#just to like static shriek I guess

[crimsonblackrose]

The amount of stuff I have to get done and is uh...rather crushing. Of course every time I get on this same little path it ends up on a week where I’m also working extra hours to cover for time off or have other responsibilities. And this time I have ✨ both ✨ . Like I need to do this test. By test I mean a ridiculous amount of research for BIG THING, and it’s overwhelming and I do have questions (i.e. am I doing whole big thing or am I doing small sample?) but I can’t ask because the time right now is bad for the people to ask. (aka time zones screwing me over) It’s due Friday but I still have 9 hours of work tomorrow and probably 5 more before the mid-day Friday deadline and that’s going to eat up most of my time to work on it. I also just realized for the arts and crafts thing I got the most that need to be completed because I think past me volunteered to do so. (past me did not know it would come back to bite me) But it’s fine because it seems like a lot but research wise it’s not. It’s just making the things. Progress though is at like 1% for the research phase which is BAD. The birthday party on Friday is a potluck and cupcakes were veto’d and lavender cookies were requested so that’s a two day process (they’re in the fridge so day 1 is done but cupcakes would’ve been a 1 day process so I thought I could mark that off the to do list but I can’t yet and that means I’ve got to take away time from the working on the test tomorrow to finish them) I’m working extra hours tomorrow and Friday there is no buffer time after work on Friday because I have to bolt for transportation chaos to get there on time immediately after I get off work. Thankfully the arts and crafts aren’t do on Friday. But I do have to touch base about progress which is...practically nonexistent.

[tojirights]

Pls, I need Alastor and brat taming. 😭

Fem!reader who acts soo cocky around everyone and tells Alastor she isn’t scared of him only for him to respond “you will be.” and he spanks and overstimulates her until she submits to him. The next day she’s walking round the hotel thoroughly avoiding him bc she’s so embarrassed.

a/n: PFFTTT the brat in me is going wild for this one bestie

buy me a coffee?

tags: 18+ smut, nsfw, spanking, slight choking, over stimulation, brat taming, shadow tentacle use, sliiight ass play/double penetration

"dude you're fuckin' scary..." angel physically shudders when alastor rises from the shadows and appears at your side. you raise an eyebrow before laughing at angel. "for real? look at those fluffy ears and little tail! this is scary?" you reach up and boop his ears, which twitch at your touch. he narrows his glare at you, daring you to test him further. "go on, darling. keep belittling me like that and you will know just how scary i am."

you roll your eyes, locking arms with him as he starts to lead you away from angel and the others. "you're all bark, no bite." you continue to prod, poking his cheek with your finger. "stop it." he warns, and his tone is serious, but you just stick your tongue out at him. "i'm not afraid of you, al." you huff with confidence. reaching the door to your room, he pauses. "oh?" his voice cracks through the radio static for a brief moment, and you feel goosebumps rise on your arms. "is that so?"

even though the look in his eyes has you reconsidering your brave behavior, you stand your ground. "yeah, what's so scary about the radio demon, hm? gonna haunt me while the top 20 pop songs play? or i guess you'd only haunt me over some jazz or someth-" your words catch in your throat when alastor's suddenly pushing you against the door to your bedroom, for anyone walking by to see. "you need to learn your place, little one."

with wide eyes, you look up at him. "what are you doing?" you whisper, glancing around the thankfully empty hallway. alastor easily towers over you, caging you against the door. "you should be afraid of me, sweetheart..." he says, low and breathy against your ear. "i think you just need to learn your lesson, that's all." you're about to protest, your hand flat against his chest but then you feel his lips on your skin and you all but melt. "i don't-" you gasp, alastor's teeth scraping against your neck.

"shhh." alastor's hands slide around your body, opening the door and walking you through it. "alastor..." you swallow, about to challenge him more but his hand wraps around your throat before you can. "not another peep until i say so." your mouth opens as alastor pushes you to the bed, but the tug of your pants and underwear stop you. "w-wait!" you scramble, but alastor just chuckles. "not so tough now, are you?"

he rolls your panties up into a ball and in the process, he can feel the wetness your panties have collected. "if you can't handle it, you're more than welcome to admit to me that you are scared, my darling." he teases, but you hold your ground with a glare. "now, as for your punishment... over my knee." he commands, sounding so natural in this demanding tone. you bite your lip, wiggling further onto the mattress and away from him. when he sighs, you can't help but giggle.

but then there's something wrapping around your ankle and sliding you over to alastor's lap. "h-hey wait, no fair!" you whine when you see his shadow tentacle secured around you. alastor chuckles, another tentacle coming up over your mouth. "tap my leg if it's too much." he whispers, and you know he's giving you an out even after your playful disrespect. but your pussy throbs as you're pulled over his leg, bare ass up and ready for him and you're fully invested in this now.

you shudder when alastor's hand rests on your ass before coming down hard on it with a smack. your shriek is mostly muffled by the shadow acting as a gag, especially as the second hit comes faster than expected. wiggling in his lap, you whine against his restraints until you feel something prodding at your pussy and go completely limp as a shadow starts to slowly push inside of you.

eyes wide, you wriggle in his grasp but it only earns you a smack to your other cheek. "just relax, darling. or are you scared?" he pouts above you, watching the way your body reacts to his every touch. his tentacle eases into you, stretching your cunt in such a way that you're seeing stars already. you moan against your gag, jolting when you're hit once again. alastor's large palm rubs the irritated, bright red skin as his tentacle fucks you in slow, languid strokes.

you're certainly not scared, and alastor is well aware of that fact by the way your pussy squelches with every push of his shadow. he can hear how wet you are without even looking. you gasp when you feel yet another tentacle pressing ever so gently against your ass, just prodding the tight muscle but not threating to enter. your head whips around to look at alastor, eyes wide with a tinge of panic, but alastor's smirk is reassuring.

he may be teaching you a lesson here, but he's not a monster and respects your boundaries after all.

"tapping out, my sweet?" he snickers when your wide eyes drop to a glare once again. "that's what i thought." he hums, another smack hitting your abused skin. he's just toying with your ass, the tip of his shadow just barely edging its way in but the pressure itself is enough to start pushing you towards the edge. and when the tentacle slips passed the tight ring of muscle, you can't stop your orgasm from following quickly after.

every nerve in your body rings as waves of pleasure crash over your, your moans barely muffled by alastor's tentacle over your mouth. you swear you've never cum harder ever, and yet alastor doesn't stop. he's still pumping his shadow in and out of your cunt, spreading your wetness all over your inner thighs and even onto his pants. it's almost too much, the fullness of having both holes played with as well as the feeling of being restrained the way you were.

your eyes well up with tears, overwhelmed with the sheer pleasure coursing through your veins and alastor doesn't seem like he's going to be stopping any time soon unless you tap out.

and you're not a bitch, so tapping out is not an option.

alastor's free hand reaches your other cheek and spreads it apart, giving himself a view of the action in front of him. he'd be lying if he said his cock wasn't throbbing at the sight of his shadow pumping in and out of your slick pussy, prodding your tight ass. you feel so exposed, you can feel his eyes burning through you but that only makes you clench harder. alastor gives your cheek another quick smack and you're a goner once more.

shaking, your second orgasm hits you even harder somehow. your whimpers are barely audible, but loud enough to make alastor groan himself. "fuck, hands and knees, now." he breathes, pushing you off of his lap and quickly undoing his pants just enough to free his aching cock. your restraints are removed, giving you free access to move once more, but you also lose the fullness of the tentacles. its not for long though, as alastor lines his cock up with your leaking pussy

as alastor starts to slide his cock inside, one hand finds your hip while the other pushes your head into the mattress. your thighs shake with every thrust, and your pussy aches from the prior intrustion already but you can't help yourself from pushing back on him. you probably seem desperate, cumming twice already and still eager for more, but alastor has you like putty in his hands. "oooh now see, who's a good little slut, hm?" he coos, fucking into you harder.

you whimper into the blanket, still muffled like earlier but more pronounced now and alastor's ears twitch with every moan. he won't soon forget this little interaction, seeing you so needy and obedient. he smacks each cheek, enjoying your pathetic sounding cries as your body begs for a break. "cum again, darling." alastor grunts, hips slamming into yours in quick strokes. you shake your head, protesting the potential, but alastor's shadow sneaks around your body to play with your clit.

"n-no too much-" you pant, both convulsing with every flick of his tentacle. alastor just clicks his tongue to his teeth. "one more, sweetheart. then, maybe you'll have learned your lesson." you feel every thrust of his cock hitting right against your cervix, your head spinning as alastor works to pull another orgasm from you. "f-fuckk al-" you cry out, pussy pulsing around his cock, tears springing free from the overwhelming pleasure.

alastor's orgasm follows quickly behind you, and he chooses to pull out and paint your reddened ass cheeks with his cum. the red skin, in contrast with the milky white of his seed is a sight he won't soon forget. you whimper with each thick rope of cum hitting your skin before you collapse onto the bed.

you dont remember too much after that, but alastor gets you cleaned up and you're asleep within seconds.

the next day, you walk into the kitchen with your head down. "ah! good morning, sunshine!" alastor chirps, sipping from his coffee cup. you feel everyone's eyes on you, but all you can do is stare at the ground. "shut it, asshole..." you mumble on your way to grab a drink yourself. alastor just smirks. "naww, is someone embarrassed?" he pouts, eyes wide and teasing. "im never talking to you again." you threaten, but alastor hums and ignores your weak threat.

because you're crawling into his bed that night, begging for more.

taglist: @downbadforfictionalppl @karolinda007-blog @the-alastor-simp @batmanmonstarr @lilcupnoodlez @cxrsedwxrlds @murdertrampx @sssandychemd @jellibean2018

[lurochar]

Before It All (Pt. 3)

Warnings: Obsessive Alastor

Part 1 + Part 2

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

It really was you.

His nameless Doe.

You seemed tense, clearly uneasy by the static he emitted and his presence alone by the looks of your erect ears and puffed fur of your tail.

(How cute, you had your clothes altered for your tail. A shame he hadn’t noticed it back when he had summoned you).

Alastor was now used to fellow demons being unnerved and frightened in his presence and so they should be, but you – there was no reason for you to be so anxious in his company, though he supposed he could understand it somewhat.

The power dynamics were completely turned around.

You had no advantage over him, he wasn’t that weak human anymore.

But still, Alastor didn’t like the fact you were so wary of him, so he needed to lighten the mood, break the tense atmosphere, and there was no better way than reminding you of your encounter with him when he was the weaker one, when you had the power over him, was there?

“How I’ve missed your wonderful ears, my nameless Doe.”

Alastor always did find your ears fascinating.

He may have his own pair of deer ears now and they had their uses – his auditory senses were vastly superior when compared to his human self, so much so, it took a week or two for him to adjust to sensory overload. They also gave any would-be attackers a false sense of security, he was just a deer demon, so he had to be weak.

Ripping those sorts to shreds felt much more satisfying.

But his ears were so damn sensitive to touch that Alastor had no idea how you didn’t just melt into a trembling mess when you allowed him to stroke your ears all those years ago.

He needed to move on from these thoughts before–

You blinked at his odd greeting, your body relaxing slightly from its earlier tensed position that had been poised to flee at any given second.

You blinked again.

And then you let out a loud yelp of surprise, springing forward when you felt icy cold hands playfully tug on your ears from behind. 

–before his shadow acted upon them.

You reeled around to see what had touched you, not expecting to see a grin right up in your face and you stumbled back a bit, happy enough that you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of the Radio Demon/Alastor by letting out some sort of pitiful sound like a scream or shriek.

“I do hope you can excuse my shadow’s behaviour. The poor thing can hardly contain itself, seeing it is a reflection of me.” Alastor gestured the shadow away, which it did after giving you a last glance before it vanished. “Well then, should we do now what we should have done twenty-four years ago?”

You’re unsure what he is talking about.

“Introductions, my nameless Doe! Unless you prefer that name over your real one.” Alastor bows in a flashy way. “Alastor Hartfelt! But you already knew that, correct?” He stood up straight and eyed you expectantly.

“It’s nothing special, it’s just Y/N.” You shrug before eyeing Alastor intently and you hope you don’t get killed or worse for your question. “You just seemed like a miserable boy brought up in a miserable situation, so I gave you a pass. I thought if I got rid of your main problem, maybe you could live the rest of your life normally. You didn’t even make it to forty. What happened?”

Alastor hummed. “It would turn out that my father was only a drop in the bucket. After that wretch was gone from our lives, my Mama instilled in me the importance and value of women. Women are not second-class citizens nor are they property, but this way of thinking was uncommon and misogyny was everywhere.”

You think you can guess where this is heading to…

“I killed men, men like my father. Men who see no problem in beating their wife. Degenerates that stalked the alleyways for their next rape victim. For over a decade, I was the ‘Bayou Butcher’. It’s only due to the incompetence of a hunter that I am here now.” The expression on his face was that of delight. “I have no remorse. I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.”

Oh.

It’s… it’s not what you wanted for Alastor, but you remembered that sheer hatred in his eyes. Something that deeply rooted wasn’t so easily erased, even if the main cause was taken out of the situation.

Unfortunately, you were not wrong in guessing Alastor would eventually condemn himself to Hell.

Fortunately, you had held onto Hartfelt for the past twenty some years.

You do have another question, but you know better than to ask.

Some demons don't care, but some demons can get quite offended if asked about their appearance and why they ended up looking the way they do. It’s personal, tied to their sins in life and their manner of death.

Asking Alastor why he ended up as a deer demon, a prey-based demon, could get you killed or maybe worse.

“I was mistaken for a deer by an inept hunter who took a shot before bothering to confirm what he was shooting at.” Alastor answers easily and casually, as if reading your mind and knowing what you want to ask. “Do not be afraid to ask me anything, my lovely Doe. I assume you heard my message on one of my broadcasts, yes? I meant every word of what I said.���

Lovely Doe?

‘I told him my name…’ You decided it didn’t matter too much as it wasn’t demeaning or degrading. You’ve been called much, much worse and on a regular basis by Hartfelt, so hearing an affectionate(?) nickname was a bit of refreshing change–

Should you be thinking that way?

Your ears dropped.

“Listen, Alastor,��� you noticed his eyes seemed to glow brighter from you simply saying his name, “I messed up that day. I… I shouldn’t have touched you, let alone hug you. There are countless reasons why most demons don’t have free access to the human world. Contact with demons tends to screw humans up. Even just one night with a Succubus or an Incubus can fuck up humans for months and they’re low-class demons.”

Alastor simply tilted his head.

“I’m mid-class and… and I should have known better.” You sighed. “I think I messed you up in some way by touching you and letting you touch me.”

