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haileygarciasunshine · 5 years ago

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Into the Unknown

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 2,706

Warning: Swearing, fighting, weird shit, mentions of blood

The anniversary of yours and Eleven’s escape from Hawkins Lab was coming up. A year had already gone by, since you both broke out of the Lab. El, found herself a group of friends, and so did you. After stumbling out of the Lab, you were able to find a cabin in the woods and make it yours.

You had enrolled in Hawkins Highschool as well, and gotten a job at the local block buster. You and El were always in contact, sometimes calling you twice a day. Today, started out weird. Eleven called asking if she could come over, El being the only family you knew, you obliged.

There was a soft knock on the door. Using your security system you had installed on your cabin, you could identify the person as El. Rushing to open the door you let her in.

Giving you a hug she stepped in, “Goodmorning Y/N!”

“Goodmorning, El! What can I do ya for?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.”

“Wondering about?”

“Us.”

Sighing you made your way to the kitchen grabbing a coffee to put your coffee in that was currently brewing.

“Are you sure you want to go down that rabbit hole kid?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

By this time, you both had made yourselves comfortable at the kitchen table. Eleven, was eating her Eggos.

“I know that there is one of us, that is currently in Chicago. Her name’s Kali or 008.She was experimented on like we were.”

You weren’t sure what Eleven’s thought were, but you had an inkling, that you were about to find out.

El thought it was time for you and the Party to meet, one night. So you all gathered, at Mike’s house for dinner. Everyone was there, Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Will, Steve, Max, Johnathon, Nancy, and Eleven. It felt strange that there was only four of you about the age of twelve. You recognized Steve, Nancy, and Jonathon from your school right away. Max was elated that another girl had joined the group.

Two weeks had gone by since you had become a party member. Jonathon was beaming that there was another photography lover in the group. The first day back to school after the meeting, Johnathon was at your locker talking about photography things. It was apparent he was trying to distract his mind from something ..... Or someone.

It wasn’t hard to figure out, that Jonathon, had feelings for Nancy and vice versa. Nancy was still currently with Steve Harrington. As time grew on, you had become best friends with Jonathon which lead to him confessing his feelings for Nancy to you.

Nobody else in the group besides Eleven knew, that you were experimented on in the Hawkins Lab. Your friends were like your family, but you didn’t want to put them in any danger unintentionally, so you never told them, and you always made sure that you 015 tattoo was covered up with makeup.

Over the next few weeks, Eleven had decided that she wanted to go in search of Kali for answers. You had expected her to leave, but you didn’t know when. That’s why once you had found out from Jonathon, you drove straight over to the sheriffs office.

“Is Chief Hopper here? It’s important.”

“No dear, he’s about to leave to go to Merrill’s pumpkin pat-”

Not giving her a second to finish her statement, you turned and bolted outside to see if you could catch Hopper. As luck would have it, you were able to stop him before he was able to leave.

“You’re chief Hopper right?”

“What gave it away, the sirens on top of the truck? Or the Hat?” He asked sarcastically looking over at you, while you gave him a classic Bitch face. “Now watch out kid, I have some business to attend to.”

Before either of you could react, a husky voice called for you, “Y/N?”

“Oh, hey Steve!”

“What’re you doing?” He looked at you quizzically.

“I have to talk to Hopper about something.”

“If you two kids could kindly, back away from the vehicle I could go on my way.”

Not even thinking about it, you pulled Hoppers truck door open and pulled Steve inside the vehicle along with you, catching both men off guard.

Once, inside the truck, turning to Hopper you said ”Please. Proceed.” mockingly.

Both men looked at one another, but didn’t say anything.

As you arrived at Merrill’s Pumpkin Patch, you were greeted by a man, you assumed to be Merrill, occupied Hopper. The sudden feeling, of being uncomfortable, overwhelmed your senses, the only other time this had happened, was when you were being experimented on.

Steve seemed to notice your sudden change, “Hey, are you alright?”

It had begun to get chillier outside. Steve shrugged off his jacket, and placed it over your shoulders. The action was touching, and caught you off guard.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to over step any boundaries. I noticed you were shivering.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Sorry, I made you get into the truck with me.”

“It’s okay. Why were you looking for Hopper anyway?”

Before you continued, you let out a sigh of frustration, “I know where El went. I wanted to tell him so he wouldn’t freak out more than he already has but-”

Your thoughts fled your mind mid sentence, your attention was brought to the pumpkin patch, full of dead pumpkins. It was like a magnetic field, drawing you in. ‘What harm could it do?’ you thought, ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ you continued in your mind. ‘Satisfaction brought it back’. Caving in to the curiosity, you started walking in the Pumpkin Patch looking at state almost every pumpkin was in.

Turning around, you looked up and saw the three men peering at you with shock. You turned around just to see if they were actually staring at you, or something else. They were staring at you. Shrugging it off, you continued, on your venture through the patch.

It seemed the further you got into the patch, the worse the pumpkins were. Then you suddenly, stopped. By the looks of it, you were practically, dead center. The pumpkins that were dead center, were pitch black, reeking of spoiled pumpkin.

Steve and Hopper, seemingly, followed you through the patch.

“What is that smell!” Hopper said, while coughing.

“Pumpkins.” You state a matter of factly. Your back still turned to both men.

“No Shit.”

“Contaminated Pumpkins.”

Hopper as confused, “How did they get Contaminated?”

It suddenly hit you. This was something you had seen before. At Hawkins Lab no less. Then you were hit with the reality, that you had to tell your deepest secret to two men you barely, even knew.

“Hawkins Lab.” You said turning around to face both men, with confused expressions, “I’ve seen this before at the Lab. It has something to do with what Eleven called the ‘Upside Down.’“

“How do you know Eleven?” “How do you know about the Upside Down?” Both men had asked at the same time.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you looked down at your feet, which caused a strand of hair to fall down. Taking the chance, you looked at both men, while tucking your hair behind your ear, “Eleven’s my sister... Or what we consider each other. We were both experimented on in the Lab. I helped her escape.” Deciding it was now or never, you brought a finger up to your tongue wetting it before bringing it back down to your left forearm, you wiped your finger over the makeup that was cover your tattoo, sliding your sleeve up, you brought your arm up to show both men.

015

Their expressions softened, and sadden at your confession.

“Fuck Kid.” Hopper said before pulling you into a bone crushing hug “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay. El, went to go get some answers from Kali, she’s in Chicago and was also experimented on.”

“Holy Shit. How many of you guys is there?”

“I don’t know.” You answered truthfully. Sneaking a glance at Steve, he was quiet, you hoped he was just absorbing your confession, and you hadn’t just ruined his opinion on you considering how attractive he was.

“Uh, so back to the Pumpkins. I’m guessing that Hawkins Lab has something to do with this, but there isn’t any evidence to prosecute them with.”

Hopper nodded and headed back to the truck.

“Stev-”

“Don’t.”

At this, you took his jacket off, and handed it back to him not at all pleased with the reaction you had gotten from him. He seemed like he wasn’t going to take the jacket, so you threw it at his feet, before jogging through the patch to go to the truck Hopper was in. This was exactly, why you didn’t tell anyone. You couldn’t help the hurt that had overwhelmed your emotions.

“Uh, you guys don’t have to take me. Tommy’s coming to get me.”

“You sure kid?”

“Yeah, have a good night Chief Hopper.”

Steve didn’t bother acknowledging you before, he turned away and started walking down the driveway you had driven up. There goes any possible chance you could’ve had with him.

Five minutes went by before either of you spoke.

“Uh, hey, do you, you know. Uhm. Have a place to stay?”

“Yeah, I found an abandoned Cabin in the middle of the Woods.”

“Uhm. Well, you know. Your sister. Eleven. Stays with me. I uh. Have an extra room where we stay. If you uhm. You know. Want to stay with us.”

Even if he was awkward, you knew that he cared. He cared for El, and that’s all you could’ve ever wanted. For the first time since you met Eleven, you felt the warm fuzzy feeling that you have for her. Love.

“I’d love to. If I won’t be imposing.”

“Not at all.”

It had been two weeks since you moved into Hopper’s Cabin. And Two weeks since your confession to Hopper and Steve. Steve went out of his way to not only ignore you, but to avoid you as well. There was a rumor around that Steve and Nancy broke up.

“Jonathon!” You squealed as your best friend scared you.

“Are you still going over to Mikes tonight?”

