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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

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Lao Nie and Nie Mingjue have a good day together and bond. What was their relationship like before the qi deviation?

Boys - ao3

“Two paths, hmm?” Lao Nie said, squinting at the road markers in front of him. “Well, I don’t see why we can’t go down this one to the right –”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because little uncle asked me not to let you meet any new dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue said, looking as serious as ever – only his little hands, swinging to the side, revealed that he was just a ten-year-old. Still a child, no matter how mature he tried to act. “And a place called the Springtime Ghost Valley sounds like it probably has dangerous women.”

“Hey,” Lao Nie protested mildly. “Who’s the father here, me or you?”

“If a-die wants a new wife, little uncle will find one that isn’t inclined to kill him.”

That sounded like a recitation.

“Then what’s even the point,” Lao Nie grumbled, and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, enjoying how Nie Mingjue yelped when he did, glaring up at him with offended dignity.

In all honesty, Lao Nie had no idea how he’d ended up with a son as serious and sincere and earnest as Nie Mingjue – he himself hadn’t taken anything seriously in years. Probably it was his mother’s influence.

Now that was a woman.

Not that his foxy second wife hadn’t been woman enough to blow him away either…

Hmm.

Perhaps they had a point about his taste in women.

“How about men?” Lao Nie suggested. “If it really means so much to you, I could swear off of women entirely –”

“A-die.”

“Mm?”

“Leave Sect Leader Wen alone.”

Lao Nie cracked up.

Because Lao Nie was the father, however easy-going he might sometimes be, they ended up heading down the right-hand path regardless. They were supposed to be night-hunting, after all – it was the perfect bonding experience according to Jiwei, though Lao Nie suspected his saber of having selfish intentions there – and deliberately avoiding a place with ‘Ghost’ in the name was hardly appropriate for scions of a Great Sect like theirs.

Although the reference to springtime was admittedly a little worrisome.

If it turned out to be a brothel, with the ghost thing being just a clever if somewhat tonedeaf marketing ploy, Lao Nie was turning around and taking them both home at once. He wasn’t going to risk little Nie Mingjue turning out anything like that awful Jin Guangshan – or, nearly as bad, having to explain anything more about the joys of sex to those earnest little button eyes and dimpled cheeks with no time to prepare first. He still hadn’t recovered emotionally from the last few times Nie Mingjue had asked him a question like that.

When they finally reached the end of the path, turning a corner to behold a clearing that was probably completely ordinary during the daytime, Lao Nie found that he’d been both right and wrong.

“It’s a ghost brothel,” he marveled. He’d never seen anything like it in his life.

“Dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue reminded him.

“A-Jue! Let your father live a little!”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes.

Lao Nie virtuously ignored his slightly judgmental brat of a son. It wouldn’t do him that much harm to go visit for a while, with the risk of Jin Guangshan-ness being relatively minimal; they were ghosts, after all. It was the duty of every cultivator to fight against evil, wherever it lived, no matter its form –

“Fighting? Is that what it’s called?”

“Who taught you sarcasm?” Lao Nie asked, knowing perfectly well that the answer was himself. “I ought to smack them.”

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms over his chest and pouted at him. “Fine, it’s fighting, we’ll go fight them. Do you want me to start drawing ghost-repelling talismans?”

“Liberate first!” Lao Nie sang out. “Come on, let’s go see what they’re like – er, that is, I mean, see what grievances they have that are keeping them here, of course. There’s no harm in dangerous women. Just don’t let them eat your yang energy!”

“It’s not my yang energy that I’m worried about, a-die…”

The ghostly madame was an extraordinarily charming person and Lao Nie liked her at once.

Not liked her liked her – he’d fallen head over heels with both of his wives from the first word, and that hadn’t happened here – but still, conversing with her was an extraordinarily enjoyable way to spend time.

She was witty and clever, with a broad range of knowledge and a gift for keeping a conversation lively and exciting; she could meet every verbal riposte with ease, and looked utterly gorgeous and composed the entire time. Sure, she kept trying to lure Lao Nie into an orgy in which all of his yang energy would be slowly sucked out before his body was ripped to pieces and his bones cracked open so that the ghosts could consume the marrow within, but what a way to go, right?

Nie Mingjue spent his time making friends with the ghost prostitutes.

Lao Nie wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Well, he supposed he’d been expected a range of things – anything from Nie Mingjue getting suckered in by one of the ghosts and needing to be rescued by his father to Nie Mingjue just pulling out his Baxia and trying to stab them because he felt offended by their existence. He wasn’texpecting his ghostly conversational partner to suddenly frown mid-sentence and say, “What is he talking to them about?”

Lao Nie turned his head slightly and started listening.

“– just because you’re a ghost doesn’t mean you have to work allthe time, surely,” Nie Mingjue was saying, completely serious and earnest in the way he so often was. Lao Nie’s son had in fact inherited his sense of humor, only it tended to be buried fairly deep down and make its way up to the surface in an understated way in the most unexpected times; the rest of the time, he was straightforward to a fault, treating everything sincerely. “The birds in the trees, the animals in the fields – even among prostitutes, even the street-walking ladies know they need to take time to rest! I can’t believe you really have to work every single night. How long has it been since you had a night off?”

The ghost prostitutes around him had contemplative looks on their faces.

“Isn’t the whole point of becoming a vengeful man-eating ghost that you have more power than regular humans? I don’t know, it kind of seems like a bad deal if you have even worse conditions after all that –”

“I’m sorry,” the ghostly madame said, looking irritated underneath all her carefully painted smiles. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”

Lao Nie had to bite his hand to keep from laughing out loud.

“I think we’ve all learned a valuable life lesson today,” Lao Nie announced.

Nie Mingjue was pouting again.

“I don’t think we did,” he said, sounding profoundly skeptical. A filial child like Nie Mingjue shouldn’t sound so skeptical of his beloved father’s words of wisdom, really; if Lao Nie wasn’t so heartless, he might be offended. Of course, the skepticism might have originated from the heartlessness, so it was all six of one, half a dozen of the other in the end. “Those poor ghost ladies! They were still fighting each other by the time we left!”

“I’ve never seen a ghost pull another ghost’s hair before,” Lao Nie conceded. It had been brilliant. “One day, someone’s going to figure out a more reliable way to use ghosts to fight ghosts, mark my words.”

“Isn’t that demonic cultivation?”

“Oh, sure,” Lao Nie said, still cheerful. “If whoever it is does too much of it, eventually it’ll build up into a backlash that’ll kill them in some grossly horrific manner. Probably ripped into pieces by the backlash. And that’s not even counting how they’d be ostracized and hunted by the cultivation world first! But still, imagine how exciting it’d be in the meantime!”

“A-die…”

Lao Nie patted Nie Mingjue on the head again, earning another glare. “Immortality is a lie, A-Jue. We’re all here for a short time, each and every one of us, and only the length determined by fate and man. All that matters is what we do with the time that we have, and whether we’ve used it well.”

“To fight against evil wherever it lives, no matter its form?”

“To leave the world a better place than when we entered it, and to let our memories linger in the hearts of those that love us,” Lao Nie said. “Fighting evil is the best way to accomplish the former, and living a good life the latter. And you might as well have a good time doing it, if you can! Everything else is just extra.”

Nie Mingjue thought about that for a moment. “And a-die likes to have second helpings of extras?”

That was true. Lao Nie was a man of prodigious appetites of all sorts.

Despite that, he protested, “That wasn’t the point I was trying to make. I was being serious for once.” Seeing Nie Mingjue’s skeptical look, he made a face. “I can be serious, sometimes!”

“Can you?”

“It’s been known to happen! A date written on a wall will be right once a year.”

“Not if the wall gets painted over.”

“Ouch,” Lao Nie said. “I don’t even understand the metaphor you’re making, and I’m still going ouch.”

“Uh-huh,” Nie Mingjue said, utterly unimpressed. “You know, if you wanted one of the ghost ladies to be Third Mother, you would’ve been better off with the one playing the qin, not the ghost madame. She was much more powerful.”

Lao Nie arched his eyebrows. “Was she?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “She had claws like a lizard.”

Lao Nie tried to remember which one of them had been the ghost girl playing the qin. He couldn’t quite remember at first – the women there were all surpassingly lovely, almost to the point of over-saturation – and then suddenly an image came into view, a beauty with a veil and sharp sword-like eyebrows, leaning over the qin with the shining pearl hanging in the center of her forehead dipping down.

And, yes, claws like a lizard.

“Hmm,” Lao Nie said. “That might have been a dragon, actually. You should be careful of those, they’re tricky.”

They’ll rip you and three dozen other cultivators besides into more pieces than can be picked up without blinking an eye, he meant, and you won’t even know what hit you. Avoid at all costs.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said, blinking. “Oops.”

“…what do you mean, oops?”

“Nothing bad! If I’m not supposed to interact with her, does that mean I should go and give back the gift she gave me?”

“She gave you a – give me that,” Lao Nie said. “This instant.”

“But a-die, you said there’s no harm in dangerous women –”

“For me, you foolish child!”

“I suppose it’s fine,” Lao Nie finally concluded, having inspected the dragon pearl from all angles several times over. “I don’t know how you do this, A-Jue.”

“Do what?”

Lao Nie thought about how his foxy second wife had cooed over his eldest son with a (slightly disturbing) fervor that she otherwise reserved only for eating snacks, and how viciously she’d dealt with anyone who’d even thought of interfering with Nie Mingjue in any way. He was fairly sure he himself had only survived his second marriage on account of having such a charming son.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain – or if he even entirely understood. “Anyway, it’s nothing dangerous. Rather the contrary! Dragon pearls like this are given to baby dragons to protect them.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “What feeds on baby dragons?”

“…I think it’s mostly to protect them from themselves,” Lao Nie said, feeling a little uncertain about it himself. “And if it’s not, I don’t think I want to know, to be perfectly honest. There’s fighting evil, which is only right, and then there’s suicide, which is a waste – a wise man should know how to judge the difference between them. Anyway, that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

“It wasn’t?”

“It wasn’t, and you aren’t allowed to start worrying about the fate of theoretical baby dragons – I forbid it.” Nie Mingjue scowled. He’d probably started worrying already. “My point was actually that a pearl like this is a remarkably powerful protective tool for cultivators – one of those things that can only be found by chance and not made. Keep this on you, and you’ll never have to fear your opponent in battle.”

Nie Mingjue looked thoughtful.

“What do you want to do with that pearl, anyway?” Lao Nie asked after they’d gotten home and split up just long enough to take a nice long relaxing bath and gobble down dinner. “Do you want to put it in the treasury?”

Nie Mingjue blinked twice, which for him was practically the same as looking terribly shifty-eyed.

“You already did something with it,” Lao Nie deduced. “Something that isn’t using it as intended.”

“Oh, no,” Nie Mingjue said, looking shocked at the mere suggestion. “I’m definitely using it as intended.”

Lao Nie looked him up and down. “You’re not wearing it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t use it. Protection from your opponents in proper battle – that seems like cheating!”

Lao Nie felt a slight headache coming on. People who said they wanted a good boy for a son had no idea what they were getting themselves into, he reflected. Why couldn’t he have birthed a complete rascal instead?

“All right,” he said, instead of saying any of that because at the end of the day, bewildering as he might be, Nie Mingjue was his son and he loved him more than anything. “So what did you do with it?”

“I gave it to Huaisang.”

Lao Nie blinked. He supposed that really was using it for its intended purpose – protecting babies from themselves – although he suspected the dragon lady had been thinking of Nie Mingjue as the baby.

“Although…”

Lao Nie raised his eyebrows.

“…I think he may have swallowed it.”

My boys, Lao Nie thought, and had to sit down and hold his ribs because he otherwise feared he might split his sides from laughing so hard. Only my boys.

#mdzs #sect leader nie #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #boys

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backtobackbakubabe · 4 years ago

Text

Speak Easy

Bakugo x Reader , Dabi x Reader

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by "heroes" Now that she's out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together?

Words: 2738

Masterlist

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You tried and failed to lift your head. This should alarm you, but it was something you had unfortunately gotten used to over the past… how long had you been here? You couldn’t even say. Maybe a year, give or take? But it honestly felt like a lifetime. You could hardly remember your life before. Back when you had a life, friends, family, a promising future. Now you were nothing more than property to some secret fucked up government funded hell.

You spent most days in a drugged-out haze. They liked to remind you that it was your own fault. All you had to do was cooperate, now you had to face the consequences of your stubbornness. But those hazy days were by the far the best. Those days it was easy to let the darkness take you and dream about what your life would be like if you hadn’t ended up here. You can still see the soft smile of Todoroki as he helped you study. You could feel the warmth of Kirishima’s hugs. You could hear the quit mumbling of Midoriya as he scribbled in one of his many notebooks. You could smell the most intoxicating mix of smoke and caramel as you and Bakugo trained. You wondered what your friends where up to now. Did they miss you? Did they still think about you?

The other days though… they sucked. They were filled with needles and experiments. Always forcing you to use your quirk on some poor helpless person. Always trying to find a way to use your quirk without your permission.

Compliance was key. Just do what they ask, when they ask, and do it right. Any kind of mistake whether it was intentional or not was seen as insubordination. At first you tried to be sneaky about it, thinking that if anything they would just punish you. But you soon found out that they not only punished you, but the person you were meant to be using your quirk on. It was better for everyone to just submit.

You’ve always hated your quirk. People tended to avoid you, scared of what you had the potential to do. No one understood that just because you had the ability to do something, didn’t mean you were likely to do it. It wasn’t until you got to UA and finally made some friends that you started to appreciate you quirk.

They called you Siren… like the mythical creature. You could control and manipulate people using the five senses. If they looked you in the eyes you could see into their head, and their private thoughts. You could hypnotize them with just your voice. You could paralyze them if they tasted your blood. Your smell…. was quite the aphrodisiac. As for skin to skin contact, it helped you share and feel emotions and sometimes even pain.

None of that mattered if you didn’t activate your quirk though. You could live your life just like everyone else. You didn’t just walk around every day controlling people like puppets. It didn’t stop the fear that festered in the hearts of the public though. Your biggest mistake was deciding you wanted to be a hero. You wanted so badly to prove to everyone that you weren’t the monster they thought you were.

You could have lived your life off the radar. But once you took part in the sports festival there was no chance at that. Civilians complained about how you had a villains quirk, how you shouldn’t be allowed to walk the streets unsupervised, let alone be given a hero license.

So, when there was only one agency willing to give you a job after graduation you jumped on it. They told you, they planned to utilize you in most recon and interrogation missions. Which made perfect sense given your skill set. They were going to train you to be the perfect spy.

At first it was normal for you to be gone for weeks or months at a time, with no contact with your friends. They understood you had top secret stuff to handle and always looked forward to hearing your stories when you got back. But the longer you worked there, the sketchier the missions got. Tracking bad guys turned into tailing fellow heroes. Interrogating criminals turned into “persuading” politicians. The last straw though… they had asked you to start sleeping with targets. The ultimate honey pot.

You started to be more vocal about your disapproval. You should have known better.

Now this is your life. Strapped to a bed, drugged up, and used as they pleased. You almost always had on a blindfold and gag. Except for when you had to “work” you lived your life in darkness, you lived your life in silence, you lived your life in solitude.

Your neck itched and bled under your collar. The humiliating thing was what kept you under their control. It acted as a shock collar, a tracking device, and it also monitored and recorded all of your vitals. They have to keep you alive after all.

You heard the familiar buzz of the electric lock on your door, signaling that someone was about to walk in. You felt anxiety bubble up inside you. Just remember the rules. Just behave and you’ll be fine.

You could hear quick quiet footsteps step into the room and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. After all the time you’ve spent here you had gotten really good at telling everyone apart by the sounds of their footsteps.

“Shit, what did they do to you?”

You felt tears well up and your hands began to shake. You’d know that voice anywhere, even if it sounded strained and emotional. It was Bakugo.

Warm hands pulled your blindfold off, quickly followed by your gag. Your hands jerked in their restraints as you tried to reach for him.

“Hey, its okay we’re here now. But you need to calm down. Your heart beats all over the place. They’ll know something’s up.” His hand smoothed your dirty hair out of your face. You could see the pain and disgust painted on his face.

You wanted to say something. To thank him. Anything. But you were in shock. You were also terrified this was a trick. What if they were testing you? So, you just stared at him with glossy eyes as he continued to free you.

He made quick work of the rest of your restraints, leaving only the heinous collar. He gave you a sympathetic look. “This is going to hurt, and I’m really sorry about that. But I have to get it off before we leave.” He cupped your cheeks in his hands, “Are you ready?”

Without breaking eyes contact you nodded silently. This was the first time someone has willingly made eye contact with you in months. You could almost drown in his vermillion eyes.

His hands moved from your cheeks to the collar on your neck, “One… Two…” Without waiting for three, as impatient as ever, he set off several small explosions that busted the bulky metal collar to pieces, but not without burning a thick ring around your neck.

You winced in pain, but you still made no sound. It was like there was still some part of you that was scared to break the rules. To speak without permission. Before you could even start to think about how messed up you were, Bakugo was scooping you up. He sprinted through the door and was racing down the halls. You wondered why there were no alarms going off. This seemed to easy. This had to be a trap, or maybe a dream. You felt yourself start to shake in his arms.

One of his hands wound through your hair. “Hey it’s okay. We’re almost out. The others are waiting for us. I just need you to keep your shit together for a little while longer okay.”

Before you knew it, he was kicking a door down and all the sudden you were outside. You gasped as you felt the cold rain hit your skin. You blinked in surprise at how bright it was, despite the fact that the sun was hardly even up yet.

A van screeched to a halt in front of you and the door slid open just in time for Bakugo to jump in. “WE’RE GOOD! GET US OUT OF HERE!”

The door slammed shut and the Van lurched forward.

You were now sitting in Bakugo’s lap clinging to his shirt as silent tears slid down your cheeks. You could hear the voices of Todoroki and Kirishima coming from the front of the van, but you couldn’t understand what they were saying. You just clung tighter to Bakugo and continued to sob.

“I don’t know. She hasn’t said a word since I found her. I think she’s in shock.” His fingers tangled in your hair while the other hand rubbed circles on your back.

At some point you must have cried yourself to sleep. When you woke up you were in clean clothes, curled up on a soft couch.

You could hear voices coming from somewhere behind you.

“I know I don’t like it either, but we don’t really have any other options. We have no idea who’s on what side. Outside of the people here right now, who can we honestly say we trust enough to protect her?” You had never heard Midoriya sounds so rough and defeated. “She’s in no condition to look after herself and we can’t help. Not right now.”

You could hear pacing behind the couch, “You weren’t there. You didn’t see what they were doing to her. It was…. Sick a-and twisted. I say we take them down and ask questions later.” Bakugo only stuttered when he felt helpless, which wasn’t often.

“Bakugo you know we can’t do that. They may borderline evil, but officially on paper they are heroes. It’s a hero agency after all. If we attack that makes us villains, best case vigilantes. Both of which result in us ending up in Tartarus.”

“Okay and? You’re trying to hand her over to villains anyway!” You kept your eyes closed as Bakugo leaned over and pulled a blanket over you.

“I don’t know if I would consider my brother a villain. At least not anymore.” Todoroki sounded tired. “Ever since we… reunited… we’ve had a don’t ask don’t tell policy. But I keep tabs anyway. He’s still shady, but he’s not working with villains anymore. If anything, we have more in common now than before. He’s my brother but he’s also a dick. He doesn’t really care about heroes and villains anymore. He just doesn’t like people in general.”

You stiffened. Were they talking about Dabi? Why would they trust him? Wasn’t he one of the villains that kidnapped Bakugo?

“You say he doesn’t like people, so why do think he’ll even help?” Bakugo was making his way around to sit on the end of the couch, gently moving your feet into his lap. He seemed to calm down once his hand found your calf.

It was quite for a while before Todoroki sighed, “Because unlike the rest of you… my brother and I know what it feels like to be an experiment. He won’t let anything happen to her. Villain or hero, he doesn’t care. He has no rules or code of ethics to follow. He’s our best option here Bakugo and you know it.”

You couldn’t take this anymore. All these guys sitting around deciding your future as if you weren’t sitting right here.

You slowly sat up, pulling your legs away from Bakugo. You blinked as you looked around the small room. Todoroki and Midoriya were sitting as a large wooden table that was littered with files and paper.

You blushed when you realized everyone was looking at you now, yet the silence persisted. Were they waiting on you to say something? You cleared your throat and winced at how dry it was. “Oi! Get her some fucking water, would you?”

You nodded your head in thanks as Midoriya handed you a bottle of water before taking a seat on the floor in front of you. “Listen y/n. None of us can even begin to try and understand what you’ve been through the past few years. It might be a while before you are ready and that’s okay. But when you are, please know we are here to listen and help in any way we can. Any information you can give us on what happened, what they are doing there, will be helpful in making sure we take them down.”

You nodded as your grip tightened on the water bottle. They wanted information. But what information could you possibly have that could be helpful. You spent almost the entire time drugged, blind, and chained to a bed. Your heart began the thud against your chest at the memories.

Bakugo was quick to scoot over. He didn’t touch you, but he wanted you to know he was there. “Hey it’s okay. Like he said. No one’s asking you to say anything right now.”

Todoroki grabbed something off of the table in front of him before strolling over to hand it to you. “Here. I noticed you are having some difficulty speaking. Given what you’ve been through it’s not really a surprise. So, you can use this to get your thoughts out. Whether they be private or not. It might be good to just get things off of your chest.”

Again, you nodded as you took the leather-bound notebook from Todoroki. You flipped to the first page and traced the empty lines with you hand. You opened your mouth to say thank you but were shocked to find that you couldn’t make yourself do it. You hadn’t been allowed to speak in the labs. Not unless given permission, which was hardly ever.

You glanced around to the other men, gesturing with you hand that you needed something to write with. Of course, Midoriya, Mr. Takes notes on everything had several pencils in his pocket.

You wrote the following:

Thank you. For everything. I didn’t think anyone was coming for me. I don’t know why I can’t speak, but it’s probably because of the rules.

Bakugo read over your shoulder as you attempted to show the other two men. “Rules? What rules?”

You sighed and gripped your pencil tighter to the point of almost breaking.

I will not look anyone in the eyes without permission.

I will not speak unless spoken to.

I will not touch anything, or anyone without consent.

I will do as I am told without resistance.

I will remember this is the consequence of my actions.

You turned the notebook so they could see and you could feel the tension rising in the room. You almost jumped out of your skin when Todoroki’s phone chimed.

He quickly walked away to answer it, giving Midoriya a nervous look as he did.

You turned to look at the angry man sitting next to you. His eyebrows furrowed and his fists were clinched. Finally, his eyes left the notebook and met yours. “Hey I just… I just want you to know I’m sorry.” You gave him a confused look, but he pushed on not waiting for you to question him. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize something was wrong. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner…I- fuck- I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

You went to put your hand on his shoulder but paused right before you made contact. He growled as he gripped you hand and put it on his shoulder for you. “You aren’t there anymore y/n. There’s no more rules.” His fingers found your chin as he guided you to look at him. Your eyes widened and you gulped. “I don’t know how much of that conversation you heard earlier. But I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’ll check in with you as often as I can. If Todoroki says we can trust him… then I guess we’ll just have to trust Todoroki.”

You tried your best to give him a reassuring smile, but in all honesty it felt more like a grimace.

Todoroki walked back in shoving his phone in his pocket. “Okay he’s on his way. We have probably about fifteen minutes. Let’s get ready to move.”

#bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #mha #my hero acadamy #dabi bnha #dabi x reader

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prof-peach · 4 years ago

Note

Out of all of the pokemon you have taken care of, which one do you think it was the hardest to deal with? Be cuz they were in a pretty bad shape, or just personality wise?

We get rumbunctious and rowdy Pokemon all the time, our works nature brings them to us probably more than any other issue, outside of grass Pokemon care and management. Anger and nervousness is something we have a good hold of here, and try to help iron out of various species. I do a lot of that work, and on occasion, Grey will do the odd water type with these problems, as I tend to shy away from those. For the most part, they are short stint stays, a couple months, to a couple years helping them to rewire their anger into a more productive feeling or energy. That being said, there’s alwasy the odd Pokemon who comes our way who’s just a step above the rest. So here’s some stories of the ones who have had to stay with us, for their temperament and behaviour.

On the north side of the island, we house the biggest, meanest Pokemon, and the individuals who are very timid and nervous around people. We do this to ensure they have space to live undisturbed in peace, but also to protect guests and visitors from being eaten, crushed, blasted, or otherwise harmed. Some of the northern residents are difficult yes, but most are just stroppy or uncomfortable with the majority of humans, but there are a handful that are actively engaged in harming or hunting people.

One such Pokemon is a rather nasty tempered Drampa, he came to us about five or so years ago now, kindly donated by being abandoned on our shores, it’s original trainer leaving the ball and hopping on a boat without alerting us, or letting the individual know. We figured it would be possible to rehome it, they’re usually a rather reasonable Pokemon to handle, considering their typing. We were wrong. This Pokemon when let out of the ball, went on a monsterous rampage for four days, destroying forests, toppling buildings, blasting holes in the mountain to try to burrow away, and picking fights with anything it’s size or bigger, often causing great harm to others. The island didn’t rest for that entire time, most Pokemon cowering from it, bigger species trying to halt them, all in vain. It took an entire troop of grass Pokemon using sleep powder to knock it out, the Drampa moved about so fast, one single grass type didn’t stand a chance to produce enough spores in time. It took a lot of work but we knocked the old boy out, and got a good look at him. His body was riddled with arthritis, not medicated, he would thrash about and cause himself so much pain and discomfort. He had overgrown nails, the feet hidden in the fur they have around their torso, often overlooked, and it’s ability to fly was limited because of its general condition and state. We began helping it, medicating it’s aislments, aiding it’s inflamed joints, but it never really calmed down, so now it chills out alone on the coast of the north side, left well alone, it doesn’t even like the company of other Pokemon.

We’ve done our best to interact with it, to socialise it, to generally get it use to people enough to do medical checks, but it’s still very resistant. We have decided that after two years of hard work, and it being tolerant to me, at least to check it’s health and wellbeing, that it’s best to let it live it’s life unbothered. Many would push a Pokemon to be a perfect social being, but we don’t believe it’s necessary for happiness. Some species are happy to be away from others, I wouldn’t push a human to be social, I know how awful that can be, so we didn’t force the individual to be around others either. It’s not that it’s unhappy, we spot it from time to time sitting on the rocks by the ocean, humming to itself, and the small pidgey and tailow that come by don’t bother it, and even give mild brief conversation. He seems ok, the medicine given means he’s in less pain, despite still having stiffness, and in the winter we’ve built him a unique space, rocky cover much like a cave, just above a Macargo hide where they lay eggs. The heat from those Pokemon keep its cave very hot, and help in the cold to ease the joint aches. The two species have different entrances, making sure they never meet within the hide at any point. There’s a good slab of rock dividing them, so it’s not an issue, and saves us having to pipe hot water over that far for him. He eats well, has a few items he’s kept from the labs, a toy sentret, and a large red ball, and generally is in a good place to live out his life in peace now.

Another difficult member would be a particularly timid Slazzle, gifted to us by a police member who had confiscated it from a rather mean individual close to her home town, they had been hurting the poor Pokemon, forcing it to produce an insane amount of poison liquid, throwing water on the poor thing every time it tried to ignite to retaliate, generally abusing the poor thing for its life, apparently it had been locked away since it was a young unevolved Pokemon. They’d been harvesting the poisons from the Slazzle and dropping it into various water sources to try to control the local Pokemon population, as they blamed the wild ones for the state of their land, and diminished crops yield from their allotment. Jokes on them, that water poisoning affected them too, and their garden died very quickly, and made the man quite sick through consumption of the crops he grew there. The slazzle is still very skittish, will hide at any given moment, we’ve seen her ignite an entire building in one move, and then bolt away through the flames to lose our line of sight. She managed to stay hidden for two weeks on the island, before we caught sight of her again. Generally she’s just a case fo neglect but we have been working with her now for a long while, 3 ish years, and her temperament is at least manageable amongst our staff. We have found her others of her kind to help her settle, and she’s become good friends with a Wartortle who came from the same area, they bond over memories of the place, and seem very happy in each others company.

We’ve found ways to keep her grounded, but she never goes near people when we have open days, slinks off through the big fence to the north side, and waits out the visiting hours until night. They’re not usually nocturnal but she likes the night, and spends her time looking about, foraging and feeding in the later hours. If you’re quiet you can catch her moving around the forests and the base of the mountains here, talking with the occasional individual, she seems to enjoy Murkrow too, their company seems to keep her quite social, as they usually move in large flocks here. She may never be rehomed, but for now we try to socialise her, we don’t battle her, and she has a very calm and peaceful nook to go to when she’s having a rough time. We make sure to provide support where possible, and though she’s a little skittish she’s somewhat happy to have myself and Grey, even Pari take a look at any wounds or scrapes she may gain while living here. She’s become trusting enough to come to us if we call, and who knows, maybe someone will come our way who she takes an interest in. There’s hope for her yet, we have however become quite fond of her, and she’s part of the furniture now. It may end up that she never leaves, and lives her life in peace here, surrounded by people and Pokemon who love her. Her panic makes her very difficult to pass to another trainer, and she’s prone to spitting up huge quantities of toxic liquid when spooked, and bolts at a slight bang or rumble.