You were taken back when Alastor started to laugh and your ears flattened completely, slightly bothered by his reaction to your words.

Did you say something amusing?

“Oh dear me, you have twisted it all around in your worrisome mind, haven’t you?” Alastor chuckled. “So you have yet to realize you saved me and my Mama from that piece of scum I had to call ‘father’? My life even? Had you not killed that man for me, I would have made a clumsy attempt to murder that man, whether I succeeded or not. Such a thing would have cost me my life much earlier. I would not have been able to pursue my career and take good care of my Mama until her final days.”

You flustered, not sure what to say back.

“I lived my life the way I wished to because you freed me from that man. I am here in Hell purely of my own actions, though perhaps a little earlier than expected. You are very much downplaying what you are to me and I cannot say I care much for it.” Alastor couldn’t help the loudening crackle of his static.

“...okay…”

“Pardon?” Alastor’s ears twitched at the mumble of your voice, though he heard you just fine. He wanted you to clarify what ‘okay’ meant and look him in the eyes as you did so. He wouldn’t trap you in a contract like the fools whose souls he owned, but with his guaranteed protection for nothing more than just staying at his side and within his sight, how could you refuse?

(Though, if you wanted to give him your soul, he certainly wouldn’t turn it down).

“Okay! Maybe I didn’t fuck you up! Maybe you were… a little ‘different’ from the start!” You weren’t sure how to say ‘psychopathic’ in a nice way. “I still felt guilty about it this entire time. I hoped differently, but I knew you would probably end up in Hell.” You admitted, huffing when Alastor let out another chuckle. “So I did something to try to make up for it in case I did mess with your mind somehow.”

“Hmm, and what is that, my lovely Doe?” Alastor’s smile seemed to widen and it may be hidden from view, his tail wagged in excitement. “You thought of me, even before I landed myself in Hell? I must say, I’m quite flattered!”

“I looked for him as soon as I got back from the human world and found him before he understood how… things worked around here.” You didn’t feel bad in the least. “So I tricked him into making a deal with me. Shelter, food, simple basics for his soul. He didn’t seem used to living on the streets, so he took it right away. He didn’t understand what it actually meant to give your soul away.”

“Well done! What a delightful little tidbit! I had no idea if you would be interested in the art of deal-making. I would be more than happy to guide you. Why, I already own a great number of souls myself.” Alastor’s smile turned a little more sinister and he felt his blood heat at the thought of watching you trick some desperate fool into giving you their soul.

He would slaughter an entire district just to see that.

“I’ve… never really thought about it? I just do what I can to get by. Prey and livestock-based demons don’t have it easy in Hell.” You were sought out for your meat after all. “Anyway, I thought I’d make it up to you by – well, that demon whose soul I own is your father’s.”

The static around Alastor went completely silent.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous. “I, uh, I always intended on giving you ownership of his soul whenever you ended up here, if you ended up in Hell. You can do anything you want to him, I have no intention of interfering if you… wanted to broadcast his torment or something.”

Shit, why was Alastor staring at you like that?

Was it the wrong choice? Did he want nothing to do with his father?

“W-WAH!” It was the most pitiful fucking noise you could probably make, worse than that earlier yelp when Alastor seemed to melt into the floor through a void of shadows and then reappear right in your personal space before you comprehended what happened. That was not the reason you let out a damn bleat before you could help it, though.

Alastor was stroking your ears just as he had done twenty-four years prior.

“A gift from you is always welcome, but this – I never imagined one that would bring me such… joy. Truly, you were always meant for me, my lovely Doe.”

“S-so, I take it you want ownership of his soul?” You struggled to get the words out, feeling your vision blur for a moment. You let out a breath of relief when Alastor reluctantly released your ears, but he didn’t step away from your personal space.

“Yes. I’m more than willing to give you a soul – ten even, in return. Mama may disapprove of it, but I will pay back a thousandfold and more for what that man put her through. He will suffer the worst torture I can possibly think of.” To your amazement, Alastor’s pupils spun into a shape that resembled radio dials before returning to normal.

“It’s a gift. You don’t need to give me anything back in return.” You blinked in surprise when Alastor poked your cheek, pinching it playfully before tutting at you. “What was that?!”

“You have been here longer than me, but it seems I must teach you a few good lessons.” Alastor held out his hand invitingly. “Before this transaction, would you like a tour of my radio tower?”

You placed your hand in his. “You’re going to have to explain it like you would to a child how this radio stuff actually works. I can turn my radio on and change the station, that’s about it.”

Alastor felt that chill that followed him all his life leave him and his smile felt genuine for very few times that it was as he felt your hand wrap around his.

He may be dead and in Hell, but his (after)life was looking rather bright – he still could enjoy his passion for radio and he no longer had to hide his true sadistic nature and homicidal thoughts. Better yet, he could combine the two and broadcast tortured screams for denizens of Hell to hear!

He was powerful and feared, toppling Overlords to become himself in an extremely short period of time and he owned multiple souls to do his bidding whenever and whatever he wanted – and soon, he could add his miserable wretch of a father to his collection to torment all he likes.

Best of all, he finally found you, the demon who made this all possible for him and now that he had you in his grasp, there was no conceivable way he would ever let you elude him. He could certainly give you the illusion of freedom and space if that’s what you wanted.

He was charming, he knew that, it’s all he needed to win you over.

Perhaps it would take a little time and patience, but he would get what he wanted in the end like he always did.

His lovely Doe. His new wife.

It was a dream that Alastor was going to turn into his reality.

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

I hope this ending was satisfying

Tags: @alishii @yourdoorisunlocked @godsent69 @eris-norwega @catticora @tayraedoll @michi-keinz @martinys-world @n0tmentallystable @xalygatorx @everwolf-20 @yui-onnero

[jodoesnew]

On the other end continued (P1)

Moon stared unmoving. His systems went into shock and his joints locked in an instant. He saw their mouth move but his audio just kept on buzzing louder and louder

"Moon!!!" Suns consciousness ripped him out of his control deeper into their mind.

"They shouldn't be here." Moon couldn't think straight this was not a scenario he was programmed for or had any experience in.

This was impossible to solve for him in every way

They are a machine and you aren't... why would you even come to the conclusion that an animatronic was the person you had talked to all that time.

"You are panicking Moon stop it!" Suns grip on him was harsh "They probably mean something else! You two never officially meet remember!"

Moon began to calm down.

"You can do this! Just throw them out for their break, because they need to take it!" Sun shoved Moon back into control. The whole exchange between them only lasting a fraction of a second.

Moon once again had to stare into your eyes from up close. He never saw you like this. To be honest he never had the chance to see you in person at all. He had only ever heard your voice. You sound so different up close with out the static from their hacked phone connection.

You seem nervous. A normal thing to be around Moon. Sun must have been right you are here for something else. You would never guess that you spoke to a machine instead of a human.

"Your voice-"

Oh no.

Moon felt his systems spike again.

"This will probably sound a bit strange, but I have to ask you-"

You didn't get to ask. Moon jumped to his feet and started running.

He knew it was stupid. He knew this was so much more suspicious. But he wasn't the actor sun was. And even if he had tried to persuade you into leaving. He would have had to say something right?! Then you would have known... but you already know...

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Suns voice shrieked into moons control "YOU WILL RUIN EVERYTHING!!!"

"I can't do this."

"What?" Sun was taken aback by moons tone

He sounded weak nearly breaking of

Oh the irony... sun wanted to say a lot about Moons hypocrisy in all this

But he didn't.

"I just can't." Moons consciousness seemed to glitch around sun and he felt the body over heat.

/so much for 'i don't care about them sun, but I will support you in this anyway' and now look who is worse for wear because they somehow have feelings for them/ Sun steeled himself for what would come next.

Moon reached the light switch.

You flinched as the whole daycare turned bright.

Sun did a few mock breathing exercises and turned around. Smile unwavering as ever.

"Friend you shouldn't be here right now!"

The animatronic made his way back over to you and towered before your small form still kneeling in front of the spot moon had sat at just a few seconds ago.

You felt even more confused by all this. What did even just happen?

Sun's faceplate ticked from right to left in an uneven rhythm like the animatronic was eyeing you.

"Friend, unscheduled overtime is not covered by fazcos policies, which you know means you're not allowed in the working area at this time. And are advised to either leave the premises, go to an employee break-room or contact your supervisor for a change in your work hours. Please leave so that you can still get your break. And we can continue our work unhindered by such rulebreakings."

Sun shifts under your gaze. The turmoil Moon was currently going through would probably mean that he would have to take over for the rest of the day.

You looked at him. And it felt to him like you saw him for the first time. Not those short looks you threw at them from the security desk or the courtesy greetings and goodbyes. No you looked at him. Like he was there. Real.

Sun fought with himself hard to point you to the door. To get you to leave.

Oh he wanted you to stay so badly. Wanted to rant and vent about everything that had happened to him and moon since they had stopped themselves from talking to you.

You walked out. You never were the confronting type. Sun knew that.

But what he didn't know was that you only left because you didn't want to cry infront of the children. And when you would talk to the attendant again. you already know that you will cry a lot.

[barefoot-joker]

Snake in the Garden Pt 4~ Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys! Welcome to Snake in the Garden Part 4! In this chapter we meet a few new characters, so I hope I got their personalities right. I do hope you all like the new chapter as I had a lot of fun writing it. As always, enjoy and I hope you have a great day/night!

Words: 2395

Warnings: Swearing

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

I heaved as I ran through the streets of Hell. I couldn’t get enough air to my lungs and my legs were growing weary of the journey. However, I kept my eyes on the marquee and just kept going. You’re almost there, Y/n! Come on! Soon you’ll be free!

I didn’t take the time to look at the demons surrounding me but my ears caught all of the screams, moans and conversations as I passed. A couple of times I was grabbed at, but I just shoved them away and continued my trek. When I reached the gate of the hotel I stopped to catch a breather, my hand grasping the iron bars to steady myself. I looked back from where I came, the palace a tiny speck in the distance. I wanted to pat myself on the back but I knew I wasn’t in the clear. Until I was back home Lucifer could rear his head at any moment. Speaking of the Devil, I wondered how long it would be till he noticed I was gone.

Taking in a few more breaths, I walked up the cobblestoned hill to the front door. The marquee shone a bright red and I felt like I was bathed in blood. Stopping at the front door, I marveled at how intricate it was. The stained glass formed a circus tent pattern and the rim held a golden tint to it. Bringing my hand up, I knocked on the glass, a knot forming in my stomach. What if all this work was for nothing? Would the Princess even listen to my case?

I didn’t have much time to think when the door opened. In front of me stood a tall, lean man dressed all in red. Among his red and black hair, black deer antlers stood and what I assumed to be his ears straightened in surprise. His red eyes felt different compared to Lucifer’s, his feeling more sinister. His grin seemed to grow wider as he looked me up and down. “Hello, my dear. Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. I’m Alastor, the hotel’s facility manager. How can I be of-”

I rushed past him and slammed the door shut, my nails digging into the golden wood. “-service to you?”

I spun around to face him, my eyes blown wide in panic. “I need to speak to Charlie! Please, it’s an emergency!”

I clasped my hands tight in prayer and tried to make myself look as vulnerable as possible. “Charlie isn’t here at the moment, I’m afraid. She’s out on some business with Vaggie. The two of them should be back soon though.”

I groaned and hung my head in despair. How long will she be gone?

I lifted my head back up and let out a slight shriek at how close the deer man was. He was practically on top of me, our noses almost touching. “Though I could speed along the process if I was told what constitutes an emergency.”

I hadn’t noticed it before but as the man spoke his voice held a static to it, almost like an old radio. “Listen, Alastor was it? I don’t feel comfortable sharing that with you.”

“Hmm. I guess you’ll just have to wait then. Husker, make this sinner feel at home.”

I looked to the left and saw a bar that looked way too out of place. Blue boards made up the walls and floor while the dark oak bar top sat in the middle. The cat demon, Husker, looked up from drying a glass and sighed. Alastor wrapped his arm around my shoulder and dragged me over to the bar, shoving me at a stool. I sat on top of it and gulped as the radio man kept eyeing me from his post nearby. “What’ll you be havin’?”

“Oh, um, a water is fine.”

“Not much of a drinker, eh?”

“No. Besides, I don’t really drink around strangers.”

Husker shrugged and turned his back to me. When he returned to my side, he placed a rocks glass in front of me on the bar top. I grabbed it and sipped my water. “So, I couldn’t help but overhear you’re in an emergency. Got some loan sharks after you or somethin’?”

“Oh no, much worse. It’s a long story.”

“I’ve heard my fair share of long stories as a bartender.”

“I just don’t feel comfortable sharing. I’d much rather wait for Charlie.”

“I can respect that. Hell is a rough place and if you’re not careful it can swallow you whole. I learned that the hard way.”

He sighed and continued to dry glasses. As I sipped my drink, I glanced over to see Alastor still staring at me. That maniacal grin never leaving his face and his eyes cool and calculating. “So um, what’s Alastor’s deal? Why does he keep staring at me like I’m fresh meat at the butchers?”

“He’s always like that, scoping out the new guests. But a word of advice, don’t make a deal with him whatever you do. You think your life is horrible now, you got another thing comin’ with him.”

“I see.”

Suddenly I felt something grazing my ankles. I peered down to see a very short woman with a red bob, a stripe of yellow hair in front of her one giant pink eye. My eyes widened upon seeing the silver blade in her hands. The female looked up and a giant grin spread across her thin lips. “You're not meant to be down here, are you?”

“Huh?”

“You smell…human. Sinners have a certain scent and you don’t have it. We’ve got a live one, guys!”

She hopped into my lap and grabbed the top of the nightgown. I gulped at how the knife was slightly pointed at my throat. “You’re pretty for a live one, not that I’ve seen many like you before.”

“T-thanks?”

“How rude of me! I’m Niffty! I clean.”

She shook me back and forth. “A live one, hmm?”

Suddenly I felt a hand tighten on my shoulder. I looked back to see Alastor, the end of his smile reaching well past his eyes. “You didn’t quite introduce yourself to us, did you, my dear?”

“Leave her alone, Alastor!”

“Tsk, tsk, Husker. I just want to know what I should call our newest arrival.”

“I, I, I-”

I stopped when I heard the front door open, two voices chatting as they came inside. I had never been more thankful for a door to open. “Oh, hey guys! What’s going on,” The tall blonde asked.

She looked so similar to Lucifer so she must be Charlie. “We’ve got a live one, Charlie! And to think she was trying to hide,” Nifty replied.

The Princess turned her red gaze to me and I quickly threw off the deer and housekeeper. I got down on my knees and looked up at the blonde. “Please Charlie, you have to help me! Your dad is fucking crazy-”

“Oh you must be Y/n!”