“Duh. I told you I had something to tell everyone. It’s kinda important.”

“If it’s so important why can’t you just tell me now?”

You had a sneaky suspicion, your narrowed your eyes before continuing, “Is there something you want to tell me Byers?”

This seemed to catch him off guard, making him a stuttering mess. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Nancy appeared, “Hey Guys!” She kissed Jonathon on the lips, before continuing on, down the hall with her other friends. You couldn’t help but let your jaw fall open in shock.

“What was that? I know it couldn’t be what it looked like!” You shrieked, playfully smacking him earning an “Ow” each time.

“Yeah sorry I forgot to mention, me and Nanc are dating now.”

“Forgot! How could you forget!”

It was now a few days later, since you had told the party that you were in Hawkins Lab with El. They were more than happy to except you and your past, besides they couldn’t get over the tattoo you had, each of them telling you how badass it was. Eventually, Steve got tired of Dustin talking about you so much, and followed his advice, he showed up at Hoppers cabin unannounced one night.

“Yeah.” Hopper answered roughly.

“Is Y/N home?”

Hopper took the chance, and ran with it.

He grabbed Steve by the collars of his jacket and shirt before saying, “You do realize I’m now Y/N’s dad correct?”

“Y...Yes sir.”

“Y/N’s a great girl. Top of your class actually. If you ever and I mean ever. Pull a stunt like you did back at the Pumpkin farm, again you will live to regret it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Good. Y/N! Someone’s at the door for you!” Hopper yelled, letting Steve go and moving back to his previous position.

“Steve?” Your confusion pulling through your soft voice. “What’re you doing here?”

“I uh. I came to apologize uhm.”

Suddenly, a car door slammed shut and Dustin came racing up the porch.

“What Steve here means, is that he’s sorry he acted like an asshole, and he thinks you’re really pretty.”

Letting out an embarrassed chuckle you replied “Thank you.”

“Watch your language Dipshit!”

“Who you calling Dipshit? Dipshit!”

“Dustin, watch your fucking mouth.”

Dustin flipped him off in response.

Currently, you were in the Byers house, with the Party and Hopper. Will was in his room unconscious, because the mind flyer had lodged itself into him as the ‘Host’. The sound of ‘Demo Dogs’ could be heard surrounding the house. Max was clinging onto you for safety. Suddenly, the door flew, open and in walked Eleven.

Mike was the most excited to see her aside from Hopper. Hopper pulled you and El into a bone crushing hug before murmuring, “My Girls.” so quietly, only the three of you could hear. El and Hopper went to the Lab to shut the gate, Joyce, Jonathon, and Nancy went to the cabin with Will. You stayed behind with the party.

Suddenly, Billy showed up ready to beat up Lucas. Steve had been pumbled to a pulp. Which meant that you had to drive to the Pumpkin Patch, with a car full of children. Once you arrived there, everybody was getting ready and putting on their gear.

“No. No way. You aren’t going with us in the tunnel!”

“And why not?”

“Because! What if the Mind Flyer senses you, cause you’re like El!”

“Still not seeing the problem here.”

“DUDE! JUST LET HER COME SHE’S MORE BADASS THAN YOU!”

Steve didn’t have to turn around to know who had said that. Instead he just flipped him off in return.

Once, you had helped everyone down into the tunnel, it was your turn. Of course, you were the one to slip and fall in, but atleast, Steve was there to catch you, he was holding you bridal style once you had fallen.

“Hey Lovebirds! Can we get a move on?”

“Chill man. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He responded putting you back on your feet.

The whole night, it was like Steve was trying to make up for lost time. Letting his hand brush against yours, not leaving your side unless necessary, stealing glances. He was turning out to be a hopeless romantic, something you would’ve never pegged about him.

“Steve! Behind you!” Dustin yelled to Steve, who was currently trying to distract the ‘Demo Dogs’ from the school bus the kids were all hiding in. You wouldn’t let Steve, be ‘Demo Dog’ dinner, so you were fighting them off side by side. More accurately, back to back.

“That’s hot.”

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head you responded, “Shut Up.”

Tonight, was the Snow Ball. You were helping Max and Eleven get ready for their first school dance. You offered to drop the girls off, so you three could have some girl bonding time. As soon as you arrived, you put the car in park by the entrance to the gym since you were late arriving, you got out and helped both girls out, giving them hugs and kissing the tops of their heads before took off towards the gym.

Stevie Wonders, I Just Called to Say i Love You was blasting.

Uhm

As you turned around you could see Dustin, going off towards the gym as well.

“Driver Duty?”

“Don’t be so surprised.” Steve chuckled, “I gotta make sure the kid looks good for the ladies.”

“Can I have this Dance?”

“Steve. We’re in a parking lot.”

He took your hand lightly before you could spew any more protests. Guiding the hand he had in his to his shoulder, while he held your other hand. He looked for confirmation that he could have his other hand on your waist. Giving him a soft nod he smiled.

The both of you staying like that swaying, to the music for what felt like hours. Just as he started leaning in to kiss you there was an interruption,

“Steve!”

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brideofcthulhu10 · 5 years ago

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Behold another Lost Boys holiday special! It was between this and Valentine’s day, but honestly I love writing Christmas specials, its such a cozy time despite the high suicide rates, but lets not get into that. A BIG SHOUT OUT TO @imlostinsantacarla FOR HELPING ME EDIT MY FINAL DRAFT!

Fun Fact! My husband, David (yes, that is actually his name) actually does have the bah humbug hat I mention in the head canons. He’s a heavy metal goth so when I found it at the store I had to get it for him. And you just know if our David found that, he wouldn’t be able to resist it!

Christmas with the Boys

Alright, so the whole touchy, feely and mushy feelings that surround even the topic of Christmas time is not something any of the boys will ever openly admit to enjoying. After all, they see themselves as these bad ass brutal killers who thrive off of death instead of holding hands and caroling with the goodie goodies of this coastal town.

Yet, it's challenging for them not to get sucked into the glitz and glam of the holiday season. Everything is a big deal in Santa Carla. Dia De Los Muertos, Halloween, Thanksgiving- everything! But especially Christmas.

Christmas in Santa Carla dwarfs the frenzy craze of Halloween. The entirety of the boardwalk is decked out with red and green lights that are tightly wound around palm trees, red bulbous bows are wrapped tightly around street lamps, the reds and whites of velvety fabric swirl down the posts, creating the effect of candy canes. All the store windows are painted to appear frosted, or covered with painted snowmen whilst several rooftops are covered with white felt in which mimics the texture and sight of snow. Even the boats in the harbour are all extravagantly decorated in a sea of lights that parade around brightly at night in every color imaginable.

Between the dates of the 30th of November all the way to the 24th of December the city of Santa Carla hosts a plethora of wondrous events in it's annual Holiday Festival. Large green, white and red kiosks are erected, selling a wide range of baubles and treats, from delectable chocolate coated rice krispy Santa Clauses, elf candy apples caked in a plethora of dark chocolate and peppermint, to a variety of Holiday hats, masks and even hand made costumes by the many local artists. Even hand carved candles in wondrous scents of pine, mint, or spice.

Currently, David possesses a black fur Santa hat which he acquired on a night out that boasts the words "Bah Humbug" proudly sewn over the front. It's the only holiday attire he'll even humor. Last time Marko attempted to place reindeer antlers on his head, David had set them on fire roasting atop a pan of chestnuts. Now it's not to say that he's a grinch persay. Rather, the complex and intense emotions that come hand in hand with Christmas can leave him perpetually indifferent at best, disdainful at worst. The whole occasion leaves him displeased. After all, he was an orphan who had been almost eagerly abandoned by his hooker mother left to fend for himself from the beginning, and of course never met his father. Even she could not identify which of her many clients may have been responsible. Most of his mortal life he had lived as a street rat, barely making ends meet by picking the pockets of tourists and Santa Carla citizens oblivious to the true dangers of the lower side of town. The rich and uppity classes who often snubbed their entitled noses his way would never suspect as he lurks between alleyways, leaving them cornered at knife point. It was scarce that he ever did see a kind face in the sea of those who had little interest for anyone that was not themselves. Back then it was rather uncommon for anyone to step outside their own little lives, which led to most interactions, outside of the other boys, having been met with great hostility, thus he had learned to be just as equally hostile in turn. Even the mere thought of anyone suddenly dawning a false kindness due to a certain time of year simply agitated David. It rattled him to the very core in a way very few other things did. Why bother with the lies? Couldn't people just face the very basic fact that they weren't nearly as charitable as they often deemed themselves to be? I mean, the young man had seen firsthand a family having previously snubbed a dirty homeless man with appalled disdain at the sight of his muddied clothes and dirt stained skin, only to then begin volunteering at a soup kitchen to purge whatever guilt they carried on their conscience once the holiday season began. The whole ordeal was pitiful! Nevertheless, - more so for Paul and Marko's sakes than his own -, he did humor these traditions amongst the holiday's festivities. Ruining a good time just wasn't his style. Unless they started fucking singing.