One I have kept back for a number of reasons, is a rather mean tempered Aerodactyl. Normally we get Pokemon sent to us, but this one I ended up finding myself, some circus had her chained up in a box hardly big enough to turn around in, an attraction to the masses as they travelled through the area. The leader of that troop was particularly awful, treating Pokemon as commodities, items to be bought and sold, used as toys in his big performances. Boiled my blood. We called her Zeplin, and after 12 years she has still got a nasty temper on her, when not focused on a task. Her condition when we first found her was quite something, tattered wings, unable to fly straight at all, and she was littered with cuts and bruises, not in good health. Val has melted the chains that bound her, and the lock in her cage, and she just went, like a bat out of hell, flew off, blasting the tent that hid her quarters, burning a lot of the circus as she went. Little did I know, my foot was in one of the chain links, and I got dragged off with her, the ground, Val, all my other team mates, falling from my pocket, or being left on the floor where we had once been standing. She flew, and kept going, not aware I was still attached, you could see her wings were having a hard time catching the breeze, littered with holes and tears, she went for about two hours, I nearly froze that high up, trying to get a good grip on what chain was left so I didn’t come falling from that height. We came to a very sudden crash landing, she hadn’t had much chance to practice the whole take off - land thing from the feel of it, we both ate dirt, and she became very aware that I was there all of a sudden.

I had about three seconds while she assessed my presence, to get out of the chain, and dive behind a rock that gave me cover from an almighty blast of energy, chipping away bits, catching my arm a little. Trust me when I say, it’s terrifying coming face to face with something that stands a fair few meters taller than you, with more teeth and claws than you’re comfortable with dealing with, with none of your Pokemon, no weaponry, no real plan or cover other than a rock. How she didn’t eat me, I don’t know. Perhaps she knew it was me that let her go, maybe she just ran out of energy, but for whatever reason, she made a few bits and tail lashes at me, missed the lot, and gave up, turning to stomp off into the forests around us. She was still shackled with heavy irons, one on the neck, two on the legs, and was in serious condition, so I did the stupid thing and followed her, tried to sneak my way behind, though every now and then she would look towards me, and try to focus on my form in the dark of night now. It was a few days, she had stalked some prey, fed, and was starting to ooze from some wounds. Though the circus was unkind, they were providing her with medication that stopped further infections occurring, perhaps a scarred beast of great size drew more punters, maybe they were just making sure she survived to make them money, I still don’t know.

I hunted herbs, dug out roots with rocks, used river water, and common berries and managed to fashion some kind of salve, nothing amazing, especially back at that age, but it would work, I knew it would because I used it on my own wounds first. Just had to convince her it was a good thing to let me get close. Not an easy task. We physically brawled, she was clearly spent, not able to use any attacks, just thrashing about, I managed to trip her with the chains still attached to her legs, and once downed, you can jump on the head of these Pokemon to keep the jaws shut, just long enough to lather the wounds you can reach, then bolt fast. It was a small act, but she took off running again. With some wounds sort of cared for, I followed again, fishing for dinner, forraging roots to chew on. It wasn’t much but it kept me going, then one night, where I had climbed to a crook of a large tree, using my jacket to tie myself in for a nights sleep, I was awoken by loud rustling, thudding of feet, and a mighty huff.

Below where I sat, the Pokemon had returned, being no doubt well aware of my presence, following the smell of human, she had noticed the salve do a good job on the wounds I managed to reach, but the ones I couldn’t get near had become far worse, red, inflamed and weeping terribly, no doubt hurting and itching. I’d seen her rubbing her sides in the day, itching gasinst rocks and trees, smearing blood and ooze along her path as she trudged. So here we were, alone in the woods, I veeeeery carefully climbed down, staying in cover as much as possible, and over the space of an hour or two, she let me come out into the open, teeth bared yeah, but she hadn’t attacked, and other than a very uncomfortable, low growl, she allowed me to creep closer, some more of that salve made more for my own wounds than hers, being sniffed at, she licked it too, but wasn’t happy with the taste, very bitter, and I was cautiously optimistic, allowed to help her heal the rest of the cuts she had acquired from her old home. So we began our....I want to say friendship but that wasn’t it, it was a collaboration to survive.

We had landed somewhere far from others, I missed my team, and she had never experienced anything outside of the cage, and so we banded together, tentatively. We caught dinner as a team, and climbed for fruits, foraged for berries, reapplying what loose form of medicine I managed to make, before coming to some kind of comfortable companionship together. A week passed, wandering without a clue where we were, before a path was found, she seemed to want to avoid it, and while I wasn’t keen on people much either, it was impossible not to want to find my team again. They needed me, and I needed them. If they had been found, a police officer or the likes may have sent them to my original professor, waiting to be called from the PC system again, but knowing Val, she had grabbed the balls, my things, and bolted to hide, waiting for my return. In desperation I tried to explain this to the Aerodactyl, who had not experienced a trainers care before, and seemed reluctant to return.

It was only upon mentioning revenge, to burn the circus to the ground, that I regained her attention, and we came to a slow agreement to get aid, gather items, and return to where she had been released from. She waited in the forest while I went to town, checking my PC space to see if my team had been handed in, which they had! It was lucky, I was reunited with Val (vulpix), Booker (teddiursa), and Potato (bulbasaur) who I took back, and returned to the woods with.

We had to get some revenge, and in turn we devised a plan to free the Pokemon first, sneak in and pick the locks, melt the chains and gates, and then finally, let the aerodactyl do her thing once the vulnerable individuals were loose. I did my best to hold back my own personal rage, and simply aid the demise of a group who were awful towards Pokemon through this one big flying type. I wint go into details but no one perished in the fire, they were arrested and charged for unsafe work conditions, and abuse towards Pokemon, not to mention false advertising, having no worker’s Compensation in pace for injury, which many staff complained of, and several incidents of sexual harassment in the work place that were brought to light.

Once one started to talk, the others all joined in, and the fire was put down to unsafe working conditions and a lack of health and safety. From what I heard, the whole circus worth of Pokemon were rehomed, helped and generally lived much better lives after that. However now we had one very mistrusting angry Aerodactyl on our hands, a Pokemon I had not worked with before, who had seemingly become quite tolerant of me, but would snap at just about anyone who clocked eyes with her. So I kind of just kept her, no ball, not for a fair few years, we both didn’t think it was important. She was nursed back to health, and we had to go through a lot of training together, she bit booker once quite badly, but we’ve all put that in the past, and have worked on it together.

She is still testing, she won’t be ridden by anyone else, she doesn’t care for other Pokemon much, crowds will spook her, she doesn’t like when people talk with raised voices or hostile tones, and gets real irritable if you come at her in any kind of way that isn’t open handed, calm and slowly. She’s now a very capable flier, wings healed up, spending her first half of life locked up made her long for the open sky, so now we take time together to go off and ride winds when work is slow, and she’s helped in many ways to make the island functional, by moving logs, clearing paths, helping lift building materials around, and generally being there for me when I’m full of rage, which is actually annoyingly often. We’re anger buddies hah, kind of get on the same level with it. She’s become so much part of my family, and I feel like i’m part of hers now too, so I doubt she’d be rehomed, but should she find somewhere she would rather be, we wouldn’t stop her going. She is difficult, angry, snappy, tempermental, difficult, won’t be touched by strangers, likes to fight, but I’d not change her, she’s our testing monster, who we love and adore.

Went off a bit, but I figured why not, I know her, and can write more about her life and story than the others.

#pokemon #prof.peach #peach talks #long post

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sunshineseguin · 4 years ago

Text

take me back to the night we met || mat barzal

pairing: mathew barzal x fem!reader

summary: months after the end of your relationship, mathew still struggles to come to terms with losing you. he sees you everywhere and in everything he does. what sticks with him the most is the night you met.

warnings: break-up angst, alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety & a near panic attack, swearing, mentions of sex (nothing graphic), possible grammatical errors, flashbacks are in italics!!

word count: 6,371

author’s note: i wrote this fic inspired by the song ‘the night we met’ by lord huron so i definitely recommend listening while reading! i wrote this fic as a standalone and don’t plan on writing a second part. feedback is always appreciated, i read everything even if you put it in the tags.

check out my players list & prompt list if you’d like!

Mathew knew it wasn’t a good idea to go out, especially on a Sunday night with an early practice in the morning. The season was about to start and he knew he had every reason to be just as amped up about it as his teammates. He should be cheering with them and drinking beers carelessly like he wouldn’t regret it in the morning. Yet, he couldn’t. The regret that he was already carrying on his shoulders was enough to last him a lifetime. Instead, he was gulping down whiskey on the rocks like it was water and he was stranded in the Sahara Desert, wallowing in his own self pity as he had been for months.

He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and glanced up at Anthony who gave it a squeeze. The blonde smiled, but it was one of sympathy, his bright blue eyes swimming with concern for his best friend. Mathew almost scoffs.

“How ya doin’, man?” Anthony asks and glances towards Anders who’s watching them both closely.

The raven haired male simply shrugged half heartedly in response. He knew his captain was worried about him, the whole team was for that matter. He hadn’t been right for a while and nearly closed himself off completely. He didn’t join in on the playful chirps at morning skate or reply to Anthony’s invites of golf with the boys. He didn’t go to the team cookouts. He barely mustered a reply when Trotz was ripping into him for being so unfocused. The guys were starting to realize they only ever saw him on the ice or drowning himself in the hard stuff at the bar. He was a walking shell of the man he had been a year ago.

“What happened, Barzy?” Anthony sighed, moving to stand in front of his friend so that he could meet his eyes. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Mathew saw a notification pop up on his phone that his Uber was approaching, giving himself the perfect opportunity to get out of his best friend’s inevitable interrogation. He knew the team was only going to let this go on for so much longer before sitting him down and making him talk about his feelings. He was already dreading all of the things Anders had to say but hadn’t yet. He tossed back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, not even feeling it burn its way down his throat with the amount he’d already consumed that night. He stood from his stool, a bit unsteady on his feet as he pats Anthony on the shoulder leaves him with few words before heading out.

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t help me.”

The bar was definitely over what capacity should allow that night. The bar was swarmed as people shouted their drink orders at the poor bartenders who were scurrying around like mice. Patrons were spilling out onto the dance floor, packed in like sardines to the point that you could hardly move. You pushed yourself through the crowd, muttering worthless apologies to people who weren’t even listening as you desperately searched for your friends. You’d lost them over twenty minutes ago and had lost all hope in finding them.

You were starting to feel claustrophobic amidst the sweaty bodies pressed against you, chest growing tight the longer you spent in the crowd. It felt like the walls were beginning to close in on you as your head grew fuzzy. The Long Island Iced Teas you’d been consuming since you got there three hours ago certainly didn’t help. You forced your way through the crowd and to the exit of the bar, shoving people who wouldn’t move as you tried to get air into your lungs.

You stumbled out of the doors to the bar, ignoring the odd looks people heading inside sent you. Your knees felt weak as you braced yourself against the wall. Hand shaking, you pressed it to your chest to feel that your heart was rapidly pounding away. You closed your eyes and did all you could to focus on your breathing and get yourself to calm down. You hadn’t had a panic attack in some time, sophomore year of college the last you could recall, having learned what triggered them and how to keep the panic from overcoming you.

Mathew was standing farther down, away from the never ending flow of people coming and going from the bar’s entrance. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he stared out at the street with a scowl. He and Anthony were supposed to be leaving together, walking back to their shared apartment building a few blocks away. The blonde male had been busy when Mat stepped out, chatting away with some pretty redhead who’d caught his eye early in the night. He was about ready to make the walk by himself if his friend didn’t show himself in the next five minutes.

He saw you out of the corner of his eye, alone and trembling without so much as a jacket. He looked around to see if anyone you might know was near, but no one was paying you any mind. He was overcome with a sense of worry as he stared at you, not knowing if some sleazebag slipped something in your drink or if you had some kind of medical condition. He found himself moving closer to you and asking, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just-” you stated breathlessly, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, “I just need a second.”

You stood there for another moment until you had yourself composed, finally standing up straight when it didn’t feel like your knees would give out anymore. You weren’t expecting to open your eyes and find the person attached to the voice that just spoke to you still standing there. His hazel eyes were filled with worry as they flickered over your frame. You were too busy gawking to notice his genuine concern.

“Did something happen in there? Do you need me to call someone?” the handsome stranger asked, his gaze finally settling on yours.

“N-No,” you stuttered sheepishly, clearing your throat and blinking quickly as if that would make the nervousness go away. “It’s lame, actually, I lost my friends and… The crowd was a bit much.”

Mathew’s shoulders visibly relaxed when he knew something traumatic hadn’t happened and a laugh passed through his lips. He offered you a smile and replied, “Yeah, that is kind of lame.”

You scoffed playfully and rolled your eyes, feeling your face heat up slightly. He laughed again and shook his head a bit, saying, “I kid, I kid. This place does get pretty rowdy on the weekends.”

“Not to be completely cheesy but, I take it you come here often?” you asked with a smile, wrapping your arms around your middle as the cool New York air started to seep into your skin. The adrenaline from your near panic attack had kept you from realizing how cold it was out and you’d left your jacket inside at your table. Hopefully one of your friends would grab it despite the drunken escapades they were partaking in.

“Pretty often, yeah,” Mathew grinned at the question. He was sure you hadn’t intended to use it as a pickup line, yet he found himself hoping there was genuine interest laced behind your words.

He shrugged off his black bomber jacket when he noticed you shivering and held it out to you. As you opened your mouth to protest, the look on his face told you that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. So you took the item from his hands and slipped in on with a gracious ‘thank you’ once you were swallowed in its warmth.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Mat,” he replied while shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

It was silent for a moment between you, neither knowing exactly what to say. Mathew didn’t know if you were intending to head back inside and enjoy your night. While he was more than ready to go home ten minutes ago, he was now enamored by you, and wanted to do anything to stay in your presence. Usually, he was quick witted and able to charm a girl with a few simple words. In front of you he was drawing a blank, afraid of saying the wrong thing and scaring you off.

Seeing you shyly toy with the ends of his sleeve, a nervous smile curling on your lips as you looked at his feet had a surge of confidence flowing through him. He offered, “Would you want to grab a coffee? I know a place that makes the best homemade crepes.”

The memory hit Mathew like a freight train as he stepped out of the doors of the bar. He was left staring at the wall, at the very spot he spoke to you for the first time. He couldn’t feel the dull ache in his chest, having numbed himself with whiskey that was far too expensive. He turned to walk down to the street to wait for his Uber, but stopped short as he caught a glimpse of a woman walking by.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared after her. It was as if time slowed down, everything moving in slow motion but her. Everything was as he remembered from that night. The way her hair was styled, the dress that stopped halfway down her thighs, the heels that echoed in his head with each step she took. What shook him to his core the most was the jacket sported on her shoulders. From the night he first gave it to her, she would always steal it, claiming it looked better with most of her outfits than his own. He never argued, because he agreed, and he would never turn down a chance to see her in his clothes. It was you — unmistakably you.

Mathew’s feet started moving on their own accord behind you. It was like you were running away, until he realized it was him who was moving in slow motion with the people around him. The streets were bustling with people of all likes, experiencing the enticing New York nightlife. He was weaving through the crowd, calling out your name, desperate, broken and begging you to put back together the pieces of his broken heart.

You kept walking and Mathew was trying his hardest to catch up, but was like with each step he took his feet were growing heavier and heavier. He let out a strangled, frustrated cry as he yelled out your name once more. Suddenly, he was knocked to the side, stumbling over his own feet and nearly falling into the street. He turned to look at the man who just rammed into him carelessly.

“Watch where you’re going, you prick!” he shouted after the man who paid him no mind, receiving a few dirty looks from others.

It was then that he realized everyone was moving in real time again. His breath hitched in his throat as he spun to search for you in the crowd. You were gone. Deep down, he knew you had never been there in the first place. His mind was playing another dirty little trick on him, as it did so often the last few months. His guilty subconscious tormented him with images of you, making him watch you slip away time and time again. The hollow feeling deep within him only grew with every hallucination.

He turned his attention to the building he’d found himself in front of, and if the visions of you weren’t already torture enough, the universe had just thrown something else into the mix. Yet, he found himself making his way up to the door, the bell chiming above his head as he entered the quant diner. He takes a glance around, seeing an old couple at a table on one side of the building and a man by himself at the bartop, a laptop open and headphones in as he had a quiet conversation on what Mathew assumed was a Zoom or FaceTime call. He drops his head and walks to the familiar corner booth then slides into the seat and cancels his Uber.

A moment later, the waitress approaches the table. Mathew meets her eyes and embarrassment floods through him as he takes note of her sympathetic smile. He’s seen the smile a thousand times now from anyone who had an inkling of what he’d been going through.

“Coffee?” she asked softly, knowing the answer before he could even muster a nod.

You slide into the booth, sighing in content as the warmth from the building seeps into your bones. Mathew slides in across from you and the two of you share a shy smile as you meet eyes. Never before had he been so nervous to take a girl out. Maybe it was because you weren’t like the others. You hadn’t thrown yourself at him the first chance you got. You didn’t seem to know who he was or his status in the social hierarchy of the people in Long Island. It was refreshing and terrifying all at the same time.

You both look up as the waitress walks over with a bright smile on her face and asks what you’d like to drink. “Coffee,” the two of you say at the same time. Mathew’s face visibly turns a light shade of pink, and in turn you feel a rush of heat traveling up your own neck. The waitress smiles knowingly.

“Cream, please,” you add.

As the waitress turns to Mathew he says, “Black is fine.”

It’s silent for a moment as you both wait for the waitress to return with your drinks. Your eyes are floating around the diner, taking in some of the unique decor and 80’s flare with a modern twist. Mathew watches you closely and decides he quite likes the way your eyes shine under the glow of the baby blue neon lights. He takes it upon himself to start pointing out some of the historical decor in the building. It’s your turn to admire him and how his eyes light up when he talks about something he finds exceptionally appealing. His lips are curled into a smile as he spouts off facts to you about each item he points out.

He pauses his rant about people not appreciating The Beatles enough when he sees you grinning at him. He smiles sheepishly and diverts his gaze to the steam rising out of the coffee mug just placed in front of him, asking, “What?”

“Nothin’,” you replied with a small shrug, smile never leaving your face. You stirred a splash of cream into your own coffee and quizzed, “I take it as you come here often too?”

Mathew felt his ears grow hot but he still managed to muster up a confident smirk and lifted his eyes to meet yours, “I said best homemade crepes didn’t I?”

“That you did.”

“I usually end up here after a night at the bar and I need to sober up. People say coffee doesn’t work but it sure feels like it,” he explained, “Plus, they serve breakfast twenty four hours.”

The way your eyes lit up when Mathew said that had butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He listened as you went on a rant about how breakfast was underrated and you’d kill for pancakes for dinner over a steak most nights. From there, the conversation between the two of you flowed effortlessly. You learned how the other liked their eggs cooked and what your drink of choice was. Your favorite colors and favorite scent of body wash. Being with Mathew made you feel as if you’d been sleeping all of these years and were just waking up. Never had you felt so drawn to someone in the way that you were to him, and him the same. Any other night, if he had met a girl in the fashion that he’d met you, he would have had you in and out of his apartment long ago. He wouldn’t be on his third coffee refill with a plate of perfectly cooked strawberry crepes in front of him.

Mathew learned that you hadn’t been in New York long. You’d moved about two months ago and had a fashion design internship with some fancy company he’d never heard of. You were looking to build your own empire in the business. With the way you exuded yourself now that you were comfortable with him and talked with so much passion about your dreams, he didn’t think you’d have any trouble. The drive you had to build a future for yourself wasn’t something he was used to hearing from the women he surrounded himself with.

The famous athlete, something you learned about him in between bites of food, was used to women throwing themselves at him and his teammates. Some of them were just looking to brag that they slept with an Islander, others had more devious intentions. They were after the money Mathew tried his hardest not to spend recklessly - the gifts he could potentially buy. Some wanted his last name, to be in with the WAGs and flaunt their relationship all over social media; to rub it in the face of others that she got what they so desperately wanted. It was part of the reason that he never exclusively dated, too afraid that there were ulterior motives behind sultry whispers and sly smirks.

The diner that had previously been significantly busy when the two of you got there had now cleared out completely. You and Mathew hadn’t realized how long you’d actually been there until you took note of the empty tables. Your waitress was standing in the corner against the wall, looking like she was mindlessly scrolling through Instagram while she waited for you to leave. You and the Centerman had been so lost in each other that you hadn’t realized hours had passed and it was nearly two in the morning.

“I guess we should get out of here, huh?” you asked, hoping the gorgeous man in front of you picked up on the suggestive tone of your voice.

It didn’t seem like he did though with the way his shoulders slumped and he mumbled, “Yeah, I guess we should.”

As Mathew fished his wallet out, he felt you gaze burning into him. You weren’t ready for the night to end and you were hoping he was thinking the same. He looked up and locked eyes with you, holding the stare as you raised a singular eyebrow and a coy smile curled on your lips. Realization crossed the chiselled features of his face and he gave you a smirk before throwing down a good amount of cash on the table. He slid out of the booth and held his hand out to you, giving you a small bow as if you were royalty.

“M’lady?”

Mathew chokes on the very breath in his lungs, his eyes burning as he stared down at the cold, untouched mug of coffee in front of him. It’s no longer black, now a light chestnut color but the splash of cream he’d subconsciously added to it. He had picked that up from you because ‘only psychopaths drink black coffee, babe’. He switched back of course. This was the first time he let himself slip up and fall back into a habit that used to be so comfortable with you.

He swallows thickly and stuffs a generous amount of cash into the black checkbook, far more than what the coffee was worth. He pushes himself out of the booth and avoids the waitress’ eyes as she comes over to collect the payment. He can’t even muster a smile as he mumbles out a ‘thank you’ and exits the diner. Lori, the woman who always gave you the best service there, is left to sadly stare after him. She knows better than to ask what happened to the sweet girl who always used to accompany him.

Mathew walks a couple blocks down to his apartment building, trying not to remember how you’d clung to his arm. How your giggles echoed down the empty streets and your perfume swirled around him. When he closed his eyes he thought he could almost smell it, wondering if traces of you were lingering on the jacket hanging heavy on his shoulders. He still remembers how it felt to have your hands wrapped around his bicep and your hip bumping his as you walked pressed to his side. He enters his building and the feeling is gone as quickly as it came.

He walks into his dark apartment and thinks that it feels colder and colder every night that he comes home alone. He can’t help but take note of your missing pile of shoes by the door that he always used to chirp you for. He hangs his keys on the hook and his eyes linger on the empty spot beside it. He walks past the couch on the way to the bedroom and tries not to think about how bare it looks without the hoodies you used to steal from him littered about.

He strips into his boxers after brushing his teeth and climbs under the chilly sheets. He’s turned on his side, staring at the vacant spot beside him. He can see you there, messy hair splayed out around you and your face smiling back at him. He reaches out and grabs the pillow that used to be deemed yours, pulling it into his chest tightly. Your scent is long gone from the pillowcase, yet he still buries his nose into it and squeezes his eyes shut as if that will bring you back.

As he begins to drift off to sleep, his mind once again tortures him with visions of you. How you stumbled into his apartment the night you met as a mess of teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. You undressed each other on the way to the bedroom, clothes scattered across the floor. Your skin was hot against his as he laid you on his bed for the first time and worshiped every inch of your skin. He remembers your breathy moans in his ear as he filled you up and rocked into you, slow and deep. Your limbs were tangled as you came down from your highs, your head on his sticky chest as he ran his hand over the tangled hair on your head.

He remembers whispering, “I’ve never met anyone quite like you,” and you replying, “You’re something special, Mathew Barzal.” The two of you fell asleep like that, with Mathew thinking he could spend forever with you wrapped in his arms.

Mathew awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and a weight sitting heavy in his chest. He’s still clutching his pillow as he turns over and looks for you instinctively. When he’s once again faced with the empty space beside him, his heart drops. He flips onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. It’s the same everyday that he wakes up, replaying the day everything changed like a broken record in his head.

Your whirlwind romance with Mathew happened unexpectedly. While the two of you did click instantly, you certainly weren’t expecting it to be so serious so fast. He was a famous hockey player who was on the road most of the year. You thought, at most, you would be someone he called when he was home in New York because you were convenient. Instead, you got the fancy dinner dates and spontaneous trips to Philly when he played the Flyers. You got a bouquet of flowers at your door when he was off on a roadie. You got to meet Anthony and enjoy quiet nights in just drinking beers and mocking shitty reality TV. You had moved into his apartment almost completely after only four months without either of you really realizing — yet neither of you stopped it.

The relationship you had with Mathew was unique. It was something people dreamed of and hoped to find. You were Twin Flames; two halves of one soul that united. You fell for each other so hard and so fast it made you dizzy. Before you knew it, a year had passed. You’d completed your internship and your boyfriend was a rising star. You had built a strong foundation in New York and it was potentially where you could put down your roots and live out the rest of your life, yet you had bigger dreams and plans for yourself. Something you hadn’t been completely honest with Mathew about.

You were scared. Scared of the unknown complications and challenges you could face. The two of you had moved so fast you were having trouble differentiating between fantasy and reality — if this is really what you wanted. What if you settled down in New York and Mathew was traded to a different team across the country? What if he decided he didn’t want you anymore in a few weeks time, leaving you high and dry? What if you didn’t really love him and you were just convincing yourself that you did? These questions had been plaguing you for weeks, especially when he was away, and it was becoming too much. So you did the cowardly thing and you ran from it.

It was nearing the Stanley Cup playoffs and the Islanders were well on their way to securing a spot, so most of Mathew’s focus had been on hockey. It never bothered you because it was his career. It’s what he did for a living and what he loved, so how could you fault him for that? The roadies seemed to fall closer together and last a little longer. Mathew now knows that’s why he didn’t notice your things slowly disappearing from the apartment then, and he still beats himself up for not realizing that you were slipping away.

He’d been on one of those seemingly long roadies and his flight came in early that morning from Tampa Bay. While they came out victorious, the games had been rough and Mathew was sore. He couldn’t wait to decompress and cuddle up with you for the few days he had off until the next home game. As the Uber pulled up outside the building, he felt exhaustion overcoming him and wanted to sleep the rest of the day away.

He walked through the door, lugging his duffel bag and suitcase, a sigh leaving his lips at the fact that he was finally home again. The ease he felt was quickly replaced with panic and confusion when his eyes landed on the suitcases in the foyer. His blood ran cold in his veins as he dropped his bags and called out your name with a panicked tone. The apartment remains silent so he quickly makes his way to the bedroom, pushing the door open to find you sitting on the edge of the bed and staring out the window. His own rapid heartbeat is pounding in his ears as he pulls at his tie and moves towards you.

He drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, his eyes full of concern as he meets your tear filled ones. The pads of his fingers are rough and warm as he takes your hand in his own and whispers, “Why are your bags by the door, baby? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” your voice breaks as you reply, bottom lip wobbling before a sob wracks your body.

Mathew quickly pulls you into his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head as you cry into his game day suit. Dread fills his body, having never seen you so upset. His heart is in his throat and he feels as if he’s going to be physically ill. He holds you like that, kissing the side of your head and whispering words of affirmation until you can compose yourself. You pull back from him and wipe your wet cheeks but he keeps one hand on the side of your head and the other on your waist.

Then you drop the bomb on him.

You explain that your internship was never a permanent plan to stay in New York. You have a flight in four hours that leaves for Paris. A one way ticket taking you to the fashion capital of the world to start your career. You found a job opportunity so perfect that you’d be stupid to pass up. Mathew wants to be happy for you. He wants to jump for joy and celebrate with you, but you hid this from him. You did exactly what he was afraid of and shared with you within hours of your first meeting. He’s filled with disbelief and anger instead.

“This was your plan the whole time? You hid this from me the last year we’ve been together?” he exasperates, moving to his feet as he starts to pace the room and tug at his hair.

“Everything was so good with us I didn’t want to ruin it. I was going to tell you, Mat, I swear.”

“When?!” he shouts, feeling guilty for a moment when he sees you flinch, but the anger overpowers it. “Because it looks like to me you were just going to leave without so much as a goodbye!”

You shake your head, and squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes as the tears start to well again. You argue, “I knew when your flight was coming in. I wouldn’t just leave you like that.”

“But you are. You are leaving me like that. You clearly have your mind made up about this and didn’t bother telling me,” he rebuttals, “You let me believe for a year that you were in this. I’ve given you one hundred percent, despite the hardships. What did you give me, huh? Fifty at best?”

You’re quiet, not wanting to admit that you hadn’t been all in on the relationship like him, even though you acted like it. Really, you’d had one foot out the door the whole time. Mathew’s voice shakes as he stares at you from across the room and says, “I love you. I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

A choked sob wracks through your body at his words and you cover your face with your hands. You knew he was in love with you, even the blind could see how head over heels Mathew Barzal was for you. He starts desperately rambling about how the two of you can make it work. Yes, long distance is hard, but he believes it’s worth it — believes you can love him like he loves you if you’ll take the risk. Why else would you have spent a year with him if some part of you didn’t think so? You put up with his relentless hockey schedule when you had every reason to walk away and live your life like the other twenty somethings you surround yourself with.