My heart dropped. No. No, no, no, no. How much does she already know?

Lucifer’s daughter scooped me up to my height and pet me on the head. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you! My dad has sent me several pictures but you look much prettier in real life. But what are you doing all the way out here? Shouldn’t you be planning a wedding?”

“That’s my problem! I don’t want to be here! Please, you’ve got to help! I’m begging you!”

I could feel tears come to my eyes as I pleaded my case. Charlie’s eyes softened and she placed her hands on my shoulders. “Here, let’s take a walk. Vaggie, can you put our shopping away?”

“Of course, honey.”

“Come on.”

The blonde took me by the shoulders and led me up the grand staircase. We went up a few floors before stopping in a room that resembled a library. Charlie ushered me to sit in one of the leather armchairs and then she followed my lead. “So tell me everything. I’m sure my dad left out a few key details.”

I did. I told her how the two of us had met up until I had been forced to say yes to marrying him. While I told my tale, she didn’t say anything. She just hummed at key parts. “So can you help me?”

“I want to, I really do. However, my dad-”

“Fucking kidnapped me, Charlie! Do you really want me to go back to that?!”

She opened her mouth to say something when suddenly her phone rang. She pulled it out of her red suit jacket and her eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s my dad.”

“Shit! I’m not here!”

“But…”

“You see the good in others don’t you, Charlie? Can’t you see the good in you helping me?”

She bit her lip before sighing. She clicked the answer button and held the phone to her ear. “Hey, dad. What’s up?”

Lucifer didn’t even need to be on speaker as I could hear him shouting from the phone. “Charlie dear, thank goodness you picked up! Look, I’m in serious trouble and need your assistance.”

“What can I do for you?”

“My darling bride Y/n is gone! Vanished! I left her to her own devices and when I came back she’s left me! I thought someone took her but then I found this rope hanging out the bathroom window and have you seen her? I don’t know how long she’s been gone for and I don’t want her out and about by herself. Hell’s too dangerous!”

Charlie and I made eye contact and I begged her to not give me up. Her grip tightened around her phone and I could see the battle going on in her head. 

“Sorry dad, I haven’t seen her. I’ll keep an eye out though.”

“If you do find her please make sure she’s unharmed. I want my dear apple to be in one piece after all.”

“You’ve got it. But, hey, I’ve got to go. Vaggie’s calling me. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, thank you sweetie.”

“You’re welcome. Love you. Bye.”

She disconnected the call. I let out the breath I was holding. She did it. She actually was going to help me! 

“Okay, I know somebody who can get you back to Earth. But we’d better hurry. My dad sounds like he’s getting close.”

“Thank you so much, Charlie! I really do appreciate it!”

“Hurry now!”

She summoned a dark trenchcoat and fedora from thin air. I quickly put them on and out the front door we went. Our walk felt just as long as when I had run to the hotel, but this time demons didn’t seem to bother us. It was probably because the Princess of Hell was with me. We continued walking until we stopped at a very large mansion. Out front was a cobblestone drive and a fountain spraying water. Charlie and I walked up to the double set of dark blue doors and she knocked. They opened to reveal an imp butler, a small white mustache hiding his lips. “Hello, Princess! What can we do for you?”

“I need to speak with Stolas. It’s urgent, Pringles!”

“Follow me.”

We strutted inside and the little butler led us to a study. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thank you, Pringles.”

“Of course, Princess.”

The door shut behind him. The study was quite large with several bookcases housing thousands of novels near the walls. A desk with a tall, navy and gold chair sat behind a dark oak desk. The place seemed very fitting for a Prince. As we waited I found myself playing with my engagement ring. I willed myself to stop but my fingers kept rubbing it. Don’t get cold feet now, Y/n. You’re almost home free.

I heard the navy blue door open and I turned to see a very tall, skinny owl man. He wore a dark red jumpsuit with a wine red cape draped on his shoulders. White and black feathers made up the collar and they mingled with his own gray feathers. A smile found its way to his beak when he spotted us. “Charlie! It’s so good to see you, my dear!”

The two hugged and when he pulled away, he looked at me with his four red eyes. “Who might this be? A friend of yours?”

“Stolas, this is Y/n. My dad captured her and brought her down to Hell. We need to send her home to Earth.”

“Ah, so this is the infamous Y/n I’ve heard about. It’s a pleasure to be meeting you.”

He bowed. How many people has Lucifer told about me?

“But why would you want to go back to Earth? You’re getting married in a few months.”

“Because I don’t belong here! I was fucking kidnapped and am becoming a bride against my will! Please Mr Stolas, let me go home!”

“Have you and Lucifer made a contract together?”

“Huh?”

“I mean have you signed anything that he has given you?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

He bowed his head. “Then I can help. Just let me get my Grimoire.”

He held up his hand and a blue and gold book came flying towards him. The book looked heavy as it floated in the air but the owl Prince paid it no mind. He flipped through each of the pages until he landed on one. “Y/n, if I do this for you I cannot guarantee your safety. I know Lucifer. He’ll be looking for you until you’re in his grasp again.”

“That’s fine. As long as I can go back.”

“Very well.”

He chanted out a spell and before I knew it a purple portal materialized before my very eyes. “Go quickly now. I can’t hold this open for long.”

“Thank you, both of you. I appreciate it!”

“Go!”

I walked through and not a minute later the portal closed behind me. I looked around and smiled. I was back in my house in the hallway. I laughed triumphantly and threw off my disguise, making my way to the living room. I stopped when I heard the crunching of what sounded like…chips? I looked over to my couch and I felt my eyes widen.

