, coming to rest on Ichi’s crossed wrists instead. He barely registered the other shifting his hip, offering him a better view of what he was doing. An energetic but strange song started, courtesy of Ni and San.

He snapped his arms away, letting go of Ichi’s wrists in the process and making him spin. Rodan ran after him, fast and long strokes and light on his feet as he climbed up a rock. He grabbed Ichi by the shoulders as he reached the top, pulling him toward him. The music reached a crescendo as he used his grip to hoist himself up upside down onto Ichi’s shoulder, before letting himself fall.

As he reached the ground, he grabbed Ichi’s wrist. He pulled the taller one down as he did so, rising up and catching him in his arms as long-fingered hands came to wrap around the back of his neck. Rodan paused at that, looking down at him with a wolfish grin. “How’s that for a dance?”

Ichi’s light laugh filled the air again. “Not bad at all!” Ichi raised himself, his hands sliding down Rodan’s arms to hold his. “Alright, my turn to lead.”

The movements were much slower this time, Ichi almost gliding over the ground as he guided Rodan around in lazy circles. The tempo his brothers were providing them had slowed down accordingly, picking up each time Ichi put Rodan in a different position.

He picked him up, holding his companion to his side as he smiled. Rodan smiled back, letting Ichi puppet him around in a weirdly comforting manner. Terra, had he missed this kind of affection. He never wanted this dance to end, he wanted to stay here forever, he wanted... he...

He wanted to punch himself in the face.

No, I can’t let myself get attached. He had to remind himself as he and Ichi spun around, guided by San’s voice and Ni’s clapping as a calmer but still very strange song filled the air. They’re the reason Mara is dead.

They’re Ghidorah, and they came here to destroy our home.

Ichi took a hold of his waist, lifting him high in the air as easily as one would lift a twig.

They’re death bringers, all they’re good for is killing.

He was gently set back on the ground, his hand sliding down Ichi’s arm and intertwining their fingers.

Their storms wipe away everything under them. They...

Ichi started twisting his wrist as he held onto his hand, making Rodan spin around him in circles.

They...

A sudden jerking made him lose his balance, bringing him close to Ichi as he started falling. His hand let go.

They kill through storms.

Just as he was about to catch himself, Ichi bent down. Long fingers curled around his waist as the Ghidorah looked at him with an uncharacteristic soft expression, a few strands of long golden hair slipping over his shoulder.

The sky was clear when death came to my home.

As Rodan was raised back up, he swung his legs up, wrapping them around Ichi’s torso as his arms came to wrap around his shoulders. He distantly registered Ni and San stopping their improvised song.

Just this once, they’re innocent.

Ichi tilted his head in concern, gently prying Rodan off of him and setting him back on the ground.

Just what else are those three innocent of?

“Fire bird?” Rodan snapped his head up, eyes wide. Ichi was looking at him, a concerned frown on his face with both of his brothers peeking over his shoulders. “Is everything alright? You seem lost in thought.”

“I...” He separated himself from them, turning momentarily toward San when he moved toward him. “Yeah, I just... realized something-” He froze as San brought a hand to his face, brushing a few hair behind his hair.

The younger of the brothers had a calm look on his face, blinking slowly at him. “Don’t trouble yourself with anything unimportant, alright?”

The hand of another- Ni this time- came to hold his, dragging him toward the spot where the three usually slept. “Maybe stay with us tonight?” He then raised a hand, signing the word ‘please’.

Rodan numbly nodded, letting Ichi put a hand to his back to guide him. All four of them were unaware that it was at this precise moment that Ghidorah’s schemes both succeeded beyond measure, and fell apart in a million pieces.

#writing #My writing #Godzilla #godzilla gijinka #madison russel #oc #my oc #ilene chen #Rodan #ni ghidorah #ichi ghidorah #san ghidorah #ghidorah #King Ghidorah #kevin ghidorah #rodorah

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