You disagree though. Long distance would only complicate things further. The different timezones would be unforgiving to your conflicting work schedules. Mathew often didn’t get long enough breaks to be able to fly out and see you and it be worth it. Plus, an international flight once a month, maybe more? It sounded like a good idea but eventually his wallet would suffer. You certainly couldn’t do it with the salary you were starting at, nor would you risk losing your job by unimportant travel to see a man. It was a negative and closed off way of looking at it on your part, but for both of your sake, it was best that way.

“It’s impossible…”

“It’s not impossible, you just don’t want to try!” Mathew yells, unable to care that his neighbors have more than likely heard every word of your argument.

“Mat, I have had the best year of my life here in New York. I’ve made memories that I could never in a million years forget. You are a part of that. I love you, God, do I fucking love you, but admit it. This was never meant to be long term. Not with the paths our lives are taking. We were never meant to last forever,” you stand from the bed and stare at him across the room, pleading with him to look at it from your perspective. You wanted to leave this in a good place, friends possibly, if he could accept what this was at face value. Two people who loved each other very much, but weren’t meant to be. The cliche ‘right people, wrong time’.

Mathew couldn’t though, he wouldn’t. He was blinded by a rage that he had never felt before. You had wasted his time — a year that he could’ve spent entertaining pretty girls who threw themselves at him for a quick fuck. Partying with his teammates and friends and reveling in his success that was only growing with every game he played. He finds himself wishing he had left you alone that night outside of the bar and just gone home. He lets the fury coursing through his veins take over, and with his fists shaking at his sides, he grits out in a low voice, “Get out.”

His words don’t shock you. You don’t know what other outcome you hoped would come from this. It doesn’t stop the stabbing pain that shoots through the center of your chest though. He won’t even look at you, hard gaze concentrated at your feet with his jaw set tight. You fight the urge to go to him. Wrap your arms around him and take it all back. Promise him you’ll stay even though you’d be sacrificing everything. It wasn’t fair to you, so you force your feet to carry you out of the bedroom and out of his front door for the last time. The sobs come once you’re in the elevator, then again in your friend’s (who was nice enough to give you a ride to the airport) car while they held you.

A few seconds after Mathew hears the front door shut, he’s tugging at his dark hair and letting out an agonizing shout. His breathing is ragged as he paces the room and debates running after you, but what would he say? The argument seemed final. You were set in your plan to take off to France and he couldn’t change your mind — he couldn’t make you stay. So he sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. He squeezes his eyes shut and allows himself to feel the heartbreak, a guttural sob passing his lips.

Mathew closes his eyes and sucks a deep breath into his lungs as the memory fades. His heart is heavy in his chest as he reaches over and retrieves his phone from the bedside table. There’s a text from Anthony sent in the early hours of the morning, asking if he’d made it home safely. He doesn’t reply, instead opening the Instagram app and pulling up your profile.

His breath catches in his throat as he looks at your most recent picture. You changed your hair, a slightly different cut and a different color, but you’re just as breathtaking as he always thought you were. You’re sitting at a cafe with a cup of some fancy brew in front of you and the caption is in French, something about dreams coming true. Though, he’s not focused on some silly caption when he can’t take his eyes off of you. You look happy, wearing a smile he used to see when Anthony or one of your friends would sneak a picture of the two of you. Regret floods his body, the memory of the day you left still fresh in his mind. He thinks about liking the post just to tell you that he still loves you and he hasn’t forgotten about you. He exits out of the app before he allows himself to succumb to that urge.

He forces himself out of bed and into the shower before he’s late for practice. He mulls over in his head whether he should text you or not. He knows you more than likely won’t reply with how things ended all those months ago — now that you’ve moved on and you’re happy without him. He wishes he could too, yet he carries so much guilt for the things he said and allowing himself to have his heartbroken in the first place. He misses you like hell and the never ending visions of you plaguing his mind only makes it intensify.

Mathew heads to the rink in silence. He doesn’t speak to his teammates in the locker room and goes through the motions of practice in a daze. He’s not there completely and everyone can see it in his eyes. Anders is planning to pull him aside, Trotz insisting they have a talk and threatening to bench number thirteen until he gets his shit together. Mathew can tell. No one has tried to speak to him and Anthony keeps throwing him a side glance every few minutes. He prepares himself in the brief post-practice shower.

“Barzy, mind hanging back for a sec?” his captain asks as the other guys begin to filter out of the room.

He huffs out a sound of agreement while fishing his phone out of his duffel bag. His mom usually texts him a few times a week so he needs to let her know that he’ll give her a call later. He nearly drops the device as his eyes hone in on one message. Anders is talking but his heart is pounding so loudly in his ears he can’t hear him. He clicks on your name and feels every nerve in his body ignite at what the text message says.

I miss you. I’m coming home.

tagging the gc bc I love them @bricksatlandyswindow @butgilinsky @barzysthighs @babytkachuks @dmonchld @anxietyandtacos @sortagaysortahigh

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mckinlily · 4 years ago

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.match

Alteans marks are the source and subject of many legends. Cellica, they are called. Babies are born with skin entirely unadorned; the cheek marks are the first to appear about the same time the babies begin to sit up. They start as lighter patches of skin that quickly develop the stiffer, smoother texture of cellica. When the cellica develop to their full fledged color, the baby is taken to the local Priestess for their Naming Ceremony, where they are officially recognized as part of Altea. Throughout childhood and into the beginning of puberty, other marks appear. Along their arms, down their back, over their legs and hips. Although most cheek marks look the same from Altean to Altean, the others vary. The general placement and symmetry remains the same, but some are rounder, some more angular. Some come in continuous lines while others are broken up in patterns.

There’s a lot of superstition about cellica. Only those found on the cheeks are shown to the public--the rest are reserved for partners, family members, and very close friends. There is an old superstition that the shape of your cellica reflect the shape of your soul; to see one’s cellica is to see the essence their soul. Old wives tales and folk lore talk of evil alchemists using the shapes of one’s cellica to cast spells on them. Those tales are considered works of fictions these days, but the general belief--that these are something personal, private, to be shared only under the conditions of greatest trust--remains. The most personal marks are considered to be those that reside on the inside of one’s wrist. These marks tend to be slimmer, more delicate and intricate, and even the most brazen Altean who many be willing to walk with both their arms bare for the viewing will cover their wrists with bands or bangles. Hands are no longer so very scandalous as they once were, but most Alteans will still wear gloves. Even Allura’s fingerless gloves were considered risqué by certain members of the court when she first donned them, but she considered them quite old fashioned.

But other superstitions are more fun. There is a whole market of books and holo-vids and lectures claiming to “interpret” cellica ranging from personality to romance and destiny. The scientific community agrees that cellica are merely the result of random genetic variation and seem to serve a purpose in channelling and keeping one’s quintessence at a healthy level. While this is generally known by the public, is has done nothing to stop the public interest in cellica readings, rather like the Altean equivalent of horoscopes. Sure, everyone knows it’s basically nonsense, but it’s fun to imagine, is it not?

And the most persistent and enticing superstition is that the shape of your cellica will match those of your soulmate. Skeptics will point out that the definition of a match is left so vague and the variation between marks so common, that it is possible to claim any two people’s cellica “match.” Which, indeed, is exactly what happens. Some poor souls spend their whole lives chasing the perfect match or believing they match anyone they come in contact with. But most often, partners choose each other first and then find the similarities that “prove” their cellica compatibility later, thus perpetuating the legend. There are a multiple schools of thought theorizing which marking styles are compatible, which complement each other, which ones should never go together. And thus it is entirely possible for any combination of partners to confidently claim they were “fated.”

Like most children, Allura grew up imagining of the day she would share her cellica marks with someone special. She had little interest in courting and romance now, caught up as she was in studying and training and all the other duties that came with being a princess, but later (whenever later happened to be) she dreamed of baring her arms to someone she loved while they did the same and tracing out the similarities drawn in their skin.

But then there was the Galra and the war--even if she had wanted to court, she didn’t have the time--and then waking up ten thousand years later to a people who were gone and a war that was still waging. Any thoughts of soulmates and romance were completely wiped from her mind, replaced by righteous fury, vengeance, and the need to survive.

Allura keeps busy: planning battles, training the paladins, and most of all, trying to develop her new skills with quintessence. Alchemy had always been something other people did. Allura was more interested in fighting or flying or even law and diplomacy. But now her magic is essential to their survival and all she has to go off of are vague memories and Haggar. She is determined and desperate, racing to learn as much as she can because what she doesn’t know could be what gets someone killed.

(...one of the paladins killed. Allura had never thought of finding family outside the one her blood gave her, never thought she’d need to, but they wormed their way in and they can’t--she can not lose them now.)

Allura may not know much about alchemy and magic, but it doesn’t take long for her to realize one of her cellica have changed. Where once was a delicate half-moon of shimmery pink inside her wrist is now a disfigured blob, duller and smeared like spilled oil. Horror strikes sharp pain in her sternum that works its way into something heavier and colder as she remembers Haggar’s red and jagged marks. In a sick way, it makes sense. Cellica have always been connected to quintessence, and she has been using more and in ways she had never imagined. Perhaps if she had someone older, someone knowledgeable and experienced to guide her, she could learn the tricks or skills or whatever it is to avoid it. But she doesn’t. She’s completely alone, the only other alchemist being Haggar, and she has to learn because otherwise innocent people will die.

Allura will never run away from the people who need her. Not again.

So she fights, and she learns. She battles Haggar to a standstill and tries so, so hard not to look at her arms. But sometimes she can’t avoid it, and she can hardly bare what she finds. The delicate, intricate cellica on the insides of her wrists are shattered now. Some splatter like spilled numvil, others have gone dull and sickly grey. New marks, disfigured and without symmetry smear over her arms and into her palms. They look like dead things, pressed into her skin and now a part of her. Some marks start out pink but turn grey-white and misshapen, and that’s somehow worse.

Allura tells no one. She knows that cellica are simply a quirk of genetics, that they have no bearing on the worth or character of a person, and that there had been those when Altea was still alive with disfigured or missing cellica who lived perfectly happy, valuable lives. It doesn’t change how she feels. Tainted, defiled, broken. She can’t even bring it up to Coran, the shame too much for her to bear. It was well known that when an Altean loved someone, truly loved them, and in moments of greatest intimacy, their cellica could light up like a personal galaxy. Allura has known since she first woke up that she will likely never have someone to glow for her, but she must now face the fact that she will never be able to glow for anyone else. Not without looking more patchy than starry and highlighting the broken and dead places where her cellica should be. The idea of it repulses her. She’s incapable of love like she wants--like she should--and she feels so broken, tainted and alone.

But she can’t stop. Whatever she does, she won’t stop until the Galra are defeated and the universe is free again. If the personal cost is her marks and her soul, so be it. It is no one’s burden but hers. She wears her sleeves long and tight, says nothing, and carries on because that was what she was built to do.

Or, at least, that was what she meant to do. But the paladins are nothing if not unpredictable and perhaps no one more so than Shiro. He’s patient and thoughtful. Strong enough to survive the arena, the Galra, and everything they throw at him. And stronger still to remain kind through it all. He’s her strongest ally (tied with Coran), and over time becomes her closest confidant. They discuss the war and the strategies they need to survive, but their conversations frequently turn to something more. Shiro is curious about Altean history and culture and willing to listen no matter how long she babbles on. And although he doesn’t ask and she certainly doesn’t mean to tell, she ends up retelling old folk tales which leads to myths and cellica.

“There’s this old superstition that your cellica will match those of your soul mate,” she says.

“Is it rude to ask someone what their cellica look like?”

“Yes,” says Allura. She remembers her own cellica, damaged and meaningless now. She sighs.“Though perhaps not in my case.”

“Because you’re the princess?” says Shiro, looking adorably earnest and confused.

Allura almost laughs at him, but she can’t. Instead, she wraps a hand around the wrist where the damage is greatest. “No,” she says. “Because they won't match anyone anymore. Even if I did find more Alteans. They’re--they’re ruined.”

“Oh,” says Shiro. He doesn’t quite reach out for her, but his face emotes empathy.

And Allura doesn’t know why she does it, but she removes her gloves and pushes her sleeves up. The sleeves are too tight to get past her elbow, but it’s enough. Her ugly, shattered and disfigured cellica are on display. She holds them out to Shiro saying, “They’re supposed to be pink. And symmetric--” symmetry had always been important, no matter who you asked “--and not like this.”

Shiro takes her hands, eyebrows pulling together as he scans over her arms and then back to her face. “Is this from the war?”

“Fighting Haggar,” Allura confirms. “The damage has stopped spreading mostly, but...” But it was there, irreversible, the price paid.

Shiro’s expression is sad but too deep to be pity. And he doesn’t tell her she shouldn’t have done it: he as well as anyone knows the costs of war. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly instead.

“It’s...” Allura means to say “it’s fine,” but Shiro is gentle and here, and it all comes tumbling out. The stories and the fear, the superstitions, the glowing and how she will never be able to show someone her love without also reminding them of how she was broken, and the way she feels tarnished, less of a person.

Shiro listens through all of this, his eyes moving between her face and her arms and back again. He’d asked if it was all right for him to touch her marks, and Allura hadn’t said no, but she hadn’t quite said yes either, so he remained, only holding her hands and gently squeezing her fingers.

Eventually, Allura removes one of her hands to wipe at her eyes. She feels exhausted and heavy, and while sharing has lifted some of the burden, it’s also opened wounds she had been trying so hard to ignore.

Shiro hasn’t spoken in a while. Finally, he gets up, and Allura has the sudden, irrational fear that he’s leaving.

“Close your eyes,” he says. “Or just...” he hitches his shoulders uncomfortably, “don’t look.”

He turns his back on her, but then Allura realizes he’s messing with the hem of his shirt and she immediately looks away, cheeks hot. The idea of Shiro taking off his shirt, even if she isn’t looking, even if humans have very different standards of privacy is horribly embarrassing. She can hardly bare to hear the rustle of his clothes.

Shiro huffs a soft laugh. “Okay, you can look now.”

He’s sitting in front of her again. His shirt is off, but he still has on the vest he normally wears on top of it, thank the Ancients. Allura is in no way ready to see all the skin of his chest right now.

Allura is so distracted by her embarrassment, it takes her a minute to notice that Shiro is holding out his hands to her the same way she had to him earlier.

“I know it’s not the same, but...” He trails off, his lip caught between his teeth like he’s nervous.

It occurs to Allura that she’s never seen Shiro’s bare arms. She never questioned it before. He was the oldest of the paladins, and though Allura now knows that humans don’t have marks or any reason to cover their arms as they get older, it simply made sense to her that Shiro’s would be covered. But they’re bare now, and Allura is looking. Most noticeable, of course, is the Galra arm, the silver metal that she had seen before, though now she could also seen the red, scarred, and puffy skin where the metal meets flesh. The sight pains her.

But the other arm is possibly worse. There are scars running from a shiny welt behind his thumb to the gnarled knot over his shoulder. They come in all shapes and sizes, some patterned like claw marks, others smears as if entire chunks got melted or burned away. Still others arc and fracture like electricity. There’s a whole world of pain and endurance and torture in just one arm, and Allura has to be mindful of her strength so that she doesn’t crush his hands in her fury.

“Just...” says Shiro when she doesn’t respond. He shrugs uncomfortably, looking both nervous and tentatively hopeful. “I’m not symmetric either. We match.”

We match. Allura’s eyes meet his. His smile is nervous--no, embarrassed. His shoulders hunch in even as he holds his arms out to her, and Allura realizes he keeps his scars covered for the same reason she hides hers. Because they feel shameful, tainted, and reminders of pain and trauma.

And yet Allura doesn’t see Shiro as broken. She can’t. He is the strongest person she has ever known, and she takes a certain, vicious pride in knowing he was strong enough survive this--that he came back to them and leads and fights with them now. The scars are proof that the Galra tried to destroy him. But they didn’t. Shiro is still here, noble and determined as ever, and lending his strength to keep them going every day.

Allura looks down at where their hands rest between them, both covered in random, ugly and disfigured marks. Shiro is right: they do match. Not because of any lore, but because they have both fought--and lost and suffered and picked themselves up and kept fighting because they refuse to be defeated. These are marks they wear so that others won’t have to. Marks of sacrifice, of love and determination.

Both of them would die to save the universe. But they haven’t. They have lived.

Allura gently squeezes Shiro’s fingers. She doesn’t have words, but she doesn’t have to because Shiro understands. For the first time since her first cellica changed, she doesn’t feel so very alone.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Shiro takes his arms back, tucking them against his chest. His cheeks are red, and he ducks his head. “I know it isn’t pretty.”

Allura places her hand on his shoulder. Seeing the same emotions in Shiro and reflected back at her is strange but also freeing. “Shiro,” she says. “Nothing about you is ugly or shameful. I promise you.”

Shiro’s eyes look over-bright for a moment, but he still smiles. “The same is true of you, Allura. A million times over. We are so incredibly lucky to have you.”

It’s Allura’s turn to blush, and a few spots among her ruined cellica lighten, a disjointed attempt to glow. But this time, next to Shiro who has scars and loss of his own, she doesn’t feel so very broken.

Allura still wears her sleeves long. She will probably never show her cellica to anyone, even though Coran and the paladins are as good as family. The loss is still deep. But when she looks across the bridge, Shiro is there, with his own dark sleeves and hidden pain, and when he catches her looking, his eyes gleam with determination.

They may not both be Altean, but they have clearly been marked by the universe in their unique ways. They match, and perhaps that’s all cellica and soulmates are about in the end: a promise neither one of them is alone.

#voltron #shiro #allura #headcanon?#ficlet?#this sort of got away from me #shallura implied #platonic or romantic whatever you like #i don't care #mckinlily writes: vld fic

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effieduan · 4 years ago

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Peskipiksi Pesternomi || Morgan & Effie (& Friends!)

TIMING: Present

LOCATION: Vulpine Voltage Repairs

PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems & @effieduan & pixies

SUMMARY: Morgan needs to get her phone fixed and stumbles upon an unsettling scene in Effie’s shop.

CONTENT: karen :///

“I’m just saying there’s grease on my screen.” The blonde said slowly, as if Effie couldn’t understand her. Truthfully, Effie didn’t understand her, but only because this woman was an idiot.

Effie let out a sigh, finally putting down the teeny tools she was using to replace some teenagers' cracked phone screen. She thought she was done with this particular customer -- she had even let herself hope she was done with this particularly customer. This woman’s laptop had a bad run in with a llama (apparently) and wanted it back in perfect condition. Effie obliged after she was screamed at for telling her that it would be cheaper to buy a new computer. Do I look poor? Perfect condition meant a deep cleaning of all the grime that was caked onto the poor machine.

“Ma’am,”Effie said flatly. “Your screen is just clean.”

“No! It feels slippery! Look!”

Effie watched, face blank as Karen dragged her finger across the smooth surface of the laptop screen, leaving behind a fingerprinted smudge.

“Yes,” Effie said. “Because it’s clean.” The door opened, her telltale jingling bells sounding through the small store front. Effie looked over Karen’s shoulder. “I’ll be right with you.”

“You most certainly will not!” The woman was outraged now, and Effie sucked in a deep breath, wishing that the other customer hadn’t walked in so she could just go lock herself in her workshop in the back. “You will take my laptop back and clean all this grease off it this instant! I didn’t pay all that money for you to be lazy - I wanted this in mint condition so i wouldn’t have to buy a new computer, and you’ve made it all...All… shiny! It’s slippery and I’ll drop it again and just have to come back - is this how you scam people? How dare you!”

Effie stared at the woman for a long moment, before stooping behind the counter and picking up a sign she only used on particularly irritating customers.

THE TECHNICIAN HAS THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYONE. THIS MEANS YOU! GOOD-BYE!!!

After all the terrible things over the last two weeks, especially the thing with Erin and Betty, Morgan tried to kill her newly freed up time with Sundew and the pixies. Sometimes this led to impromptu spelling quizzes about the names of flowers. Sometimes this led to Sundew and Willowbud dropping her phone in the pool after trying to use it as a palanquin. Today was Actions Speak Louder Than Words, so the two tiny culprits joined her on the trip to the repair shop for ‘emotional support’ and to determine what they could do to make things better once Morgan found out just how bad the situation was. The rice trick hadn’t helped, so her hopes weren’t all that high.

Inside the shop, however, someone was having a much worse day.

“Her face looks like a balloon,” Willowbud giggled, hiding on Morgan’s shoulder.

“We should make it pop!” Sundew said, peeking out next to her. “And then make her get stuck on the ceiling so she can’t come down. Then she really really will be a balloon.”

“That’s cruel,” Morgan chastised softly, looking at the complaining woman. “Also, very conspicuous. And it’s...” She winced. “...human, in a bad way, to hurt someone just because you feel like it.”

“Does not,” Sundew hissed.

But the woman was being pretty human-bad too, and Morgan found herself wishing she’d put off teaching Sundew manners for another week. She had worked too many shitty jobs to have compassion for people who took off the edge off their existential powerlessness by yelling at service workers. Maybe this woman would look better stuck to the ceiling.

When the girl at the counter came to her, Morgan made a point of smiling extra bright as she brought out the phone. “I just have a uh...phone problem. Swimming pool accident. You can let me know if it’s not worth bringing her back to life.” She side eyed the woman, who was rapidly taking personal offense to everything Morgan said by the look on her face. “I can also wait a while, if you need to take care of other stuff.”

The sunny smile of the other customer was oddly disconcerting, though Effie knew it was just because the other was being such a bitch. “Your phone?” Effie managed to ask. She even managed to register her saying swimming pool accident - which happened to be her least favorite repairs, but at that moment she’d take anything. At least this woman looked like she would even get a thank you. “I’ll take a --”

Effie didn’t get to finish her sentence when her bitch of a customer interjected. “You most certainly will wait!” she snarled at Morgan. If Effie believed in God, she would pray for the strength not to strangle this woman. Thankfully, she did believe in the law, and murder was currently illegal, despite picturing this woman’s head exploding. “And you don’t want to get your shitty phone repaired here anyway, she’ll just make it greasy -- honestly, I want my money back, and I want my computer back to the way it was!”

“Smashed and hardly usable because of a llama accident?” Effie asked. “I’ve already informed you that I’ll no longer be servicing you. You can leave now. Uh --” Effie glanced over at Morgan. “Ma’am, if you’d like you can go towards the counter. This will only take a --”

“I demand you --”

“And I demand you shut up!” Effie had never been great at customer service and was born with the shortest fuse of all her sisters. “I’m running a business here and if you’re going to act like a child without a brain you can stick your head and your laptop into a pot of boiling water. Leave so I can look at this woman’s phone.”

Sundew and Willowbud thought this was hilarious. Morgan had to pretend to scratch her shoulder in order to keep them quiet. “If we’re the h-word for only supposing to make her a balloon, how many is she? Do you think she ate them?” Sundew said.

“At least four,” Morgan muttered.

This made them laugh harder. Morgan coughed to cover up the noise. “Excuse me, sorry,” she said, clearing her throat for good measure. “See, that’s what you do when you interrupt someone trying to peacefully go about their day. And then, if you’re trying to get someone to do you a favor and be nice to you, you get a little more specific and acknowledge they’re actually a person and not a text bot in a bodysuit.” Her voice was gentle, but her smile cut sharp. “Like: you look really distressed, ma’am. I can only imagine what horrible things must be happening for you right now, or how badly you’ve been hurt, that you feel like you need to be like this. But you really don’t. And this young woman has made herself really clear just now. So maybe if this is that urgent, you should try calling tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna wo-oork,” Willowbud sing-songed.

Effie coughed, at least having the sense to hide her building laughter at her customers words. Oh, Morgan was so her new favorite customer, she would be getting a discount on her phone if she could fix the water damage. And if she couldn’t, maybe she’d toss in a free pair of headphones along with the cellphone recommendation pamphlet she’d give her. What confused her, though, was the soft sing-songing voice coming from the woman’s… hair?

Facetime, maybe? Or - wait, her phone was why she was here. Unless she had two? Effie was far more interested in the voice than she was her bitchy customer.

“I don’t think you have any involvement in this!” Karen snapped at Morgan, and Effie raised her eyes to the ceiling. Was this punishment for being an atheist? She made a mental note to tell that one to Eva the next time they spoke, she’d laugh.

“Actually --” Effie said, cutting off her tirade, “You are. She’s here to get a service done and you -- a person that will no longer be served -- are getting in the way of that. I guarantee she could have been out of here faster than this whole ordeal.�� Effie paused, looking back at Morgan apologetically. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you, of course.”

Karen stamped her foot. “I just want what I’ve paid for!! This is highway robbery! I’ll sue you!”

Sundew and Willowbud were doing that thing where they whispered and giggled and cackled at each other at the same time, and their already shrill voices were literally in Morgan’s ear and it was all she could do not to swat them away or laugh from how their wings tickled her neck. As they started scuttling down her sweater, she finally barked with laughter. “Sorry, sorry, uh. You’re very scary, ma’am. Truly.” Sundew’s feet were tickling her side and Morgan covered her mouth, snorting. “And uh, you really don’t have to worry about me,” she said to the girl at the counter. “I worked retail in Texas.”

As she spoke, the two pixies were writing on one of her post its and shoved their creation into Morgan’s hand. Morgan took one look at what they’d written (for writing in the dark, the penmanship was kind of impressive) and nearly choked on her voice. Maybe being on her own was making her lose her grip on her principles. Maybe she should stop spending so much time with pixies. Maybe a lot of things. But fuck it.

“Uh, but you know what, since all three of us seem to not want you here, why don’t you give me your name and contact info right here. I have some lawyer friends, and I’ll put you in touch. Sound fair?” She flipped the post-it as she handed it to the woman, obscuring the writing on the front.

Retail in Texas? Effie raised an eyebrow. “I… don’t think I want to know what that means,” she said. Truthfully she couldn’t think of a place she wanted to go to less than Texas. Except maybe Arizona… Or, really, anywhere in the south. Effie watched as Morgan produced a sticky note from out of nowhere. Who carried sticky notes on them like that? Effie wondered if Morgan really intended on passing Karen’s information onto a lawyer -- though even if she did, she was certain that this blonde woman would be laughed right out of a lawyers office. Greasy computer her left butt cheek.

“Ma’am, I suggest you do as she says,” Effie said. “Before I decide to call someone to escort you off my property.”

The blonde woman looked at her in astonishment, “Excuse me?” she asked like she couldn’t believe the words that just left Effie’s mouth.

Effie just reached into her back pocket, pulling out her phone and waving it threateningly. Of course, Effie would do no such thing. She was particularly fond of the police, nor did she feel like having more people crowded in her store. Even two was starting to make her a little nervous, if only because one of them was overtly hostile.

The blonde huffed in annoyance. “Well fine, then.” And she snatched the sticky note out of Morgan’s hand, looking Effie up and down as she did so, eyes lingering on the pair of bright blue gloves. “And I hope you choose a better wardrobe when I see you in court!!”

As soon as the woman signed the note, Sundew and Willowbud flew out of Morgan’s bag, tiny hands drawn into finger-guns. “Stick 'em up!” Sundew cried. “This here is a robbery! And you owe us big time!”

“Yeah!” Willowbud piped. “Highway robbery, missy!”

Sundew cackled. “Pew, pew!” Two bullets the size of melons shot out from her tiny fingers and zoomed straight for the woman’s face. She screamed, shielding herself, but on supposed impact, the bullets made a farting noise and erupted into a spray of rainbow fireworks.

“Sundew!” Morgan squeaked. In retrospect, she should have seen this coming. They had written When u rob me I will give all my money $$. Of course they would want to do the hold up themselves, supernatural secrecy be damned. She looked over to the girl at the counter, smiling through her panic. Please don’t freak out, please don’t freak out, please don’t freak out.

The woman, meanwhile, was wriggling in place as her arms forced themselves into her own purse for her wallet. Out came the credit cards, debit cards, store cards, wadded up bills, loose change, even a checkbook. Morgan didn’t even know people still carried checkbooks. The more the woman fought, the more her face turned a little purple, and for a second Morgan worried that she might actually burst like a human gore balloon.

As Sundew and Willowbud fluttered to the counter to surf and dance on their spoils, Morgan’s look at the girl at the counter turned desperate. “Those...drone robots the kids are making sure….look realistic, huh? I can...uh...make them give those back, if you want. Because, you know, the drones. Probably have...microphone...things. To listen with.”

Effie stared in utter disbelief. The little things with wings were cackling and shooting finger guns while this woman was making it rain the contents of her purse on the ground. Suddenly, the singsongy voice coming out of this other woman’s hair was making sense. Effie looked at her panicked smile and looked back at Karen, who was… Well, now she wasn’t very happy.

“Drones,” Effie repeated, eyeing the dancing creatures doubtfully. Drones her ass. Still, the look on the bitch’s face was really something to look at, and Effie let out a low laugh, shaking her head. “Drones! Right. Drones!” Effie was not the best actor in the world, but she was trying her best. “Well, it seems like maybe we should give the lady back her checkbook and cards. And I’ll take this --” Effie slide a wadded up ten dollar bill towards the little creatures, “-- as a fee for disturbing the peace. For the … Children, of course.”