Most traditions David could tolerate, some he even enjoyed slightly; although he would never be caught dead admitting something as embarrassing as that! However, he just couldn't stand Christmas carols! They were the bain to his immortal existence. The repetitive nature of these overly cheery jingles left him covering his ears lest they nest in his brain leaving him humming the same damn melody for weeks. This was the case because the dynamic duo of dumbasses were well aware of his hatred for Rudolph the Red Nosed fuckin' roadkill! Stupid red nosed abomination.

“OOOOOOH-,” Paul begins with cheerful mischief.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” David seethes through tightly clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut in indignance.

Paul hesitates. He looks at Marko. Marko looks at Paul. Wicked grins of agreement spread wide like wildfire across their faces as their master plan comes into play. Full throttle. What’s more fun than annoying the shit out of David? One on the left, the other on the opposite side of the cave on the right. This was nothing but Divine perfection if you asked the two troublesome vampires.

“OOOOOH DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW!” Paul belted out at full volume.

“IN A ONE HORSE OPEN SLEIGH!” Marko followed in suit, the widest eerie grin plastered on his face.

“OVER THE HILLS WE GOOOO” Paul howled enthusiastically.

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU BOTH!” David's voice hit a whole new octave it had never in all his life so far. All the while Dwayne had opted to vacate the room lest he be caught in the middle of the escalating madness with Laddie in tow. He loved these guys, but not enough to dive head first into their fuckery.

Paul thrives during the Christmas holidays! How could he not? The food, the punk rock covers of Christmas songs, the absolute babes prancing around the town in Santa hats under mistletoe?! He loved it all! You can find him sneaking under mistletoe with many sweet honeys on a constant basis, regardless of whether or not he's acquainted with them. Most do roll their eyes or laugh it off, but every once in a blue moon the guy will get a little lovin' from a beach babe in the Yuletide mood. What else could he ask for? You can bet he’ll run into the woods December first, and quite literally RIP a pine tree out of the ground to bring home like a wee carrot being plucked from the ground. The bigger the better! He may even drag Dwayne or Marko along with him if it's too big for him to carry himself. And all the boozy drinks he can concoct up? This boy is in his element! Mulled wine, spiked eggnog, candy cane vodka, butterscotch bourbon hot chocolate?! Yes! David straight up refuses to try anything that Paul creates himself (remember the concoction he made in Max's kitchen? Those poor goldfish....) which is also another reason why he has Dwayne help him. Or rather, the other boys insist the most responsible of them monitors the blonde lest he poison them with some sickly brew. That, and the fact that Dwayne's the least likely out of all of them to blow up the damn kitchen!

Dwayne is indeed the designated cook during the holiday rush, albeit a field even he tends to struggle. Avoiding the kitchen catching aflame, perfecting his craft lest he blow up the stove, leaving only a pile of ash in its wake. As previously mentioned, ever since the dreadful chain of events that lead to the unfortunate destruction of Max's kitchen, this raven haired vampire has attempted his hand at learning to use a stove properly: Although he often finds himself forgetting ingredients either in the midst of cooking or after the final product is done and he's taken a big bite.

“Shit! I forgot the milk and eggs!” Dwayne grumbled with a mouthful of dry crumbs, a true disgrace of a cookie.

Paul always gives him crap for it of course.

“Oooh I just thought you were going for a sandy, dusty dry cookie kinda thing.”

"Yeah man, these taste like ass!" Marko would cough out in midst of choking.

"And what, like you dumbasses could do any better," Dwayne retorts with a huff. Only Star manages to have any manners when testing his failed baking endeavors.

"Well I mean, the taste isn't that bad. Just a little dry is all."

"At least Marko wouldn't be choking to death." David would mutter from the darkest corner of the room, a little late in the conversation.

In all honesty, Dwayne's biggest motivation when it came to improving his skills was obviously Laddie. The kid never got much of a Christmas whilst living with his mom, so now that he was with the boys, he wanted to ensure that Christmas's were something that Laddie would remember for all eternity. Though granted, it is quite the mess when he was helping in the kitchen. But when the mini vamp grins from ear to ear whilst coated in flour and rapidly stirring an overflowing bowl of chunky cookie dough--the sight is too freaking cute!

Since Laddie joined the boys, they participate in Secret Santa every single year, which definitely includes Paul bursting through the entrance of the hotel as Santa on Christmas day. We won't talk about the fact that each year he almost falls flat on his face and swears, ruining the surprise for the kid.

"Santa where are your reindeer," he'd question, to which Santa Paul scoffs

"Pff, reindeer, I don't need any fucki- Ow," cut off by a firm and covert kick to the shin from Star, Paul quickly changes his response. "Oh! Ho ho, well, you see little boy, Santa can fly too! On his, uh, uhm… magic motorcycle! Yeah, that!"

But it's okay because Laddie already KNEW (he figured it out a year or two ago after Paul's beard fell off not once, but three times), he just doesn't have the heart to tell any of them because, well Paul really gets into it. And he knows the others are playing along for his sake. But to be fair, Laddie would have to be pretty dumb to believe it was Santa. I mean, the beard Paul's wearing is hanging half off his face by this point! But anyway, just like Paul's style, the entirety of the goody two shoes schpiel is thrown out the window, replaced with sleeves that have been ripped off, muddy boots, spiked bracelets and his Metallica shirt in full view beneath his flared red coat. He calls this BIKER CLAUS!

Laddie is not a squasher of traditions! But there was the one time that David had to intervene when Paul and Dwayne thought it would be great to use Laddie as the star at the top of the tree. David practically had a heart attack. Well, that's impossible but it still felt like he was having one!

“Ho ho ho! Now, don’t be a bitch, little David or Santa will have to give you coal.” Paul stated mockingly to David, brows furrowed.

“Well, Santa,” David scolds, a wry smile developing on his face when setting down the eight year old now off to shake his presents beneath their behemoth of a tree. “You best be careful. You never know what's in those milk and cookies, hm?”

Each year Marko buys bird toys for the pigeons in the hotel. Well, buy is probably the wrong word. More like he liberates the stores of their stock. And then for the next six months, David has to hear the agonizing jingle of bells. David almost roasted one pigeon in particular that kept flying over him to drop the ball with a bell in it on his head. That was Paul's entertainment for the next five hours, hell, he'd try to find it if the bird lost it and give it back. Marko defends the pigeon. Between running through stores buying up surprises for his friends, he's helping Paul throw out decorations for the cave. The dollar store has some surprisingly unexpected treasures, allowing him to deck the fucking halls to the max. Tinsel here, ornaments there, tiny light up trees to hide around the caves, a butt ton of cinnamon pine cones which he ends up throwing back and forth with Paul.

And Paul often steals his gifts or goes dumpster diving for any hidden gems. He forgets to take the tags off of them the majority of the time, which is always an indicator whether or not its new. Any time Star asks where he got them from he refuses to answer. Just gets up and walks away. But for David's gift? Well this lucky bastard has found coal in the dumpster and chucks it to David when he's not looking and he sighs deeply in disappointment because this is the third year Paul has done this.

"Huh? What? Who did that? Wasn't me. Somebody's throwing stuff."

Other than that he'll find a fat bag of charcoal and just tape the name David on it. David is certainly not amused. Dwayne will actually try to figure out what the others want, and has the sense to save the money taken from their previous meals. After all, they're dead, they wouldn't have much use for it anyway. He's not about to waste his hypnosis on some poor cashier. That would be a waste of time in his eyes.