“There you are! It took you long enough!”

~~~~~~~~

TAGLIST

@ladymothbeth @cosmic-spider @l0vedoe @stormz369 @strawberry-gothic @repostingmyfavs @purplechan9 @caniseethefourthsword @rl800 @froggybich @txpchhhhhhh @stayinguplate @theonlykawaiigod-blog @vash-yuu @musicb33nsstuff @zennylz @rosieposie005 @weirdgirlislonely @noxianwarmason @luksusowejachty234567 @nicky190i @flutistbyday2020 @insanepurplegrapes @rin22 @b-connie @yepperoniro @halparkebitch

[future-of-freedom]

Tumblr wormhole shenanigan's!

The Neo Diamond Cutters are returning home from a successful mission when suddenly the Diamond Cutters from All Together Now (complete with Bean and Bark) appear in front of them!

How does either team react to their new imposters?!

(this is gonna be long, bear with me)

“Oh, wonderful. This is becoming a theme…” Ashley grumbled.

“So, uh, care to explain why there’s TWO TANGLES AND WHISPERS?!” Bean shrieked, shaking Ashley by the shoulders.

“Relax, dude. Something to do with a wormhole, I guess. It’s not the first time it happened in our world,” the leopard explained. “One time I came across this freaky looking shrike that sounded like static.”

Bark shivered, while Bean winced. “Sounds terrifying…”

“It was. But it blipped back into its world shortly after, so the same thing should happen with you guys, too. But while you’re still here… how’d you get in the Neos?”

Bean and Bark just looked at her, confused.

“Neo Diamond Cutters? Are you not called that in your world?”

Bark shook his head.

“Gotta admit, that sounds a lot cooler…” the bird mumbled. “But Tangle and Whisper took us in, even after realizing we were criminals! It’s been smooth sailin’ ever since! The boss lady’s kind of a downer, though…”

“Eh, in her defense, you gotta have someone to keep things in check…” the leopard chuckled. “Whisper was actually the one who offered me a spot on their team. I was kinda shocked, considering I kept accusing her of ki-“

She stopped. Whoops. She was saying too much.

Bark sat in front of Ashley, curious.

“…accused her offff…?” Bean asked.

Ashley shook her head and pat Bean’s head.

“…it’s a more personal thing on Whisper’s side. Don’t press the one for your world about it, though, alright? She’ll tell you if, or when she thinks it’s the right time.”

Bean happily leaned into Ashley’s robotic hand.

“Gotcha,” Bean answered, while Bark gave her a thumbs up.

-

“Mimic gave you that scar?!” ATN!Tangle gasped.

“Yeah… it’s all good though! He’s been locked up ever since! My face healed up nicely after a couple days, and now I’m living well in a nice home with Whisp!” FOF!Tangle answered. “Can the same be said for you?”

“Pretty much! Although there have been some hiccups. We got through ‘em though, and now we’re sharin’ a house with Bean and Bark!” ATN!Tangle said.

“Woah, with those guys?” FOF!Tangle laughed a little. “That must be fun.”

“Trust me, it’s not as bad as you think. And it’s nice to have a living space that I can call mine after… um…”

ATN!Tangle trailed off a bit.

“You good?” FOF!Tangle asked, concerned.

“Well… sorry, I was thinking about some familial issues. I don’t wanna be a downer-“

“Hey.” FOF!Tangle put a hand on her counterpart’s shoulder. “You’re not gonna be here forever. If you need someone to talk to about that, I’m happy to hear it.”

ATN!Tangle smiled softly and wiped her nose.

“…thank you.”

-

“Nice to see I’m eating well in this world, too,” ATN!Whisper said happily.

FOF!Whisper gave her an appreciative nod. “Have you… also gotten insecure about it?”

“Oh, absolutely. ‘Course, I was told it was okay. Just shows that I’ve been a lot happier as of late.”

“That’s goes for both of us, then,” FOF!Whisper responded, giving her counterpart a thumbs up. “Well, while you’re still here, I must ask… have you used your wisps’ powers on yourself?”

ATN!Whisper cocked her head to the side.

“Y’know, kinda like Sonic has…”

“…I can do that?”

“Possibly, if you’re able to train yourself. I haven’t perfected all their powers yet, but that’s only part of the process.” FOF!Whisper explained. “Can give you tips if you’d like.”

“Won’t be necessary,” ATN!Whisper declined. “I’d rather not mess with their powers like that.”

She smirked. “I’ll keep what you said in mind though.”

-

Both Lanolins were leaning against the wall all nonchalant, both holding cups of coffee.

“So… you also hate your mom?” FOF!Lanolin asked.

“Mhm.”

“Always got worked shoved in your face?”

“Yup.”

“But you have friends that make it somewhat worth it?”

“Correctamundo.”

They looked at each other, and clinked their glasses together.

“Livin’ like Lanny,” they both said at the same time, sipping their mugs.

[monowing-1]

Just heres a little idea that's been prodding through my head in the past few hours.

What if you were a voice in the narrators head? I don't mean in the sense of the original game as you can control them, but more in the sense of a commentator for them, ala Prequel. You can't control the narrator or even affect the story unlike the others, but you can certainly advise, talk, and at least distract them enough as they go through their things.

Heres a bit of an example of what I mean.

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

Input: Do I bother you?

-You inform the error, the name that you've made for it, in your head that you don't entirely mind or hate them being around. A lot of the creators creations tend to be….

-You look at the room that you are in and wince as you hear a panicked shriek from one of your creators creations begging you (the narrator) to kill them. Sadly you can't, you tried. You keep it covered with a sheet so you don't have to look at it. -Half-made, and those that were made often having an error or two inside of them. You know that you were lucky enough to have made it this far without your voice devolving into static, your body turning into sludge, or being a catapulted into the stratosphere when you touched something the wrong way. An error in your head is not within the realm of the unexpected, odd, but not entirely unexpected.

Input: "And what are you?"

-You proudly inform the error in your mind that you are you, a construct or an echo of a great person who tried to do the impossible. You hope to accomplish and finish the job of what they could not.

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

And yeah, thats a bit of it. In that story, your not a directer char or have any real influence on the narrative directly. You just a voice that wasn't meant to be there, but through sheer error has the fortune (misfortune) of watching a construct try it's hardest to do something that shouldn't be done with barely any resources around. Kind of like watching an extremely passionate fan try to piece together and recreate a project their their creator may have abandoned long ago.

I guess the tagline of the story would be like, "this is a story about futility, legacy, and what it means to try to do something that hurts you more than its worth."

Hopefully this is a neat idea for anyone reading. :3

[all-pacas]

it's not done so let's call it a sneak preview. i wrote a lot of this on my phone at 1am last night so happy retcon sister week i guess:

-

Ellie did not remember her mother, not really, and so she studied her intently to make up for the lack. She’d been a model, Ellie liked to remind her friends. An extra in a couple of made for tv movies. She’d been gorgeous, that was the thing: blonde and tanned and fit. Ellie took after her dad’s side of the family, which was to say sallow and tired and Eastern European. My mother was a model, she liked to tell people, although in truth she’d stopped when she’d gotten pregnant with Ellie’s older brother.

Ellie’s legal name was Daniela, and she liked it, the way she was able to splice and switch it: she was Ellie as a kid, Ella as a teenager, and Danny for a brief stint when she was twenty. She loved correcting people who called her Danielle by mistake. It’s Czech, she’d say.

It was a good way of being different. Daniela Maria Chase, daughter of a model and TV star, exotic and European: that woman sounded interesting. Well to do. Rich and successful, perhaps. That Ella, she’d heard herself described by her landlady once. Always late with her rent. Always in and out of rehab.

She hadn’t been in rehab in two years. Actually.

Once she’d told a boyfriend about her father. Or rather, he’d been worried she was ODing and wanted to take her to St. Anthony’s. We can’t, she’d shrieked, shocked nearly sober: We can’t, we can’t: sometimes Ellie forgets her father isn’t still alive.

-

Her brother has always, always called her Danielle.

He phones her one Sunday, first time in two years, probably assuming she has the day off. Ellie’s been working nights, so she is home, just sleeping. The international call area code sends a thrill through her, although she does not know if it’s a good or bad one. “Hello?” she says, although she knows who it has to be.

“Hey. It’s —“ There’s a very slight pause. “Rob. Robbie. It’s me.”

“I know,” she says.

She tells her friends sometimes: I have a brother who lives in America. It’s thrilling in the same way her mother’s story is, only not. Only it’s also a bit like St. Anthony’s hospital. I come from a family of doctors. My dad’s quite famous, she’d said in rehab once, and a girl in group had laughed at her: The hell are you doing here with us? Working nights. Working retail. Earning barely minimum wage.

Ellie has never quite gotten her head around the time difference between here and America, if Robbie is ahead her or behind, if it is morning or night. “Why are you calling?” she asks suspiciously.

He sucks in a breath, a burst of static in her ear. “I’m getting married,” Robbie says. “I’d — I’d like you to be there.”

She thinks about airfare. Her lack of vacation time. She thinks also of America. Skyscrapers and bright lights and everything different and new. I went to visit my brother. In New York City., she imagines telling people. Ellie hadn’t known her brother was seeing anyone, of course. It makes her feel odd, considering it.

“I can’t afford it,” she admits reluctantly, and waits.

“I’ll buy your ticket,” Robbie says quickly. Immediately. And she’d thought he would. “That’s no problem. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

-

Ellie doesn’t really like her current job, so when Robbie explains the wedding is in two weeks she quits it on the spot, calling her boss and then pacing up and down the alley, the best and quietest place to do that sort of thing, chain smoking.

She’ll need to make a good impression. Get her hair done, find something to wear. By her third cigarette she’s starting to worry, wonder what Robbie’s playing at: trotting her in front of his friends, like he’s proud of her? Is he proud of her? Maybe his new wife put him up to this. Her dad had been a lot politer, too, once Claudia was in the picture.

Ellie hadn’t known Robbie was seeing anyone. Not that she would. Not that he’d tell her. And the longer she thinks about it the worse she feels, he’s probably just been put up to this, putting on some sort of happy family act to impress his new wife, how when they were kids their dad would sometimes trot them out at parties: Robbie mostly, since he was a boy and older and looked just like their mum but sober. But smart.

Fuck. Her fingers itch. She’s thirsty.

Ellie’s therapist has told her to be careful, to not spiral. It is okay to think bad thoughts. To feel bad feelings. She’s supposed to have them, to think about these things, to not chase them away with a drink. It feels awful, though. She wants a drink. A pill. Something stronger. To just be happy her big brother finally wants her around.

-

Robbie meets her at JFK after an extraordinarily awful flight. Ellie’s head is pounding and she needs a smoke and she laughs when she sees her brother: his hair is down to his collar, he hasn’t shaved in days, and if their parents were alive to see he’d get a slap or two for it. He flinches at her laugh and she’s sorry she did it, they stand in front of one another and clear their throats and don’t know what else to say: “Hey,” he says finally.

“Hi,” she says. It’s not just the tramp look: Robbie’s older, filled out a bit, everything about him different and strange and smudged: in all of her memories, he’s in his school uniform, short haired and tired and bone thin.

“You must be Danielle!” chirps the woman he’s with, Robbie’s future wife, Ellie guesses: she’s pretty and birdlike and her arms twitch out like she’s thinking of giving Ellie a hug: Ellie holds her purse tight and tries not to step away. “It’s so nice to meet you; I’m Allison.”

“Daniel_a_,” she corrects, and Allison’s smile looks pasted on and they both look over at Robbie who looks familiarly uncomfortable. “No one — Robbie’s the only one who calls me that.”

“Oh,” Allison says, faltering.

“Ellie’s fine,” she adds, feeling like she’s doing this all wrong. Robbie is staring fixedly at an overhead sign and she takes the moment to stare at him some more.

“We should check the baggage claim,” Allison says cheerily, and Robbie nods eagerly and Ellie is just as happy to change the subject, to follow.

-

Robbie drives, and the novelty of driving on the right only lasts about three minutes. Ellie sits in the back and looks out the window and Allison tries to keep the conversation going: “What do you do for a living?” she asks first.

“I stock shelves,” Ellie says, a little viciously, and predictably enough — she learns quick — Allison’s expression falters: she turns towards Robbie who keeps his eyes on the road. “I never went to Uni,” she adds.

“Didn’t want to go?” Allison asks.

She’d gone to rehab for the second time when she was nineteen, and her dad had drawn a line in the sand over it.

“You’re still young,” Allison says. “You still have time.”

“Sure,” Ellie says with what she feels is boundless patience. Time, and rent, and bills, and no money. She’s watching her brother from behind, she can’t believe she’s here, he’s here. In America. Things will be different, she thinks, although she can’t say why she believes it. Or how.

[tashacee]

The Clocktown Mystery

Chapter One: The Mystery of the Peculiar Portal

There was something very wrong with the portal.

In fairness, there was always something wrong with the portals. Stepping into them felt both like stepping into the emptiness between worlds and it felt like being squeezed through the most compressed, miniscule crevice in the universe. Their bodies felt as though they were simultaneously being torn into atoms and pressed tighter than should have ever been possible, all while something deep, something innate told them to walk, just keep walking forwards until all of a sudden the strangeness of the portal was nothing more than a bad dream and the glaring darkness melted back into reality.

But this one was different. Something about it was wrong, something more than the usual feeling of unreality that accompanied the appearance of a portal. The smell of ozone that came with it was too strong and the edges of the swirling darkness seemed to be made of static, jumping and shifting between solid and indistinct, tearing at the edges of reality.

“I’m out.” Legend said. “Whatever. Screw this. That thing looks like it’s going to eat us and I'm not about to get pulled apart by a broken-ass portal. Fuck it. I’m out.” for emphasis, he threw his hands in the air and made to turn on his heel.

As he moved, though, a bolt of lightning lanced from the portal and struck the ground at his feet, blackening the grass in every direction. Legend shrieked and leapt back, and even from a few feet away Warriors could feel the fine hair on his arms and legs standing on end with the electricity humming through the air. The stench of ozone had become all encompassing.

“Or I guess I'm in!” He squeaked.

Read the rest on AO3!

[concussed-to-pieces]

Wolves At The Door; Part One

Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]

Pairing: Eventual Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: "Highness? That's a little much, just lord will do."

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our first installment! Enjoy!

Tag List: @cookiethewriter @amneris21 @topgirl17 @vodkafolie @a-smol-witch @baby-lisuga @clockworkmidnight @calwitch @silver-quinn01 @velvet-paradox @mrs-wolfwood @mic-sunderland @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fullofmoonsandstars @stargazerofgoldenwords

Prelude

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood, canon-typical violence and extreme depictions of mental and physical duress. Stay safe!]

Rain hammering what was once his face, the boom of thunder and the grinding shriek of metal. Karl Heisenberg looked up at the plummeting form of a man, dead man Ethan Winters, silhouetted in stark relief by the lightning shattering the sky, and he felt nothing except a fevered madness, the berserk desire to tear the world itself limb from limb. Within him the cadou throbbed and slavered for blood, more more more!

In his rage-fueled delirium Ethan was transformed from mere crumbling vessel to a vengeant angel, pulling the trigger and firing that last rocket directly into his internals. All the sacrifices, all the sleepless nights, failures, suffering, torment…

Yet Karl had to respect that level of dedication, that kind of drive. He certainly wouldn't have shown himself any mercy, had the roles been reversed. If he had been the man on borrowed time, struggling against all the beasts and bastards in the world to save his kid…well, Heisenberg could definitely understand Ethan's steely resolve, for all that it was about to bring his plans to ruin. 

I must…kill her…

"It's already done." A voice he knew. The Duke, that jumbo-sized, two-timing prick. 

Karl struggled to move, to stand, sort out what had happened, but something was wrong with his mind. It was as though his thoughts were…slippery, too difficult to grasp, and he was just so…

Tired. Gods, he couldn't ever remember being so tired. He felt mortal, fragile even. More details were racing past him, faster and faster as the weariness crushed him to dust, but Karl couldn't bring himself to care. He was too exhausted. Hell, he couldn't even muster up the strength to open his eyes while the rocking of the cart lulled him into a stupor.

I must kill her.

Who? Who was…

Consciousness slipped through his fingers once more, and for a time Karl simply slept dreamlessly. 

…

A warm, wet cloth was being rubbed back and forth across his bare upper arm. Karl licked his lips absently, flinching when he encountered dry, cracked skin. His lower abdomen was pounding.

"Shhh," someone, someone was there, a hand brushing over his brow soothingly. "You're safe. Sleep, Karl."

That tone, soft, too soft, too gentle. Karl hated it. "'Fuck 'way from me," he slurred, dragging his arm up in a pitiful attempt to shield himself from this new and insidious threat. When the hell had his limbs become so heavy?

"Don't move! Easy, easy. Give me your arm back, I still have to change that dressing." The person scolded, fingers wrapping around his wrist. Karl didn't even have the strength to struggle and soon relented, leaden arm going limp in this stranger's hold. 

"You gonna' kill me?" He asked, unsure why he felt so glib about the subject. 