“Maybe we should make her give up the rest!” Sundew said. She flew up to the woman, flitting this way and that, closer to her eyes. “What do you think, human? Do you think anything? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? DO YOU?” Sundew flicked her on the forehead. “Should we keep playing robber? Or maybe we should play tie ‘em to the train tracks instead.”

The woman, still a little purple and now definitely terrified for her sanity, took out a roll of bills from her cleavage and threw it on the ground. Finally freed from the request, she stumbled back and left the shop, too horrified to scream.

Morgan deflated, bending down to pick up the most conspicuous items off the floor and push them over the counter. “You should definitely take the checkbook and plastic,” she mumbled. “They’ve learned to type, and I really don’t want to learn what their taste in online shopping is.” She put her head over her arms and stayed there, looking sidelong at the girl. Sundew and Willowbud were too pleased with themselves to care much. Like many fae, they assigned value by shininess and aesthetic more than anything else. For now, at least. “You’re taking all of this really well. Tiny ‘drones’ flying out of a woman’s purse the middle of your store, harassing your customer, playing--” she looked back at them and shook her head, despairing. “I don’t even want to know. But, I appreciate it, and if you can handle mailing that harpy of a woman her sensitive stuff back, I can compensate you extra for the...mess.”

The woman fled from the shop, forgetting all about her greasy laptop and all of her personal belongings now scattered about the store. Effie stared after her in somewhat impressed astonishment. She looked at the woman bending to pick up the checkbook and plastic, and nodded as she grabbed it and the computer, automatically going to the safe. “I can ship it out tonight,” she said simply with a shrug. “She left her address on file, and I think her license is somewhere in that mess too.”

“Uh --” Effie looked down at the two little creatures. “Well, uh…” Actually, it was probably a good idea to check in to see how she actually felt about the existence of … these things. Fae. Had to be. Her grandmother’s warnings echoed in her head along with the insistence that she eat more dinner. “I’ve been around,” was all she said. “And I don’t particularly… ask questions unless I need to know.” It was simpler that way, anyway, and it kept people at arm's length, which is what she liked.

She stooped under the counter and pulled out paperwork -- the ones to start a ticket. “Your phone’s been waterlogged, right? Just fill this stuff out for me and I’ll take a look to see if there’s anything I can do. And you two…” she looked down at the two creatures. She looked back at Morgan. “Uh. I have candy??”

Morgan’s tired face brightened with relief. Slowly, she smiled. “Wow. I think that might actually be a first. I’m guessing that’s how you and this place are still standing.” She grabbed the paperwork and filled it out, writing a little ‘no promises’ in the corner, punctuated with a smiley face as a warning.

At the mention of candy, Morgan checked back in on the two pixies, who paused in their frolicking to proclaim, “We accept your tribute!” before going back to making the dollar bills roll like a mini ocean. “You really do know what you’re doing. I had to ask an expert to figure that one out,” she marvelled, sliding the pad over. “I know these aren’t the most auspicious circumstances, but my name is Morgan Beck and you just became my new favorite person in town.”

#wickedswriting #para #para morgan #morgan

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eirabach · 4 years ago

Text

Taking Chances [1/1]

For @janetm74 and @badthingshappenbingo! Scott + Alan and ‘More Expendable than You’

This is the danger.

This has always been the danger.

Scott’s up here, and Alan’s down there and really, John ought to know.

It isn’t like he wouldn’t do it too.

There’s a hole in the ground and a hole in Scott’s belly where he thinks, he thinks, he used to keep his stomach but it dropped right out oh, about ten minutes ago, and now it’s burning up in the lava flow right about where Pod B is creeping its way toward – well. Hell, by all accounts.

All accounts except John’s, anyway.

John has other words for it. Long, scientific ones. Like pyroclastic and rates of descent and –

And it’s possible Scott stopped listening somewhere between watching his youngest brother clamber up the side of a rumbling volcano and the thunder that followed, and now there’s ash billowing from one hole and bile from the other and he doesn’t really have time for this. At all.

“Say again, Thunderbird One?”

“You heard me, John.”

“I heard someone suggest something unutterably stupid. Are you sure you don’t want to try again? That ash cloud isn’t staying up there all day, Scott, and you do not want to be under it when it drops.”

“I can beat it.” There’s the John equivalent of a long, pregnant pause. “I can.”

“You can’t just demand – that isn’t how physics –”

“I don’t give a damn about physics, John!”

A voice pipes up from the smoking, burning fields below. “Uh, do I get a say in this?”

“No!”

“No.”

“Right.” Alan sighs, “I mean I am the one on the ground so –”

“Shut up, Alan.”

“Hold your position, Pod Explorer. Scott –”

But Scott’s done with listening, already out of his seat, helmet on, jet pack primed. He sets Thunderbird One to hover outside of the range of the ash cloud, and kicks at the emergency egress button.

“Save it,” he says, and jumps.

And it works – at first. He roars down toward the little yellow dot below, boosters at full power, and honestly John worries way too much about all the wrong things. Scott’s got this and then he’s gonna get Alan and then –

Ah. And then. The wind changes, ash blinding him as it sticks to his visor, settles heavy on his shoulders. Makes his jet pack whine and stutter and –

He hits the ground with a grunt, not quite hard enough to really hurt, but enough to wind him, the jetpack taking most of the impact anyway. Which is just as well, really, because as he sits up – gingerly, not that he’d admit it – he realises, oh.

“Uh, John –” The piece of land he’s landed on is maybe ten feet square, the edges crumbling into a bubbling, stinking lake of fire. “I may have a situation.”

Even through the sound of the ground cracking around him, the sputtering of the lava around his little island, the howl of the dying volcano, he hears the sigh – “Alright. You asked for it.”

—

On the other side of the volcano, Two is ferrying the unlucky denizens of the closest campground to safety and Virgil – Virgil sounds pissed.

“EVA. Under an ash cloud that’s gonna drop blocks of rock the size of Four on your head. Of course, why wouldn’t you?” Alan’s pretty sure he can hear a migraine forming just from the tone of Virgil’s voice. “How long?”

“Under current atmospheric conditions? Less than three minutes.”

“2.5074,” Eos pipes up cheerfully. “And counting.”

“I can’t – I have fifty people to get to safety here Scott!”

“I know, I don’t expect –”

“No? Now we’ve gotta worry about you as well!”

“No one needs to worry about me!”

“Oh well that’s okay then, hope you’ve got your best boots on.” And then there’s Gordon, sticking his oar in. “Since you’re gonna be tap dancing your way to a fiery doom.“

"Right this moment I’d pay to see that.”

“I can hear you you know.”

“Oh it’s just selective hearing loss then?”

Alan drops his head to the dash with a metallic thud.

“Uh, you ok?” His rescuee looks pretty uncomfortable squeezed into the back of the pod. Listening to International Rescue bickering is probably not helping.

“I’m really sorry about this.“

"Hey, no. I got a brother. I get it.”

Alan hits his baldric with a grimace. “Thunderbird One hold your position.”

“Ala –”

“Do as you’re told for once Scott.”

He has no idea if the answering silence is due to shock or muting, and he doesn’t honestly much care.

His fingers tighten around the Pod’s controls. He could – he ought to – ask John what to do next, but John’s kinda got a lot going on right now with the whole ‘evacuate an entire county while simultaneously dressing Scott down to the size of a newt’ thing. But the clock is ticking and the hiker in the back is sweating and –

And this is his goddamn job, isn’t it?

Pod B makes its delicate way over the cracked crust of the lava flow, and Alan keeps his eyes fixed on the route ahead – on Scott – instead of the billowing threat 200 yards away.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He grits his teeth, counts down from ten. “Rescuing an idiot.” Then, because he feels like it. “Duh.”

Already Alan can see the rock beneath Scott shifting with the currents, and they’re slow enough now but that cloud’s coming down and Scott’s gonna be –

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Alan extends the Pod’s legs and sends up a swift, silent prayer that Brains’ heat proofing stands the test. “I’ll be one minute and then we can –”

“Alan, no. Back off.”

Pod B pauses, one spindly toe dipped into the lava field between Alan and Scott. “Say what now? Look Scott, I dunno where you were during third grade history but lemme tell you what happened to the people in Pompeii cause it was –”

“Get out of here, and that’s an order.”

“You gotta be –” Alan’s denial is cut short, a block of volcanic matter as tall as the Pod and twice as wide slamming into the unstable ground to his right. The hiker whimpers. “Oh man! Okay. okay!” He sets the Pod skipping through the pools, smoke and steam obscuring much of what’s in front of him until Scott’s just a vague blueish blur. “Get ready to jump on cause uh, I ain’t gonna have time to roll out the red carpet or anything –”

“I said, leave.”

“Nuh huh, not happening, hang on just two more seconds –”

“Alan!”

He skids to a halt at the edge of Scott’s little island and shoves the door open.

“Come on, come on, come on!”

Scott – Scott backs off. Alan gapes at him.

“What are you –”

“I said go!”

“And leave you to roast? What, like you’re expendable now?”

“Well – well maybe I’m just more expendable than you.”

It hits him harder than any pyroclastic flow ever could. His heart skips a beat, six, starts up only to try and climb out his throat and god, he might actually be sick. He might just straight up vomit his entire heart out onto the floor ‘cause that only sounds over dramatic but what Scott’s threatening – what Scott’s doing –

Alan narrows his eyes. Wills his heart to stop trying to beat its way through his chestplate.

“I have never heard anything so stupid in all my life. Get in. Or I’m getting out.”

They stare at each other. Somewhere in the back of his mind Alan faintly recognises the sound of his hiker having a panic attack. He thinks it’s the hiker. Maybe it’s him. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Scott’s still just standing there and their two minutes is up and –

Gordon’s voice is grim, serious, and man there is gonna be one awkward family dinner tonight.

“Alan, grab him. By the balls if necessary.”

Alan does as he’s told. Scott’s almost twice his size and weighed down by a jetpack but he hardly even notices, dragging him up through the hatch and launching him in the direction of the definitely semi hysterical hiker. Two’s grappling hooks hit them at the same moment Scott lands half in the poor guy’s lap, and Alan points a shaking finger at him as he tries to stagger to his feet against the sway of the Pod.

“Stay there. Say nothing.”

They rise towards Two’s belly in a perfect, awkward silence that’s broken only by the clang of the pod doors opening and the shuddering breaths of the unfortunate hiker.

Alan docks the Pod with far more force than is really necessary. Scott grapples to keep his footing again, and a little dark part of Alan thinks serves you right. The hiker clears his throat.

“Uh – thank you. I um – I can get out now, right?”

Alan grunts, and pulls the lever for the exit. The hiker skitters down the ladder and disappears into the vastness of Two’s belly. He’ll probably get lost there, too. Alan will have to remind Virgil to drop him off. Somewhere. Whatever. His hands are shaking and his face feels hot and Scott’s looking at him all oh no what’s the matter like he doesn’t know. Like he’s forgotten.

“Alan, I really – I don’t understand what you’re so upset about?”

“You think it’s a compliment? So – so what? I’m the youngest, I’m the baby so fuck the rest of you right?”

“Alan!”

“Oh my – I’ve got ears, you know! Ears and – and feelings and I don’t think I ought to be all touched that you apparently think the best thing for me is to leave me on my own.”

“That isn’t what I meant –”

“No.” He spins round, face hot and fists tight. “No, but it’s what you did. What you do. And you – one day you might actually – and I have to live with that? No.” He shakes his head, wills the furious burn to stay behind his eyelids. He won’t cry. He won’t. “Never. Don’t you dare.”

Scott blinks at him.

“Sorry,” he says, and it’s all cool and calm and ugh. “But if it comes down to you or me –”

“What about me or Virgil? Or John, or Gordon? Huh?” Alan takes two steps forward and jabs his finger into Scott’s chest. Scott stares down at it, nonplussed. “What, do you rank us?”

“No! No of course not!”

“So what is it then, huh? Cause I dunno if you’ve noticed but by the rules of the universe you can only die for one of us. Once.” And dammit, dammit his breath is coming in stutters and his eyes are leaking and – “I lost dad, I don’t remember mom, I don’t – I can’t –”

And Scott wraps his arms around him and squeezes, tight.

“I’m sorry I frightened you, kid.”

Alan groans into Scott’s dusty flight suit. “I wasn’t scared. And I’m not a kid.”

“Uh huh.”

The steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest helps him to regulate his own breathing, the thud of Scott’s heartbeat a steadying force as he risks looking up.

He doesn’t have to look up quite as far as he used to. Not quite.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” he says. “You won’t be able to try it again.”

Scott’s eyebrows tick up.

“No? You gonna stay home next time?”

“Not likely,” he sniffs. “John’s gonna kill you, you know.”

“With you around to rescue me?” And Scott’s smiling, hand in Alan’s hair, and he lets himself smile back because – because this is what matters, isn’t it. This is what isn’t, won’t, can’t ever be expendable. “I’ll take my chances.”

#thunderbirds are go #Thunderbirds #scott tracy #alan tracy #bad things happen bingo #clare vs writers block

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sophi-s · 4 years ago

Text

Cost of Kindness

Chapter I: Chance encounter

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 6,471

Characters: Original female character (OC), Raphael

Warnings: Graphic description of corpses, blood and injuries, disturbing imagery, swearing

Summary:

Life of a human after the apocalypse is difficult. The world seems to always be against them. Still, they keep on living. But one day something unexpected happens to one of the inhabitants of Haven. A woman named Nicola discovered something... or rather someone... who seemed to be in equally as sorry state as her entire race put together. Nothing was the same ever since. It's curious how one seemingly random event can change everything...

--------------------------------------------------

Nicola got lost again. All the promises she made to both Ulthane and Jones have gone into trash when with a pang of worry she's suddenly realised she does not know where Haven is. It was supposed to be a short supply run, a little trip to some ruined store in search of food and maybe some medicine if luck wished to be on her side and it turned into a whole day long journey. She hadn't been careful enough and ended up getting spotted. She was too fast for that Trauma to get to her before she disappeared into a narrow alley but she successfully lost her orientation.

Navigating through the city used to be so easy before all this apocalypse nonsense. Nicola knew her way around better than anyone honestly. Now everything looked different. What once was her home now seemed sinister and the animosity could be felt in every, even the tiniest speck of dust. All streets, previously so familiar to her, looked exactly the same, often cut in half by obsidian spikes and pits of boiling magma which made moving around even more troubling. In short words, the entire place was a wreckage. With each moment of aimless wandering, her panic was growing. Inwardly cursing, thinking about all the reprimanding she would get after she somehow finds her way back and the fact that she's most likely going to get grounded forever, she tried to move through the street as quietly as possible, without causing any unnecessary noises. Becoming an evening snack for a pack of Goreclaws or a Trauma wasn't a very attractive fate. The latter could still be around here somewhere and the blood spilling from a cut on her forehead she got when she accidentally ran into a wooden beam protruding from a wall wasn't going to make it harder for it to eventually find her again.. It was very unlikely that the Trauma could've gotten stuck in that alley after it tried to get to her. They are dumb. But not that dumb. Though the mental image alone was quite hilarious now that she thinks about it.. To some extent imagining a Trauma helplessly shuffling to try and unstuck itself from a narrow pathway made her feel a tad better, even crack a little smile. Still, she had to think of something. She'd already lived through too much to just die at this point.

Evening? Clutching a shotgun in her shaking hands, Nicola looks out at the amber sky and her heart hastens when she realises that it really is getting late. The last rays of sun were slowly sinking behind the horizon, slowly turning the sky from warm orange to indigo as the tall buildings bathed the city in deep shadows stretching over the ground like dark omens. Just perfect. There was no other choice for her than to hide somewhere and wait until dawn and resume her search tomorrow, hoping someone will start looking for her. Going anywhere after the dusk was an equivalent of a suicide. Demons and the Wicked tend to be especially active after the nightfall.. Nicola would rather not bump into one of the Suffering either, those things are especially nasty. Hulking, four-armed abominations melded with bodies of the dead, bringing back all those poor souls who weren't lucky enough to get away… she shudders at the thought and hastens her pace.

Most of the houses were already destroyed and usually infested with all kinds of detestable creatures she'd rather avoid - from Wicked, through all kinds of demons and Duskwings, to enormous spiders ready to cocoon any unfortunate passerby for a snack - unfit to be a shelter. But honestly, what wasn't crawling with Hellspawn these days? They were everywhere, as far as the sight can reach. Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Nicola decided to hide underneath the city, hoping she won't find any monsters there.

That was not one of her most brilliant ideas but in truth whatever she chose, it would be just as bad and she hardly cared at this point. Her legs felt as though they went a couple of inches up her arse from all day of walking and running and her empty stomach growled hungrily as she didn't get a chance to stop and eat a sandwich hidden in her backpack. It didn't take long to find a lid of a well leading to the sewers below. Just in case, Nicola dug some new shells out from her backpack and shoved them into her pocket to have easy access to them before pulling the lid out and uncovering a stinking hole in the pavement. The strong "aroma" that drifted out hit her like a brick to the face.

"Ugh.."

Nicola groaned, pinching her nose. Even after the literal armageddon, she still found sewers to be one of the grossest things ever. Like, come on, that's where all the piss and shit goes and a person who enters the sewers for even a minute comes out coated in this stench. Oh well.. It can't be worse than getting torn to shreds by a Goreclaw, can it? Up here was definitely worse than below. Everything she'd met so far - except for Ulthane, Yarin and Elanya - was trying to kill her lately. At least there was no sign of the Big Bad anywhere… Nicola had seen the so-called Destroyer only once and it was enough to last her a lifetime, considering how close she'd been back then. The fact that he didn't spot her, she probably owed the fact that she was somewhere to his right and from what she'd seen his right eye wasn't exactly in good condition. Though, she couldn't deny that the dragon did look sick as Hell - she cringed inwardly at the bad joke her mind produced - and if she wasn't scared shittless and in danger of getting eaten or burned alive, she probably would've taken out her notebook and tried to sketch him. Not often does one see a dragon up this close and Nicola had a habit of drawing anything even remotely interesting she sees. And the more challenging the thing is, the better. In her sketchbook, she already had Ulthane and his younger companions, Vulgrim, some other demons and a Fallen. The last thing she did see pretty damn close. Too close for her liking.

Pulling her stained, dark-blue neckerchief up to her nose as a mostly useless mask against the foul smell, she crouches down and with a loose piece of a brick scratches out a message on the ground, hoping either Jones or some other survivor will find it.

I'M IN THE SEWER

NIKA <3

Just to make it clear, she tears a piece of her already ragged sleeve off and places it under the aforementioned brick next to the message. It's not much but it has to be enough… Without further ado, Nicola slid inside the dark hole and closed the lid above her head. Utter blackness immediately closed around her like a thick coverlet. A quiet sound of dripping, echoing through the tunnel was all that she could hear.

Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.

Should've thought about taking out a flashlight before cutting off the only source of light.

Grumbling under her breath, Nicola jumped down from a small ladder. But instead of landing on the hard and straight ground, her feet connected with something soft and uneven. With a small yelp, she lost her balance and fell flat onto the actual floor with a wet "Thwack!". Please just be regular water… She begged the puddle underneath her as she scrambled to her feet and pulled the backpack from her shoulders. For a few minutes, she blindly searched through her things, probing for the light source. When her fingers found the flashlight and she turned it on however, she nearly screamed.

That thing she landed on wasn't a mound of garbage like she previously assumed but a body. Body of a dead Phantom General. Its skin was in an unhealthy pallid shade, misty eyes were bulging out of their sockets. And the squishy bit she landed on was its face. Nicola nervously laughs to herself

"Maybe the stench killed him?"

The thought of a large demon dying in a sewer just because it smells bad was kind of amusing and a little comforting. But then she realised that if that was the case, then there's nothing to laugh at. What if there are some poisonous gases in here? Hydrogen sulfide, for example? If it killed a demon, undoubtedly much more hearty, then why shouldn't it do so with a human?

"Shit.. I hope not…"

Nicola curses and immediately presses the neckerchief closer to her face like it would do her any good. Well, no point in wondering about it now. If she were to get poisoned then she probably already was so… Father would be so disappointed if he found out she died in a sewer by inhaling toxic gas. I should've paid more attention to chemistry lessons… Anyway.. Standing here will not make it any better. She might as well find herself a place to rest for a while or forever. Unless healing shards work on that stuff, she had nothing on her to help should she get poisoned. Flinging her backpack over her shoulder, Nicola turns away from the corpse and peers into the dark pathway which opened before her like a gullet of a gargantuan monster waiting to swallow her whole. Having absolutely no idea that this choice would change her miserable life forever, she takes a breath and bravely moves onward.

The Phantom General wasn't the only one. As Nicola walked deeper into the dark, stinking corridor, she noticed more bodies. Goreclaws, Wicked, Phantom Guards, even a couple of Duskwings and - this was the most unsettling discovery - the serpentine Shadowcaster… all of them pale and wizened. An unnerving feeling grew in her stomach. Nicola had seen much death as of late but this… this was horrifying. It was like walking through a tomb or a mass grave. Up close she could see something she hadn't noticed before. Something that made her mouth turn sandpaper. All of the bodies seemed… dried for the lack of a better word. As though something had drained them of their blood, leaving only shriveled husks behind. But there were no wounds, no markings. Nicola gulps at the thought that whatever killed them might still be down here with her.

Backing away, she takes a turn into another section and curls up in a corner by a metal grate blocking the way ahead. Nicola turns the flashlight off and hugs her knees to her chest, trying to control her fearful breathing. Climbing down into the sewers wasn't such a good idea after all. What if… what if there are things far worse down here than the demons she'd already seen? Her parents often scared her with stories of monsters lurking in the dark pipes and winding tunnels when she was a child but those were only supposed to keep her away from the sewers. The true reason was always the toxic miasma drifting through them. Or so she thought as she grew older. Now it seems that the former turned out to be true… And if it murdered a Shadowcaster just like that, then it was a creature to be reckoned with, no doubt.

Whatever it is that hides in here, Nicola didn't want to meet it. Whether it was a classic sewer monster, grotesque, with teeth and tentacles, or something else it didn't matter. Looking down at her left wrist, where her blessedly still working electrical watch with sun batteries was, she squinted at the numbers it showed.

7:48 P.M.

This was going to be a long night… If she survives this, she would get out and return to the Tree, and tell Ulthane she will never leave again. Essentially, she'd ground herself for him. If she could find her way back, that is.. And this might prove rather tricky. Maybe if she could find a Serpent Hole and bribe Vulgrim to take her to Haven, it would be much easier. But then again, she will have to give him something. Aside from her soul, she had nothing he would be interested in and that she could still make use of. Damn it, why is it so cold in here? Pulling the zip of her vest up to her chin, she curls up even more and hides her hands in her pockets to seek any warmth she could find. The stench wasn't even phasing her anymore. Nicola got used to it after the first few minutes. Besides, her fear was what she was mostly focused on. At least she didn't feel anything that would hint at being poisoned.. Whatever deadly stuff was down here before must've dispersed some time after the apocalypse after the disuse of the sewers. And thank God for that..

Meow…

Her head snapped up at the echo coming from the tunnel she backed out from. It was very weak and quiet but she definitely heard something that sounded vaguely like a cat. A very small and very scared cat.

Meow…

There it was again. This time accompanied by a barely visible flash of light coming from the tunnel further down. Cursing her innate curiosity, she pulled herself up to her feet and snuck towards the entrance to her little hidey-hole. The light appeared again before slowly fading. It looked a little like… like someone was coming here with a broken flashlight. Could it… could it be someone from the Tree? Maybe another survivor lost their way in the sewers? Picking up her shotgun, she decides to check it out, the thoughts of a monster not forgotten per se, but definitely pushed to the back of her mind. Wary of every step she makes, she follows the light and the sounds of a distressed animal. Sleep was never an option anyway..

As she walked onwards, the lights were getting brighter, the meowing louder and the pounding of her heart faster. There were more corpses in various states of decay and skeletons strewn about the further she headed but she decided to stay brave. Should anything attack her, she has the shotgun at the ready. Something in her head laughed at her hysterically. How can she be so naive to think that if there's a monster down here her pathetic shotgun can do it much harm? It didn't have a problem with killing all those things. Why would it have a problem with Nicola and her weak human weapon? Besides, even if she did manage to defend herself, one shot from that thing would bring half of the city down on her head. And that was something she definitely wanted to avoid.

Meow!

Another flash. Her surroundings were slowly starting to change. The bodies were left behind and she started to notice wooden crates lying here and there as though someone meant to hide the passage further down. Was this a hide out if some sort? Flash again.

Meow!

And then…

"Hush, little one… I won't let them hurt you again…"

Nicola's heart hastened when a shaky voice reached her. There really was someone down here! However, she doesn't let her ecstasy control her. They don't necessarily have to be friendly. Everyone is permanently scared and paranoid since the apocalypse and if she jumped out from a dark sewer without a warning she's more likely to receive a bullet to the face than a warm welcome. A flash, very bright this time. Before, she didn't notice it but the light was actually… green? Soft, soothing shade of green. Who uses a green flashlight? Someone who didn't have any other. We're in an apocalypse, for God's sake. Shrugging, she sneaks up towards the turn and carefully peeks into the new corridor, unable to take the anticipation any longer. And she freezes.

There were many things Nicola expected to find. Even the sewer monster was higher on her list of possibilities. But not this. Before her, approximately fifteen feet or so, in a makeshift shelter made out of ratty curtains and wooden boxes sat a humanoid figure. They were wearing some sort of metal shoulder pads on their ragged, dark green clothing, worn and stained, once undoubtedly fine knee-high boots, and a tattered and dirty hood. The gilded edges of their pauldrons were smudged and tarnished, as were the clips of the belts on their hips and across their chest. A pair of disheveled, dusted grey, feathery wings was closed around them like two shields protecting their sides and keeping the warmth in the resulting heat cave. Through a gap between the feathers, she noticed strands of long, white hair in the similar state as the wings spilling from under the hood.

This was one of those… those angels who came as the apocalypse began. Only… This one didn't seem like the rest. They didn't look like one of the warriors. And were unarmed at that, she realises once she doesn't catch a sight of any sort of weapon nearby.

Meow!

Nicola heard it clearly now, and trying to track down the source of the sound, her eyes wandered to a hand of the angel, one which they held close to their chest. And there, on their large palm rested a tiny ball of fluff with its fur clogged with blood. The angel was hunched over a wounded kitten, and from time to time they brought up the other hand and gently ran their trembling fingers wrapped in stained bandages over the jagged claw mark along its spine. The green light flared up from angel's fingertips as gradually the wound was stitching itself. A sorcerer then. If meeting Shadowcasters was any indicator, then it would be better not to mess with this one.

Meow!

The kitten cried again and the angel, now she was pretty sure it was a male, spoke with a soft and calming, but shaking voice that reached to the depth of her soul.

"Fret not… it will be over. Soon enough."

In honesty, Nicola really had to stop herself from making a loud "awww" noise as she watched this angel treat a tiny injured kitten. How did he get here in the first place? Shouldn't he be with the rest of his buddies? She honestly never thought one of them would ever fall so low as to hide in a sewer of all places. Unless there was no other option. He must've gotten lost or something.. She thinks, almost snickering at how similar to hers this situation was.

To make no mistake, she didn't want to approach the angel, especially after what she'd seen during the apocalypse - most of them didn't give two shits about what happen to her race - and so Nicola decided, even if slightly disappointed that it wasn't another human survivor or someone looking for her like she previously assumed, to go away and leave him be with his kitten. The angels the apocalypse has shown to her were hardly the kind and thoroughly good creatures the image of she grew up with.. But then, nature decided to play a cruel prank on her and a horrifyingly loud sound of her stomach rumbling was carried over the immediate vicinity.

Nicola cursed inwardly at her stupid stomach - really, she would've eaten that sandwich but the smell of the server was very unappetizing - when the angel quickly looked up before gently placing the cat down on a piece of folded cloth and snapping his fingers to produce a small wisp of normal, white light. Now, his face wasn't obscured by the shadow of his hood. It was just like a face of a human, especially with all the grime smeared over it, just more… how to describe it? Features were more apparent, simultaneously sharp and smooth. Like those of a sculpture. Almost overly perfect. However, he looked ill, emaciated with his cheeks collapsed like this and sunken eyes, seemingly too large for his head. His eyes… brilliant white with faint silvery pupils, glowing like two wisps, opened wide in an absolutely blank, emotionless stare, not unlike that of a man in feverish delirium. How long had he been down here?

"Who.. who's there..?"

His lips barely moved as he spoke, his wide eyes darted around in panic as he searched for intruders. Not that she could blame him. Her stomach sounded like a starving demon and as far as she's concerned, his kind isn't really fond of those.. The angel looked a little like a terrified, wounded animal that had been cornered by predators with no apparent way out. It was… sad somehow. Since she'd already been heard, Nicola carefully stepped out of her hiding spot. The reaction she got however, was far different from what she's been expecting. The angel gasped, his wings shot up like two enormous flags as he lifted his hands. Green magic crackled along his slender fingers with most of the nails broken and bloodied as she froze where she stood.

"G- get away! Back off, foul creature!"