When Christmas did arrive the tree was piled with mysterious boxes crudely mashed and taped together with bows and ribbons underneath it. It's obvious which ones are from Star since those gifts are wrapped in neatly pressed paper, wound tight beneath curled ribbons that remind the boys of her hair. Marko often goes on a food run rather than allow them all to be subjected to a potentially charred turkey, no offense to Dwayne of course. So, with a table covered from end to end with copious bowls of gravy, potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, a beast of a turkey in the center packed to the brim with cornbread stuffing, the boys cram into their chairs knocking back beers and spiked cider. Keeping to their own traditions, after fattening up, they gather around the tree and play card games, just as they had over eighty years ago on that frigid night. David still slays them in poker, and Marko is an utter dark horse when it comes to blackjack. Paul insists they try Go Fish. No one ever wants to play Go Fish. Closer towards the end of the night Dwayne will slip away to Jasper's shrine and bring him a fresh glass of rum as well as unwrapping what he got him that year. While Dwayne is there, the other boys will join him - omitting Star and Laddie left unaware of the Lost Boy they'd never met - in celebrating the last hour or so of the Holiday season with their fallen comrade.

Although Christmas time is often about uncomfortable mushy moments and emotions that create deep, unfamiliar times for David. The entire ordeal becomes that for everyone of the boys and Star. But God forbid anyone who even mentions it! I mean, it's kinda obvious though considering he's spending it with the people he always called family, knee deep in traditions that are sentimental to himself and the boys. There's a fluster of emotions running rampant during this particular Holiday Season, and although the blonde brooding vampire decides to squint at it with skepticism he savors these moments, knowing like Jasper, it could all be swept away with a single ray of light or the foolish hand of a hunter. So as they sit, drunk, full, and laughing beside Jasper's grave he can't help but smile at the sentimentality of it all. Christmas is a pain in the ass, but… it's a pain he'll gladly sit through for his brothers.

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argylemikewheeler · 5 years ago

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oh my god based on that last ask... can u write something where mike completely loses it on everyone because something is happening to will AGAIN and he just can’t do it anymore because he’s so in love with him and he’s never got to tell him and everytime something happens to will he always says he’s gonna confess when it’s over and then he doesn’t but he means it this time

I can see Mike so clearly trying to keep it together when they’re all piled in the basement, Will kind of out of it and still plugging his bloody nose. Mike knows his own fear isn’t the most important thing. Everyone is spit-balling causes and solutions, but he can’t stop watching Will from across the coffee table. He’s laid out on the couch, his neck bent back and pinching his nose. There’s a tissue in his hand and about twenty other bloody ones on the floor around him. Mike isn’t sure how much blood the human body has, but even thinking that he has to figure it out makes his palms sweat. Makes his lips feel cold. Makes his legs numb.

They’d been standing upstairs– doing a more calm version of their current sleuthing– when Will scrambled for a piece of paper from the table. His hands were trembling and he was muttering to himself as he sketched the outline of a country. Steve was the first to proudly identify it as Russia. (Mike was the first to ask why Will was drawing it in the first place.) Then Will slammed his pen down to mark a specific point, making the pen explode in his hand. Behind them, Mike’s family phone began ringing, nearly falling off the wall. With his ink stained hand, Will grabbed it, whipping around and holding it out to them like a loud-speaker. Or a gun. The cord swayed with Will as they all leaned in, hearing the low crackling static of a radio transmission. It wasn’t in English, but they knew the voice: Hopper.

Will collapsed in Mike’s kitchen, a smear of black, charcoal ink and thick, red blood following his sliding body on the linoleum floor. The whole scene had only lasted a minute. Maybe two. Steve grabbed Will, Nancy grabbed the phone, and the Party gathered their supplies and ran to the basement. Mike was the slowest, unsure how to process the excitement everyone had shown over the voice on the other line. Had no one seen Will move, near-possessed? Had no one noticed the black, voided fear in his eyes? Did no one notice the weak, strangled cries that escaped while he was drawing? Mike was sure they did. Then… did anyone notice that it all bothered Mike the most?

Will couldn’t be hurt again. He couldn’t be under the grip of the Upside Down again. He’d lived twice. Twice. He’d shown that freaking monster he could survive. Why didn’t it just give up… before Will did.

“Hey, guys… I think that’s a lot blood.” Mike said, turning to his sister who was behind him at the taller table, previously reserved for happier adventures and make-pretend monsters.

“The nose is really vascular, Mike. He’s okay.” She was trying to be supportive. But did so without even looking.

“No, Nancy, I’m being serious.” Mike was talking about Will and he didn’t even look over. He probably didn’t even hear Mike. Mike could’ve said anything and Will would’ve never heard–

“Oh… Yeah, Nance? That looks like a lot–” Steve nudged her arm as he walked around the table. Lucas craned his neck too, Max popping up behind him. Mike saw what he assumed to be his own expression replicating on everyone else’s.

She turned and checked her watch. “Uh, give it another five minutes… and then… and then we’ll start getting heavier stuff.”

“I think I have a tampon in my purse–”

“No.” Mike said, pushing himself to sit on the back of the couch. He swung his legs over and stood beside Steve. “Not five minutes. Not even two minutes. Stop looking at your maps and help him.”

“Mike, it’s okay. I promise, we aren’t going to let anything happen to Will.” Robin said, giving him a smile that was only half assured.

“Yeah, man, look, we’re just trying to figure out–” Mike swatted away Steve’s comforting hand.

“I don’t think it takes eight people to read a map. I don’t even think it takes five. So someone who knows what the hell is going on stop trying to find the fastest route to Russia and help Will. Because he’s right. here. No traveling required!” The room blinked at Mike. He barely noticed he’d started shouting. In the silence, it occurred to everyone else that Will hadn’t spoken up– hadn’t tried to assure everyone he was fine. He was still, his breathing languid but heaving.

In the few moments Mike had taken his eyes off of Will, he’d passed out. His neck had relaxed against his pillow prop and his tight, pinching fingers had fallen awkwardly against his face. Mike wasn’t sure if he would’ve wanted to watch it happen; if he wanted to witness the last fleeting moments Will would’ve been aware enough to hear him– if Mike ever wanted to say…

Mike had promised himself before. The promise was made in a panicked blur, hands covering his ears as he listened to Will screaming that he hurt everywhere. In the peak of anguish and terror, Mike knew he couldn’t live with both the horror of watching his best friend suffer and the secret shame of knowing he’d been a coward too many times before. But when Will came back, and things were settling back to normal, his feelings felt wrong to say. Will wanted his old life back, not this new earth shattering newsflash. Will had survived death twice, he didn’t need to hear Mike blubbering about how much he loved him.

But Mike knew he had to, if he was lucky enough to have the chance. He knew he had to. He’d never seen blood so red before. It felt like a sign, a strange telling of how loud his own heart was thudding in his ears. Mike felt like he was bleeding too– bleeding out. He didn’t know how to stop it, how to stop feeling like he was going to start screaming or crying or some other terrifying third thing. He didn’t know how to stop pointing at Will, harshly shoving Steve over to him and demanding he help him! help him PLEASE.

Mike didn’t know how to stop caring as if Will’s life was his own. And it wasn’t yet that he realized Will was.

#byeler #byler #will byers x mike wheeler #quick and angsty #pre st4 fic #summary fic

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jelloopy · 4 years ago

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Murder on The Rockport Limited Notes

Previous: Character Creation, HtbG, Moonlighting

Ch 1

Robbie is a halfling who is pretty shitty but he’s good at making “potions” (Robbie is the roommate that everyone really hates but doesn’t want him to leave because he is their plug)

Taako is on the top bunk, Magnus is under Taako, Robbie is next to Taako and Merle is under Robbie

They are woken up at 3 am to report to Lucretia (3 am really?)

”Yeah it’s like Mario Mario or Luigi Mario” ~Griffin (This is so funny because this actually proves that Taako’s last name really is Taaco. Before Justin played it as a joke but this kinda derails that)

Robbie asks them for Pringles when they leave (Thus the beginning of me and the boys not remembering him by anything other than Pringles)

They arrive in their PJs (Taako is in footie pajamas and Merle’s has a flap in at the butt with a Kenny Chesney tattoo on his ass) (When the hell did Merle get that tattoo. Also, why is Lucretia in her full BoB garb right now? Was she asleep and get changed really quickly? Do her robes double as PJ’s? Did she just not go to sleep?)