There was a sharp intake of breath next to his head, followed by a long exhale. "No, of course not. That would be rude to the Duke. I promised to make sure you could recover physically. I guess you have some memory loss?"

"Huh." Karl's brow furrowed. Memory loss. Maybe that's why his brain seemed soft and bruised at the edges. But that couldn't be all there was. He was still himself, right? 

He couldn't tell. The details of his life to that point were full of static. It was like he was teetering on the edge of some dark pit, unsure if the lack of concrete memories was a blessing or a curse.

I must kill her.

Who?

Karl Heisenberg. Did that name even mean anything anymore? 

…

You were in for it, you could tell. Karl was as cantankerous as he could manage to be while he was still bodily incapacitated, the man only barely able to open his eyes after several days of recuperating.

His mouth worked just fine, unfortunately for you. 

"You making lunch soon, sugar? I want meat." 

You sighed heavily. "You want meat at every meal, Heisenberg." 

The nerves surrounding your mysterious houseguest and his lofty title had quickly worn off, replaced almost exclusively with annoyance. He was clearly an individual who was used to getting his way and while you hadn't wanted to be rude, you rapidly realized that he didn't care much whether you were or not. Honestly he didn't seem to care much about anything that came out of your mouth, appearing to talk just to hear himself prattle. Speaking of which…

"...potatoes, carrots, boar, I feel like I haven't had boar in ages, some black bread with oil and salt-"

You shoved the dishes you had been scrubbing back under the soapy water, turning to fix the man on the cot with a stern look. "Anything else I can get for you, your highness?" You snarked.

"Highness? That's a little much, just lord will do." He waved a limp hand dismissively, fingers twitching after a moment or two. Behind you, you heard the silverware settling belatedly in the water-filled basin. "Look, I don't want it all now, I'm just thinking of the future! I'm a big guy, not being able to eat like usual is killing me." Karl all but whined, his expression a bit pitiful for such a 'big guy'. 

You stifled your laugh, returning to the dishes. "Well, clarify that for me. When people say they want something, usually that implies a pretty immediate time frame."

"I do want it, I just can't have it now. Life is rotten sometimes."

"Yes yes, you're really fighting the cosmic battle."

"Don't patronize me, sugar."

Your laugh escaped that time, though you tried to mask it with a cough. Heisenberg muttered something you couldn't make out and when you dared to glance over your shoulder at him he had turned his head towards the wall. You pursed your lips, feeling a little guilty. He was bedridden and probably going crazy from boredom. That would definitely explain his talkative bouts whenever you were within earshot.

"I'll…I'll see what I can do about the boar. No promises, though." It had been slim pickings as of late; the strange excess of air traffic recently seemed to have had a negative effect on the local wildlife.

Another helicopter hummed distantly overhead and you briefly wondered if there was some sort of land survey going on, or if maybe it was a forest fire prevention drill, but soon enough more important thoughts took over and the query vanished from your mind.

…

The twitching was getting worse. It felt like something just beneath the skin of his abdomen was struggling to move him bodily, demanding him to propel himself onward with greater and greater urgency.

Which would have been fine, but Karl didn't even have so much as a crutch to hobble around with. Not that he would have used it, mind you, but the idea of it-

You were apparently hard at work doing something, leaving at sunrise and returning every day defeated in the twilight. There was still wood to be cut around the place, water to be boiled, general maintenance of your property. You always made sure to leave Karl food before you departed though, and you stoked the fire well. 

Heisenberg's only and eternal complaint was boredom. He was barely able to eat unaided, mainly motivated by spite and the grim realization that if this kept up he would be indebted; a fate worse than death or whatever the hell his gossamer memories were shielding him from recollecting. 

But Christ he was bored! He spent the days staring at the knots in the ceiling and willing himself to get stronger faster, damn it all, before he entirely lost his mind from cabin fever.

His loaned cot collapsed beneath him one such boring day after he made a sudden attempt to move his arms, dropping him on his side on the floor and knocking the wind out of him. From the little he could see the metal fasteners on one side of the canvas sling had just…all torn free of their moorings at once, clattering to the floor around his stunned form. 

His brow furrowed. Karl reached a tentative hand out, his index finger inches from one of the fasteners. The tiny object shuddered and then rocketed across the floor, scraping up a ribbon of wood in its wake. It finally halted when it met the edge of the cabinets, burying itself deep in the grain of the worn timber. 

–whirling twisted metal screaming death trap pouring rain and that man, that man–

Karl flinched, blinking. His hand was trembling when he attempted anew, and a second fastener made a half-hearted attempt to follow its kin, coming to a rolling stop midway through the kitchen. 

Well that's something.

The man paused. Then, with a superhuman effort, he heaved himself up onto his elbows. Gritting his teeth, Heisenberg crawled forward on his stomach until he was able to clearly see and confirm that yes, the fastener was lodged in the cabinetry. "Weird." Heisenberg muttered to himself. I didn't touch the fucking thing though, so how the hell-?

The door to the yard swung open and you came stumbling in, kicking your muddy boots off to rest beside the door on the porch. 

Karl froze. You froze. The fastener in the cabinet tore free, flying backwards to strike Karl in the shoulder. "Fuck!" He yelled, more surprised than actually hurt. Flapping a hand around on the floor he finally scooped up the little metal object, harboring some deluded fantasy about crushing the fucking thing flat in his fist.

"What the heck was that, and why are you on the floor?" You quizzed, sounding exhausted.

In reply, Heisenberg mutely gestured in the general direction of the collapsed cot. There was the sound of something clattering against the wall and you had an expression of fright on your face when he looked up at you. "Damn thing fell apart underneath me." He grumbled.

Your voice shook when you asked, "w…why did it just move?" 

…

You didn't care how tired you were, you knew what you had seen! Karl had waved his hand and the cot framework had chucked itself into the wall! The Duke hadn't mentioned anything about that! 

"I couldn't tell you." Karl's reply was as flippant as he usually seemed to be, but his eyes had an odd look to them. If you didn't know any better, you would say he was as rattled as you were by this strange development. "It feels…familiar, though."

"What does?" You demanded.

"The…I dunno', the feeling. I…" Karl had been in the process of opening his hand, but he abruptly trailed off. When you peeked over his fingers, you glimpsed a wrinkled piece of metal resting in his palm before he hurriedly clenched his fist again. "Back off, sugar. Cornered dogs bite." He warned, that strange look still in his gaze.

"Dog, huh? Right now you seem to be doing your best 'bear rug' impression, laying on the floor like that." You snorted, returning to the door to pick up what you had dropped beside your boots on the porch. "Since you're either not willing or not able to be clear with whatever is going on, we're going to discuss it with the Duke the next time he visits." You extended the sturdy branch you had found in your woodpile, its surface smoothed over the last few days as you waited in your hunting blinds to no avail. "I can tell you've been losing it, figured I'd make you something to help you move a little easier."

"I don't need-"

"I don't care." You cut him off, giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder with the walking stick. "I'm tired of moving you around and you need to start using your legs before you get blood clots or whatever the hell else."

Karl puffed out a breath, his eyes darting between your face and the staff you held. When next he spoke, however, it was in a tone of grudging admiration. "You shave this yourself? Delicate work. You must have a steady hand and be real bored to clean up something like that."

"If you'd rather not use-" 

Heisenberg wordlessly latched onto the stick, grimacing while pulling himself into a sitting position. He was panting by the time he made it to his feet, but still mustered up a cocky little smirk for you. "You'll have–to pad the base. Don't want to wake you when I start to roam late at night," he chuckled breathlessly.

You rolled your eyes, but resigned yourself to scrounging up some felt to protect your floors. Speaking of which… "Where did that scratch come from?!"

…

"One."

Thunk.

"Two."

Thunk.

"Three."

The last nail ricocheted off the tree trunk and Karl swore under his breath, hobbling forward. 

You, still observing from a safe distance on the porch, called, "everything okay?"

"Yeah, I s'pose." Karl answered glumly, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the head of the first nail. When he hauled his hand away to jerk it back out of the wood, however, he somehow managed to instead tear out a bolt from your recently-repaired fence line, sending several logs toppling to the ground.

"Aw, I just fixed that." You complained, venturing off the porch to retrieve the bolt from its place in the grass. "I'm gonna' need to drill a new hole because you sent the nut through the wood again! My fence is starting to look like Swiss cheese." Maybe you should stop was clearly what you were thinking and Heisenberg couldn't really see a reason to argue. All he was doing was causing more problems, more messes for someone else to clean up. 

Indebted. He gritted his teeth, heaving the first log back into place. You started to protest but he waved you off with a snarl, simply wrestling the remaining logs up on top of the first and then making a curt gesture. "Get your shit. I'll hold these." 

"They're heavy." You pointed out needlessly.

His arms had been shaking from the beginning. Karl jutted his chin arrogantly, raising an eyebrow. "And?"

You took off running, making a beeline for your lean-to where you stored most of your tools. As soon as you left Karl sagged a fair bit, trying to brace the weight of the fencing with his legs as opposed to his arms. Well, this may not have been my brightest move, he admitted to himself ruefully.

You were suddenly at his elbow, whirring drill ringing in his ear while the bit bored into the rain-softened wood. Karl absently watched the shavings spout from the bit, trying to ignore his arms trembling under the strain of the task at hand. 

–drill bit boring down, down, down, shards of bone flying, the twitching of muscles long dead–

The drill abruptly jerked to a stop in your grip, startling Heisenberg out of whatever reverie he had fallen into. "Shit, what the hell?" You grumbled, fidgeting with the trigger. "Must be a knot in the wood, hang on."

Karl exhaled roughly, glaring downwards at the stuck drill bit with all the malice he could muster. Don't make me look like a weakling here, shithead! The tool creaked and then, without warning, drove itself down through whatever had jammed it with an indignant shriek. 

You rushed to place the bolt in the newly made hole and even in his distracted state, Karl saw that your fingers were shaking. 

Once he was able to take a step back from the fence and catch his breath, he straightened up and tightened his hold on the walking stick you had given him. You continued to fiddle with the fence, obviously making a play for time, and Heisenberg finally issued a loud sigh. "I'm not…I know it seems like I could be dangerous but–well, you trust the Duke, don'tcha'?" he tried to rationalize. 

"Considering the fact that he hasn't come back since bringing you here, my trust is wearing a little thin." You retorted, still not looking at him.

Ouch. Karl shook it off, though. If he was in your shoes, the second some unwanted guest decided to poltergeist a cot into the wall would have been the same second they received a swift boot to the ass. "For what it's worth–hang on, let me finish–for what it's worth, I won't hurt you."

Your laugh had no humor in it. "Intentionally or accidentally? I live alone, Karl. An accident is just as bad as intentional for me."

"I…" Karl paused, unused to the level of resentment he felt at your accusation. Whatever he had been like before, he was clearly not a man that had been questioned often. "I don't know. Should I leave?"

You aimed the drill at him and Heisenberg got a terrible jolt of recollection that drowned out whatever you said next. Him but not him, and that man, pointing a handgun at him while protesting…something. "...take me out like the others and then you get to go and save Rose, right?" his voice had replied, sarcastic.

Rose. Rose. Powerful kid. Even Miranda's scared of her–

Karl grimaced, holding his head. Miranda. Rose. Ethan Winters. All these names, unattached to anything tangible. They seemed to exist exclusively to exasperate him.

"Hey, you feeling alright? You're pretty gray." He had to be imagining the concern in your tone. You didn't trust him, after all. "I guess that took a lot out of you. Let's get you back inside."

It was only once the two of you were halfway back to the porch that Karl realized he was leaning heavily on you, but you had accepted the burden without comment.

Indebted. Karl wanted to shove his head into a meat grinder. 

…

You knew you probably should have kicked him out. After all, he could walk now, right? Best to be on his way. You certainly weren't going to keep Heisenberg around out of some misguided loyalty towards the Duke. Truly, you didn't know either man. Hell, Karl didn't even know himself! Add to that the strangeness of his…powers, the solitude of your abode and you had a recipe for disaster.

You brought the maul down once more, sending the wedge home and splitting the log cleanly. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you reached down to scoop up the wedge. To your annoyance the thing skittered out from beneath your fingers, flying across the yard to Heisenberg's waiting hand.

"Let me take over." He offered, then hurried to add, "so you can have a break! You've been at this since ten."

"It needs to be done." You replied shortly.

"Yeah. So let me help." Karl tilted his head, the brim of his raggedy hat casting his eyes into shadow. "I can't exactly cook, I'm not good for much. Lemme' muscle something around for you, huh sugar?"

Your shoulders did hurt a little. "What time is it?"

He flicked his wrist, checking his watch. "Five after two."

"Shit." You grimaced. "Okay. But only so I can have a drink and a five minute break." You warned, aiming a finger at him with a squint.

Heisenberg bowed theatrically, sidestepping you on your way to the porch. "Naturally." With a solid thud the wedge slammed itself halfway through the next log. 

An early summer storm had brought down the rest of the winter-damaged trees and you had been doing your best to stay on top of the unexpected bounty, but the task was proving a bit more monumental than you had anticipated. Even after you'd sawed the fallen trees to manageable size, it was slow going.

Once you'd gone inside and poured yourself a tall glass of water from the gravity-fed sink, you headed back out to sit on the front steps. Sipping the water, you idly watched your begrudged guest tear his way through the amassed pile of pre-portioned logs. He had no real finesse, but you guessed if you knew you could split a log in any place you chose you probably wouldn't waste time with a technique. Karl used both the maul and the wedge on different logs at the same time, effectively doubling your results with apparent ease.

You grumbled to yourself a little, laying back on the porch and throwing an arm over your eyes to block the sunlight. Showoff.

…

You must have been exhausted, because the next time he glanced at the porch he realized you had fallen asleep. Karl caught himself smiling and quickly jerked the maul down into the next log. He needed this, he decided. The physical labor was doing wonders for his brain, keeping everything nice and quiet. No nasty flashes of what-was when he was focusing on some menial task. He'd have to try and take on more of this stuff. Maybe you'd let him help to fill the jugs at the river, for washing and drinking and–

-and what was that noise. Heisenberg straightened up, his eyes immediately drawn to the shadow of the trees at the edge of your property line. It was so strange the way sunlight only made the woods seem darker, intensifying the shadows until they were inky black. Karl stared hard, willing his eyes to adjust to the shade, but he only caught the faintest glimpse of…something. It was more like an impression of movement, eyeshine and hair but not…not right, not animal-shaped. 

Karl hesitated, his grip tightening to a chokehold on the maul. The wedge rocketed over the fenceline, vanishing into the bushes. The yelp in response set his teeth on edge. Again, the wrongness, too bass for a lynx and too high for a bear. 

Karl stormed forward, his walking stick forgotten on the ground as he brandished your old maul with an intent so gleefully malevolent that it confused him. Man, I must have been a bad person. He shoved it to the side for the moment, scouring the underbrush for the wedge. 

It had traveled further than he expected but it simply laid forlornly on the forest floor. However it seemed to have met its mark regardless, as the chisel tip of it was stained black with some kind of ichor. 

Heisenberg gingerly picked the wedge up, rubbing his thumb across the liquid. In hindsight, probably a bad idea. The fluid was still warm and stank of iron and decay, like…blood left out in the sun too long…

--buckets of congealed, blackened liquid, splatters of it on the concrete beneath his feet and all around him the reek of rusty death. But this was home, as much as if he had built it himself–

Karl shuddered, nearly dropping the wedge. He felt like the wind had been crushed out of him by some giant hand. 

He had left you alone. Asleep. Vulnerable.

Heisenberg whirled, met with a wall of trees and no clear view of the cabin. "You stupid fuck!" He cursed at himself, tearing off in what he thought was the right direction.

…

"Hey!"

The sharp bark woke you from your unwitting doze and you jolted up, startled. You rubbed your eyes, groaning, "what, what is it?" 

Heisenberg was standing in front of the stairs in a strange, hunched position. It took you a moment to realize that he still had the maul, and that woke you up. He looked furious, he looked dangerous, his chest heaving and his hat missing. Without even thinking about it you clawed yourself backwards to get out of range, your legs nearly refusing to cooperate.