He stuttered but didn't attack just yet. Swallowing a lump of fear Nicola forced herself to very, very slowly and carefully take a few steps closer to enter the illuminated area around the scared angel to make him realise this is a misunderstanding and she means no harm. She even left her gun on the floor not to make him feel threatened and kept her hands up, palms forward where he could see them. He squinted but this hollow look in his eyes remained. Disturbing… Even more so when he started to mutter nervously to himself, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb.

"No… not a demon, nor an angel, a human perhaps…? Yes, yes… has to be… But that's not possible.. They're… they're all gone. Dead, killed, stone dead… Who is this and what do you want? Your tricks won't work on me.."

"I- I'm not trying to trick you, I swear! I am a human. I'm Nicola.."

She assures the angel, hoping that giving him her name will make him feel a little less threatened. A quiet sigh of relief slipped past Nicola's lips when the magic in his hands faded as he curiously - a little like a small, inquisitive puppy - tilted his head to the left.

"Nic… ola…"

He breathed, mulling over her name, testing it on his tongue but his wings still remained aggressively flared above his head. The kitten meowed again, too weak to stand up from the bedding the angel made for it. He seemed to calm down a bit as he glanced down at it and with a flick of his finger made the animal lazily blink before it curled into a ball and immediately fell asleep. The wound on its back wasn't so large anymore and it wasn't bleeding so the black fluff with white feet and collar wasn't in any immediate danger. Angel's attention shifted back to her. But Nicola was the first one to speak.

"Who are you? How'd you get down here?

"Don't know… Human… a human. How did you get in my study? You really shouldn't be here. What is it you want from me? I'm working on improving my shards…"

"I-... Wait, your what ?"

Nicola's face scrunched up in confusion. Get in where? Working on improving his what??

"No, this isn't right… they need more energy…"

At this point she had absolutely no idea what the angel was rambling on about but she could clearly see he was completely out of his mind. Frankly speaking, she wasn't actually sure if he knows what he's babbling either.. There was only one thing that came to her mind when he spoke of shards and so she dug into her pocket, trying to find the one she'd been carrying with her just in case as he clutched at his head, tangling his fingers into his hair under his hood…

"It worked… I did it, I can… but it hurts… Creator, how it hurts… Cold.. so cold…"

His voice was starting to break as his unsteady breathing turned into something akin to sobbing but no tears were shed and he started to rock back and forth, still muttering something unintelligible. Something in Nicola's gut squirmed - or maybe it was the hunger again - as she looked at the scrawny angel mercifully. Whatever happened to him, it must've been horrible. It takes a very traumatic experience to bring a human to such a state but an angel is a different story. Seeing anyone like this saddened her. Finally, her fingers found what they were searching for and she extracted a small healing shard from her vest.

"You mean like…"

At the gentle, green glow the shard was emitting, the angel looked up astonished and let his mouth fall open. He stopped shaking and grasping his head.

"Yes… yes, my shard. I need… My blade. Where's my blade? Who…? My name? My name… I remember, I swear."

This talk of a blade was mildly unsettling to say the least but something in her chest twisted with pity and all fear left her. A little more bravely, Nicola approached the murmuring angel who attempted to scratch something out on the floor beside his knee but only successfully broke one of his nails again and hissed quietly. What happened to you, you poor thing? When she crouched next to him, he stared at her as though he'd seen a ghost when she realised he isn't looking into her eyes anymore. But at her forehead.

"You're… injured…"

He stated as matter of factly. Oh. Right. That was true. It barely hurt anymore though… and wasn't even bleeding. She's certainly had much worse. It will heal on its own in no time.

"Let me just-"

Suddenly he leaned forward to grab at her, making her heart leap up to her throat as she cried out in fear and jumped away from him. Instinctively, Nicola booked it for the tunnel she came from when she heard a heavy thud and a pained groan behind her.. It was her good hearted nature what ultimately made her stop in her tracks and look over her shoulder. To see the angel on the floor, weakly propping himself on his elbows and breathing heavily. He was very weakened. It's unclear how long he'd been down here but it certainly has taken its toll. Nicola looked out into the dark tunnel. Whatever awaited her in this darkness and out in the city surely isn't nicer than this poor sod behind her. She wasn't even sure if he actually meant to hurt her or not. It was a reflex. Then she turned to look back at the angel shivering on the wet floor.. Her throat tightened. God, she couldn't just leave it like this, could she?

"H- hey… are- are you okay?"

Nicola approaches the angel warily and squats before him as he lifts his head to look at her. And in his eyes she sees pain. Horrible, unimaginable pain, somewhere deep within, that made his crusted lips tremble. Such a sight would be enough to break even the coldest hearts. And definitely more than enough to break hers. He eyes her hands when she hesitantly takes him by the arm - careful when she notices a rag stained with fresh blood above his left elbow - and tries to pull him up to his feet or at least to a sitting position but he doesn't recoil. He simply kept staring at her hands in bewilderment. To her surprise, he was much lighter than he looked, probably because of how thin he was, and she managed to do what she intended but she could see that his legs won't uphold his weight as meager as it is. The angel glanced at the cut on her head and once again, albeit far more cautiously, reached out towards it.

"I can… I can heal it. Just hold still.. It will take a second.."

And in spite of herself, Nicola gives him a chance this time. He extended two fingers and as their tips started to glow with green, he gently tapped against her damaged skin. It felt… odd. It wasn't painful but still strange. The edges of the wound grew numb and prickly as the patch of comforting warmth fell over her forehead. And what was even odder, the angel smiled slightly, whispering

"There… It is done.. I.. remember. Was it…? It was, wasn't it… Raphael?"

"Wh- what? What are you talking about, who's Raphael?"

Nicola asks, probing the new, thin scar that was now formed in place of the cut. He really did heal her. Curious. And it did take a second.. For a moment, his face scrunched up in confusion but only for this second before he brightened and some of the strange mist fell from his white eyes as he brought both of his hands up and repeatedly poked his chest with all of his fingers.

"Me.. Raphael is… it's me! And you…"

He extended one finger and aimed it at her head.

"You are Nicola. "

"Y- yeah. Nice to meet you, I guess…"

She hesitantly replies as the circumstances of this meeting weren't exactly "nice". In a dark, damp sewer filled with stench and corpses with a possible monster lurking nearby? Far from nice if someone would ask her.

"What.. huh. What is this place?"

Raphael unexpectedly asked, looking around with his large, white eyes, blinking in confusion. Nicola pulls a face, unsure how to tackle the odd angel.

"You… don't know? You've been living here."

"Have I? Hmmm.. Strange…"

He murmured thoughtfully, scratching at his white goatee also painted with blood that surely spilled from the cut on his lower lip. Then his face shifted into concern as he tried to pull himself up with a strained grunt, clutching at an old, but not healed yet, gash over his ribs.

"I… I have to get back.. they need me in the White City…"

As she was expecting, he collapsed back onto the floor with a tired sigh not even a second later. Where and what was the "White City" he spoke of, she had no idea. What she did know however, was that in his condition Raphael isn't going anywhere. Even if he managed to get up, she could bet her right hand that he would make ten steps at most before collapsing again. Nicola winces and tilts her head to the side.

"Pal, I don't think you're in shape for walking or flying right now.."

"No, I suppose not… they cannot see me like this. I cannot return.."

At this point she wasn't surprised that Raphael kept muttering to himself about things her human brain couldn't hope to comprehend. Nicola got long used to this however. Ever since the armageddon there were very few things she could understand. It wasn't a normal day if something new and weird didn't happen to her or one of her remaining friends. Any hostility the angel showed before has faded now, his wings folded back around him as he leaned over the sleeping kitten to continue treating it. The gentleness he did it with, the uncertain smile on his face were making Nicola's heart melt. Raphael didn't seem like his friends indeed. He was different somehow. Kinder, softer. Less aggressive. More fitting the image of a stereotypical angel. But also definitely not quite… right. Up in the head.

Oh, well. Who is totally normal these days, honestly?

She wants to chuckle to herself when something gives her a pause. A horrifyingly familiar sound coming from the tunnel behind her. Panting, scraping and growling. Inevitably getting closer and closer. Her heart plummets to her heels. This sound… she would recognise it everywhere. The sound that haunted her dreams ever since the demon tore her twin brother, Nicholas, to shreds. This demon.. a Goreclaw, as Ulthane called it. Whipping around, she just managed to spot the quadrupedal monster - the size of your average Caucasian Shepherd (which was still awfully large for its kind), with long, lashing tail and sharp fangs constantly bared in a disturbing grin - appear in the entrance, cutting off the only escape route.

It must've heard Nicola's startled scream and followed it all the way here, hoping for an easy prey. Her breath caught in her throat as she stands paralyzed by the blood-hungry glare of multiple red eyes. This ugly mug, covered in blood of her sibling was still fresh in her mind, keeping her absolutely petrified. Unable to do anything, she kicks herself for leaving her shotgun behind. Now it was resting between the clawed paws of the demon who screeched in excitement as it prepared to pounce at her. Though honestly, with how rigid her body turned, she doubts she'd be able to aim, not to mention pulling the trigger.

This is it. She thinks, feeling blood leave her face. I'm gonna die. After all she's been through.. Killed by a single Goreclaw, ripped apart in a stinking sewer like an ungrateful little shite. Ulthane did so much to rescue her from the claws of that Fallen and now all his efforts are going to go to waste.. Crying out in dismay, she shields herself from the oncoming attack with her arms and shuts her eyes.

Something shifted behind her as the demon jumped at her and… nothing happened. Opening her eyes, horrified and shocked, Nicola almost gags when she sees the Goreclaw standing before her and just… gawking with its jaw slack as though it got hit on the head with something heavy. Faint golden light running around its body like tiny veins didn't escape her attention. That's when she noticed that the demon was trying to move, straining with its own stiff muscles and growling. But couldn't. It was completely paralyzed. A quiet, barely audible thrumming filled the air around Nicola and she began to feel something strange. Something she could only describe as magic. The arcane static began to nip and the bite at her skin like miniscule locusts when a green haze enveloped the Goreclaw before her. The same light fell onto her back, laying her quivering shadow out at her feet. A realisation hit her.

Raphael. He's still there.

After the apocalypse, Nicola had no delusions that angels, even the kindest ones, are ever defenseless. Before she could turn to face the angel, her would-be killer suddenly let out a soul-rending shriek that yet again almost made her drop dead or simply puke out of pure fear. Freed from the paralysis, it fell to the floor, writhing, clawing at its own chest and screeching the most ungodly noise Nicola had ever heard. What's happening?! Absolutely petrified, she watched as the demon's skin seemed to dry and wrinkle as its eyes were nearly popping out of its skull. Life - and color - was frighteningly quickly seeping out of the demon as it squirmed in agony, wailing, unable to fight the power that got a hold of it.

All this looked like taken straight out of a horror movie. And Nicola, on the contrary to Nicholas, was never a fan of those… It all took merely a few seconds of unimaginable torment before the unfortunate Goreclaw wheezed and eventually fell still with its jaws opened and tongue lolled out, wide eyes dull and unblinking, and didn't move ever again. Dead. The memory of all those corpses she has found passed through her head. The Goreclaw looked just like them… Afraid to move a muscle, she stared at the light that moved away from the dead demon, following its movement to the sight that made her back up aghast.

Raphael. The same seemingly gentle angel who healed a small, hurt animal - who healed her - was suspended in midair, tattered robes and disheveled hair billowing, with his wings flared and bristled. This soft smile was replaced by an absolute lack of any expression whatsoever as his wide eyes burned with the whitest white of unbridled anger she'd ever seen. Green streaks of magic - the same green she found so soothing before, now ominous and frightening - bathing the surroundings in brightness, were swirling around his arms, hands with fingers curled into vicious claws. For this moment he looked much stronger, a little younger… and far more dangerous than he seemed before.

"As long as I live.. I shall not stand suffering !"

Raphael bellowed at the corpse at her feet even though it was long dead and already turning cold, caring very little about how horrified she was. He didn't even seem to care how much suffering the demon had experienced before it blessedly lost its hold on life. Not that Nicola thought it didn't deserve that but still it was… pretty gruesome.. Raphael's wounded and weakened body absorbed the life-force drained from the demon and only then did he slowly descend onto the floor and landed on his feet, breathing out with relief. The magic gradually dissipated along with the sharp prickling sensation until only the tiny golden wisp hovering next to Raphael's head remained. His wings fell into their place against his back, this furious light faded out of his bright eyes before he turned to Nicola to shoot her a disarming, awkward smile as though nothing had happened at all. This tiny smile was hardly comforting.. Quite the opposite in fact. It chilled her to the bone like the coldest winter wind.

Oh fuck.

Swallowing thickly, Nicola looked up at Raphael, now standing on his own legs, clearly revitalized by the stolen energy, and felt a little fearful tear roll down her face. Then she shifted her gaze to the demon. Then back to Raphael, who seemed so small and weak before but stood at least two, maybe three feet taller than Nicola - her head reached the bottom of his sternum. I was wrong. She realises with a pang of panic, feeling a little sick in the stomach at the mere thought that this kind healer was as capable of killing her where she stood as any demon up above her head. All he had to do was flick his wrist and look at her and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing to defend herself. It suddenly made sense. There was no sewer monster down here. No beast that would threaten her. No foul creature that could suck the blood from her body and leave ber as a mummified corpse. All this death, all these bodies… The horrifying monster Nicola was expecting to find...

It was him.

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So yeah. That was the chapter I. I'll try to make more but I don't promise anything XD

The moral of this story? Don't piss off/spook angel sorcerers. Especially the crazy ones.

Also, the art at the end was once again inspired by @coloredgravity 's rendition of Raphael (I drew this mostly out of memory 😂). In addition I gave him a symbol of virtue from Darkest Dungeon over his head. He's mad, true. But he still tries to hold it together :3

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #my fic #fan fiction #darksiders oc #nicola #darksiders raphael #raphael #my art #fan art #I suck at summarizing XD #Cost of Kindness #CoK

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zahra-kha · 4 years ago

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Dear Diary 33 pt 2

We get to the clinic and Scorpius is on his way to recovery. I’d say full but I have no idea the condition of his balls and I do not want to know please no one tell me.

Not everything needs to be shared among friends.

Anyway, we get there and Aria is trying to get pizza off of a kid named Var (who reminds me of a wilder, more vulgar version of my little brother. He’s cute, I’d spoil him. Little brothers are meant to be spoiled, it’s how you throw them off when they least expect it) which I’m amazed by because we’d just eaten. Aria’s got a huge appetite I guess.

So anyway, we get there and Scorpius is ready to show off his huge manga that’s got a detailed version of his revenge plan against Khallendra, the Siren captain that assaulted him and literally crushed his family jewels. The first step of his revenge plan was to pee in the Siren’s practice pool.

We quickly decided we needed a new plan of action. Ray was there, bless him, and together with Aria the whole room tried to put our heads together. Eigaar was less than impressed with our influence on a young boy but well, that wasn’t really our problem, sadly. And well, that kid really didn’t need our help to come up with schemes and plots anyway - he’s a little shit all on his own. I really don’t think we can make things any worse. If anything, he helped us. I think he’s darling.

Just in case something happens and this diary gets compromised, I won’t write our plan down until after the fact. But it’s a good plan.

I won’t continue discussing what happened at the clinic save for the fact that Garlean technology is frightening. Some weird contraption nearly ate Aria and we had to do an emergency stop on it. I left shortly after that since we’d finished discussing what we needed to.

Then there was the Plume! Wowee was that a night! We had fighting on and off the stage! It was a pretty busy night, we didn’t have a bartender so Conor and I were splitting duties and tag teaming. There was this dotharl woman who was pretty snooty and making a fuss about this and that while getting drunk. That wasn’t really an issue, I suppose, since she knew Conor and he was handling her. She was mostly just distracting since I had other tables besides hers to wait on.

Then there was Shampoo Hair Advertisement Murder Hobo Guy who looked like he had come there specifically to stab anyone who looked at him wrong and look fabulous doing it...which was both amusing and annoying at the same time. You can’t be a murder hobo and attractive. Pick one my guy.

So anyway, I called out a warning about fighting outside of the stage since tensions were rising with Murder Hobo Shampoo Hair but oh no, it wasn’t him that decided not to follow the rules.

It was the dotharl. Because Zhao called her a barbarian. Because of course she did. It’s what Zhao does. If she doesn’t insult someone at least once during the course of the night it’s not Zhao.

Of course, Miss I’m From The Steppes and in The Steppes We Disembowel Anyone Who Insults Us didn’t know that so she decided to break out an axe and start swinging. Because that’s how my night was going to go, I suppose. Let’s prove the person who called us a barbarian wrong by...acting like a barbarian!

She blatantly ignores the entire staff when we ask her to disarm because, why listen to us, I guess? We only work there. Goes on a rant about, fuck if I know at this point she’s drunk and I’ve all but stopped caring about her reasons. Blah blah blah, Zhao hurt my feelings, blah blah blah, I’m a dotharl, blah blah blah, I guess the establishment needs to take responsibility for what its patrons say at a bar, because that makes perfect sense.

It doesn’t, but whatever.

So we’re cowards for some reason, I had lost track of her logic long ago and my empathy meter reached zero around when Zhao walked away and she still didn’t put away her fucking weapon.

Oh wait, there’s more! Because the drunk crazy woman didn’t want to let it go! She eventually is talked down by Conor and leaves...oh wait she didn’t. No, she hangs outside and harasses people as they’re leaving. Specifically Murder Shampoo Hobo and Finn, of all people? Someone completely unrelated to the incident! Everyone except the person who originally insulted her! Gotta love drunks!

By this point the place has nearly cleared out with the exception of regulars, and my fight has ended (my winning streak is over, oh no. Kidding, I’m not really mad about it) so we can clearly hear something is going on outside. We get out there and Finn has been bloodied by this woman and Tamala looks like she wants to murder.

We’re able to get things under control and finally psycho axe lady gets the hint that maybe what she’s doing isn’t earning her any friends. She starts cursing and spitting and whatever else drunk jerks do before they piss off to whatever drunk holes they go to settle in.

I don’t really care if she comes back or not, but I’d really like it if the bar sets a hard limit on what she gets to drink. That was a nightmare. And maybe if she does come back, it’s with thicker skin. Getting called a name at a fight club is hardly the worst offense that can happen to you that you need to break out a whole axe and wait for people to come out to start fights with them. If she’s that sensitive when she’s drunk then we need to ban her from the bar.

The grudge match between the Gil Turtles and the Sirens was shortly after that. I only went to cheer on Scorpius, who had joined onboard with the Turtles (they needed bodies for the game) for the sake of revenge. And boy was he angry. It was a good game, and although it didn’t count for anything, I wasn’t mad about the fact that the Turtles trounced the Sirens (after a shoot off).

I’ll give it to the Siren’s goalie. Ga Bu did a great job catching Neroki’s kick. The poor little guy looked like that took years off his total lifespan.

A few days later we met with Lord Thiji, mostly to give thanks for his sponsorship. We had a lovely dinner and he gave us our gifts early, these cute turquoise chocobo chicks. I originally named mine Warkie but he was a rambunctious little guy! He would run in circles and then go on the attack! He went after Hath’s tail but Hath caught on and he was too quick. The little guy was a little miffed but not deterred. He then made a beeline for Ray’s tail and I’m not sure if it’s because Ray really loves cute things but he didn’t even fight it and his tail got chomped.

The look on poor Ray’s face as he tried to continue conversation with a chocobo chick attached to his tail. At least the little chick looked happy?

Eventually, he got bored with that and I was able to snag him. He kept trying to bite my horns though, so I renamed him to Bitey. Little bugger is adorable when he’s not trying to go after my tail or horns. When I brought him home he was very curious about Fènghuáng, who looked offended I had brought home another bird, and a chick at that. He huffed and puffed out his chest and fluttered about. I had to give him some treats to calm him down. Bitey is very curious about Fènghuáng, who refuses to come down from his high perch now and just looks down at the curious Bitey with this air of superiority.

I have some strong personalities in my apartment. I don’t know how I’ll be able to take care of this little chick, I’ll have to talk to the apartment managers. I should be able to set aside a little area for now, but once he starts getting a little bigger maybe they’ll let me stable him?

#zahra's diary #zahra kha #zahra kouris #ic

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maiismsworld · 3 years ago

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SUMMARIZATION OF IMPORTANT ETERNAL TRUTHS IN SUPPORT OF THE UNIVERSAL RELIGION OF UNIVERSAL GOD OF MAI-ISM FOR THE NEW AGE

1) No race, nation, community, society, family or individual can be ever truly happy, unless there is at least a superior morality, an unflinching faith in God, a clear crystal conscience and a penetrative righteous understanding about spirituality, and a conviction about the never-failingness of the Divine Law and a perfect censorship in the matter of passions and moderation of one's varied desires.

2) Any deep study of the religious integrity or disintegrity of any nation and it having been happy or unhappy during a certain period will bear out the said truth although of course the good or bad seeds-sowing and its rich or poor harvest-reaping may differ in their times by 30, 50, 100 or even more years. Sometimes another equally observable truth is seen, viz., that the finalmost Western point at one end turns out to be the extreme Eastern point and staunchest religiosity on gradual advancement always follows the most rabid irreligiosity. Nations that have gone to the extremity of godlessness do realize their own follies through unbearable sufferings, and turn a new page of morality, religiosity, spirituality, love and wisdom. Since past 300 to 500 years the said transformation age has brought upon the world every course of conflict, quarrelling warfare, in almost all the regions of human activity and living. The only exception is that of the special region of the higher realized godly persons of any religion and any nation.

3) The first happy change in realizing the need of living with virtue, character, sympathy, love and service having been achieved (which work has to be actually undertaken), there can be the dawn for the sun of true religiosity to rise. In another word, the next forward step from virtue, morality and character is the truest religiosity of the inner-most inherent nature of any religion.

4) The highest supreme Almighty having fully considered different conditions of the various portions of humanity viz., their climates, geographical environments, inherent natures, surrounding flora-fauna, external and internal forces, etc., has through the highest religious souls of each humanity portion, prescribed certain ways of guidance consolidated together, have formed different religions for various groups of mankind. The end and aim kept in view during the gradual development of any religion by God and God-directed highest religious personages, has all along been one alone, viz., that on strictly living life according to the requirements of any religion, each and every human being that has embraced that religion, may live in peace and happiness, generally and on the whole.

5) The simplest precaution so that there be no complication, confusion or conflict regarding religion is (according to Mai-ism) that there should be a clear, almost impermeable specific understanding regarding each of the three principal elements, viz., (a) God, (b) Religiosity, (c) Religion.

6) According to Mai-ism, religiosity is never confused with religion. Religiosity means the condition of having attained a certain status regarding moral, mental, religious and spiritual development, on having lived out the requirements of a particular religion. It is with this difference of religiosity and religion, that Maiism specially emphasizes the truth stated on page 11 of Mother's Message, viz., "Preachers are to be witnesses and not lawyers".

7) Religions differ from each other to quite a large extent. If, however, under the all=embracing crude word of religion a distinction is made as between religion and religiosity, a world of difference and bitterness will disappear. Compared to what a great gulf lies between one religion and another, if the religious world is trained to see the so-called religious differences through the test of "religiosity", it would be quite surprisingly seen that all religions are much nearer to each other than when religions are viewed through their above stated superficial meaning as “religion". In fact "religiosity" prescribed by all religions is practically almost identical. If religion were viewed in its said meaning interpretation, viz., that of "religiosity', the whole religious world will come much nearer than can be imagined. This can be seen on page 16 of the Mai Chart Explanation booklet. Just compare only the religiosity items of different religions and any truly religious man will be struck with the closest resemblance of different religiosities of different religions. It should be enough that "religion" should mean "religiosity" and the main requirement of any religion whatever, should be various things as are common in all religions. As the common highest factor we have the following commandments of true "religiosity" prescribed by all religions. They are:

1) Don't hurt and don't be violent. 2) Don't steal. 3) Don't kill. 4) Don't bear false witness. 5) Don't indulge in falsehoods. 6) Don't commit adultery. 7) Don't covet another's anything. 8) Keep yourself holy, 9) Always remember God. 10) Obey your parents and God.

11) Remember that the Divine Law will never fail and that God's will ever finally reigns supreme, etc. etc.

Thus, Mai-ism introduces the word "religiosity' instead of various religions and any ordinary common sensed thinking man must surely come to the conclusion that most of the differences between various religions, religious followers, nations and communities, etc. are bound to vanish. Thus, if we consider religions as "religions" we will find thousands of differences, whereas if by religion we mean "religiosity", there will be hardly 10 points of differences. This is then the specific work of Universal Religion of Universal God of Mai-ism. All religions reduced to the various requirements of "religiosity would be reduced in their bulk to almost an unimaginable smallness and that is the work Mai-ism is most ambitious to carry out as prevalent throughout the whole religious world. In one-word, what Mai-ism is strongly insisting upon, is to fully visualize the difference of religion and religiosity. As stated on page 8 of "Mother's Message", Religiosity is practice of religion and attainment of the fruits and benefits through the practice.

Mai-ism introduces an entirely new aspect viz., that human beings should be judged and dealt with on the basis of religiosity and not religion. On studying the natural trends of the new age, Mai-ism most clearly visualizes that the future humanity will be classifiable as consisting of (1) ignorant self-centered selfish human beings; (2) knowing about God and religion but fully indifferent; (3) knowing all matters fully naturally out of the demoniac nature; and (4) being of the divine godly nature.

Before I conclude this little thesis about the Universal Religion of Universal God for the new Age (U.R. M.), I feel the inner urge of taking necessary literature precaution, lest there be misunderstanding or misrepresentations about the universal nature of this religion, about which I submit as under.

The finalmost God of this religion is Mother Mai. Mai is also not some fanciful name of any individual religion, but is a simple word meaning nothing else except Mother. If any narrow-minded fanatic of an individual religion wants to give any other name, U. R. M. has absolutely no objection. Let that word be of any language. Only requirement is that that word should mean "Mother". To make it clear, any such name as say, Mary, or Ameena, or Devaki, Mother of Christ, Mohammed, Pegamber or Lord Krishna can't be acceptable. Most often repeated question to the Founder has been "What is the actual name of Mother?'' The Founder's answer is, "Mother's name is Maa, Mother, Amma, Mater." It can be any word which means mother in any language.

The underlying idea is that the God of U. R. M. is the conception of the merciful protective parent and with no limitations of any traditions, mythologies or religious histories or stories.

- None was born without Mother, even though we have certain scriptural references of some greatest prodigies being born without a father. The certainty about, and indebtedness to Mother, is much greater than to the father. Further, if the continued world custom of matrimony disappears due to rebelliousness of man and woman against each other's bondage, where will the world be, regarding the decision about true fatherhood? What about the progeny of unmarried women or of wives of divided heart pairs or professional women? Thus, the claim of the mother is much higher than that of the father. In fact, any impartial thinker would agree with Mai-ism that if God has to have a parental conception, Mother has a greater claim.

Even just ordinary judges deciding the question of guardianship have this consideration most prominent before their mind, which the fanatic religionists who give no peace to God as Mother, don't admit.

Says Mai-ism, if God can be Father, God can as well be Mother; or, as most clearly stated in Mai-ism, Mother is very same whom the world has mostly worshipped as Father. God under Mai-ism can be universal father as well: Universal Mother, Universal Father, Universal Mother-Father or Universal Father-Mother. as one's faith conceives. F is wisdom; M is love, protection; F is justice; M is mercy and forgivingness.

I think from what little has been stated here, no wise man, unless he be a fanatic, bigoted, or prejudiced religionist, can have any objection to U. R. M.

Taking the yet deeper strata of "Why the parental conception at all?", there is the deepmost psychology below. Let us take the driest crumbs of conceptions, "God is everything that exists. All indeed is Brahman (God) or God is one from whom we emanate, to whom we return and in whom we have our living and being. Or let us have the definition of the creator nourisher and destroyer of universes. Let us add the omnipresent, omniscient, the omnipotent. All these definitions judged by themselves, without any further additions or comments or interpretations, can be only the mental creations of any heartless philosopher or scientist.

Mai-ism most boldly asks, "What do we care for any highest God, just as we don't care for the highest world emperor or multi-millionaire, if he is of no utility whatever to us?"

Has anyone's richness any value to us, unless that sometimes helps us to hold our own against poverty? What does any man care if the number of stars, or

planets, or suns or different worlds are reduced or increased? After all eliminations, man wants God only for his own better being, reduction of miseries and increase of happiness. However grand and glorious God be, what does any man care for Him, unless He hears, relieves us, sympathizes with us, saves us from injustice, persecution, cruelty, accidents or earth quakes or epidemics, etc., unless God remunerates sufferings for the sake of virtue, merit, sinlessness, etc.?

If this utilitarian view which is the most predominant consideration as it is practically the only one, there is nothing of greater practicability than the conception of the parent and preferable to the most merciful parent, nourishing even before being born, ever forgiving, protecting, maximum sacrifice-ful and with maximum love and service.

Thus, no wise and thinking man can have any opposition (although one is free to choose one's God's ideal) against Mother's conception. The only idiotic argument that can be held forth is that none or few religions have accepted the ideal of God as Mother. Do we not advance in our outside world? We had no radios, trains and planes. Does anyone argue, we had none for centuries before us? We therefore can't accept them. Or is it meant that religious thinkers must be of a much greater brainless stuff than any ordinary worldly man? Well, judge everything mostly by the utility it serves for mankind. We have till now God as father, but that God did not rise to the ascent of a universal Father.