Taako says he gets night terrors that’s why he’s in like a full-body Onesie/sleeping bag (That is so fricking sad if you think about his backstory later on…)

Magnus just starts changing clothing right then and there when Lucretia tells them that they don’t have time to get ready (This man really has no shame or boundaries. I imagine it was the same in the century tbh)

Leimann Kessler (half-elf man) was murdered before he was even on the train but was able to secure the Relic on the train (Personally, don’t know a lot about how trains work but this to me is kinda odd. Who knew he died? Do their bracers know when the wearer perishes? Is there like a body temp check and a pulse check in there too? We know that it can track them but… how much more can it do…)

All the relics come from a different school of magic. They were never in the hands of someone long enough to learn what they are capable of (Potentially this is a lie. We would have already known the names, schools of magic, and possibly what they could do based upon that alone. I bet Lucretia is hiding that info in her office)

The Gauntlet deals with Evocation magic (Hmmm, I can only imagine why. Maybe because Lup also worked in Evocation magic?)

Avi is manning the cannon! The whole scene with Magnus High as hell. Avi Never learned how to Wink (Avi you’re adorable I love you. Magnus. Get your shit together man.)

Taako pulls the lever too early and they change trajectory into a swamp

Leech fight! (I honest to god forgot this even happened before listening to it again. Not my fave fight)

Ch 2

Merle gets a lot of blood sucked from him by the leeches

Merle is completely submerged in the swamp and Magnus pulls his ass out (Why is it always Merle)

”Scientists have yet to agree” ~Griffin (I personally use this phrase all the time. It just makes me laugh so hard every time.)

Taako can levitate (I really wished he used this more ngl. I would also like to see some more fanart of this)

They are in Rockport! Covered in swamp shit!

Tom Beaudette! We see his house and they get hosed off then they see him at the ticket station again. (What a nice guy!)

Leimann, Diddly, and Justin Kessler (10/10 best alias’ ever)

Taako Charms Tom (It’s a nice go-to huh?)

Merle really wants to murder tom he wanted him to step in front on the train (Merle really is the one who goes straight for murder)

Ch 3

Hudson, Jess the Beheader, Graham Juicy Wizard, ANGUSSSSSSSS, and Jenkins McShittywizard (My favorite train gang!)

Travis making fun of Griffin for how he needs to sleep with 100000000 pillows (I cherish all of these out of character bits where they really just dog on one another)

Angus, my sweet summer child don’t talk to strangers. We know your grandfather’s name was long forgotten even though you’re going to visit him in Never Winter.

The boys legit think Angus is evil and Griffin yells at them bc they are being racist. (1- how are they being legit racist? You haven’t introduced anything about Angus’ race at all?) (2- Jesus he is only 10 years old my dudes)

Graham is 36 years young and is crazy obsessed with trains and his real name is Percy? He is shadowing Jenkins in hopes of learning more about working on a train

Taako from TV! (And so his legend begins!)

Ch 4

Jenkins is harnessing a limited version of teleportation magic

Angus calling the boys out on their bullshit

Taako calling Angus “pumpkin” (Literally melts my heart. I wish someone called me cute nicknames. Also, Taako hasn’t even talked to this kid that much and that name is reoccurring)

Angus has a nondescript blue book that is able to intercept messages sent through magical means (Where did this child get this book and who let him keep it? This is legit just like letting children under 13 have access to the unrestricted internet. It’s literal Hell)

The bit with Angus and “PRYING EYES AND EARS!” (uh foreshadowing my guy)

They find “Jenkins” Dead body after hearing Graham scream

Merle is able to identify a lot of things by looking at the body (It still scares me that he is technically a Physician.)

Angus pulls a small CROSSBOW OUT OF HIS SLEEVE? (Where did he get this, how did he keep it from Hudson, Why the fuck does he have it)

Angus really said “you guys run I’ll get rid of him!” and grabs Graham and runs (How strong is this child. He’s legit lifting and pulling a grown-ass man without help)

”I’m following Angus I’ll see yall in hell!” ~Taako (Yes follow the badass 10-year old please)

”I wanna tell you about the time about this time there were three ogres…”~Taako

The Foley work bit and then Griffin just snapping “The train derails and you all die” (Another out of character goof that I cherish)

”I shit and take 14 damage” ~Griffin (are you okay? How much health do you have? What’s your max HP dude?)

Taako makes the Crab monster Levitate

Magnus punched the crab monster out of the window and it got scrapped up on the side of the train

Ch 5

They follow the Crab into their sleeper car and Magnus attacks with a chair and Griffin says “I imagine because you are so skilled at carpentry that you’ve had to attack someone with a chair before so you are in fact proficient in this attack”

Jess comes in and finishes the crab off with her Soul bound ax that she can conjure at any time (This legit just means that Jenkins did not need to carry her ax to the crypt safe. She let him do it for shits n giggles. We stan)

Jess got her last name legally changed to “Beheader” and Magnus says that he got his legally changed to “The Hammer” (Really Magnus… this isnt 3rd grade stop trying to impress her. It’s that or it could be another sad reference to “Hammer and Tongs” which would mean Julia was “Tongs” D: that is so depressing and cute)

Magnus and Merle are making good progress in solving the murder

”Alright lads” “oh fuck” When Merle keeps up his disguise as Leimann Kessler (It’s so funny because his fake Leimann Kessler is just his current Argonaut Keen.)

”I cast ZONE OF TRUTH” “Jesus you’re like a zone of truth cleric” (Oh honey. This is just the beginning)

Magnus wakes Graham up with a 5% smack with his left hand and then a 6.5% smack also with his left hand (Wtf is this BNHA? Alright Deku)

Taako is an Alcoholic? (He keeps asking for a drink ...This is a bit concerning but it makes sense)

Magnus slaps Graham again with 7.2% and he popped something in Graham’s jaw and he begins screaming but Merle heals him (OKAY DEKU COOL IT MY GUY)

”I wanna be a guy... with a head!” ~” Hudson” (hehe foreshadowing)

SCUTTLE BUDDY!!!!! (A short but adorable life you have my Lil man)

Ch 6

The “fisticuffs” scene with Taako and Angus (Now this is really concerning considering his backstory. I know it’s a joke because of how many people they accidentally kill all the time but like dude… little do you know…)

Angus leading them through the mystery is so cute. But also you know its Griffin trying to get his family to really think it through and I love it. (It really makes my heart really full to hear Griffin get really excited when they figure it out slowly instead of mocking them when they guess wrong)

MERLE YES! MAGNUS YES! YOU’RE GETTING IT! YOU’RE SO CLOSE! (Teamwork makes the dream work baby!)

Magnus jumps out of the train and Griffin gets really serious and gives him the “if you fail this you will actually die” speech (This coupled with the fight scene that Magnus accidentally skipped and the fact that originally Travis did want Magnus to die so he could re-roll a rogue is so wild)

Magnus is gonna become a wrecking ball Jesus (very Magnus-core)

Hell yeah, Magnus! Knock the meat monster into Jenkins!!

Magnus gets hit for 10 points at 1hp and paries it for 10 points! (Top ten anime near-death experiences)

Jenkins threatens to kill the meat monster. Horribly misses then is thrown off the fucking train by the meat monster (Get fucked wrecked Jenkins that’s what you get for being cocky!)

Ch 7

They find the dousing rod compass that Jenkins was using and find the monocle (Pirates of the Caribbean much?)

Taako grabs The Oculus because he has escaped the thrall of a relic before

It tells him that it can make anything he can imagine (This is really interesting tbh)

The Umbrastaff eATS JENKINS WAND!!! and a Lil sigil appears on the handle of the staff that also looks like an umbrella (Lup gets fed lmao. Don’t really understand the Sigil appearing tho. It doesn’t come up any other time I don’t think so it’s cool)

Taako grabs the teleport wand thing and asks everyone to leave and he grabs a bunch of shit from the Cryptsafe pile (Very Taako-core)

They make it to the engineer’s room and Graham tries to slow the train down but he can’t

Taako wanted to open the gate to Never Winter to Phandalin but they change it to Jenkins’ garden because it needs to be a room with “one entrance” (Solid idea on Taako’s part. If it were to work no one would have been hurt)

Taako pushed Angus off the train and he looses two teeth (This man pushed a whole child off the train… ‘Ight)

Magnus dies by jumping off the train (Top ten anime death scenes)

Taako successfully opens the gate into Jenkin’s garden and the train crashes into the garden

Magnus is stabilized by Merle (Awe so the Cleric can do his job!)

Angus gives them pringles for Robbie and the compass. Taako gives Angus one of the forks from his grandfather’s set.