"K-Karl?" The tremor in your voice seemed to have some kind of effect on him, his posture and fierce expression softening slightly as he blinked down at you. 

"I…you're okay." He said finally. His knees gave way, the man nearly sagging to the ground before he managed to prop himself up with the maul. "You been asleep the whole time? Didn't see anything?" He questioned you, his tone rough.

You shook your head, baffled and still wary. Karl sighed, but it sounded more like relief than annoyance. "What's going on? You uh…you look upset." You commented, giving up on any subtlety. 

"There was something in the woods." His gaze hardened once more and he fidgeted with the maul. "Didn't get a good look at it, but it…somethin' about it wasn't animal, y'know?"

"Oh." You tapped your mouth. "The Duke mentioned things called Lycans, he put up some charms to ward them off. That's why I don't go out past the fence at night. Never seen any close to the property, though. That's weird."

Karl pressed, "You've seen them? What do they look like?"

"It's always been dark out so I couldn't say exactly." You bit your lip, trying to recall. "Whatever I saw had really patchy fur or hair, like it had mange. I thought it was a big lynx, honestly. The Duke didn't want to tell me what they were, he just put out the charms and said that would tell them to stay away."

Karl swore under his breath. "Always at night?"

"Yeah, I've never gotten a good look at them. Not sure if I believe they even exist but," you shrugged, "I don't really have a reason to go groping around in the woods after dark anyways. What with the bears, wolves, lynx…I mean, it's not exactly like an inconvenience for me to park my ass at night."

"Well whatever I saw, it was watchin' me. And I don't know for how long."

Part Two

[rjalker]

We had been at the South Pole a week. The outside thermometer read fifty degrees below zero, Fahrenheit. The winter was just beginning.

"What do you think we should transmit to McMurdo?" I asked Rizzo.

He put down his magazine and half-sat up in his bunk. For a moment there was silence, except for the nearly inaudible hum of the machinery that jammed our tiny dome, and the muffled shrieking of the ever-present wind, above us.

(read-more was here)

Rizzo looked at the semi-circle of control consoles, computers, and meteorological sensors with an expression of disgust that could be produced only by a drafted soldier.

"Tell 'em it's cold, it's gonna get colder, and we've both got appendicitis and need replacements immediately."

"Very clever," I said, and started touching the buttons that would automatically transmit the sensors' memory tapes.

Rizzo sagged back into his bunk. "Why?" He asked the curved ceiling of our cramped quarters. "Why me? Why here? What did I ever do to deserve spending the whole goddammed winter at the goddammed South Pole?"

"It's strictly impersonal," I assured him. "Some bright young meteorologist back in Washington has convinced the Pentagon that the South Pole is the key to the world's weather patterns. So here we are."

"It doesn't make sense," Rizzo continued, unhearing. His dark, broad-boned face was a picture of wronged humanity. "Everybody knows that when the missiles start flying, they'll be coming over the North Pole…. The goddammed Army is a hundred and eighty degrees off base."

"That's about normal for the Army, isn't it?" I was a drafted soldier, too.

Rizzo swung out of the bunk and paced across the dimly-lit room. It only took a half-dozen paces; the dome was small and most of it was devoted to machinery.

"Don't start acting like a caged lion," I warned. "It's going to be a long winter."

"Yeah, guess so." He sat down next to me at the radio console and pulled a pack of cigarets from his shirt pocket. He offered one to me, and we both smoked in silence for a minute or two.

"Got anything to read?"

I grinned. "Some microspool catalogues of stars."

"Stars?"

"I'm an astronomer … at least, I was an astronomer, before the National Emergency was proclaimed."

Rizzo looked puzzled. "But I never heard of you."

"Why should you?"

"I'm an astronomer too."

"I thought you were an electronicist."

He pumped his head up and down. "Yeah … at the radio astronomy observatory at Greenbelt. Project OZMA. Where do you work?"

"Lick Observatory … with the 120-inch reflector."

"Oh … an optical astronomer."

"Certainly."

"You're the first optical man I've met." He looked at me a trifle queerly.

I shrugged. "Well, we've been around a few millennia longer than you static-scanners."

"Yeah, guess so."

"I didn't realize that Project OZMA was still going on. Have you had any results yet?"

It was Rizzo's turn to shrug. "Nothing yet. The project has been shelved for the duration of the emergency, of course. If there's no war, and the dish doesn't get bombed out, we'll try again."

"Still listening to the same two stars?"

"Yeah … Tau Ceti and Epsilon Eridani. They're the only two Sun-type stars within reasonable range that might have planets like Earth."

"And you expect to pick up radio signals from an intelligent race."

"Hope to."

I flicked the ash off my cigaret. "You know, it always struck me as rather hopeless … trying to find radio signals from intelligent creatures."

"Whattaya mean, hopeless?"

"Why should an intelligent race send radio signals out into interstellar space?" I asked. "Think of the power it requires, and the likelihood that it's all wasted effort, because there's no one within range to talk to."

"Well … it's worth a try, isn't it … if you think there could be intelligent creatures somewhere else … on a planet of another star."

"Hmph. We're trying to find another intelligent race; are we transmitting radio signals?"

"No," he admitted. "Congress wouldn't vote the money for a transmitter that big."

"Exactly," I said. "We're listening, but not transmitting."

Rizzo wasn't discouraged. "Listen, the chances—just on statistical figuring alone—the chances are that there're millions of other solar systems with intelligent life. We've got to try contacting them! They might have knowledge that we don't have … answers to questions that we can't solve yet…."

"I completely agree," I said. "But listening for radio signals is the wrong way to do it."

"Huh?"

"Radio broadcasting requires too much power to cover interstellar distances efficiently. We should be looking for signals, not listening for them."

"Looking?"

"Lasers," I said, pointing to the low-key lights over the consoles. "Optical lasers. Super-lamps shining out in the darkness of the void. Pump in a modest amount of electrical power, excite a few trillion atoms, and out comes a coherent, pencil-thin beam of light that can be seen for millions of miles."

"Millions of miles aren't lightyears," Rizzo muttered.

"We're rapidly approaching the point where we'll have lasers capable of lightyear ranges. I'm sure that some intelligent race somewhere in this galaxy has achieved the necessary technology to signal from star to star—by light beams."

"Then how come we haven't seen any?" Rizzo demanded.

"Perhaps we already have."

"What?"

"We've observed all sorts of variable stars—Cepheids, RR Lyrae's, T Tauri's. We assume that what we see are stars, pulsating and changing brightness for reasons that are natural, but unexplainable to us. Now, suppose what we are really viewing are laser beams, signalling from planets that circle stars too faint to be seen from Earth?"

In spite of himself, Rizzo looked intrigued.

"It would be fairly simple to examine the spectra of such light sources and determine whether they're natural stars or artificial laser beams."

"Have you tried it?"

I nodded.

"And?"

I hesitated long enough to make him hold his breath, waiting for my answer. "No soap. Every variable star I've examined is a real star."

He let out his breath in a long, disgusted puff. "Ahhh, you were kidding all along. I thought so."

"Yes," I said. "I suppose I was."

Time dragged along in the weather dome. I had managed to smuggle a small portable telescope along with me, and tried to make observations whenever possible. But the weather was usually too poor. Rizzo, almost in desperation for something to do, started to build an electronic image-amplifier for me.

Our one link with the rest of the world was our weekly radio message from McMurdo. The times for the messages were randomly scrambled, so that the chances of their being intercepted or jammed were lessened. And we were ordered to maintain strict radio silence.

As the weeks sloughed on, we learned that one of our manned satellites had been boarded by the Reds at gunpoint. Our space-crews had put two Red automated spy-satellites out of commission. Shots had been exchanged on an ice-island in the Arctic. And six different nations were testing nuclear bombs.

We didn't get any mail of course. Our letters would be waiting for us at McMurdo when we were relieved. I thought about Gloria and our two children quite a bit, and tried not to think about the blast and fallout patterns in the San Francisco area, where they were.

"My wife hounded me until I spent pretty nearly every damned cent I had on a shelter, under the house," Rizzo told me. "Damned shelter is fancier than the house. She's the social leader of the disaster set. If we don't have a war, she's gonna feel damned silly."

I said nothing.

The weather cleared and steadied for a while (days and nights were indistinguishable during the long Antarctic winter) and I split my time evenly between monitoring the meteorological sensors and observing the stars. The snow had covered the dome completely, of course, but our "snorkel" burrowed through it and out into the air.

"This dome's just like a submarine, only we're submerged in snow instead of water," Rizzo observed. "I just hope we don't sink to the bottom."

"The calculations show that we'll be all right."

He made a sour face. "Calculations proved that airplanes would never get off the ground."

The storms closed in again, but by the time they cleared once more, Rizzo had completed the image-amplifier for me. Now, with the tiny telescope I had, I could see almost as far as a professional instrument would allow. I could even lie comfortably in my bunk, watch the amplifier's viewscreen, and control the entire set-up remotely.

Then it happened.

At first it was simply a curiosity. An oddity.

I happened to be studying a Cepheid variable star—one of the huge, very bright stars that pulsate so regularly that you can set your watch by them. It had attracted my attention because it seemed to be unusually close for a Cepheid—only 700 lightyears away. The distance could be easily gauged by timing the star's pulsations.[1]

I talked Rizzo into helping me set up a spectrometer. We scavenged shamelessly from the dome's spare parts bin and finally produced an instrument that would break up the light of the star into its component wavelengths, and thereby tell us much about the star's chemical composition and surface temperature.

At first I didn't believe what I saw.

The star's spectrum—a broad rainbow of colors—was criss-crossed with narrow dark lines. That was all right. They're called absorption lines; the Sun has thousands of them in its spectrum. But one line—one—was an insolently bright emission line. All the laws of physics and chemistry said it couldn't be there.

But it was.

We photographed the star dozens of times. We checked our instruments ceaselessly. I spent hours scanning the star's "official" spectrum in the microspool reader. The bright emission line was not on the catalogue spectrum. There was nothing wrong with our instruments.

Yet the bright line showed up. It was real.

"I don't understand it," I admitted. "I've seen stars with bright emission spectra before, but a single bright line in an absorption spectrum! It's unheard-of. One single wavelength … one particular type of atom at one precise energy-level … why? Why is it emitting energy when the other wavelengths aren't?"

Rizzo was sitting on his bunk, puffing a cigaret. He blew a cloud of smoke at the low ceiling. "Maybe it's one of those laser signals you were telling me about a couple weeks ago."

I scowled at him. "Come on, now. I'm serious. This thing has me puzzled."

"Now wait a minute … you're the one who said radio astronomers were straining their ears for nothing. You're the one who said we ought to be looking. So look!" He was enjoying his revenge.

I shook my head, and turned back to the meteorological equipment.

But Rizzo wouldn't let up. "Suppose there's an intelligent race living on a planet near a Cepheid variable star. They figure that any other intelligent creatures would have astronomers who'd be curious about their star, right? So they send out a laser signal that matches the star's pulsations. When you look at the star, you see their signal. What's more logical?"

"All right," I groused. "You've had your joke…."

"Tell you what," he insisted. "Let's put that one wavelength into an oscilloscope and see if a definite signal comes out. Maybe it'll spell out 'Take me to your leader' or something."

I ignored him and turned my attention to Army business. The meteorological equipment was functioning perfectly, but our orders read that one of us had to check it every twelve hours. So I checked and tried to keep my eyes from wandering as Rizzo tinkered with a photocell and oscilloscope.

"There we are," he said, at length. "Now let's see what they're telling us."

In spite of myself I looked up at the face of the oscilloscope. A steady, gradually sloping greenish line was traced across the screen.

"No message," I said.

Rizzo shrugged elaborately.

"If you leave the 'scope on for two days, you'll find that the line makes a full swing from peak to null," I informed him. "The star pulsates every two days, bright to dim."

"Let's turn up the gain," he said, and he flicked a few knobs on the front of the 'scope.

The line didn't change at all.

"What's the sweep speed?" I asked.

"One nanosecond per centimeter." That meant that each centimeter-wide square on the screen's face represented one billionth of a second. There are as many nanoseconds in one second as there are seconds in thirty-two years.

"Well, if you don't get a signal at that sensitivity, there just isn't any signal there," I said.

Rizzo nodded. He seemed slightly disappointed that his joke was at an end. I turned back to the meteorological instruments, but I couldn't concentrate on them. Somehow I felt disappointed, too. Subconsciously, I suppose, I had been hoping that Rizzo actually would detect a signal from the star. Fool! I told myself. But what could explain that bright emission line? I glanced up at the oscilloscope again.

And suddenly the smooth steady line broke into a jagged series of millions of peaks and nulls!

I stared at it.

Rizzo was back on his bunk again, reading one of his magazines. I tried to call him, but the words froze in my throat. Without taking my eyes from the flickering 'scope, I reached out and touched his arm.

He looked up.

"Holy Mother of God," Rizzo whispered.

For a long time we stared silently at the fluttering line dancing across the oscilloscope screen, bathing our tiny dome in its weird greenish light. It was eerily fascinating, hypnotic. The line never stood still; it jabbered and stuttered, a series of millions of little peaks and nulls, changing almost too fast for the eye to follow, up and down, calling to us, speaking to us, up, down, never still, never quiet, constantly flickering its unknown message to us.

The line never stood still; millions of little peaks and nulls calling to us, speaking to us, never still, never quiet, constantly flickering its unknown message to us.

"Can it be … people?" Rizzo wondered. His face, bathed in the greenish light, was suddenly furrowed, withered, ancient: a mixture of disbelief and fear.

"What else could it be?" I heard my own voice answer. "There's no other explanation possible."

We sat mutely for God knows how long.

Finally Rizzo asked, "What do we do now?"

The question broke our entranced mood. What do we do? What action do we take? We're thinking men, and we've been contacted by other creatures that can think, reason, send a signal across seven hundred lightyears of space. So don't just sit there in stupified awe. Use your brain, prove that you're worthy of the tag sapiens.

"We decode the message," I announced. Then, as an after-thought, "But don't ask me how."

We should have called McMurdo, or Washington. Or perhaps we should have attempted to get a message through to the United Nations. But we never even thought of it. This was our problem. Perhaps it was the sheer isolation of our dome that kept us from thinking about the rest of the world. Perhaps it was sheer luck.

"If they're using lasers," Rizzo reasoned, "they must have a technology something like ours."

"Must have had," I corrected. "That message is seven hundred years old, remember. They were playing with lasers when King John was signing the Magna Charta and Genghis Khan owned most of Asia. Lord knows what they have now."

Rizzo blanched and reached for another cigaret.

I turned back to the oscilloscope. The signal was still flashing across its face.

"They're sending out a signal," I mused, "probably at random. Just beaming it out into space, hoping that someone, somewhere will pick it up. It must be in some form of code … but a code that they feel can be easily cracked by anyone with enough intelligence to realize that there's a message there."

"Sort of an interstellar Morse code."

I shook my head. "Morse code depends on both sides knowing the code. There's no key."

"Cryptographers crack codes."

"Sure. If they know what language is being used. We don't know the language, we don't know the alphabet, the thought processes … nothing."

"But it's a code that can be cracked easily," Rizzo muttered.

"Yes," I agreed. "Now what the hell kind of a code can they assume will be known to another race that they've never seen?"

Rizzo leaned back on his bunk and his face was lost in shadows.

"An interstellar code," I rambled on. "Some form of presenting information that would be known to almost any race intelligent enough to understand lasers…."

"Binary!" Rizzo snapped, sitting up on the bunk.

"What?"

"Binary code. To send a signal like this, they've gotta be able to write a message in units that're only a billionth of a second long. That takes computers. Right? Well, if they have computers, they must figure that we have computers. Digital computers run on binary code. Off or on … go or no-go. It's simple. I'll bet we can slap that signal on a tape and run it through our computer here."

"To assume that they use computers exactly like ours…."

"Maybe the computers are completely different," Rizzo said excitedly, "but the binary code is basic to them all. I'll bet on that! And this computer we've got here—this transistorized baby—she can handle more information than the whole Army could feed into her. I'll bet nothing has been developed anywhere that's better for handling simple one-plus-one types of operations."

I shrugged. "All right. It's worth a trial."