Mai-ism says "Why not start an entirely new God government, when the world needs a much broader, almost universal outlook?" If everything is to be made anew, new conceptions, new age, new rules, why not new rulership, as well, especially when God as father has hopelessly failed to keep all his various sons, of religions, without mutual rivalries and hatred? And why be so cruel or at least unmindful of the mother's claim, especially when it is the universal experience that no family can live happily without the central pillar of the mother?

And such ones of the readers as are gifted by God with the sense of rising above one's ancient prejudices or insensible godlessness, may just condescend to admit the possibility of justly holding religious views other than one's own. They may have a look at the Mai-ism literature, to see how very unimaginably broad-minded Mai-ism has been.

Just open only the 5th page of "Mother's Message". "One who does not believe in God, but does believe in the common tie of humanity and practices service and extends love to all, is a Mai-ist. Because he is the follower of Mai, in one of Her aspects as one universal soul, one universal consciousness or one universal cosmos."

Just open the very 2nd page of "Mai Sahasranama". It says, "Mai has no name and no form which means that Her names and forms are infinite."

Amongst so many forms and names, enumerated as "some' out of infinite, the following deserve repetition here.

Mother is the inner voice of saintly souls, consciousness, instinct, conscience or inspiration.

One most highly educated young man in Madras in 1949 challenged Maiji, stating that he does not believe in God at all. Maiji told him, "It depends on the definition you make. During life you must be following certain views." He said, "No, no, no God, I will do only what my conscience commands me to do. Said Maiji, True, but suppose some one preaches conscience is God, are you not 'godless'?" "Yes, but I know none has ever defined so". "Rather say none of the religions you have known has defined so". "If I show you Mai is conscience, would you agree you are following Mai?" "Surely'. This reference was shown to him. He saw the broad-mindedness and universality of Mai-ism. (Everyone has a conscience).

Mai that works through three powers of desire, knowledge and action and handles all beings through three principal moods of equilibrium, action and inertia.

Mai has the visible forms of fire, sun, moon and dawn; Mai that is the soul of whatever enraptures us as beauty, sublimity, mercy and compassion; Mai who is in the form of the guru or an assemblage of gurus. Mai that is known in common parlance as nature, divine law providence, time, primary desire, force, power, energy. evolution or chance; Mai that resides in individuals as the serpent power (Kundalini); Mai that is one, few, many and all as conceived by any soul. Mai that is beyond the conditioned state of being He, She or It. Mai that is all and not all, beyond being personal or impersonal and beyond being with or without forms and qualities.

Thus Mai is what any rationalistic religious Man's conception can possibly be.

The next naughty question is the most common notion, as to how any religionist can follow the U. R. M. Here Mai-ism cuts the Gordian knot. Refer "Mothers Message"' page 1.

"With full respect to and following of one's own religion, one can be a Hindu-Mai-ist, a Jain-Mai-ist, a Christian-Mai-ist, a Zoroastrian-Mai-ist, a Mohammedan-Maiist and so on. Mai-ism is one's own personal religion."

As explained in "World's Need and Mai-ism", Mai-ism cuts off this Gordian knot by bringing into existence a new idea. "There is no conflict or contradiction in any one having his individual religion for individual purposes of religious progress and yet having a Universal Religion of Universal God for universal purposes and considerations." This is as so often stated like any doctor being a president or member of an epidemic prevention institute, for the whole city and yet conducting one's own private hospital or dispensary without any conflict between the universal duties and individual duties, much more has been stated on the point. In fact, there can be no conflict of duties so long as those both are thoroughly understood in their true spirit.

Whenever there is obviously a conflict between the part and the whole, it implies a disruption of integrity or a crooked behavior or any offence-giving on the part of either of the part or the whole, or both. In natural unvitiated condition, any whole is never against the better being of any one of its different parts, nor is any part against the better being of the whole, All parts are most anxious and deeply interested in maintaining the highest efficiency of the whole and vice versa, unless there is split, corruption, corrosion and tearing of the heart. To put it in plain words, the principal tenets and authoritative injunctions of the part and the whole can never run cross-wise, if rightly interpreted in their esoteric meanings about the finalmost forms of duties, orders or commands.

Next, the vexing opposition arises from a suspicious mentality, which can be removed only on personal contacts and experiences. How far the U.R.M. is in every atom of its teachings universal can however be seen from various scattered expressions of beliefs given out in the Mai-ism literature all throughout

With a view to leaving no room for any misconceptions the following references are quoted here to permanently imprint the conviction that the Universal Religion of Universal God of Mai-ism is really universal up to its last and lowest end and atom. U. R. M. is for compacting and consolidating and condensing and not for compulsion nor conversion. In fact U. R. M. has no belief in any permanent efficacies of any efforts which have not originated from the heart and willful resolution of any person.

Says Mai-ism, "Everyone has one's own right fo selecting one's own line of evolution. (Mother's Message" Page 7.) Efforts of all others, unless they are by way of guidance to the determined, go futile, without one's own faith, conviction, desire and determination. (Page 11 of "Mai Sahasranama", "Mother's Thousand Names"'). "If all religions are the creations of some one or another of all Mai's sons, where is the sense and need of transferring your own coins from one of your own pockets to another of your own pockets of your own coat?" (Mai-ism page xi of the preface).

In the regions of religions there are, along with strong prejudices, soft, slippery juggleries, as well. One type is of this nature. Every religion has its exoteric and esoteric forms, external and internal points and best as well as worst sides. Our Christianity our Islam, our Hinduism has so many most attractive features. Therefore, be a Christian, a Mohammedan, or an Arya Samajist Hindu. It is like selling fruits in units of baskets on tempting the customers with best fruits placed on top and front for infatuation. Another type of jugglery is to study all religions. Work out one idealistic religion, exhibit the same, and then shout at the top of one's voice, “this is our Hindu Sanatana Dharma" Maiji uses the coined expression lurking thief" for both kinds of juggleries. A lurking thief conceals himself while all are inattentive and busy during daytime and by night when everyone is asleep, he opens the chest and quietly passes off unnoticed. This tendency arises from passionate overenthusiasm regarding one's own religion being believed to be the only best religion. The same scene was repeated when the world took the fad of universality. Pick out points of universality from one's own religion. Place them before the public in the most infatuating language and speak within one's own heart

it is my Christianity or Islam or Hinduism that should be accepted by the whole world as the Universal Religion of Univ. God." The substantial analysis of all such mentalities is that unless the very fundamental basic mentality has become universal, all efforts for a Universal religion become fruitless. It is that lurking thief mentality that has been responsible for no tangible results, although most expensive and vast conferences have continued since 1893 when the Parliament of All World Religions was convened in Chicago.

U. R. M. has started from God to the world just from the other end, while we solve an algebraical exercise of complicated, both sided identities. We presume it is correct and proceed to simplify both sides till we come to some most evident truth as 2n is-equal-to n plus n; or n2 is equal to n x n. We than revert all the steps till we come to the most complicated identity, required to be proved this is the true and internal state of things in the case of U. R. M.

The Universal Mother Mai floods certain best conceptions and they are placed before the world as if a Universal Religion of Universal God is worked out, through human brains on studying the world's requirements. This too is the sportivity of Mai just as any mother makes her ignorant stupid obstinate child to believe the child has done what was believed and desired to be done, although really done by Mai Herself.

There are two principal ways for increasing the world's peace and happiness through religion. Leaders and custodians of individual religions should go on developing the element of universality amongst its followers. This remedy had its proper age and time, but materialism baffled the religious custodians and pseudo saints and religionists, through their pitiable lack of true religious powers and abuse turned the follower's mass to be rebellious against church, scriptures and priestcraft.

The second or the other way being that of U.R.M. is that of consolidating all persons that are already of the proved universal mentality and leave the question of the details of formulating the Universal Religion of Univ. God to be worked out by universalists under the grace and inspiration of God as the Universal God (Mai, in the case of U. R. M.), through love, and service to the whole humanity and devotion with self-surrender to one's own universal God.

Best play or drama in the hands of hopeless players and actors is a trash. Best players will give best moral effects and results even if the theme is quite mediocre.

Mai-ism is for selection and consolidation of the highest players, and leave the question of the play selection and its details to them that would know best what scenes to be enacted or rejected. This mentality of U. R. M. will be quite evident on reading the preface portion of the 2nd Volume of "Mother's Thousand Names'', which is as under:

If the world wants to be happy, it must start a searching campaign in every nook and corner of all continents for saintly souls, who are fully universal minded, to whom all religions are theirs, to whom all people of any nation are theirs, to whom the greatest joy is to serve God's children to whom being in communion with, and in the service of God is the on living."

Such self-controlled, universal-minded God favored humanity-welfare-worried selfless high souls of the said new universal saints order, can alone create finally the best legislators, advisers, society-formers and society-reformers, peacemakers and peace establishers.

|U. R. M. or the Universal Religion of Univ. God of Mai-ism wants such saints to be in the higher regions beyond India and Hinduism, beyond America, Europe and Christianity, beyond China and Japan and Buddhism beyond Arabia and Africa and Islam, so on and so forth.

And as stated on page 445 of "Mai-ism" in italics there must be intercommunications and sympathetic exchanges and some eleventh thing must come forth out of the ten ablest things.

The regional height was from U. R. M. expects such saints to work for the world's welfare can be inferred from the following practical measures advocated under U. R. M. (Page 12 of "Mother's Thousand Names"').

(2) Abolition of racial, national, provincial, social and religious prejudices.

(3) Opening, or encouraging to open, independent Mother's lodges and colonies under any denominations, religious, national or communal, of any people, in any place,

(4) Exchange of opinions on religious questions and of charities by leaders of different religions to one another.

U. R. M. aspires some day to wipe out the mutual bitterness of individual religions to such and extent that Christian, Hindu or Muslim saints under their superior idea of the U. R M. may exert for procuring charities to help the needy humanity portions from the prosperous portions without any considerations of religions or countries and nations. In the final matter of charities, the only consideration should be that of the suffering humanity portion.

The extent of the universality element in the head and heart of the Founder of U. R. M. can be well seen from the following extracts of his thesis In support of I. R. F. (International Religious Federation)" as its subconcillor-in-Chief (in Japan). The thesis has been printed in the Ananai issue of January 1958, page 40, by the Ananai Kyo Institute.

(1) "My object has been to collect all views about the need of unification of all different nations and religions, world peace and re-organisation measures for increasing general religiosity, love and service."

(2) "As I am the follower and devotee of the Universal Mother Mai, of all religions and religionists, I am the pilferer of nectar fruits of any gardens that fall into my hands.

"All gardens are finally owned by God Almighty. whose servant and slave, but most beloved and ever pardoned pet creature I am."

(3) I have thrown off all the outer skins of different sugar-canes of different countries. I am pressing out their juice and collecting the same in a common receptacle. I have unified all juices to form one juice, which I invite and welcome all my brothers to share with me, in the sacred memory of one common parentage of ours, of one and all of us, Universal One God of one and all.

(4) Personally, I think it will be more useful work, to take up all books of eternities of every religion and to revise and abridge them and to make them appreciative and attractive and handy enough for the modern leisure-less world, without thrusting one's own personal views and comments.

I would like someone to prepare new text-books of each religion, made acceptable to the modern man on the basis of psychology, rationalism, universality and science, without losing a single golden dust grain.

(5) Finally, I would like the enactment of a worldbible for them that have remained discontented with any one of so many religions.

As stated on page 118 of Mai Adherents Oath, by Mai's grace, it is very possible that in immediate future. groups of universal religionists, Hindu, Christian, Muslims, Jain, Zoroastrian, Mai-ists may be formed.

Such groups have their full independence and autonomy in all matters and details, except being out of rhyme with the above-mentioned Mai-istic principles. All such institutes can be federations to the parental conception and institute of Universal Mai-ism.

Any such universalised group may have its own temple, God, gospel, worshipping modes, rules and regulations, places (temples and monasteries) and properties, in respect of which none others can have any right of dabbling.

Let there be further elucidation as to what views U. R. M. entertains regarding the churches, rites and ceremonies, spiritual yogic practices, devotional methods, etc. There too, U. R. M. has quite an out and out universalistic mentality. None should commit the Himalayan blunder, viz., that U. R. M. is in any way pro-Hinduistic. The casting of prayers and practices of U. R. M. have been to some little extent Hinduistic, not because U. R. M. has any preferential estimation for Hinduism but because the only available human material, to propagate the U. R. principles, has been automatically of the Hinduism casting. If U. R. M. had been born in any other country, it would have taken the shape and colour of that country and the religion of that country.

This is the possible great fear in future and with a view to saving U. R. M. from that danger there have been scattered words of warning against falling into the said cess-pit.

To start with, in the matter of explanation of the Mai-istic view point, regarding various devotional and worshipping or ceremonial practices, etc., we have on page 6 of "The Synthesis of Mai-ism" the following:

(1) "Believe me, the man who loves and serves others, is devout and self-surrendered, is many times much more powerful, even in altering his own circumstances than the man who has learned all scriptures, who has mortified himself in midst of five fires, who has mastered pranayam, who has shut himself in caves, who has awakened his Kundalini, who has repeated mantras and who has performed elaborate ceremonies."

(2) As stated in "Mai Pathanam", Mai worship text, Mai worship can be external or internal, physical or mental, unintrospective or introspective, unmeditative or meditative. The installation of Mai for worship can be supposed to be in one's body, heart or soul or in altars, skies, fires, waters, dawn, full Moon, rising or setting Sun, etc.

One has to decide oneself, as Mother is everywhere, according to which method and associated with which conceptions and environments, one's devotional intensity can be raised to the highest pitch. That is the worshipping method for that particular person.

On page 61 of "Mai-ism" (Note 76-77) the same idea will be found corroborated. A devotee of the old school came to Maiji for understanding Mai-ism. Maiji inquired, "Shall we pray and worship?" With the old orthodoxical mentality the visitor said, "I don't mind. What is to be done?'' Maiji answered, "Do whatever you like: sing., dance, meditate, kneel, pray, prostrate. Do whatever you love best. There is no particular method with Mai you know best what will make you most absorbed in Mai.

Mai Sahasranama Pathanam, which is the authorized text book of worship, repeats the warning against falling into the said blunder at so many places. It says thus, on the very 2nd page,

(1) Subsidiaries may vary. The main most thing is for everyone to find out in what circumstances one's latent devotional mood can be raised to its highest pitch.

Each thing is best for one, who has found it best for oneself. There should be absolutely no dabbling with some one's own selection for himself or herself.

The worshipped may be an image, an idol or a picture or only a mental imagination of a personal deity or the conception of the all-embracing infinity.

(2) Mai worship does not necessarily mean the worship by a certain congregation, or the installation of a certain image, in a particular place with a particular process.

On arising of that sort of degenerated belief of monopolization, Mai-ism can no longer retain its claim to universality.

(3) On page 33 under "Dhoons", comprising of couplets for repetition sung musically in a chorus, the following has been stated:

There should be no misunderstanding, that dhoons under Mai-ism are only in respect of any particular deity, God or religion. Mai being universal, represents all deities, and religions.

If the followers of any religion join together in sufficient number and with the universal spirit, and if they undertake the chanting of any dhoon in chorus on unanimous agreement and acceptance, they are equally welcome and such dhoons should be repeated in chorus by all Mai-ists, in as much as Mai is the Mother of all deities, nations and religions.

Many similar other references can be found in "Mai-ism" literature because that is the most natural form of the Mai-istic belief.

Regarding the universal outlook, conception and belief in respect of worshipping Mai and practicing devotion to Mai, the following quotation will fully convince that Mai-ism is universal in all its aspects regarding worshipping method, meditation and any rights or ceremonies in connection with any religious undertaking. It is quoted from the Phala-Shruti of Mai Sahasranama, page 146. It runs as under:

Once a very staunch devotee wrote to the Founder, to enquire what were the distinctive technicalities of Mai worship. The founder was just then out from divine ecstasy. In a seemingly blunt but outspoken manner, he wrote to the stranger:

The distinctive technicality of Mai worship is that it has none. This arises from the Founders: conviction that you and I are mere mimics. Mother alone can worship Mother and that alone is the true worship in which the worshipper has been first made Mother by Mother, be it for however a small time period and to however a small degree. The rest is mere mimicry and can therefore be of any type. I am too poor to know how Mother worships or should worship Mother, and too different to be approving or disapproving any particular mode of worshipping Mother. In the finality of things, on elimination, the only truth that stands is that Mother alone can and does worship Mother. The rest is only a self-deception or at the most a mind purifying or mind-concentrating practice. On visualization of the final-most stage on elimination, you and I are mere moon reflections, say, you in the nectarlike crystal-lake and I in the dirty cesspool. The span of life, however, for both of us finishes as soon as the moon retracts the moonlight or at the most as soon as the dawn breaks.

The subject of religion is actually more endless than the practically endless largest ocean. The final end therefore can only be that the limitations bound human creature has to control its thirst, hunger and gluttony.

We, therefore, rest here, quoting the last para of the Preface to "Mai-ism", which points out the same sublime truth as is contained in the above illustration.

"How little is claimable by man, in the coming forth of any new religious movement or a sub-religion or a religion? It is all the making of Mother alone. The miraculous-ness of "nothing during a saint's life" and "an amazing huge blaze" thereafter, is not simply a freak or fancy of Almighty. That too has a deep meaning. It is a proclamation of Mai's nothingness, even the highest saint's nothingness, and a working out of an inviolable divine law. The seed shall have to perfectly perish". There is nothing more complicated and incomprehensible, as the healing of the world and worldliness, with a saint and his saintliness.

The life and longevity of any religion's movement depends on its sacred fire being kept alive, by the further sacrifices of more and more high souls as disciples and faithful followers, and as the fire, light and spirit of the predecessors gets dazzling or dimmed with the advent of times.

UNIVERSAL MOTHER MAI BLESS US ALL

JAYA MAAI JAYA MARKAND MAAI

Mai Niwas, Saraswati Road,

Santa Cruz (West), Bombay 54.

27-7-1965 Mai Day Friday.

Mai Swarupa Mai Markand

Founder of Universal Mai-ism and

President – Mai Adherents Institutes.

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itsdappleagain · 4 years ago

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CS Season 3 Thoughts...

Okay, overall?? Kinda disappointed, like a lot of people. Only five episodes, its been covered. Its disappointing. But lets go over them, shall we...

The Luchadora Tango Caper

Overall thoughts? Well, this season seems so....separated? Kind of out of character and disconnected. I’ll go over why at the end.

Haha, do the Cleaners do everything?? They can cook, rig explosives, kidnap people, play bagpipes, fly a helicopter...is technology really their weakness? Oops. That’s not for another few episodes.

Poor Cleo. She seems rather out of character in this season too. All she wants is to be warm. Throughout, she seems so...almost inexperienced? Where’s the sharp-tongued, sarcastic, delicate in taste and style Cleo we know? She’s there in places.....just...

They faked us out. I thought we were going to see Carmen tangoing. Also, is it just me, or is there a lot of...leg wrapping...this season..?

Ah yes, thank you, musical cues, I was worried Shadow-san had torn Carmen to pieces since Season 3. That’s her triumph score; maybe its like a “welcome back to cs” or something. Honestly, the whole “she’s been missing all summer” seems weird and unexplained, and unnecessary.

Does Veracruz exist? Yes, it does, how did that fly under our radars?

“I have his eyes” tore me to bits. Oh my gosh what a line. She’s seeing her father for the first time.

Thank you for showing us the 10 passports and giving us some pictures, we will never hear anything about Dexter or Vera after this episode again

She was an adorable baby and Carmen acknowledging this is hilarious

“Who may I have the pleasure of declining?” is another really funny line to me

This fight between Carmen and Spinkick has no suspense and its really a bad one to be honest, but holy crap Spinkick can dent stone lol

It makes a lot of sense that Catching Carmen Sandiego 101 is a class now, lol. I really want to see it. That- those fights were horrible by the way. Does Shadowsan know how to use the bolas? Because we know Carmen sure can’t.

Coach sure does like making messes and ruining tables

Ivy is so supportive this season and I am here for it. Kinda unlike Zack who is just “Hi, I hate fish and I misunderstand names” guy.

Yeah Maelstrom, what the hell did you let her walk for? Brunt easily captured her and you want to enforce sketchy psychological doubts in her mind? What?

Don’t show your face, Maelstrom says to Brunt. You know. After kidnapping a law enforcer with apparently perfect face memory recall who now has your face plastered all over wanted posters. Oh, and that Lutedor you knocked out didn’t see your face either

There is so much indirect calling Carmen good looking this season? What? I mean she is but it is so weird

Zack saying juicy steaks is so so uncomfortable

Carmen is so disengaged this season???? *Finds a link to her mother and pictures of her father* oh its another *sad sigh* link to my past. *Wow, you look like your mother, and I knew her, and her name!* Oh. Can you tell me about her.. Family is Carmen’s main trigger and source of steam in s1 and, mostly, s2. Now we get actual parts about it and she seems like she doesn’t care.

HAHA! Julia even gets her own little entrance with music and “camera” angles. And she is SO dismissively sassy sometimes in this season, I love what little we do get of her. I mean it is REALLY out of character, she hardly ever gets sassy/angry. But everyone is out of character so what the hell might as well enjoy it

“We have a fresh Carmen sighting!” Devineaux: “Haha!” Julia: *sigggggghhh* Julia girl, whats up? Please don’t leave forever. I know you said your head was in the game but your heart wasn’t, but? What? Why? Your heart seems to have been in it in season 2! Did you have a really bad summer??

Player has a space alien and a sock on his dresser and why am I not surprised

Okay, Carmen, because sitting down against a door you’re waiting to open (and you have waited for three seconds) is a great thing to do

Hahhaha Player. “I’m sorry, did you not attend a school for thieves?” Carmen is so sad though “Hey, just broke into your house, I’m your long lost daughter” and she should be sadder about the long lost daughter thing!??! It is so out of character!?!?

And so, Uncatchable Master Super Thief Carmen Sandiego breaks into an unknown house without checking it for people or weapons, after waiting three seconds to be let in. What? What?

The casual use of “mommy” and “daddy” is so, so very strange and I hate it a lot

*Snort* Zack and Ivy are doing their best but it is sot hard to see how they got caught by VILE in TSONTS

jgkjjdf Ivy just slings Zack to the floor and he can not move her an inch

I love Lupe a lot and I hope she returns

Carmen is more wholesome in this season too, it seems, probably because of this whole disengaged character shift but its cute

Devineaux *s t r u t s*

I would be concerned if Chief hadn’t made him take the driving course but I was still terrified for Julia’s life ALSO JULIA JUST. ROLLS HER EYES SASSY QUEEN

How is it that Zack and Ivy haven’t been arrested or killed yet, they have been seen so many times with her

Ah, yes. The famed roses scene. Okay, fine, fine....ugh

Julia is looking for Carmen behind because she learned her lesson with Devineaux! yes

Julia knows what is up but Devineaux gesturing at the trophies is pretty funny

Carmen just gets yoinked off her feet by Brunt and it is the most concerned she has been all season and will be all season because getting lifted off your feet in a crowded public place with strong friends and lawmen all around is much scarier than being electrocuted, kidnapped, and gagged on a plane going to an unknown location

Coach Brunt was the Imposter

“This isn’t your fight,” Carmen says, instead of accepting help from the woman who she has seen easily lift probably 300 pounds or more to help her get rid of the lady who’s tried to murder her like twice and nearly succeeded

Oh my gosh Devineaux actually spots her peeking out and recognizes her instead of blindly following Zack/Ivy and Carmen is PEEKING OUT WHY

Carmen is handcuffed and its really funny She just drags him along like later would be a much better time for her fhdgfkhdhsf Also she is much funnier when she threatens people with a bumbling idiot cuffed to her wrist, although he is much less of a bumbling idiot this season, I must say

Of. Course. Carmen has a device which just unlocks handcuffs why wouldn’t she?!

How is Devineaux not dead

HAHA SHE JUST EXAPSERATEDLY DRAGS HIM AWAY “COME ON DEVINEAUX” that is quiet honestly hilarious to me like “My god why do I have to keep dragging you out of stupidly dangerous situations involving Brunt where you get injured”

Oh? Did they rehearse Lupe jumping off Carmen’s back? Lupe had no way to know Carmen was strong or steady enough to handle that

Saira cackling at Brunt getting beat up is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed and she is drawing a thief cat oh my god

Did Lupe still win if that wasn’t her opponent and she had help from Carmen and a debatably helpful policeman

Julia my child what happened to you? Why are you like Zari now?

Devineaux just can’t keep a car in good condition ever can he? I love how Julia just stands there covering her mouth with her hands

My god Carmen are you going to tell your story and motives to every person you meet this season? Oh? Yes? Oh, okay

No, Brunt, not a single soul saw your face. Nope.

VILE is so, so very unsinister during most of these episodes. They went from murder and trauma to pumpkin carving and nougat

Well, anyway. I’ll do more episodes coming soon.

#carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego season three #carmen sandiego spoilers #carmen sandiego season three spoilers #spoilers

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aspidenchantress · 5 years ago

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WHEN WITCHES LET THEMSELVES BURN : iii

A/N : Well, it’s been around four months since I’ve last posted a chapter, so . . . hello? Long time no see. Warning ahead, there may be some mistakes here and there. With that being said, enjoy.

Comments make my heart happy :) . Let me know if you want to be tagged.

Masterlist

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Her plants were dead.

Again.

Nesta knew Elain was in the habit of tending to them, as she did for pretty much all of the green life within the estate’s walls and beyond. She, herself, remembered to water them from time to time, thing she had been greatly scolded for by her sister, because there is, apparently, such thing as too much water for a plant.

And yet here she was, again, looking down at dead flowers. She didn’t particularly want to contemplate on why this only seemed to happen to her. She could already see the joke potential in it. Has surely heard said jokes while walking down the halls of the servants’ quarters, when she felt the need to escape and settle her thoughts.

She blamed it on the location of her room anyways.

But there were times, when she let her mind wonder. When she was out in the gardens, just for the sake of being in Elain’s company, and she would lift the blanket she sat on, only to find small patches of black grass, where she could’ve sworn it had previously been green.

When, during one uncharacteristically somber summer night, an exhausted rider, clad in the common blue-and-grey uniform of Hybern, had come to their gates, dropped a package at their feet, and stormed out into the night without a word.

And the things she felt when opening that package–

“Are you ready?”, an impatient voice drawled from behind her room’s door, putting an end to Nesta’s train of thought. She huffed, annoyed, not at Feyre’s presence, but at what it meant.

“Yes.”, Nesta gritted out. “Just a moment.”, she added, while stepping aside from the window and towards her dressing table, grabbing her brush and some hair pins to tend to her still undone hair.

In a usual Feyre manner, her sister completely ignored her statement, and went for the handle to let herself in. Only to find the door locked. “Nesta, open up.”, she said, her voice higher than previously, but still muffled by the heavy, mahogany door between them. “I feel stupid waiting alone in this stupid hall, in this stupid dress.” , Feyre whined, the sound of the handle matching her frustration.

Nesta just hummed and went back to the battlefield that was her hair. She held the hairbrush as if she carried a weapon, and let all her irritation go into untangling her brown strands, darker than her sisters’ golden ones.

The rattling stopped and Nesta let her shoulders relax. A few seconds later, a more subtle sound began, and she barely had the time to react when the handle’s lock clicked and the door opened to reveal Feyre in all her smug glory, arms crossed, hip resting against the frame, shit-eating grin full on display.

Nesta huffed again, and ignored her as she made her way inside the room.

As always, she was beautiful, as the forest is beautiful in its wilderness and the thunderstorm in its intensity. Nesta eyed her aforementioned stupid dress, and was inclined to agree. Presenting itself in a headache-worthy salmon shade, with an overly puffy skirt, and sleeves, the gown was a monstrosity. There was barely any space for it on Nesta’s bed as Feyre plopped on it, arms raising over her face, a miserable sigh escaping her mouth.

Nesta’s own mouth hardly had time to raise by its corners when Feyre raised one threatening finger and hissed : “Don’t you dare!”

She raised herself up on her elbows, and continued, “I pulled one, minuscule, harmless, prank on Elain, which she apparently took to heart.” She rolled her eyes. “It was three months ago, for God’s sake! I thought she had forgotten, fat mistake! I woke up today to see all of my gowns covered in fertilizer. This is the only thing Alis could get her hands on in time.”

Nesta stared at her baby sister, one corner of her mouth threatening to rise again.

Feyre squinted her eyes, “Don’t.”

Another corner up.

“Nesta.”

Nesta tilted her head back, letting out a snorting, joyful laugh. Feyre tried to scowl at her but found her face softening instead. Her sister was such a serious person, face immobile, sunken into a specific grimness. And yet when she found something worthy of amusement, which was a rare occurrence indeed, she positively howled. It was strange for Feyre, the way the past year had changed her family’s dynamic, but she wouldn’t change it for the world.

Even if it meant having to continue her life with a stained conscience, and even more stained heart.

She eventually joined her sister’s laughter attack, chuckling, “I’m serious! I take pity on whatever poor bastard she will end up seeing as fit for her. The boy won’t know what he’s gotten himself into till he got a ring suffocating his finger. Innocent Archeron, my ass!”