They go to a nearby Never Winter Clinic to get patched up

Out of character, they choose to work on voices and Griffin calls them out bc he’s been doing 8 “different” voices and Clint goes “Yeah try doing that for 40 years” get fuckin rOASTED Ditto! (Also Griffin I love you but like 3 of the voices were the exact same and 2 were so similar it wasn’t funny. Don’t get me wrong different voices aren’t my strong suit either but ya did give it your best shot so.)

We goin’ back to the moon baby!

AVI MY MAIN MAN! (I will forever and always want and need more Avi screen time)

The oculus works with illusory magic (Which is very interesting bc I know it was made by Davenport because he also worked in allusory magic but I don’t ever remember him using any magic… who knows maybe he has and I just never realized)

Lucretia thought they were gonna get it off the train before it left... woman… (You’ve known these men for how long and you thought they were gonna w h a t?)

Next: Lunar Interlude I,

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theonewiththefanfics · 5 years ago

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Hawkins’ Charm (Part 6/?)

Synopsys: They had gotten out of Hawkins. After all the shit that had happened, all the heartache and pain, Billy and the Reader had gotten away from that hellhole, building their life in California as he had dreamed. But when Max’s graduation rolls around and they go to celebrate, it’s as if the Upside Down was just waiting for all of them to return. And it has a bone to pick.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x f!Reader; platonic!Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Genre: angst, lil bit of fluff

Warnings: blood, mentions of injuries and death, fighting, swearing, implied stuff, smoking

Word count: 3319

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE BILLY’S ACTIONS AND THE THINGS HE’S DONE! THIS IS BASICALLY AN AU, WHEN REALLY LOOKING AT IT! SPOILERS FOR S3! READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!

Billy’s grip was crushing as he held onto Y/N’s limp body who'd been sedated by Joyce and Hopper with a tranquillizer. It had been against every word of his, but he could only glare at them as he maneuvered her out of the house and towards the Camaro. Next to it stood a big van, it sides a rust-covered white and there were no license plates. “Place her in the trunk,” Hopper motioned with his head. Billy had to scoff, unconsciously hugging Y/N tighter. “I’m not placing her in the trunk, are you fucking insane?” “Just put her in the trunk, we don’t have time for this!” “She’s a human! She’s Y/N, not some roadkill!” Alex argued for his brother-in-law. “She’s that thing's slave right now!” Hopper raised his voice with each spoken word. “And we don’t want it to know where we’re going." A tense silence settled between the three men. In the back of Alex’s and Billy’s minds, they understood that Hopper cared for her, and he wanted the best, which would be not letting her sit in the car next to them and give away their position to the Mind Flayer, but they wouldn’t budge. “I’m not placing her in the trunk.” There was no room for a discussion. Billy had put his foot down. Hopper looked like he might burst, as he ran a hand through his thinning hair. Only then did everyone notice what he was wearing. Jim was adorned by what looked like a prison suit. It was dark grey, had tears and holes pretty much everywhere and didn’t smell too great. He’d gone through hell, and for a second, Billy’s heart twinged. But then he remembered him choking the life out of Y/N (even though he was doing it to save him and the rest), he still didn’t appreciate it. “Let’s put her in my car,” Nancy came as the savior, holding the brake cables in her hand. “I have an open trunk, so you can sit next to her and watch over.” “Fine,” Hopper replied earning a scowl from Billy. “But we need to put something over her head, so if she wakes up, the Mind Flayer doesn’t find out where we’re going.” Small grunts of agreement erupted around them, and even Billy couldn’t find anything to counter it, so with gritted teeth, he nodded, watching as Nancy opened the back of her car. Johnathan quickly rushed and slid underneath it to hook the cables back into place, and Joyce came out of the house with a large white piece of cloth and El’s black blindfold. “That is so not helping,” Alex mumbled, as Hopper put the pillowcase over Y/N’s head and tied the other piece of fabric around it as well. “Now it looks like we’ve kidnapped her.” Her blood-soaked shirt was not helping one bit. “Look, kid-“ “I’m eighteen.” “Look, kid,” Hopper gritted, losing his cool. “I know it’s your sister, and I know you care about her, we all do. But right now her comfort’s the least of our problems while the Mind Flayer is inside. Now, if you want, you can be my guest and announce to the Demogorgon and his little doggo army where we’re going, but if you want to keep your head on your shoulders, and save Y/N, this is what we have to do.” Alex and Billy had never wanted to punch someone more for being right.