It took Rizzo a few hours to get everything properly set up. I did some arithmetic while he worked. If the message was in binary code, that meant that every cycle of the signal—every flick of the dancing line on our screen—carried a bit of information. The signal's wavelength was 5000 Angstroms; there are a hundred million Angstrom units to the centimeter; figuring the speed of light … the signal could carry, in theory at least, something like 600 trillion bits of information per second.

I told Rizzo.

"Yeah, I know. I've been going over the same numbers in my head." He set a few switches on the computer control board. "Now let's see how many of the 600 trillion we can pick up." He sat down before the board and pressed a series of buttons.

We watched, hardly breathing, as the computer's spools began spinning and the indicator lights flashed across the control board. Within a few minutes, the printer chugged to life.

Rizzo swivelled his chair over to the printer and held up the unrolling sheet in a trembling hand.

Numbers. Six-digit numbers. Completely meaningless.

"Gibberish," Rizzo snapped.

It was peculiar. I felt relieved and disappointed at the same time.

"Something's screwy," Rizzo said. "Maybe I fouled up the circuits…."

"I don't think so," I answered. "After all, what did you expect out of the computer? Shakespearean poetry?"

"No, but I expected numbers that would make some sense. One and one, maybe. Something that means something. This stuff is nowhere."

Our nerves must have really been wound tight, because before we knew it we were in the middle of a nasty argument—and it was over nothing, really. But in the middle of it:

"Hey, look," Rizzo shouted, pointing to the oscilloscope.

The message had stopped. The 'scope showed only the calm, steady line of the star's basic two-day-long pulsation.

It suddenly occurred to us that we hadn't slept for more than 36 hours, and we were both exhausted. We forgot the senseless argument. The message was ended. Perhaps there would be another; perhaps not. We had the telescope, spectrometer, photocell, oscilloscope, and computer set to record automatically. We collapsed into our bunks. I suppose I should have had monumental dreams. I didn't. I slept like a dead man.

When we woke up, the oscilloscope trace was still quiet.

"Y'know," Rizzo muttered, "it might just be a fluke … I mean, maybe the signals don't mean a damned thing. The computer is probably translating nonsense into numbers just because it's built to print out numbers and nothing else."

"Not likely," I said. "There are too many coincidences to be explained. We're receiving a message, I'm certain of it. Now we've got to crack the code."

As if to reinforce my words, the oscilloscope trace suddenly erupted into the same flickering pattern. The message was being sent again.

We went through two weeks of it. The message would run through for seven hours, then stop for seven. We transcribed it on tape 48 times and ran it through the computer constantly. Always the same result—six-digit numbers; millions of them. There were six different seven-hour-long messages, being repeated one after the other, constantly.

We forgot the meteorological equipment. We ignored the weekly messages from McMurdo. The rest of the world became a meaningless fiction to us. There was nothing but the confounded, tantalizing, infuriating, enthralling message. The National Emergency, the bomb tests, families, duties—all transcended, all forgotten. We ate when we thought of it and slept when we couldn't keep our eyes open any longer. The message. What was it? What was the key to unlock its meaning?

"It's got to be something universal," I told Rizzo. "Something universal … in the widest sense of the term."

He looked up from his desk, which was wedged in between the end of his bunk and the curving dome wall. The desk was littered with printout sheets from the computer, each one of them part of the message.

"You've only said that a half-million times in the past couple weeks. What the hell is universal? If you can figure that out, you're damned good."

What is universal? I wondered. You're an astronomer. You look out at the universe. What do you see? I thought about it. What do I see? Stars, gas, dust clouds, planets … what's universal about them? What do they all have that….

"Atoms!" I blurted.

Rizzo cocked a weary eye at me. "Atoms?"

"Atoms. Elements. Look…." I grabbed up a fistful of the sheets and thumbed through them. "Look … each message starts with a list of numbers. Then there's a long blank to separate the opening list from the rest of the message. See? Every time, the same length list."

"So?"

"The periodic table of the elements!" I shouted into his ear. "That's the key!"

Rizzo shook his head. "I thought of that two days ago. No soap. In the first place, the list that starts each message isn't always the same. It's the same length, all right, but the numbers change. In the second place, it always begins with 100000. I looked up the atomic weight of hydrogen—it's 1.008 something."

That stopped me for a moment. But then something clicked into place in my mind.

"Why is the hydrogen weight 1.008?" Before Rizzo could answer, I went on, "For two reasons. The system we use arbitrarily rates oxygen as 16-even. Right? All the other weights are calculated from oxygen's. And we also give the average weight of an element, counting all its isotopes. Our weight for hydrogen also includes an adjustment for tiny amounts of deuterium and tritium. Right? Well, suppose they have a system that rates hydrogen as a flat one: 1.00000. Doesn't that make sense?"

"You're getting punchy," Rizzo grumbled. "What about the isotopes? How can they expect us to handle decimal points if they don't tell us about them … mental telepathy? What about…."

"Stop arguing and start calculating," I snapped. "Change that list of numbers to agree with our periodic table. Change 1.00000 to 1.008-whatever-it-is and tackle the next few elements. The decimals shouldn't be so hard to figure out."

Rizzo grumbled to himself, but started working out the calculations. I stepped over to the dome's microspool library and found an elementary physics text. Within a few minutes, Rizzo had some numbers and I had the periodic table focused on the microspool reading machine.

"Nothing," Rizzo said, leaning over my shoulder and looking at the screen. "They don't match at all."

"Try another list. They're not all the same."

He shrugged and returned to his desk. After a while he called out, "their second number is 3.97123; it works out to 4.003-something."

It checked! "Good. That's helium. What about the next one, lithium?"

"That's 6.940."

"Right!"

Rizzo went to work furiously after that. I pushed a chair to the desk and began working up from the end of the list. It all checked out, from hydrogen to a few elements beyond the artificial ones that had been created in the laboratories here on Earth.

"That's it," I said. "That's the key. That's our Rosetta Stone … the periodic table."

Rizzo stared at the scribbled numbers and jumble of papers. "I bet I know what the other lists are … the ones that don't make sense."

"Oh?"

"There are other ways to identify the elements … vibration resonances, quantum wavelengths … somebody named Lewis came out a couple years ago with a Quantum Periodic Table…."

"They're covering all the possibilities. There are messages for many different levels of understanding. We just decoded the simplest one."

"Yeah."

I noticed that as he spoke, Rizzo's hand—still tightly clutching the pencil—was trembling and white with tension.

"Well?"

Rizzo licked his lips. "Let's get to work."

We were like two men possessed. Eating, sleeping, even talking was ignored completely as we waded through the hundreds of sheets of paper. We could decode only a small percentage of them, but they still represented many hours of communication. The sheets that we couldn't decode, we suspected, were repetitions of the same message that we were working on.

We lost all concept of time. We must have slept, more than once, but I simply don't remember. All I can recall is thousands of numbers, row upon row, sheet after sheet of numbers … and my pencil scratching symbols of the various chemical elements over them until my hand was so cramped I could no longer open the fingers.

The message consisted of a long series of formulas; that much was certain. But, without punctuation, with no knowledge of the symbols that denote even such simple things as "plus" or "equals" or "yields," it took us more weeks of hard work to unravel the sense of each equation. And even then, there was more to the message than met the eye:

"Just what the hell are they driving at?" Rizzo wondered aloud. His face had changed: it was thinner, hollow-eyed, weary, covered with a scraggly beard.

"Then you think there's a meaning behind all these equations, too?"

He nodded. "It's a message, not just a contact. They're going to an awful lot of trouble to beam out this message, and they're repeating it every seven hours. They haven't added anything new in the weeks we've been watching."

"I wonder how many years or centuries they've been sending out this message, waiting for someone to pick it up, looking for someone to answer them."

"Maybe we should call Washington…."

"No!"

Rizzo grinned. "Afraid of breaking radio silence?"

"Hell no. I just want to wait until we're relieved, so we can make this announcement in person. I'm not going to let some old wheezer in Washington get credit for this…. Besides, I want to know just what they're trying to tell us."

It was agonizing, painstaking work. Most of the formulas meant nothing to either one of us. We had to ransack the dome's meager library of microspools to piece them together. They started simply enough—basic chemical combinations: carbon and two oxygens yield CO2; two hydrogens and oxygen give water. A primer … not of words, but of equations.

The equations became steadily longer and more complex. Then, abruptly, they simplified, only to begin a new deepening, simplify again, and finally become very complicated just at the end. The last few lines were obviously repetitious.

Gradually, their meaning became clear to us.

The first set of equations started off with simple, naturally-occurring energy yielding formulas. The oxidation of cellulose (we found the formula for that in an organic chemistry text left behind by one of the dome's previous occupants), which probably referred to the burning of plants and vegetation. A string of formulas that had groupings in them that I dimly recognized as amino acids—no doubt something to do with digesting food. There were many others, including a few that Rizzo claimed had the expression for chlorophyll in them.

"Naturally-occurring, energy-yielding reactions," Rizzo summarized. "They're probably trying to describe the biological set-up on their planet."

It seemed an inspired guess.

The second set of equations again began with simple formulas. The cellulose-burning reaction appeared again, but this time it was followed by equations dealing with the oxidation of hydrocarbons: coal and oil burning? A long series of equations that bore repeatedly the symbols for many different metals came up next, followed by more on hydrocarbons, and then a string of formulas that we couldn't decipher at all.

This time it was my guess: "These look like energy-yielding reactions, too. At least in the beginning. But they don't seem to be naturally occurring types. Then comes a long story about metals. They're trying to tell us the history of their technological development—burning wood, coal and eventually oil; smelting metals … they're showing us how they developed their technology."

The final set of equations began with an ominous simplicity: a short series of very brief symbols that had the net result of four hydrogen atoms building into a helium atom. Nuclear fusion.

"That's the proton-proton reaction," I explained to Rizzo. "The type of fusion that goes on in the Sun."

The next series of equations spelled out the more complex carbon-nitrogen cycle of nuclear fusion, which was probably the primary energy source of their own Cepheid variable star. Then came a long series of equations that we couldn't decode in detail, but the symbols for uranium and plutonium, and some of the heavier elements, kept cropping up.

Then came one line that told us the whole story: the lithium-hydride equation—nuclear fusion bombs.

The equations went on to more complex reactions, formulas that no man on Earth had ever seen before. They were showing us the summation of their knowledge, and they had obviously been dealing with nuclear energies for much longer than we have on Earth.

But interspersed among the new equations, they repeated a set of formulas that always began with the lithium-hydride fusion reaction. The message ended in a way that wrenched my stomach: the fusion bomb reaction and its cohorts were repeated ten straight times.

I'm not sure of what day it was on the calendar, but the clock on the master control console said it was well past eleven.

Rizzo rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. "Well, what do you think?"

"It's pretty obvious," I said. "They have the bombs. They've had them for quite some time. They must have a lot of other weapons, too—more … advanced. They're trying to tell us their history with the equations. First they depended on natural sources of energy, plants and animals; then they developed artificial energy sources and built up a technology; finally they discovered nuclear energy."

"How long do you think they've had the bombs?"

"Hard to tell. A generation … a century. What difference does it make? They have them. They probably thought, at first, that they could learn to live with them … but imagine what it must be like to have those weapons at your fingertips … for a century. Forever. Now they're so scared of them that they're beaming their whole history out into space, looking for someone to tell them how to live with the bombs, how to avoid using them."

"You could be wrong," Rizzo said. "They could be boasting about their arsenal."

"Why? For what reason? No … the way they keep repeating those last equations. They're pleading for help."

Rizzo turned to the oscilloscope. It was flickering again.

"Think it's the same thing?"

"No doubt. You're taping it anyway, aren't you?"

"Yeah, sure. Automatically."

Suddenly, in mid-flight, the signal winked off. The pulsations didn't simply smooth out into a steady line, as they had before. The screen simply went dead.

"That's funny," Rizzo said, puzzled. He checked the oscilloscope. "Nothing wrong here. Something must've happened to the telescope."

Suddenly I knew what had happened. "Take the spectrometer off and turn on the image-amplifier," I told him.

I knew what we would see. I knew why the oscilloscope beam had suddenly gone off scale. And the knowledge was making me sick.

Rizzo removed the spectrometer set-up and flicked the switch that energized the image-amplifier's viewscreen.

"Holy God!"

The dome was flooded with light. The star had exploded.

"They had the bombs all right," I heard myself saying. "And they couldn't prevent themselves from using them. And they had a lot more, too. Enough to push their star past its natural limits."

Rizzo's face was etched in the harsh light.

"I've gotta get out of here," he muttered, looking all around the cramped dome. "I've gotta get back to my wife and find someplace where it's safe…."

"Someplace?" I asked, staring at the screen. "Where?"

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

Based on your last DC post, Cosette as Static Shock with quotes from the show.

Akuma: What the heck is up with that?!

Cosette: You mean, 'What's up with that'. Either use slang properly or don't use it at all!

—

Cosette: No more asking my dad to borrow his car, dude.

Simon: You don't even drive yet, C.

Cosette: Oh, whatever.

—

Cosette: Mutant? Now that's degrading.

Aurore: You have a better word for it?

Cosette: I kind of like... meta-human.

—

Cosette: I wish I could just go out and rent a decent headquarters, but that takes money.

Zoé: Nobody ever said the superhero gig would be a profit center.

Cosette: Yeah, but it's costing me; I keep tearing my costume, melting my shoes.

—

Cosette: Let me tell you something about electricity; a big enough charge can overload any insulator.

—

Yvette: *banging her hand on the locked bathroom door* Cosette Olivia Bellamy, get your ashky butt out here right this minute...

Cosette: *unlocks the door and sticks their head out* Yvette! My middle name is never to be spoken aloud, you know that! *sticks their head back into the bathroom and slams the door closed*

—

Cosette: I don't believe we've been introduced.

Akuma: Omnifarious.

Cosette: You're Nefarious?

Akuma: Omnifarious. It's my name. It means many forms.

Cosette: Bro, I go to public school. Latin's an elective.

—

Reflekta: I'm gonna make so many of me, you won't have a prayer.

Cosette: Ooh a room full of has beens, now I am scared!

—

Cosette: This looks like a job for...

Ismael: Don't finish that sentence, Cosette. Superman already owns the rights.

—

Evillustrator: What? Afraid I'm gonna show you up again, shock jockey? Well, you can relax.

Cosette: I am relaxed. You're the one jumpin' around like a demented cheerleader.

—

Cosette: Ahh, well I guess you're wondering, 'what's with the costume,' well, I... umm...

Kagami: Don't sweat it, I knew you were Static when I first met you

Cosette: What... You did?!

—

Green Lantern: For a rookie you did well, but I can tell you'll be a handful when you finally join the League.

Cosette: I'm sorry; did you say when I join the League?

Batman: Anything is possible... when you're a little older.

Flash: But remember, I get first dibs on the pizza.

—

Cosett : Batman's not gonna be happy when he hears how you've been treating his guest and you really don't want to see Batman unhappy.

Batman: First, we don't have guests here. And, second, I'm Batman.

Cosette: And I'm Beyonce.

—

Yvette: Cosette!

Cosette: You shrieked?

Yvette: You didn't take the garbage out last night.

Cosette: Is that what smells? I figured you were trying a new recipe.

Cosette belongs to @nerd-chocolate in case anyone forgets

[englass]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: @shallow-gravy — thank you hun! 🥰

Tagging (but optional): @derelictheretic @fadedjacket @chazz-anova @weekend-writer @starsandskies @chyrstis @words-and-seeds @littlegoldfinchh @wrathfulrook — and anyone else that’d like to do it.

To be honest, I’ve only really written little drabble pieces or experimental stuff last few weeks. Nothing major sadly. But since I’ve been trying to write a fight scene that’s been in my head for a while recently, figured I’ll share that at least. Not sure if I’ll do anything with it, but no harm in sharing I guess… just, kindly ignore the tense issues please; if nothing else…

-/-/-

With a flourish you brandish your gunblade, aiming it brazenly at your opponent with a taunting sneer. Finger restless against the trigger as the dignified entity glares at you, head tilted back haughtily as the grip on its staff tightens. Thunder booming with every sharply measured paw of its hoof against the air.

The proverbial countdown ticks, primordial rumbles and growls the warning bear of teeth as the atmosphere thickens. Crackles in the static as the air charges, the friction snapping and tension mounting. The durable leather of your gloves creaks as your grip tightens.