Nesta lovingly shook her head, before shifting her features back into calm impassiveness. as if the funny conversation had never taken place. She continued working on her hair.

She could feel Feyre’s silent assessment burning the side of her face, and her jaw tensioned , waiting for the change in topic.

“It’s almost time to welcome the first guests.”, Feyre said softly, cautiously.

“I’m aware.”

“You’d normally be ready by now. You’d actually be the first to leave her chambers, wide awake, perfect condition. Now you’re not even done with your hair.”

Nesta closed her eyes, listening to her sister’s quiet steps as she approached her. Her brush was taken from her hand, and Feyre took over the task.

“Are you having second thoughts?”, Freyre asked after a while.

Nesta opened her eyes, watching their reflection in the mirror. Same ice-blue orbs met her stare, one not-so-well-kept eyebrow arching in question.

“Of course I’m not”, she responded. “This is good. This is needed. We’ve dwelled in shadows long enough. It’s time to open the gates.”

Feyre hummed. “There’s something on your mind.”

“There’s always something on my mind.”

“You can stay here if it pleases you. Elain and I can handle them just fine.”

“It will only serve as an opportunity to create more rumors. I’m fine.”

Feyre tugged hard on her hair.

“You bitch!” Nesta snapped, baring her teeth “What was that for?”

“Tell me why you’re depressed, asshole!”

“I’m no such thi-”

“You look miserable! Is it that the Van Tieghems are coming?”, she asked incredulously, “We’ll bloody obliterate them!” At that Nesta had to roll her eyes. “Nasty witches.”, Feyre ended by grumbling under her breath.

It was the morning of the Winter Solstice, Feyre’s birthday. Normally, she would avoid a party thrown in her favor at any cost, ripping all decorations with her teeth , if needed be. But this year was different, for it was the first without their father. And that was definitely not the root of Nesta’s mood, as it was a breath of fresh air. But she had started hearing dangerous words whispered between people in Larsos and beyond, not long after their 40 days of mourning. And they had to put them to an end, or else they’d drag them into facing the consequences of their own actions, which was, as expected, not on Nesta’s priority list.

Past times are long since buried underneath the ash.

And that’s where they had to remain.

So the festivities in Feyre’s honor were necessary. A way for the world to enter their home and see for themselves that they were fine, and there certainly was nothing rotten about them, as much as the world’s hunger for poor gossip and drama seemed to lead to another conclusion.

Easy. Right?

“Nonsense. You know I want the Van Tieghems here. “, Nesta said.

And it was true, as one of the three most influential families in Larsos, the Tieghems had to be present today. Any people of high standing had to, as a way to assure them, and by so, the rest of the world, that the Archerons had not become a weaker link now due to their father’s death.

Or that they had any role in it.

“I just,” Nesta continued, watching as Feyre started to gather her hair in Nesta’s signature braided bun. “You know I’ve waited for the opportunity to level the waters for a while now, to get back to normal. So I actually can’t wait for this whole ordeal to begin so it can end already. But . . .”, she took a look at her dead plants, Feyre’s eyes following hers. “ I can’t help but feel that something is . . . wrong. I-”

Words caught in her throat. She couldn’t even begin to explain what she felt, what she had been dreaming about. Nor did she think she wanted to, as if saying it outloud would engrave them into fate.

Feyre sensed her hesitancy. “Perhaps it’s just stress.”, she said, doing the last retouches n her hair. “We’ve been cooking this up for months now, and now that the day when we finally put it out in execution has arrived, I think it’s normal to feel anxious.”

Nesta let her eyes wander to those plants again.

“But,”, Feyre added, a little more quiet than before “It’s a good plan, and it’s a good story. Every detail of it is in check. And even if it wasn’t. A good story, I mean. We’ve got this. We’re Archerons, we get through. “

“And besides”, she said, now looking straight in the mirror, as if trying to convince her reflection as well. “Everyone is concerned about the Red Murders. It will be easy to step out of the light and focus their attention to discussing that matter instead.”

Nesta took a few seconds to let her sister’s words sink in, and attempted to nod, though it looked as if she was fighting a grimace instead. Eager to let the whole conversation slip away, and to lighten the mood, she opened the drawer on her right, and pulled out a square silver box. Already feeling Feyre’s surprise and giddy excitement, Nesta turned in her chair and placed the box in her hands.

“Happy birthday, Feyre.” , she said softly.

Feyre’s eyes were hilariously wide, but Nesta couldn’t judge her. It was strange, very much so. They didn’t use to give each other gifts before, but something has shifted in the last year, and they swore to start new. So she was starting new, even if gift-giving, or receiving has never been an enjoyable activity for Nesta.

“Well open it up already, we don’t have all day!” Nesta said , straightening her back.

At that Feyre snorted and lifted up the box’s lid. Her brows furrowed a little as she lifted the circular piece of silver.

“I know you’re not a big fan of jewelry,” Nesta went on,” but you’re expected to be.”

Feyre rolled her eyes, even if a smile threatened to appear on her face.

“And I figured, that if you were to wear ornaments, you might as well wear some that bear utility. Something that screams . . .”, she gestured with her hand, “Feyre.”

At her sister’s confused face, Nesta took the arm bracelet in her hands and showed her its most intriguing part. The bracelet would look as if a snake was wrapped around her arm, but if she were to pull the snake’s head, that’s when she would discover the true present. Nesta did just that, and Feyre’s eyes widened ever further as she saw the flexible blade that came out of the bracelet. It was not an overly intimidating weapon, a slender, short rapier. But it had the potential of being deadly, if used cleverly. And in Feyre’s hands, Nesta had no doubt it would be put to good use.

“Well?”, Nesta asked as she saw Feyre was not going to say anything anytime soon.

Her sister closed her hanging mouth, then and managed to say. “Well . . . that definitely screams Feyre.” And then a grin split her face, and she threw herself into her sister’s arms.

“IT’S AMAZING!”, Feyre squealed, and Nesta was fighting some mixed feelings of being happy because of her sister’s excitement and being slightly annoyed by it.

“How did you even find it?”

Nesta just gave her a smirk and walked towards her full length mirror, making sure her dark blue velvet dress was all in perfect condition. She watched the reflection, eyes on the background, where she could see Feyre trying to get her puffed sleeve out of the way so that she could try the bracelet on. She also took the blade and sliced her finger a little to see how sharp it was.

It was very sharp. Nesta would know best.

“Thank you, Nesta. Truly.”

“No problem.” She turned back to her and her lips curled in distaste, making a beeline for her closet. “Let’s find you another dress.”

The relief on Feyre’s face was almost comical.

__________________________

Elain Archeron was going to find her sisters and turn them into fertilizer for her new camellias that she had gotten her hands on thanks to a very sweet lady she encountered in the market.

She had been awake for 5 hours now, making sure everything was going according to plan in terms of decor, and she still had yet to see any sign of her sisters presence in the house. Servants were all around the place, making now some final touches to the ballroom.Well, at least the ones they still had were. They truly needed to find some new helpers.

Despite being still morning, they were expecting some guests quite soon. Being the first time Feyre had agreed on having a celebration done for her, albeit due to completely other reasons than her birthday, they were anticipating the arrival of a generous amount of people. Everyone wanted to finally take a look at the youngest Archeron sister, who had kept herself out of the public eye until now.

That, or they wanted to get their noses where they didn’t belong and see if they actually could be accused of murder.

Shaking off the thought, Elain focused on the flower arrangements she had assembled at the entry, while also concentrating on keeping her balance on the ladder she was perched on . She found some difficulty keeping her mind from wandering these days. Something felt off, apart from Prythian’s current situation. She wondered how wise it was to throw a grand party while the country bled at the hands of a serial killer. Even if she was painfully aware of the impossibility of anything of sorts happening in Larsos . . . especially on Archeron ground. Yet . . .

“Oh, Alis!”, she said as the woman walked by her, carrying what looked like one of Feyre’s dirty dresses. Oops.

“Have you seen or heard of my sisters?”

“Oh, yes, dear. Lady Feyre went into lady Nesta’s room a few minutes ago. Shall I go and tell them you are looking for them?”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Elain said quickly. “They’ll come when they’re ready. Thank you.” And on a second thought. “Also, you don’t have to wash those, Alis. Take them to my room please, I’ll take care of them.”

“Are you sure, lady Elain?” , she asked, looking down at the poor state of the dress.

“Very much so, please.”

“Very well, then. Say if you need help with anything else. The flower arrangement is coming along nicely.” And with that she left, making a few people in her way scrunch their noses.

Elain smiled to herself and shook her head. Looking outside the window to her right, she let herself get lost for a moment in the way snow has covered the land, except for a small patch next to the gates. Furrowing her brows, she decided on not reminding herself of the reason behind that peculiar aspect.

Bony hands settled on her waist and she almost fell off the damn ladder .Harshly turning her head, she glared at her older sister, who currently presented a barely-there smug smile on that icy face of hers.

“Nesta”, she hissed. “Not. Funny.”

That only managed to get a widening of her smile, teeth showing. Elain pressed the back of her hand to her burning cheeks and carefully stepped down, making sure her pale pink dress was not in her way. She didn’t fancy falling on her ass.

Not that it had happened before . . .

“Where is Feyre?”, she asked once her feet when on solid ground.

“Getting changed.” Nesta simply responded, giving a pointed look in her direction.

Elain hummed innocently , and stepped back to admire her work. It looked pretty damn good, if she said so herself.

“Do you need any help?”

“I could use some. There’s not much more to do, just help me get the rest of this materials and tools back to their place.”

Nesta hummed and gathered as much as possible in her arms.

“Did you give her her present already?” Elain asked as they were walking down the halls, smiling tightly at some of the servants passing by.

“Yes, she found it to her liking.”

“Of course she did.”, Elain chuckled. After a moment of silence, she ventured on, voice dropping : “Is everything else in place?”

“Yes. . .”, Nesta responded, eyeing the painting on the walls. “I checked everything three times last night before going to bed.”

“And was last night . . . “

“Yes.” , she gritted out .Then a sigh. “I don’t know how to deal with it. I’ve yet to think of how to even break it to Feyre.”, by the end of the sentence her voice was a mere whisper.

Elain sighed, and opened the storage room’s ajar door with her hip. “Hopefully we’ll also find what we need today, and there will be no breaking to do.”

They put down their things and took a little time to sort out their thoughts.

“I never got to ask you what you got for her birthday.” Nesta said after a while, the shadows of their previous conversation still dancing along her sharp cheekbones.

Elain merely looked at her sister and grinned.

Oh it was going to be something indeed.

________________________

Feyre looked at herself in the mirror and nodded approvingly.

With some luck, she was able to find a short sleeved dress in Nesta’s closet, her new arm bracelet on full display. She touched it thoughtfully, if not slightly worried, wondering if the new route their life has taken would require her to eventually use such a thing.

Sighing, she took her old, comfortable boots and put them on. Very Nesta-disapproved, but the grey material of her skirt was covering them.

Making her way down towards the central room, she was stopped every few meters by people in the estate wishing her a happy birthday. She answered them all with a smile, one which was surprisingly genuine. Both her sisters have mentioned in the past week that something felt off, and yet, Feyre couldn’t shake that feeling of rightness. As if something great was about to happen, despite the fact that she was about to spend her birthday in her least favorite way ; surrounded by an unnecessary amount of people.

Finally arriving downstairs, she couldn’t help the slight grimace on her face. This really wasn’t her thing.

It was beautiful, and she could see the effort that has been put into it, but dear Lord did she dread the thought of being shown around to dozens of people by the end of the day.

It’s necessary, she reminded herself.

No sooner had she finished her assessment of the place, than a soft knock sounded at the front door. One of their helpers was about to put down the box he was carrying , but she stopped him with an I’ll get it.

She thought of yesterday’s conversation with her sisters, when they made bets as to who would show up first. Even if Feyre bet for the Dujardins, she secretly hoped it would be Lady Florence Bruna. She loved the old woman.

Relaxing her face into a pleasant look, she opened the door.

And nothing could’ve prepared her for who was standing in front of her.

A face that was certainly not the wrinkly one of Miss Florence smirked down at her, and Feyre felt all the air leave her lungs.

“Ah, if I’m not mistaken, you must be the infamous Feyre Archeron”, Rhysand Sayyadi said, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. “May I just say, I wish you the happiest of birthdays, darling.”

Well, fuck.

_____

tags : @meowsekai

#acotar #mywriting #a court of thorns and roses #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elain archeron #sjm #rhysand #cassian #azriel #lucien vanserra #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #nessian #feysand

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saikagerights · 5 years ago

Text

A New Possession- Entry #11

THIS JOURNAL LIVES!

After nearly 3 weeks, I finally have a new entry just for you! And it's a juicy one. I kind of went all over the place with this one, but on the bright side, it's over 1k words. Perfect for my comeback.

Work has been kicking my ass lately, and so has my inspiration from the Newlyweds one shot. Unfortunately for this fic, there may be another time where I switch gears to work on something else, so it's not as if I don't want to continue this fic, it's just that other ideas overtake this one.

But do not fear, because I plan on prioritizing this fic in the near future. Thanks for the support as always

LONG LIVE THE JOURNAL!

Also available on AO3

February 14

It’s Valentine’s day.

I find myself kilometers away from the village on another search assignment from the Rokudaime. Lately the highest ranked missions available are to lead search groups for the ranks that were discovered missing after the war’s end.

There were multiple scenarios to describe these cases. There were some that went rogue like the shinobi that were amassed by Gengo in the land of Silence, but that was a small minority of the ones that disappeared. Many of these search groups had discovered that the supposedly “rogue” targets had simply wandered away from the village without notice as some sort of backwards resignation just to conceal themselves in smaller villages outside of Konoha.

Regardless of the intent, it was our responsibility to return them to the village for interrogation out of suspicion for not following standard resignation protocol.

Although I disagree with their actions, I do understand their motive. Many shinobi had resigned as soon as they could. Both the young and inexperienced, as well as the old and hardened had reached their threshold of tolerance for combat.

Resignations are still very common 2 years later, as more and more realize the sudden decline in available work due to the truth that is peace. While I’ve also seen a decrease in my work load, I couldn’t ever see myself being anything other than a shinobi; It’s the only thing I know… I don’t know if I could even adjust to doing something different.

It’s not that I find any specific enjoyment in my work. Work is work, but I can’t help but find a specific fulfillment when I complete a task. I guess that’s just a result of my training. Naruto is usually quite enthusiastic when a job has been “well done” but I mostly assume that’s because he is working towards a higher position. Shikamaru’s demeanor suggests indifference,however he has revealed to me that his main determination lies in supporting Naruto’s rise to the level of Hokage.

In contrast, Sakura and Ino have only found more work after peace fell upon Konoha. It could arguably be the most important work of all; Healing and revitalizing the village.

Meanwhile, here I am leading search missions rather than the assassination missions I was executing less than 2 years prior.

The Choujuu Giga itself was a very essential tool that was best utilized for communication and reconnaissance, but all ROOT agents were highly skilled in assasination. As long as the target was disposed of in an efficient manner, it was enough to fulfill the will of Danzo-sama. And while Konoha’s will of fire has engulfed his will, Danzo-sama’s influence still leaves its remnants in the village’s deep underground networks and we are still far from finished in uprooting that.

For some reason however, the Rokudaime has placed me in charge of this mission instead of allowing me to chase a new lead. And I’m missing Valentine’s day on top of that.

I find Valentine’s day to be a strange, yet rather enjoyable holiday. The idea of girls giving me chocolates is a strange concept to me, but getting gifts from friends isn’t inherently a bad thing, right?

However, there have been occurrences that now require me to be extra vigilant when celebrating.

Sakura has always been incredibly um… generous? She never fails to hand deliver her own chocolates to Naruto and I every year since becoming teammates. And while I am flattered by the gesture, I can only accept the gift with a smile and a thank you before swiftly tossing them out.

Despite her good intentions, she has had quite the history of poisoning me and Naruto with her generosity. One year, I expressed my concerns, and what I received in return was a quick dose of lethal retribution for my honesty

“I cannot accept this. The last time you offered something like this I ended up ill for days.”

I was expecting some kind of rage to come from Sakura, but instead she seemed calm and collected as she slowly stepped towards me. I turned my head to see Naruto back away, his hands raised in surrender.

“Sakura-chan…”

“Naruto, I need your support on thi-”

My plea was cut off by a punch. In my attempt to dodge, a powerful strike landed onto my trachea, completely cutting off my ability to breathe. It was immensely painful, my hands clutching my neck with strained wheezing breaths and dry coughs. Sakura swiftly yanked me by the collar to apply her healing hands to my throat.

“Geez, stop moving around so much and next time I won’t accidentally hit something vital.”

Naruto didn’t laugh for once, but he also never backed me up on my statement. Probably because he didn’t want to get punched. And despite Sakura’s numerous apologies over the incident,I’ve humbly accepted the gift with a thank you to avoid a repeat.

I don’t fear for my life every Valentine’s day, however. Ino had given me a much different gift for three years now. She had even been kind enough to ask me what I preferred.

“I do this for my boys every year.”

I remember that she didn’t meet my eyes when she said that.

“Shikamaru is a weirdo who likes white chocolate,and while Choji would eat anything I gave him, he prefers his chocolate with nuts…”

She trailed off, perhaps realizing the awkwardness of the situation. I know for certain I hardly had anything to say to respond to that.

“But I wanted to know what you like…”

I responded in the only way I knew how at the time, with utter honesty

“I don’t like the taste of chocolate. It’s too sweet for me.”

I was too used to the bland and flavorless meals and food pills to have a sense of taste like anyone else of the group. Naruto has set out to “broaden my flavor horizons” by taking me out to various eating establishments around the village with the rest of the guys. I was delightfully surprised how little ramen had fit into his plans, but I know that the others probably have some say in where we go. I have yet to have a bad experience with these outings, but I still prefer tofu above all else and tend to stray away from sweets.

But my statement never would deter Ino.

“There is such a thing as bittersweet chocolate…”

She said this more to herself, but determination set into her eyes as I could now clearly see the fire in them

You’d be willing to try that if I gave it to you, right?”

At the time, it seemed like she had disregarded what I said, but soon after, I realized that she was actually trying to include me in the tradition. I had no other choice but to accept this condition.

And nearly 3 years later I still look forward to her figuratively “sweet” gesture. Looking back on it reminds me that she can be pretty cute when she’s embarrassed like that. But I think it’s the sheer force of her will that makes her truly beautiful…

I don’t know if I’m using those descriptors well, but I have decided to use them in the manner I did.

Upon more thought and observation, I’ve concluded that I am able to find points of attraction in women, or at least in Ino I can.

When I look into her bright eyes, all I am reminded of is how they were the only things I could focus on when I drew her. Or how her immense kindness had shone through them when she saved my life. Not to mention the sheer determination that flows through her when up against a daunting task. I guess that’s in her blood as an interrogator, but it seems like it is all hers to take control of.

The same could be said about her smile.

I’ve analyzed many smiles over the past few years, tirelessly trying to find what gives them life and meaning so I could someday replicate them, but all I can muster is a poor imitation. In Ino’s smile, I can see so much emotion emanating from it, outlined by cherry red lips. And I like that.

I like that quite a bit, actually.

I should probably stop thinking about this while I’m on a mission. My team is already trying to get my attention about a new lead.

I guess now I have something to look forward to when I get home.

Bittersweet chocolate coming from a beautiful girl.

_________________________________________________________

God I'm getting really sappy with my writing. Newlyweds was full of it, but now that energy is seeping into this fic. It might not be a bad thing though.

I also found enjoyment in writing Sai getting throat punched

I mentioned work kicking my ass, but next week I will be away visiting my sister out of state. I am kind of worried about the second wave of Rona slamming the country, but I gotta be as careful as I can while traveling. I hope to get some writing done while I'm away.

Anyway, comments and critiques are always appreciated. See you next time!

-Saikage

#saiino #sai yamanaka #Ino Yamanaka #Sai Journal #si fanfic

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polkahotness · 4 years ago

Text

SHORTAKI WEEK DAY 2

FFN // AO3

Flinch

I'd never seen anybody go so hard on Arnold. And that's coming from someone who has literally bullied him since the dawn of time.

It all started when we decided to take the bus out of town to visit this record store that Arnold was dying to visit. It was new and located a couple of towns over—'The Record Skip.' It was a dumb name in my opinion and considering the size of the town it was located in, I didn't exactly anticipate business to be booming enough that it would stay open for much longer.

Thus, initiated our fun little trip.

Arnold was determined to get this one particular jazz album that he'd been hunting for online and at every thrift shop, music store, anywhere that you could possibly imagine. Personally, I thought it seemed like a lot of unnecessary work for a giant disc that was way larger than it needed to be when there are CDs or, dare I say it, streaming services that could play you the same music without lugging around ten pounds worth of equipment to do so.

But to Arnold, the records were just his… thing. Rhonda would call it an 'aesthetic' but in reality, he was just a big jazz nerd who liked the way that a record, "made the sounds of each instrument pop." He claimed that when listening to an old record on his fancy phonograph or whatever you call it, was like "being in the room of a jazz concert. You can feel the energy even if it was recorded years, decades ago."

Naturally, I laughed in his face, but I respect his love for the way the music feels and sounds. I remember when we first started dating our sophomore year, we would spend hours in his room with the lights down low as he played various vinyls while explaining the greats to me and the reasons why jazz music was his happy place.

Sometimes I think it's because it helps him stay close to his grandparents who, unfortunately, aren't around any longer to influence his eclectic tastes. Both Stella and Miles seem to understand why this mission of finding some specific LP was important, but me, his 17-year-old girlfriend who much preferred the music app on her phone, well I just couldn't quite wrap my head around the significance.

"So, how did you find this shop anyway?" I asked him as we jostled on the bus down the road towards the town I'd never heard of. "This city is like… the smallest dot on a map I've ever heard of."

"It isn't that small of a town, Helga," Arnold insisted before offering a small shrug of his shoulders. "I stopped here once one the way back from visiting Arnie a few years ago," he explained, and I rolled my eyes at the mention of his zany cousin.

"Right. Arnie. Talk about someone living in po-dunk nowhere," I commented, though Arnold didn't seem to react.

His attention was focused outside the glass of the window as he watched our bus slowly travel its way into the town Arnold was eager to visit. Once the sign for the town passed us by, I could feel Arnold's grip of my hand tighten slightly and I couldn't help but smile at the involuntary action.

He was excited.

That made me excited.

Even if it was just for some dumb record.

When the bus lurched forward at its stop, both Arnold and I stood up as he began rushing off down the aisle. He could hardly contain his excitement for the possibility of finding whatever long-awaited album he'd been searching for.

Me?

I was just interested in seeing what this album was in the first place.

Up until now, he had refused to tell me—said it was stupid and that I would laugh at him. While he wasn't exactly wrong because the chances of me laughing were pretty high, it didn't mean that I didn't care. I wanted him to be happy even if it was because of something that I found weird and dumb. My opinion didn't matter. This was his thing and as the loving, perfect, gorgeous, and incredibly supportive girlfriend that I had had the honor of being for nearly two years now, I was prepared to follow that footballhead into the depths of hell if it meant he'd wear that dopey grin of his for even one minute.

'The Record Skip' wasn't too far down the road from where our bus had stopped, and Arnold practically skipped his way down the sidewalk towards the small building with a giant record hanging above the door that read the name of the shop. It didn't seem all that busy and my suspicions were correct when we entered the store to find a lone cashier who looked bored to tears and a single customer perusing the endless rows of albums.

As my eyes scanned the bins filled to the brim with records of all varieties and in no particular order, I watched Arnold begin to sort through them feverishly. Wanting to help, I stood beside him and looked over his shoulder while quietly saying, "You know Hair Boy, if you told me what you were looking for, I might be able to help you find it."

"No thanks," Arnold replied automatically as a frown grew on my face. "If it's here, I want to be the one to find it. If that makes any sense."

Pulling away from peeking over his shoulder, I chuckled to myself with a lone shake of my head. "It doesn't, you know," I told him with amusement. "Make any sense, that is. I mean, look around!" I exclaimed while gesturing at the small store we had found ourselves in. "There must be hundreds of records in here and without my help, we could be here until closing time. And from the looks of 'Moody McGee' over there—" I pointed to the cashier tapping away on her phone without a care in the world, "—I just don't think they'd be all that stoked at such a proposition."

My words gave Arnold food for thought as he paused in his sifting through the records to consider my observation. He knew that I had a point and after a moment of silent contemplation, Arnold breathed a heavy sigh of defeat. "Fine," he said softly before twisting minimally to look over in my direction with a stern expression painted on his features. "But if I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh, okay?"

Once again rolling my eyes at his inane paranoia, I agreed to his terms and conditions. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, fine, Arnoldo. Now what is it that we're looking for, huh?"

Arnold took a heavy breath as if to prepare himself for some big dark secret he'd been harboring. The dramatics of his lead-up to the important and somehow embarrassing tidbit threw me off once it was finally off his chest. "It's this Dino Spumoni record. It's… It's really, really rare because it was a live recording from one of his shows when he was still singing with Martin and Lewis in the Lounge."

I stared at him with my mouth ajar as though in shock, which I quickly wiped off and swapped the expression for a skeptical glare instead. "That's it? That's the big mysterious record you've been hunting for? Dino Spumoni?" I soon rolled my eyes while letting out a scoff. "Cripes, Arnold! Didn't your grandparents own basically every single one of his stinkin' albums? I'll bet it's up in some closet somewhere in a box, all dusty and—"

"Well, it's not, Helga," he interrupted me, and my mouth instinctively zipped itself shut at the sudden ferocity in Arnold's tone. When his wave of agitation passed, he soon apologized and explained. "I'm sorry, it's just…" He opened his mouth to let words pass through his lips, though only air escaped. As he scrunched his brows inward, he seemingly tried to conjure just what it was he had hoped to already have said and been done with.

"It's just…what, Arnold?" I pushed gently and Arnold sighed before turning back towards the rows of records he began sifting through once again.

Quietly, he resumed speaking. "When Grandma died… Grandpa didn't take it too well." He glanced over his shoulder at me before returning his attention to the records he thumbed through, while muttering, "You remember that."

"Sure," I answered while walking away from him to walk around the end of the row and to the side directly opposite of Arnold. My hope was that from where I stood across the way, I could secretly peek over at him while pretending to look through records. "That was freshman year, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was," Arnold confirmed while holding an album up and turning it around to scan over the song listings before replacing it back to the slot he'd found it in. "Grandpa died our sophomore year."

"I remember," which I had—very vividly, in fact. It had been a really tough beginning of high school for the poor kid, and as much as I hated to admit it, their deaths were a large part of what brought the two of us even closer together. I hadn't been able to help myself from checking in on him and stopping by randomly to see how he was doing. Soon I was staying for dinner and helping move belongings and sorting through boxes.

It wasn't long after that Arnold and I began officially dating.

I always imagined how his Grandpa would have teased us; his grandma continuing to call me 'Eleanor' and maybe giving Arnold a new title of his own as an upgrade of sorts. It never had felt the same since they'd passed, but so was the nature of life—and Phil and Gertie had lived a couple of pretty amazing ones.

"Right when we first started sorting through things," Arnold continued on; effectively dragging me out of my thoughts and back to the conversation we were currently having. "I found this old Dino Spumoni record—one that I hadn't seen or listened to before. It was shoved all the way in the corner of my grandparent's closet, and we were all baffled as to why it had been hiding back there."

"So, naturally, we pulled it out and I began looking over the cover—memorizing it to the smallest wrinkle and shallowest scratch," he laughed at this as though ashamed of openly telling another person about what he'd done. "And one day, as I was pulling out the record to play it, it sort of… got caught on something? I yanked at it to try and wiggle it out of the slot, but when it got free, it slipped from my fingers and—"

"It shattered, didn't it?" I answered for him as he nodded slowly.

"Smashed," Arnold uttered with a shake of his head and a humorless smirk. "Just like the name of his song."

"And that's why we're on this hunt? To replace the record that you accidently broke?" I shrugged my shoulders while moving to the next column of miscellaneous albums. "I mean, I get it. It was your grandparents, but by replacing it, you're just honoring some other random person's copy, you know?"

"That's true," he agreed, though his tone suggested otherwise. "It isn't all about the record itself, though. After it fell and broken and I had been angry for a significant amount of time, I picked up the slipcover of the album and looked over it like I had before—memorizing every indentation and faded color that made the cover art. But this time, I ventured to look inside the slot to where the record used to lie."

A long pause followed as Arnold probably waited for me to beg for more. I was happy to oblige because I really was curious now. "And?" I pressed him.

Arnold shifted over to his next column of records and flipped with ease while glancing at each album that he passed. "There was a note shoved in the back corner. That's what the record had gotten stuck on. And since it hadn't been touched in who knows how long…" his voice trailed off as though verbally giving me a blank to fill in for him.

"It's no wonder you hadn't found it before," I finalized as he went on to tell me more about the note without my prompting.

"The note was a letter. It was dated from the 50s and it was addressed to my Grandma… from Grandpa… after their very first date."

My mind tried to imagine Gertie as a young woman and Phil as some young man; the two of them no different than Arnold and myself, but for a few years. I shook off the vision I couldn't make and said, "Well, are you going to tell me what it said, or what?"