“She’s gonna be okay. We’ve done this before,” Joyce gave the Californian a tight-lipped smile and patted his shoulder. “That does not make me feel any better,” Y/N’s brother mumbled but didn’t say anything else. He wanted to sit at the back with his sister, but when Billy laid her body down, it made him think she looked too much like a dead body, so he opted for driving with Joyce, Hopper, Robin, Lucas and Dustin in the van the ex-Chief had stolen when he had escaped. The rest consisting of Max, Billy, Johnathan, Mike, Will and El hopped into Nancy’s restored vehicle. “Hop, you said the Russians are back,” Joyce asked after he’d told them to drive to the local store. “What do they want… again? “I don’t know, world domination? It’s not like they talked about their big evil plan while torturing me.” She gulped, sharing a look with Lucas and Dustin, but didn’t say anything. “The Gate’s open,” Dustin announced. “Do you have any clue what they could want with the Upside Down? What did they want in the first place?” Hopper shook his head, turning down a hard left. “Whatever they think they can do with it, they’re wrong… it’ll kill them first and then us.” The next sentence threw everyone for a loop, as he stopped by where Joyce used to work at the convenience store. “We need a bunch of foil.” Mike’s eyebrows scrunched up as they all jumped out of their cars, El and Billy standing guard to keep an eye on Y/N and to deter anyone that might wanna know what’s up. “Why?” “Cause we wanna cook that bastard out of her.” Billy hadn’t smoked in years and now despised the smell and taste of the cancer sticks, but he hoped Y/N wouldn’t mind much if he did it just this once given as to what they were preparing to do. He looked through the back window and watched how Y/N’s chest rhythmically rose and fell. “It’s gonna be okay,” El’s voice made him turn around and look at the teenager. Billy’s mind played the memories of him trying to feed her to the monster four years ago in vivid detail. He remembered how gentle her touch on his cheek had been. How she had talked about the one time before Y/N that he’d been happy. She had helped him break out from the spell. “We’ll get her back. I promise.” Billy smiled. Somehow, he didn’t doubt her words. “Thanks.” El just shrugged. “She’s my friend too. I care about her. Besides,” she let out a small chuckle, “I miss Clara.” She’d met his gremlin only once, but the little blond-haired girl had taken a huge liking to El. Especially when she had made her dolls dance with her powers. Y/N and Billy had been very much so against her showing her telekinesis, but, later on, understood there’d be no harm in letting the two-year-old witness a little bit of magic. The sight as everyone exited the store with handfuls of tinfoil would’ve been almost comical, if not for the fact everyone knew what it was for. “Were to?” Before Joyce had left Hawkins with her sons and El, she had cleaned up Hopper’s old place a bit. Fixed the roof as best as she could and covered the furniture with some sheets, so that it didn’t seem like they’d left it without a care. It had been El’s home. Jim’s home. She couldn’t do that to them. Y/N didn’t stir once throughout the whole silent ride, and from time to time Billy had to doublecheck underneath the pillowcase if she was breathing. When her soft warm exhales greeted the back of his palm, he sighed in relief. The car stopped with a jolt, and everyone was up and running. Billy didn’t even heave a breath, so used to Y/N’s weight whether she wanted to have a piggyback ride or acted dramatically and made him carry her to their bed. Nancy, Johnathan and Will were carrying every heater they could find into the bedroom and given how the cabin was in the middle of the nowhere, and winters in Hawkins were not the kindest, there was quite a lot of them. “Is it gonna be enough?” Billy asked, placing Y/N down on what used to be El’s bed, and smoothed some hair out of his wife’s face. She looked so peaceful like that, he almost forgot what had transpired in the last twelve hours or so. �� “I don’t know, but it will have to be,” Hopper said and gave instructions to the rest of the Party as they laid out the foil along the walls and ground. “Cover the rest with sheets and everything you can find. Block out any markings she could see to identify where we’re at.” “We had less when Will…” Joyce started but didn’t finish the sentence, though everyone knew what she meant. “It worked then.” "It's just gonna have to work," Hopper said. They didn’t want to think about what they’d have to do if it didn’t. Billy and Steve were left to tie Y/N up on the bed, belts and ropes at their disposal. “When you think it’s tight enough, tighten it more,” Hopper stated and nailed a piece of sheet to the wall. “Yeah, I’d like for her to retain all her limbs, thank you very fucking much,” Billy snapped at the older man but did as he was told. The Mind Flayer was strong, and he remembered how much power he himself had. Granted, he’d been possessed for different reasons, but there was no doubt in his mind, once that thing figured out what they were doing, it would fight tooth and nail to remain in its current host. Hopper rolled his eyes and huffed, making sure that not even a sliver of light from the setting sun peaked through the fabric. “I think she’d much rather lose a hand than her life.” Together they brought every possible heater around the bed and plugged them in. It became almost unbearably hot in the span of a second, and Billy was happy for his open shirt and that he’d left his jacket in the car. Robin had helped Steve stoke a fire in the flimsy-looking fireplace and the flames that licked upwards added to the growing temperature. Y/N’s chest started heaving, and she stirred on the bed. A soft whimper escaped her mouth, and Billy saw how her clothes stuck to her chest. Her lashes fluttered open but quickly closed when a bright light above shone directly into her eyes. “Billy please, it hurts,” she begged tears slowly running down her cheeks. Or maybe it was sweat. Either way, he wasn’t happy seeing her face scrunched up in agony. “Billy,” she panted looking into his eyes. “Please.” He had to turn away from the sight before him. He couldn’t stand watching as she arched up from the bed, and the rope dragged across Y/N’s skin, burning a bright red line across her collarbones. The only marks he ever wished to see were from his fervent kisses, and this was so not it. “It’s not her talking,” Joyce reminded everyone, as she pushed one of the heaters closer. Their clothes were already clinging to their bodies, beads of sweat rolling down their skins, accompanied by the perspiration of stress. The foil had helped. A lot. It felt like they were stuck under the direct heat of the blazing sun, combined with an open fire. Which it kinda was. “Honey, please,” Y/N whined, trashing on the bed and lifting against the ropes. He saw her muscles flex and unflex and thought to himself it was a miracle they were holding her in place. "Bil-" she started, but he wasn't going to listen. Two hands slammed on each side of her head, and their eyes met. For a second, Billy was lost in her Y/E/C gaze, but then he looked at the black veins in her orbs. “Get out of my wife.” That was not the right thing to say, as it would seem he’d just pissed the Mind Flayer off. “You’re a shit husband, let alone a father!” Y/N sneered and then groaned as Max shoved a portable heater closer. “I’ve thought about leaving you so many times, it’s ridiculous.” Every word was laced with so much venom, it was like acid was being poured over his head. Alex grunted as Y/N tried to break free from the binds and had to hold her down. “Don’t listen to her!” “But every time I stayed,” she continued her verbal assault. “Out of pity. Because I knew no one else would. Not even your fucking mother wanted to stay around a piece of shit like you.” It took everything in Billy not to rip her out of that bed and slam her against the wall. He was just about to crack, when his eyes saw her veins turn completely black to the point the color could block out the moon in the sky at night. It wasn’t Y/N speaking, he reminded himself, it was the Mind Flayer. “You can’t take care of me or Clara; you don’t deserve us,” even in so much pain she was delivering a blow after blow to Billy’s heart. All of his self-control was now turned to not breaking apart as Y/N spewed his worst fears at him. No, not her! He reminded himself. It’s the Mind Flayer. “And I certainly won’t let you taint the three of us with y-“ She didn’t get to finish the sentence. Y/N’s back arched up from the bed, the belts digging into her skin leaving angry marks. Billy shut his eyes to block out what was happening. Instead, he thought of the times her back had lifted from the mattress while his head had been between her legs, or their hips had met one another’s in harsh thrusts. Not when a scream of pain tore through her throat as El used her powers to pull out the piece of Mind Flayer possessing her body, seeing as the heat alone wasn’t helping. Y/N was struggling back as if she didn’t want to let go of the demon in her body. For a moment El lost her balance. She had fought bigger things, worse things, but for some reason, this was the hardest battle yet. Maybe because she was trying to save her friend, yet, it seemed like she was doing more harm than good. Nancy had been hugging Johnathan from the moment Y/N had started screaming, but it wouldn’t stop. It just wouldn’t stop. His shirt was soaked not only from his sweat but her tears. She couldn’t lose another friend. “What are you doing?!” Billy yelled at her as she rushed to the open fire and pulled out a brightly glowing piece of metal. “I won’t let it win!” Nancy bellowed and thrust the burning hot poker in Y/N’s side. It was the last nail in the coffin. Black plumbing smoke propelled itself out of her from every possible place, making everyone who was near stagger back and away, as if being just in the proximity of it would infect them as well. But El didn’t let it escape. Her hand was outstretched, and a little stream of blood trickled down her nose, mouth and then chin. “Burn it,” she sneered as she held it in an invisible grip. Mike was right there with a can of old hairspray he’d found in El’s old room and a lighter Hopper had tossed him. Even in its separated form, the second bright red flames touched it, the Mind Flayer released a shriek, that made everyone else close their ears. Both Mike’s and El’s faces were scrunched up at the piercing sound, but they had to get the job done. And in two minutes there was nothing, but black flakes left that drifted to the floor like ash from the sky. The whole place turned completely silent; it was like the woods outside were holding their breath as well, not believing what had transpired in the old, half-broken cabin they were hiding from the rest of the town. “Benny’s,” a hoarse voice from behind them said. Billy whipped around and saw Y/N’s head lol to the side, eyes blinking and trying to adjust to her surroundings. “Dollface?” “Benny’s,” she mouthed again. “Are you-” he was beyond confused as he pushed the matted locks away from her sweaty skin but couldn’t help the astonished chuckle that escaped his mouth. “Are you hungry? Really?” “No, you idiot,” a horrendous cough rattled through her body as she tried to sit up but couldn’t because of her binds. “It’s where the Mind Flayer is. I don’t think it thought I’d make it, so it didn’t bother with hiding… there’s a whole tunnel system down there. I think they used it as storage and had products delivered that way… it’s a pretty cold place… and leads right to the lab…” A small voice from the very back of the room spoke up. “Y/N?” She smiled as Billy removed each rope and tie, and she opened up her arms as Alex barreled towards her and crushed her in a hug. “Hey shitbag, ya’ miss me?” Y/N whispered, her throat still very much so sore. “No,” he sniffled pushing his face in the crook of her neck. “Just didn’t want to be the one to tell mom you’ve been possessed.” “Sure,” she drawled out. “Just admit you fucking missed me.” “Why would I do that? I was so close to getting your car…” Y/N pulled back with her eyebrows scrunched up. “You do realize I’d rather have it chucked into the ocean than let you have it?” “What a great big sister you are,” Alex scoffed, but when he pulled away, there was an undeniable smile on his face. “Uh, I’m the best,” Y/N mimicked his tone, as she slowly sat up on the bed, Billy’s palm resting on the small of her back, as she did so. “I’m uh,” Hopper scratched at his neck making her look at him. Now when he was face to face with Y/N, instead of the Mind Flayer, the bruises on her neck were harder to swallow, especially since it was his handiwork. “I’m sorry about, you know… choking you and stuff…” “ ‘S okay,” she lifted her shoulders and dropped them as if it was an everyday thing she had to go through. “You had to do what you had to do… I’m glad you’re back, by the way. You know, just as a side note.” Hopper grunted and put his hand on El’s head, as the girl leaned into his side breathing heavily; a small smile played on her face as she looked at the other girl. “Yeah," Jim said. "I’m glad I’m back too.” Y/N looked around the room giving everyone shy grins and snorted when Steve and Robin waved at her, but when she saw Max pacing around the room, her lips turned down a bit. “You okay there, Maxine?” The redhead didn’t even react to being called by her first name, even though she despised it will all her being. “It’s just that… I don’t get it,” Max was biting her nails, and Lucas gently slapped her hand down. She’d already bitten them down to the skin during the whole ordeal, he didn’t want to see her rip them apart so hard they started to bleed. “Don’t get what?” Nancy asked, offering Y/N a towel to wipe the sweat and dirt and blood away from her face and arms. “Why would it want to kill you, apart from punishing Billy? Wouldn’t that, you know,” Max nodded vaguely, “kill the Mind Flayer? It made sense when he tried to kill Billy, seeing as he was the only one strong enough to go against it.” Everyone was looking at Y/N whose eyes had dropped to the floor. She couldn’t look at them. She knew why, it just wasn’t something she wanted to say out loud. “Because I wasn’t the main host…” Y/N finally sighed out after a moment. But when Billy asked who was, there was no way she’d meet the blue orbs that were like the ocean. She kept her gaze on where his wedding ring used to sit, only now realizing it was missing. “It’s your dad, Billy. Neil's the main host.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Hawkins’ Charm tag list: @genius2050 @aiifandomsunite @ashleymarieriffle @littlefool-smalljester @infinitelycharmed23 @llcalumllhoodll @benevolentgemini @rxmanovbby @euphoniumpets @krazykatykat456 @believerofall @ccidk @babechief @meganmj @blackhood5sos @fml9603 @noodlenerd101 @universefinds @kuroidesuchloe @im-a-stranger-thing @grxxn-gardxns @springholland @beforethebraces @robinisourlesbianmom @queeneliza108 @neenaw-neenaw @lexisntthatweird @choicesismylife @mckenzie2020 @kcd15 @snuggleducky @reckless-sofia @didyouseetheflair @silver-winter-wolf @jay-ta-blog @hopeless-lovex0 @anyasthoughts @robinismyqueen @yeah-butyourenot-dacremontgomery @mcrganstarks @psychoticobsession @cutehipstergirl25 @sbfandom @mickmoon @jackyfrost01 @txhmine @dark-princess99 @morgangrice18 @graveyard--baby--666 @changingmylifestyle367 @sweetdayme4427 @alowexpectation @sexyvixen7 @golddvstwoman @evelynfreakinaddams @sunfucked @sataninsatin @queenbbarnes @venomavocado @rangotangomango @psychosupernatural @sereiins @frickin-bats @bandsruinedmylife @thee-brunette-princess @queenskyster @aspiring-fangirls-world @gracethegeek9902