A sharp exhale, a short huff. Weapon hand drawing back in a smooth motion to rest your gunblade ready just behind you, stance shifting as you hold your free arm out before you. Hand angled, fingers a loose claw as the horizon of your arm becomes a makeshift retical; the unintended scope pinning your gaze to your levitating adversary.

Its hoof comes down; thunder a resounding roar.

Your lips quirk, the barest flash of teeth; the shameful zing of hunger.

Its eyes narrow. Raises its staff calm and deliberate, holds. Waits.

The thunder echoes, the air snaps.

The anticipation swells warm, your breath labours.

With regal might the staff comes down– vision whitening as lightning strikes with a shrill whistle, the ground between you scorched in an instant.

The countdown ends.

With a swiftness you kick off, racing across the distance before leaping into the air, coming down on your foe with a cry and heavy swing. Blade and staff connect, a momentary deadlock catching you midair.

Red eyes glance up at you, stern and unimpressed. Levin snaking along the length of its crimson staff in sporadic climbs that quicken with every distorted crackle, the orb at its peak glowing brighter with every charge.

You grit your teeth. Pull the trigger of your gunblade, catching the beast off guard with a grunt as the knock back shoves your arm away. Foot bracing against its staff to kick yourself away and follow the momentum. Twist into an unsteady landing that has you sliding back a few fulms. Blade swinging out, sparks catching as the tip rivets the ground. Applying force to push away on your back foot and dash back into the fight, blade uppercutting into the answering parry of its staff.

With a flurry you manoeuvre and step around its retaliating sweeps, static tingling along your weapon arm with every meeting. Hand tightening its numb grip as your weapons clash. Metal shrieking as the friction causes sparks to ignite, aether singing.

[eternal-sacrifice]

Fanfiction thing

So I never ever ever write fanfiction but I wanted to spite Soda so

Erghhhhh I'm so mad this is the first piece of my writing I share on the site

Watcher grian reset thing I guess

One.

Two.

Three.

Click.

"Can you hear me? Is this thing on?"

The sound of static fills your room. You hear it, buzzing in your ears, dulling the rhythmic drumbeat of your heart, digging out your flesh.

"...Please. I didn't want this to happen. Please. Don't kill them. Not again."

The smell of blood. You feel your face instinctively, but the only thing you feel is a bead of sweat on your forehead. Why were you sweating? Why are you breathing so hard?

You don't know. You haven't figured it out yet. It's okay, you will soon. You always do.

"Please, please, please. Please. I know I swore I wouldn't get attached but I'm so scared that they might be gone for real this time- please."

You wonder where the sound is coming from. It sounds… frantic, doesn't it?

There's two sounds.

One inside your head, and one outside it.

A shriek roars through the static and you tense. 

That's the first one, the sound outside. And judging by that noise, it's the one you should deal with first. You can barely even think with the static eating out your skull, anyway.

You trust the second voice. And you look around the room.

You think it's a room. You can't remember, you're not sure. It's so dark- you're afraid to move in any direction. 

It's okay, it's okay. You'll just have to make the choice. You can do that.

You turn around, even though you can't see anything, your footsteps echoing for what feels like forever in a cold, dull, metal ache.

"NO! STOP- GET OUT!"

The shout shrieks inside your ears, the grind of the audio peaking making you wince, but your feet begin to move, and then move faster, and then you are running.

You are thinking get out get out get out get out over and over again, aren't you?

You keep running.

You're running left, or maybe right. Or maybe neither. Or maybe both. Direction doesn't seem to mean anything in this place, where whatever recording is playing never gets quieter and the voice never goes away.

Your heartbeat is getting dangerously fast. Your lungs- your arms- do you have more than two arms? There's something else connected to you, something you didn't have before but you can't think about that now-

Keep running. Keep running. It doesn't feel like you're going anywhere, the recording's sound never changes, how is it playing everywhere? Surely, surely there's got to be some way to navigate by sound, some way this makes sense, some way the endless echoing…

There. To your left. There's a pedestal.

You slow down, but your heart is beating even faster, your eyes are growing wide, your arm reaches out like your body has a mind of its own. You have no idea why you are feeling terrified. And that in of itself is enough to send a chill down your spine, rocking your entire body.

There are buttons. You don't know how you can see them, in the pitch black, but you can. You reach out, your hand meeting the cold marble of the stand, and…

A panel in front of you. It must be glass? It's glowing, that's all you can tell for sure, and now you can finally make out the lettering on the buttons.

Forget

Forgive

Fracture

Your hand stops moving. The panel dims, to the point where you can see what must be your face in its reflection of you.

Glasses. You tilt, trying to get the glasses reflection to move so you can see your eyes.

Messy hair, you can't tell what color. There's something in it.

You reach up, feeling around your hair, and you grasp it.

A piece of… paper. Or something like it. You bring it down to your face, only just reading one of the words written on it- Forgive, the same as the button- before you catch a flash of something in the glass. You carefully move your eyes up to see it, not daring to move.

It's your eyes, finally! But… They're… not… right. Something is off with them. They're moving right and reflecting fine and seeing perfectly well, but- you can't put your finger on it.

You let out a breath of air. You're real, you think. You have a reflection.

And then a thought hits you.

That means this isn't a nightmare, right?

You're… trapped here, in this space, with this glass and-

You don't even realize you've done it, do you?

Your eyes inch over slowly to the marble pedestal, even though you already know what awaits you, and then you realize two things.

The static's cut out.

And you're pressing a button.

You know, somehow, instantly, which one it was.

The glass panel goes dark. You can't even see the pedestal now, somehow it's darker than before.

And as the voice in your head begins to grow louder and you swear you hear footsteps that aren't your own, you realize a few more things, because they're right in front of you, walking towards you and making your heart beat faster with each step.

You don't have multiple sets of arms. You feel your back just to check and they're there, not the warm feeling of skin but the cold of chilled, soft feathers.

You're glowing. That must be how you saw the buttons earlier, though you have no idea where they've gone now if that's true.

You're hungry. You're practically drooling. You have a craving, something specific, some sort of specific want… It's familiar. It's forgiveness.

This is a nightmare. You were wrong earlier.

You back up, staring down the set of eyes right in front of you, staring at the glasses identical to yours, and you scream, you scream at yourself this is just a reflection, even as you are on the floor and I am ten steps away, echoing in your head.

Your vision starts to fade, even as the click click click clack click of footsteps gets louder.

You finally remember, because it's staring you in the face, looking at you in a way that scares you, in a way you should not be able to look, in a way that makes you want to feel terror again, even as it's fading, because that face has no emotion drawn on it, and the face and the footsteps stop as I look down at you with nothing. You reach out before your arm goes limp, desperately trying to hold on to your sudden realization, even as everything else is leaving you, and you grasp it just for a second, cold and clear. 

Your eyes are purple.

[angrenwen]

"[Audio begins]

“It took a few minutes to get everybody into their coats. It’s a little chilly out, but nice. Some guy driving by saw us, came and asked me what was going on. I told him, you know. I was waiting for their parents.”

[Deep inhale.]

“He, um, just left. Then he came back with like 10 pizzas and just- like four bags of candy. I guess the pizza place run by that couple up the road is open and just- giving pizza to whoever comes in. I think maybe he just stole the candy but… well, I tried to thank him and told him he should take a pizza but he just left. Didn’t even get back in his car, just walked away.”

“This is so much pizza, but I can’t- well. It’s enough for everybody to have as much pizza and candy as they can eat. I don’t want them to have too much, they- I don’t want to be sick when they-”

[Crying.]

[Audio ends]

[Audio begins]

[Loud shrieking.]

“So, I gave everybody pizza and candy and set them loose on the art room. Fuck it.”

[Audio ends.]

[Audio begins.]

“Um, it’s… uh, late afternoon, now. It’s gotten real dark out. I can’t- I can’t make myself go look, I don’t want to see, I don’t want to know when it’s going to happen. They’re all taking naps, now. With any luck, when it hits, they’ll still be asleep.”

[Sniff.]

“I can’t believe nobody else came. These are good kids. They- they deserved better than what I could give them.”

[Sniff.]

“I- if someone finds this. I guess… there’s art on the walls. Glitter absolutely everywhere. I guess… I mean. Now I don’t have to clean up, I guess.”

[Bitter laugh.]

“They had a good day. We had a skinned knee when we were outside earlier, but other than that they had a good day. There’s art everywhere, art they made. Lot of people in capes, I guess they had superheroes on the brain. I see Titanium Man and- uh, the Lipstick Sisters, and the brain guy, but there’s more.”

[Sniff.]

“Um, I can’t get the tv or radio to work, and I’m not putting the battery in my cell phone, so I’m just- I’m just gonna lay down in there and stay with them. Until the end. But um. If you find this, I did my best, and they had a good day, and with any luck they never knew what happened.”

[Sobbing.]

[Audio ends.]

[Audio begins.]

[Radio static, then news anchor speaks.]

“…we’re having trouble getting a good angle, but it looks like masked superheroes destroyed the meteor just before it could enter Earth’s atmosphere. Some of the debris has caused minor damage, and there are some major antennas down, but it seems that Earth has been saved.”

[Radio clicks off.]

[Sniff.]

“You’ll never guess who just showed up to pick up their kids.”

[Audio ends.]

[Audio begins.]

“I’m glad I had all that extra pizza, after all, because I guess they haven’t really eaten today. Most of the kids are still asleep, which is good, because I keep crying.“

[Sniff.]

“Bee Tee Dubs, the Lipstick Sisters? They are not sisters and apparently I’ve been watching their triplets for the last year.”

[Audio ends.]

[Audio begins.]

“This is Titanium Man. It is November 29th, and it’s been six weeks since the events documented on this recording. Addie is hesitant to delete the recording, because she feels it’s a historical record, but she also doesn’t want to hang onto it. She’s afraid she’s said too much, that our identities might be revealed just by figuring out who she is and where she worked. So I’m going to be giving this to my friend who can send it to a museum in the future, where our identities don’t matter anymore, and they can preserve this record.”

[Long, easy breath.]

“I wanted to add something of a post script. Addie’s been watching our kids at a more secure facility, with better tech for communications. She won’t have to deal with a blackout like that ever again. She’s doing a great job with the kids. She’s been helping us find a few more people to help out, so she can take a break when she needs to.”

[Clears throat.]

“I can’t tell you how horrifying it was. To be working so hard and not knowing if our kids were safe. Were they scared? Were they alone? We were dealing with trying to save everybody and not knowing what was happening to our kids. To come home and find them gently asleep, having had a really fun day, was beyond our wildest hopes.”

[Shaky breath.]

“They probably won’t even remember this, most of them are too young. Maybe you’re listening to it right now, and having a few faint memories, but.. She made sure you had a great day, and that you were happy and had fun, and she did it while being scared out of her mind, mourning herself and you and everybody, and I don’t think I know anybody braver. That’s what I wanted to say.”

[Audio ends.]

If you enjoyed this and were considering donating to me, please instead donate to Planned Parenthood, Lamda Legal, or your local bail fund. Thank you.

ETA: this post continuously circulates, and it’s been going for over two years, so I am going to go ahead and throw a link to my ko-fi in here. I’m now disabled and can no longer work, and at the time I wrote this I had a steady job. If you enjoyed this story and wanted to throw a buck or two my way, it’d really help me out. https://ko-fi.com/bixbythemartian.

This is still accurate as of March of 2024. Anything helps, thanks!"

You’re a daycare worker, watching over toddlers, when the imminent end of the world is announced. It becomes increasingly clear none of the kids’ parents are going to show up as the end inches nearer.

[crowrave]

To Delay the Inevitable

Orion uses his persuasion skills to good use.

(This fic is written a little differently than my normal style, as I’m just kinda experimenting with how to write these stories!!)

[Author does not think this needs warnings, but if you think so otherwise, please let me know so I can add them!]

Story is under the cut, as always!

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

The snow is awfully deep today.

Would be a shame to be caught out here by surprise.

Clack, clack, clack.

The freezing blizzard spiraling across this side of the woods isn’t exactly what one would call cozy.

Then again, he’s always had a fondness for the cold. The others just don’t understand. Maybe he could take them to a skating rink sometime. He’s sure they wouldn’t hate it too much.

But that could be for another day. He doubts his comrades would appreciate him dragging them out into the dark of a frigid night for a little game or two.

Poomf, crunch, snap.

He wraps his scarf around himself a little tighter. Best not to catch a cold. Wouldn’t be very helpful.

SCREEEEEEEEE-

A shrieking sound of metal breaks him out from his thoughts.

He pauses. Guess tonight’s gonna be a little busier than he thought.

bang, bang, baNG, BANG, BANG, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM-!

The noise digs into his ears over, and over, and over, and over again.

Someone’s coming. He wonders if this is the day he’ll die. Maybe so. Either way, he’d still like to know who it is.

The man turns around.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

He was right.

Clink, clink, clink.

Looks like his time is up.

Clang, clang, clang!

Welp. Might as well try to evade his fate, right? Not like there’s anything left for him to lose— other than his life, of course.

The cloaked figure approaches their target in the depths of the frozen forest. A sickle for each hand.

The being is towering. Hulking. Beastly.

He knows why they’ve come. He also knows they do not regularly visit. Especially not for a single person.

Death stands before him in a trail caked in decay. The snow vanishes in its every step. And yet, he can feel the everlasting cold, just get stronger.

He smiles. He tilts his head to the side; a gleam shining from his dull, empty eyes.

A deity with the visage of a deer’s skull stares back at him. No words need to be spoken, and yet-

“Greetings.”

The cervidae seemingly rattles and croaks with each meaningless breath taken through its very being.

The not-dead-yet corpse watches the creature’s every move.

“…heya.”

The seconds of silence held between them are deafening. The wailing blizzard sounds like mere static in the presence of such glory.

“Thou knoweth what I have come for, yes?”

His grin gets wider. If it weren’t for the apathy he clung to ever so tightly, he’s sure he’d be begging on the floor for another chance.

He still might, but that’s up for debate.

“Of course I do, numbskull. It’s not everyday you meet with mortals.”

He leans on a tree closest to him. Staying casual is probably the only way he isn’t going to freak the fuck out.

He inspects his hands. The ivory black nail polish seems to be holding on well, at least.

“…I see.”

The god seems… curious? Surprised? He doesn’t know. Maybe it’s an emotion not available to humans, or something.

“So thou art ready-?”

..Orion wags a finger at Death itself. That ever-present smile on his face.

“Not so fast, Venison-man. How about we talk this out for a little while, eh?”

The skull blankly stares down the mortal. He doubts they’ve ever had anyone talk to them like that before.

They lean forward— as if attempting to close the gap between life and death.

“..enlighten me then. What makes thou believeth thine life shall be spared?”

The frozen man’s smile reaches his eyes.

“I’ve discovered something. An amalgamation of overdue souls, and endless existence that has been out of your reach for centuries.”

Death pauses in its tracks. The divine being looks the human dead in the eyes, and rasps out a reply.

“Hm. There is no such place where my eyes do not see.”

His expression doesn’t change. He clasps his hands together, and tilts his head.

“So you deny it. And yet it’s still there. Hiding. Waiting. I don’t think Lady Life would be so pleased to learn you haven’t been doing your job right.”

“And thou sayeth that thine art capable of contacting her?”

“I know a guy.”

The god feels as if in just utter disbelief in the boldness of the man.

Orion simply holds out a hand.

“We can make a quick deal, yeah? I show you where this place is, and you give me another chance at life.”

The skull’s non-existent eyes bore into the living corpse’s.

“..and thou sweareth to it, that this unrestful pool of souls shall be revealed and offered to me, yes?”

He huffs out a laugh. He nods.

“Of course, dude! Believe me, I always keep my word.”

The deity and the mortal lock eyes with one another for what feels like an eternity.

Then at last, finally, Death shakes hands with its victim.

“. . . Very well then. But remember this:”

“Thou willst not regain full rights of the living. Much rather, thou shall live thine remainder of life as a walking, living corpse.”

The two let go. One hand made of bones and freezing warmth; the other, formed of pale, chilling skin.

The dead-man grins. His sunken, lifeless eyes and seemingly shine in the darkness of the night.

“Sure, buddy. I ain’t gonna fight ya’ on that.”

He turns around, and begins to walk.

“Cmon’ now, let’s fulfill your send of the bargain.”

The god and the corpse walk side-by-side.