Ignoring my sarcasm, Arnold recalled the letter as though he had recited it countless times before. "Gertie—I had a swell time with you at the lounge, tonight. Here's a cut from that performance, courtesy of Dino himself. Maybe on our next date I'll take you to meet him, as long as you don't go running off with him. He'd better not touch my gal." The both of us laughed as he ended the letter and offered a shrug. "Then he just signed it, 'yours, Phil.'"

"Your grandparents really were something," I noted while sorting through my pile; Arnold moving from the row he was in to the next one over and started going through more albums. Just beside him, the only other customer in the entire store also carefully inspected record after record—also a man on a mission.

It was clear that finding this record wasn't because he missed the music or wanted it for some kind of collection he had. Arnold was looking for this record because it was made from the very night in which his grandparents had shared their very first date. Unlike some of the zany stories told by both Phil and Gertie respectively about such a date, that letter had given Arnold tangible proof of their love story.

Finding that record meant completing the album Arnold had probably stashed away beside his bed so he could look at it the way he used to look at that old picture of his parents. Not like I knew that or anything. I didn't watch him from the skylight sometimes when it was really dark out because there was a new moon and he was distracted which meant I could hide in the shadows of the rooftop above him.

But that was beside the point.

I had to find that album. I wanted to give that back to Arnold—return to my beloved that which was lost with two of the most important people in his life. My sweet, poor, footballheaded darling. How I longed to take away the pain clouding his heart. How I desired to wave a magic wand and turn back time so he could reunite with his grandparents once again. If only I could find that album. If only I could be the hero and bring to him the one thing that would set off the familiar glimmer I longed to see from beneath his emerald green eyes.

If only… If only… If only …If—

"Hey! Give that back!"

Arnold's voice echoed through the shop, and I blinked myself back to reality to look over in the direction of where my familiar footballhead was glaring up at the other customer who was the size of a linebacker. In their hand was an album—one that I could see from where I stood had that of Dino Spumoni's face on it.

It was the album.

"No way, little dude," the stranger insisted while holding the album away from Arnold's desperate grasping. "Do you know how much this puppy is worth?"

"But I had it first," he expressed, his tone growing more distressed with each word and fling of his arm toward what the man held away from him. "You took it out of my hand."

"Yeah, so that I couldhave it," the man's voice was smug; arrogant. This dude thought he could just get away with taking something because he could.

As nice as Arnold was and as harsh as he could be when pushed, he didn't seem to phase the giant stranger who towered over him. "Please," Arnold began to plead, "You don't know what this album means to me…"

"And you don't know what it's gonna mean to my wallet," the man countered.

That was all that I needed to butt my way in to their dispute and place myself directly between this douche-nugget and Arnold. This imbecile thought that he was going to walk away with this album after swiping it out of Arnold's hands because he was some 'big, strong, tough guy?' He was clearly looking for a sweet, sweet kiss from my fists.

"Hey. Iron Giant," I addressed him while shooting a confident glare up in his direction. "How about you leave my friend alone here and I'll let you mosey on home without your eyes so swollen shut that you end up running into every single trash can, pole, and sign that you encounter?" My long-winded threat didn't strike fear in the man's eyes, though I could tell he was surprised at my sudden involvement.

With a somewhat awkward chuckle, the man shifted his gaze between Arnold and me. "Are you really threatening me? Over some stupid record?"

"Are you really so stupid that you think I won't punch your lights out faster than you can say 'I'm sorry for being a literal ass?'" I retorted as I tightened my fists at my side in preparation for my next move.

Arnold wasn't having it though.

"Helga, stop," He demanded in a harsher tone than I'd anticipated. The sudden change in his demeanor threw me off guard, and I stepped aside to look at him as he moved to the forefront to stare up at our selfish stranger.

"Listen," Arnold began firmly without so much as a stutter or waver in his voice. "I found that album first. Fair and square. It was in my hand and you will give it back to me."

This amused the man and he took a lone step in to further intimidate and loom over Arnold and me. In a low growl, he said, "Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it… kid?"

My eyes shot over to Arnold who didn't even flinch at the words the man spat in his face. With an intensity I hadn't seen in Arnold in a long time, he narrowed his eyes and matched the stranger's tone to say in return, "What will we do?" He repeated before turning to look at me and silently tell me the next step in his plan. Fully understanding what it was I had to do, Arnold faced the stranger again and simply stated, "We're going to take it back."

With that, as the stranger was distracted and utterly confused, I reached out to snatch the album from his grubby hands. "C'mon, Shortman!" I hollered as Arnold and I turned around to begin running away from the angry man we left behind.

"Hey! Get back here!" he demanded, but we didn't listen. The man may have been dumb, but he certainly wasn't dumb enough to follow after the two of us and cause a scene. Not only did this cashier not care, but we were just teenagers. Surely the dude didn't want to get into a huge fight with a couple of kids.

After we paid for the record and it was safely in a bag that Arnold carried with pride at his side, we slowly walked down the sidewalk in pursuit of the bus stop. Evening was approaching and the sun had just begun to slowly sink into the horizon; the sky morphing into bright hues of oranges and pinks that swirled together like paint on a canvas. Once we made it to the bus stop, we took a seat on the bench to wait while Arnold pulled out the album and gave it a look-over.

"I can't believe we found it," He mused while staring at the cover with a smile.

"Technically you found it," I corrected him before smirking and leaning back into the bench we sat on. "And what I can't believe is you, Hair Boy."

Arnold carefully placed the album back in the plastic bag before turning to look at me with a raised brow. "What can't you believe?"

"That guy was huge, Arnold," the words came out in shock as though the memory of him was even bigger than he had been in reality. "I'm surprised you had the guts to stand up to him like that. You didn't even flinch."

"You were the one threatening to start a fight, Helga, not him. Why would I flinch?" he soon countered, and I shrugged my shoulders.

"He seemed pretty antagonistic to me. He could have socked you right there, but you just…. Stood there." I said with a smirk. "But me? That's not really how I work, you know that. I was ready to pick a fight. And If he ended up giving me two black eyes, he would have at least gotten one and it would have been worth it, too. You were walking away with that album if it was the last thing I did, today."

"At least it didn't come to that," Arnold said while reaching out to lace his hand with mine and offered a light squeeze. "I think our plan worked just fine."

"You're telling me. For once you and your giant head were the brains of the operation," I offered, and Arnold shook his head in amusement.

"It can't always be you, you know," he soon replied with a twinkle in his eye; the hint of a tease with a half-smile that I could hardly resist. "I can be clever and witty too."

"You have your grandparents to thank for that," I told him earnestly; the glimmer in his gaze dulling as he soaked in what I was saying. "I think that Gertie and Phil would be proud of you for holding your ground and getting that album back. I'll bet it was something they would have done."

"Grandpa definitely would have," Arnold agreed with a nod and a smile at the thought. I could tell that he was thinking of either a memory or trying to imagine him doing such a thing. He was lost in the thought for a moment before letting out a chuckle and adding, "Grandma would have gone a much, much more dramatic route, though."

"You're probably right about that, footballhead."

Together we sat, hand in hand, on the bench as we waited for the bus to arrive. With each new conversation and laugh that we shared, I relished the future the two of us would surely have. If today had proven anything, it was that Arnold and I worked best in tandem with each other; just like another couple we knew.

And when we reached Sunset Arms again and headed up for Arnold's room, the first thing he did was put on that record; the music filling the air to transport us back to that legendary couple's very first date. Like them, Arnold and I would have many a story to tell our grandchildren one day, and maybe someday, they too would go on a mission to find some missing relic of our love and fight to get it.

My only hope was that, like Arnold, they too wouldn't flinch at the opportunity.

#shortakiweek #shortaki week #shortaki #heyarnold #hey arnold #day 2 #flinch #writing prompts #fanfiction #fanfic

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roguelov · 5 years ago

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Request: do you think you could like a Harrison Wells x fem!reader au one shot (maybe a bit lengthy) in which it's a zombie apocalypse + Y/N and Harrison are together (bit of an age gap between the two with Y/N being a bit younger) and they both have to survive together while also being on the run from Devoe, a former governor that people despised. maybe some smut. Please?

WARNING: SMUT, violence, and a short depiction of suicide

The shotgun pressed against its forehead. With the pull of the trigger, the body collapsed to the ground. Dark coagulated blood seeped out of its head. Hurried footsteps followed by rustling of leaves. You sighed lugging your shotgun against your shoulder. Out of the foliage in front of you, Harry rushed forward. Eyes wide. Slightly breathless. Until, he saw the zombie dead at your feet.

“Sorry,” you stepped over the body. “I know we’re supposed to be quiet, but I lost my knife and I was not about to be chow for this thing.”

Harry shook his head. A low chuckled rumbled in his chest. “It’s okay. I … I just thought it –“

“Was one of DeVoe’s goonies?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

You walked forward and cupped Harry’s face with your free hand. “Hey, we’re going to be okay. We’ll find a place. Start a big garden. Have lots of livestock. And live. Instead of surviving.”

He leaned into your touch. “That’ll be nice.”

“It will be.” You pecked his lips. “Until you have to use your big scientific brain to build us a simple fence.”

He laughed.

Months ago, you and Harry started an uprising against DeVoe, a man who called himself a governor of a sealed off town. But, dictator would be a more appropriate. He was cruel and manipulative. Ever since the uprising, DeVoe and what left of his men has been on the hunt for you. You had a few close encounters, but you and Harry always managed to slip away. However, DeVoe was ruthless and wouldn’t stop until your and Harry’s heads were on his plate.

Mostly, you and Harry traveled on foot. Bouncing from abandon building to the next. Scrounging any food or supplies you may find. Carrying your life in backpacks. You needed a home. A place to start a life. That’s why the two of you kept walking. Kept pushing forward. Both of you hoping to find the place. Away from DeVoe. Away from any threat.

And you finally did.

Walking for weeks, hardly staying one place for more than a few days, you found a possible future home. Trekking through the trees, it opened to a small field. A log cabin dropped in the middle. A collapsed fence with barbed wire circled the cabin. An overgrown garden planted next to it. Vegetation high. Yet, the house in near perfect condition. Even with a cute little front porch with chairs and a table.

You smiled at Harry and he shared the same hopeful smile. Yet, both of you still cautious.

You both snuck around the cabin peering in through the back windows. You hissed through your teeth. There was a body inside. A man. Slumped over on the couch. Gun laid at his feet. Dried blood splattered the space behind him and coated the back of his head. It appeared he committed suicide.

“Harry,” you shouted. He rushed over as you pointed inside.

Peeking in, he sighed. “Poor guy.”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

“I think so. I don’t see anyone else or zombies for that matter. We should be good.”

You walked into the cabin with guns raised as you searched the rest of the home. Nothing. Only one lonely body. And the more you looked, the more of a hidden treasure this place could be. The man lived off the grid. Solar panels propped up on the roof. The cabin had its own water supply. A tank that collected water from rain. Actually electricity and running water. Something you haven’t had in months. Plus, the weed infested garden still seemed to have some vegetables growing. Along with canned food stocking the shelves. And the partial fence that would protect from any mindless wonderers.

It was near perfect. Just needed some TLC. So, you and Harry decided to stay.

First, you started with burying the man’s body out in the field. Even saying a few words hoping he found peace in the next life. Then you started the long and tedious job by cleaning up. Cleaning up the dried blood, dusting and airing out the musty old sheets and cushions from the couch and chairs. Days of cleaning. Each day the cabin looking more and more homely.

Today, you worked on weeding the garden while Harry started to rebuild the fence. Complete with a hidden bell system to warning the two of you. You huffed exhausted in the blazing sun. A pile of weeds stacked high next to you. With a few fresh vegetables on your other side. You stood up needing a break. Bring the few vegetables inside, you grabbed a glass of water. You stepped back outside leaning on the railing watching Harry.

He set up a makeshift table along with tools he found hidden in the dilapidated shed. Tools slightly rusty and dull, but he fixed them up. Currently, he was measuring out a length of wood. Marking up the wood, he set the pencil down. He turned and stared up at the intense sun sighing. He lifted his shirt patting his face dry. Giving you the perfect little sneak peak of his flat toned stomach. The delicious deep V taunted you.

You wolf whistled at him. He looked to you shaking his head. You smiled at him innocently. Soon, a smirk graced his lips as he removed his shirt tossing it onto the table. He turned back around and stretched his arms up. Giving you a wonderful view of his back muscles.

“Damn! Is it hot out here or is it just you?” you giggled.

He peered over his shoulder with a cocked brow. You winked at him and took a sip of your water. Ignoring his work, he strolled towards you. With each step, your heart jumped. His eyes locked onto you. He stood in front of you. Faces close together. Dangerously close. You still leaned on the railing at eye level with him. He plucked the glass out of your hand and took a long sip. Maintaining eye contact. He wordlessly handed it back over with a smile then walked away.

You huffed setting the glass on the table. “Harrison Wells! You get your ass back over here and kiss me!”

He chuckled. Spinning around, he marched forward. Eye hungry. Hungry for you. Skipping over the stairs, he stood in front of you. Looming over you with his dazzling smile. His chest glistened. His breathing heavy. Matching your own. Swiftly, he cupped your face kissing you passionately.

You hummed as your hands skimmed up and down his bare chest. Stumbling back into the wall, the wood dug into your skin. But you didn’t care. Harry broke the kiss. His hands slid down your neck, down your sides. His fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt. You lifted your arms up as Harry carefully removed the shirt.

Harry’s mouth latched onto your neck. Sucking and nipping. You sighed. His hands locked onto your hips keeping you in place. Not that you were leaving any time soon. You leaned your head back against the wall closing your eyes. Enjoying every expert touch from Harry. He peppered kisses across your neck to the other side. Slowly. Soft butterfly kisses. He loved watching you squirm at his delicate kisses. His hands traveled up your sides to behind your back. He unclipped your bra then tossed it aside.

His hands cupped your breasts. Kneading them. Teasing them. His fingers pinched and twisted your perked nipples. Sending aches start to your core. You whimpered. Harry wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you close. Bare chest to bare chest. He nuzzled his head into your neck. He bit down then quickly soothed the pain with his tongue.

You moaned, “Harry.”

He smiled against your neck. He licked up your neck to your ear. His breath tickled. He whispered low and huskily in your ear, “Yes?” You shivered.

He bit your neck again. Thrilled by marking you up with his love bites. A moan rose in your throat but he silenced it. By kissing you. His tongue explored your open mouth. Loving the way you tasted. Loving how you tried to dominate him – fight back – but ultimately submitted. Putty at his touch. His fingers dug into your hips. Yanking you forward, his erection pressed against your core. You hummed against his mouth.

Breaking apart, he smiled at you. Your eyes heavy with lust. Lips swollen. And breathless. All from his doing.

“I think we should go inside. Don’t want your scream to attract any unwanted guests,” he murmured.

“Really?” Your words was your only weapon against his touch. Both a blessing and a curse. And if you played your cards right? Magic. “Scared? Or do you not want anyone to watch us?” you joked.

He spun you around and bent you over the railing. The paint chips and chipped wood scratched and itched your stomach. Harry pressed his bulge against your rear. He leaned down whispering in your ear. “Is this what you want? For me to take you here and now?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“I’m sorry, but you will have to speak up.”

“Yes, please.”

He chuckled then placed a trail of kisses down your back. “That’s all you had to say.”

Harry stepped back. You peered behind you and watched as he unbuckled his pants letting them drop. Along with his boxers. His hard cock curved up ready to have you. You bit back a moan. You hastily stood up and followed his suit. But, Harry stopped you. He pressed himself against your back. His arms wrapped around you and placed his hands over top of yours.

“Allow me,” he said against your neck.

He unbuttoned your pants. Slowly pushing them down along with your underwear. The cool air caused you to shiver. He stopped about halfway. He extended his hand past your head out in front of you. You smiled shaking your head. Grabbing onto his hand, you stepped out of the last pieces of your clothing kicking them to the side.

He twirled you around once more and placed an intoxicating kiss on your lips. To get a reaction out of him, you bit down tugging on his lip. He hummed smirking at you. Spinning you around, he whispered, “Remember to keep quiet. We don’t want any uninvited guests.”

He bend you. Your arms rested on the railing and your head laid on your forearms. Harry gripped your hips. He teased your dripping entrance. You shakily exhaled. Trying to contain yourself. He smirked at your reaction. Haven’t even start and you’re already worked up.

He pushed himself in. Filling you up every inch. You bit your lip as a moan rumbled in your throat. Harry slowly pulled out. Each action slowly and deliberate. Then. He bucked his hips slamming into you. A complete change in pace. More rougher. More demanding.

And you loved it. A moan escaped from your lips. Purely animalistic.

Harry stopped. Pulling out causing you to whimper. “Absolute silence,” he commanded. “Or we stop. Do you understand?”

You nodded.

He pressed his erections against your folds. “Answer me. Do you understand?” he growled.

“Yes,” you mewled.

He slammed back into you. You dug your nails into your arms to stop any noises from rising up. Harry continued to pump in and out. Then you met him. Pushing back against him. A throaty rumble sounded from Harry. Trying to restraint himself. You smirked how it affected him. You did it again. His fingers clenched your hips. You would have done it again if one of Harry’s hands wondered up. Cupping your breast, kneading and twisting your nipple.

You gasped. He chuckled.

He worked faster. You whimpered as a pressure build. Reaching your climax. His hand that played with your breast wondered down. To your clit. His finger teased it.

You hummed. The only noise you could make.

Each pump sent electricity throughout your body. You couldn’t last any longer. Especially with his wondering hand. Your toes curled. Your nails embedded into your skin. Eager to chase the high, you pushed against Harry. Filling you completely. A moan accidently tumbled out. Yet, instead of punishing you he continued on. Each snap of his hips harder. Your walls threatened to close around him. You pushed back again. Harry moaned. Which went straight to your core.

“Harry,” you warned.

One more snap of his hips, and you came. Hard. It left you breathless. Your legs ready to collapse. After a few more pumps, Harry came.

Both of you stayed locked together breathing heavily. Harry pulled out. You shakily stood up and turned around. Harry smiled at you. He wrapped his arms around your waist while you threw your arms over his shoulders. For comfort and support.

“How did I ever get so lucky enough to have someone like you at my side?” he asked.

“Simple.” You said, “You send the world into chaos. Sprinkle in some zombies then boom. The perfect recipe for us to run into each other and stick by each other’s side.”

He chuckled. “That’s it? Just an apocalypse?”

“Well, that and a crazed governor to strength our relationship.”

He shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes, but you have to deal with my ridiculousness.”

“Yes, I do. And so much more,” he whispered seductively as captured your lips again.

A few months passed. You and Harry enjoyed your simple life. No one bothered you. Zombies hardly a problem. Just the two of you living off of the land. Unless you needed other products. Like soap or other little supplies to make life easier. So, from time to time you and Harry would venture out in search of extra necessities.

And that’s how DeVoe found you. Nearly a year on the run from him, after believing you lost him, he found you.

You and Harry were joking in an abandon store. You planted yourself behind a broken register and acted like an obnoxious cashier. “Um, sir, sir, you are going to need to pay for that,” you stated.

Harry shook his head. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, it’ll be at least a hundred dollars.” It was maybe a handful of cans along with some soap and toothpaste. You fiddled with the register. Tapping and clicking all the buttons while pretending you smack a piece of gum. “The apocalypse. Supply and demand. All of it has made inflation a real bitch.”

He smiled and bent down to your eye level. Very little space separated the two of you. “Maybe there’s some other way I can pay for it.”

“Like what? You got a coupon or something? Two for one?” you joked.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

All during this fun, care-free, moment across the street hidden behind a building was DeVoe and his men. Or at least the men he had left. “Should we attack?” one of them asked.

DeVoe shook his head. “Let them have their moment.” He watched as Harry showered you in kisses while you laughed. “Let them think they’re safe. We’ll follow them back to wherever they live and kill them there.”

Later that day, you and Harry were playing a board game. One of the few you found laying around the house. To be frank, you were kicking Harry’s ass. And he wasn’t too pleased with this. Grumbling like a little kid. You were about to tease him when the sound of an approaching vehicle cut you off.

You and Harry walked to the window. Peering out, you saw a modified van break through the fence. The hidden bells jingled as it got caught up in the tires. Spikes protruded from the front while extra metal plating was bolted onto the sides. A van made to withstand a fight. Because it was always looking for a fight. The van skidded to a stop roughly 30 feet away. The passenger door opened and out stepped DeVoe. Quickly, his men followed suit. Five extra men popped out with their guns locked onto your home.

Your heart sank. Harry glared.

“Come on out!” DeVoe shouted. A crazed smile on his lips. “I just want to talk!”

“Harry,” you whispered. “What do you think we should we do?”

“We could run out the back,” he answered.

“No.” He glanced at you. The stern look on your face as you glared ahead. “This is our home. I’m tired of running from this madman. We prepared for this – for any insane situation. We end this here and now.”

He smiled. “You’re right.”

The two of you stepped outside onto the porch. Not any father. Harry cleared his throat, “Alright, DeVoe, what do you want?”

DeVoe placed his hands behind his back and stood tall. A man with a purpose – with a plan. “Simple. To talk.”

“Really?” Harry crossed his arms.

“Of course not.”

You and Harry dove to the side dodging the rain of bullets. Glass shattered. Harry covered your body with his own protecting against any glass or bullets. You turned to the side seeing the two porch chairs.

“Harry. The chairs,” you grunted.

He followed your eyes. Carefully, he lifted up the cushions revealing two guns. He handed one over to you. When the wave of bullets seized, you and Harry jumped up returning the fire. Two men were blasted back. Dead. However, one of the men grabbed DeVoe hauling him to the other side of the van. Protected against your assault.

You and Harry darted inside the house. Both of you quickly uncovering hidden weapons planted throughout your home. Such as the sniper rifle hidden in the kitchen.

“Why even bother fighting?” DeVoe shouted. “You did this! You deserve this!”

“Do we?” Harry countered. “You’re insane, DeVoe!”

“Yes, possibly! But I had a life – a home! A sanctuary for the lost! And you ruined it all!”

“All we did was open people’s eyes to the truth,” you yelled.

“You ruined everything!”

“You were manipulating the lost! Making them do your bidding while your hands stayed clean! They killed and robbed anyone who opposed you! They lost their innocence!”

“No one’s innocent these days!”

“You corrupted people’s morals in order to become a king. Taking land from people who didn’t want trouble! Then stole and killed said people!”

“I was providing a home for those people! They refused so I showed them the truth! That everyone will die without my help!”

“No. Not everyone. Not anymore. Only you will die.”

You finished setting up the sniper. You position yourself at the shattered window. Peering through the scope, DeVoe and his men stayed hidden on the other side of the van. You glanced over your shoulder and nodded at Harry. He nodded then snuck out the back door. What DeVoe failed to realize was you and Harry have created a dozen different plans if such an occasion would arise. Whether it was DeVoe or a random mercenary wanting looting and blood.

Looking back through the scope, you saw the four pairs of feet from under the van. None of them have moved. Possibly formulating a new plan. Harry hurried from the side of the home rushing forward. He pressed himself against the van staring back at you. He nodded raising his gun. You gave them a thumb’s up then fired at the men’s feet. They all scrambled and jumped trying to flee from the bullets. However, one of them fell to his knees in pain. You shot his knees. He then collapsed onto the ground in a fetal position cradling his busted knee. You shot him in the head. All while peering under the van.

Your shooting impeccable.

Harry quickly rounded the van firing. Everything went out of your view. The intense barrage of bullets and groans filled your ears. Each shot made you flinch. Hoping Harry was safe. Hoping this was the right move.

Then. Silence.

Your heart hammered in your chest. You peeked through the scope trying to find Harry. You did. Stumbling to his knees with a bullet wound in his side while DeVoe stood over him aiming his gun at Harry’s head.

You inhaled sharply. Your worst fears playing out in front of your eyes.

“Now, (Y/N), be a dear and come out. And leave your big gun behind,” DeVoe smirked. You suppressed the urge to snap at him. You placed the gun down and walked out. “Such an obedient girl. No wonder you lover her, Harry.”

Clutching his side, Harry growled,” Fuck you.” As you walked closer, your eyes focused on the red staining Harry’s shirt. His eyes connected with yours. “Hey, it’s okay. Hey, remember you will always have my love, right?”

You smiled as tears formed. “Yeah, I know I have your love. Because you have mine.”

DeVoe groaned. “Enough of this!” He pressed the gun to Harry’s head. “You ruined my life! I had everything and you took it from me!” His crazed eyes directed at you. “Now, I get to take your life. Then maybe after I kill Harry, you and me can have some fun.”

Harry tried to lounge at DeVoe but fell to the ground in pain. “Tsk, tsk, Harry.” DeVoe put his foot on Harry’s wound causing him to scream. “Always so predictable.” He aimed the gun at Harry’s face. “Say goodbye to your love and say hi to the Devil.”

“Say hi yourself,” you spat.

DeVoe whirled around. A shot rang out. A red dot oozed out of DeVoe’s forehead. His features painted in shock. He collapsed to his knees. His life faded from his eyes. Then fell face first into the dirt. You sighed in relief. The small handgun in your hand that was aimed at DeVoe’s head dropped to your side. The gun hidden safely in your waistband pressed against your back. Your fingers curled tightly around it. Still in shock that it was all over.

“Shit!”

Realization hit you. Harry was still injured. Tossing your gun to the side, you slid to your knees at Harry’s side.

“Nice shot,” he mumbled. “I was worried you didn’t bring anything with you.”

“Harry, we went through a million different scenarios and even created a secret code. And you thought I wouldn’t bring an extra gun when your life was on the line.”

“Just needed to make sure,” he smiled.

The coded messages: ‘You will always have you have my love, right’ = ‘Do you have a weapon?’ And ‘I have your love’ = ‘Yes, I have a weapon.’

Tears rolled down your cheeks. “You’re such an idiot.”

“But your idiot.”

You shook your head. “Okay, I need to look at your wound.” Lifting his shirt, all you saw was blood. Seeping. Oozing. Non-stop. You tried not to make a noise, but Harry could tell it was bad from your face.

“That bad, huh?”

“What? No, no. I got this. You’ll be fine.” Your hands shakily dropped his shirt.

“(Y/N) – “

“No, don’t you dare say another word.” Your heart ached. We just won. This can’t be happening. We’re finally free.

“(Y/N) – “

“Shut up!” You closed your eyes taking a deep breath. Your hand clenched into tight fists. Opening your eyes, you stared at Harry and calmly said, “I’m going to go get our medical kit and you’re going to pull though, okay?”

Harry grabbed your wrist. Sweat bedded across his pale face. With every breath, he winced. His eyes watery. A smile tugged on his lips. “I just wanted to say I love you.”

More tears formed. “Fuck” – you wiped away the tears – “I love you too.”

A couple of days later, you stood over an open grave. It took you forever to dig this. The physical and mental capacity drained you. Constantly wondering how it all came to this. Why? Why were you doing this?

“Finally finished?”

You glanced over to find Harry. He stumbled towards out in the middle of the field. You quickly rushed to his side supporting him. Your arms wrapped around his waist as he flung his arm over your shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be up and about,” you hissed. “You could tear open your stitching.”

He rolled his eyes. “When I asked you to be my nurse I didn’t mean literally. I was hoping for more of a fun time.”

You huffed. “Well we can play nurses and doctors when you’re healed. So, go sit your ass down.”

“No … I … I want to be here. I need to see it for myself.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” You helped Harry over to the grave and he peered in to see DeVoe and his men inside.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” he whispered.

“Yeah.” You grimly stared down at the bodies. Bodies you dragged in. Bodies you created a grave for. Bodies that were people. People who you should hate. Despise. Especially, one. But, all you could muster was pity. Pity for the man who had nothing in the end. Pity for the lost deranged soul who snapped when all of this chaos started years ago.

“I’m sorry you had to do this all by yourself,” Harry whispered.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re not part of these bodies.”

He kissed the side of your head. “Yeah, me too.”

You bit your lip as you gripped Harry’s shirt tighter. “I mean especially since I … I don’t think I could raise a kid by myself.”

Harry flinched. His heart lurched. She can’t be – In seconds, he twisted around in your embrace and cupped your face. “Wh – what? What did you say?”

“Harry, I’m pregnant.”

His eyes darted down to your stomach. “Are … are you sure?”

“Yes. I snuck some pregnancy tests from our raid the same day DeVoe showed up. I did a dozen tests all of them positive.”

His hand gently touched your stomach. He whispered, “We’re going to have a kid.” His eyes connected with yours. His eyes sparkled with joy. “We’re having a kid!” He picked you up spinning you around.

“Harry! Your stitches!”

He put you down. Your glare lasted only a second when you saw the smile plastered onto his face. And it wouldn’t leave anytime soon. He kissed you. Which didn’t last long as both of you started laughing giddy for the future.

“You’ll be an amazing mother,” he gushed. “An amazing ass-kicking, zombie killing, always caring mother.”

You laughed. “And you’ll be a fantastic father. A fantastic intelligent badass father.”

#The Flash #the flash cw #the flash au #the flash imagine #harrison wells #harry wells #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells imagine #harrison wells oneshot #harry wells x reader #harry wells imagine #harry wells oneshot #devoe #zombie #apocalypse

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