Forever tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @sweet-ladyy @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28

A/N: my tags are always open :)

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arcticdementor · 4 years ago

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Woke anti-racism certainly appears to have taken on the trappings of religion. White people have been seen washing the feet of black people and asking for forgiveness, a ritual firmly in line with the Christian tradition. And terms like ‘white guilt’ and ‘white privilege’ are treated much as Original Sin used to be – things for which humanity must forever atone.

One person who has long been exploring the religious fervour of today’s increasingly moralistic politics is the essayist and author Joseph Bottum. Indeed, his 2014 book, An Anxious Age: The Post-Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of America, seems almost prophetic. There he argued that the demise of traditional Protestantism in the US has led liberals to transfer their religious beliefs, habits and passions into the political realm, moralising it in the process. Our age of ‘post-Protestantism’, he concludes, has eroded the boundary between the religious and the political, infusing politics with a religious mindset and discourse.

spiked’s US correspondent, Sean Collins, caught up with Bottum, at his home in the Black Hills of South Dakota, to find out what he makes of the contemporary political moment, woke anti-racism and the phenomenon of cancel culture.

Sean Collins: As you note in An Anxious Age, the collapse of Mainline Protestantism (that is, the older, non-evangelical Protestant denominations) in the US is striking. In 1965, more than 50 per cent of Americans belonged to Protestant congregations. Now it is less than 10 per cent. Why, in your view, is this collapse so significant for broader American society and politics?

Joseph Bottum: In Democracy in America, Alexis de Tocqueville identified the central current of America as a current of morals and manners. However much rival sects feuded against one another, there was this central current. And it is the Mainline Protestant churches which provided America with those morals and manners. (‘Mainline’ is a term that was created later, but we can apply it retrospectively.)

The Mainline churches helped define American culture in several ways. First of all, the churches were mostly apolitical, which has had a profound effect on American culture. For instance, there’s never been a great American political novel. The average French streetwalker in a novel by Zola knows more about politics than the heroes of the greatest American novels. What is it to be an American? At the highest artistic level, it is to be concerned about the cosmos and the self. Politics is incidental to Moby Dick, The Scarlet Letter and Huckleberry Finn. And that’s because Mainline Protestantism rendered politics secondary to what it deems is most important — namely, salvation and the self.

…

Collins: Right, so we now live in, as you put it, a post-Protestant US. But, if I understand your thesis correctly, you argue that the beliefs, mindsets and manners that animated earlier Protestantism have not been abandoned, but instead have been projected on to the political realm. A key transition you cite is the Social Gospel movement, which becomes more prominent during the 20th century. Then closer to our time Christianity gets stripped out altogether, and you are just left with social activism. Sin remains a preoccupation, but it has been redefined as a social sin, like bigotry and racism. Have I got that right?

Bottum: Yes. There’s an extraordinary point here. Walter Rauschenbusch [an American theologian and a key figure in the Social Gospel movement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries] lists six species of social sin. If you go through the list, they are exactly what radicals are objecting to now: bigotry, the ignorance of the uneducated, power, corruption, militarism and oppression. It lines up so perfectly with today’s agitation.

What we’re seeing now is an amplification of what I wrote about five years ago: an intense spiritual hunger that has no outlet. There’s no way to see people kneeling, or singing ‘Hands up, don’t shoot’, or swaying while they hold up candles, and avoid acknowledging that it’s driven by a spiritual desire. I perceived this when I wrote about Occupy Wall Street, and it’s become even more like this. It is an intense spiritual hunger that is manifesting itself more violently. Because to the post-Protestants, the world is an outrage and we are all sinners.

…

Similarly, there is ostracising and shunning. Cancel culture is just the latest and most virulent form of the religious notion of shunning, in which people are chased into further appreciation of their guiltiness. Two years ago, the Nation published a poem about an older panhandler giving advice to a younger one, about how to get people to give you money. The Twittermob went after that poem, on the grounds that the poet was a white man from Minnesota. And the magazine apologised, and the poet apologised for writing the poem. That’s what the shunning is looking for. If you profane, if you’re shunned outside the Temple, the only way back is to become fanatic, to convince people that you understand how guilty you are. And even then I’m not sure there’s any way back.

At the very least, one of the effects of the shunning is to frighten everyone into silence. Its purpose is to get people fired, to put people beyond the pale, to get them out of our sight. This is for a couple reasons. First, it is to ensure we are not infected by this sinfulness. And second, it is a public declaration of our power. It says, look how powerful we are, that we can do this to people.

…

We live in just the strangest times. But understanding the historical roots of these radicals as post-Protestant, and understanding the spiritual hunger which has no outlet for them, helps us to explain it. This is what happens when you have a Mainline outlook that is broken loose from all of its prior constraints. These ideas used to be corralled in the churches. If you let an idea like Original Sin – that’s a dangerous and powerful idea – loose from its corral, it goes to a place where it can exist, which is politics. One of the great dangers is that religious ideas are in politics. The line that I use is that, if you believe that your ordinary political opponents are not merely mistaken, but are evil, you have ceased to do politics and begun to do religion.

…

Suppose you analyse this class in terms of its members’ answer to the question, ‘How do you know that you are saved?’. In the past, people would say ‘because I believe in Christ’ and the rest of it. But the modern version of this question is, ‘How do you know you are a good person? And how can you have assurance of your goodness?’. Which is Max Weber’s question in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism – and Weber says this anxiety about salvation actually has economic and political consequences. Let’s apply that Weberian analysis and ask what are the consequences of being worried about your salvation, phrased in today’s terms of being worried about being a good person. If it’s all about social ills, then you know you are a good person if you are opposed to those social ills, if you are anti-racist, even if you don’t do anything. You are convinced of your own salvation. You are one of the Elect if you adopt this stance of being opposed to the great sins.

Now, younger people are not going to put up with the hypocrisy of knowing you are a good person but not actually doing anything. And they are starting to be violent. Members of the Elect are much more economically and socially insecure than the elite, but they have the same education, they’ve got the same social markers. In some ways, we are seeing an intra-class warfare between the Elect and the elite.

…

Collins: Yes, today’s leaders in cultural institutions and universities seem to lack backbone. They have espoused this politically correct rhetoric for years, but it’s like they didn’t truly believe it or act on it, and now the younger generation are calling them on it.

Bottum: Right, the younger generation are not going to put up with the hypocrisy. That’s part of it. The second part is, when they see the old power figures tremble, they start thinking, why aren’t we in the positions of power? Then class elements, elitism, start to creep back in. But the original impulse came from seeing leaders like college presidents being hypocrites. They were just mouthing what they thought was just the latest line of the old liberal consensus. What they didn’t fully intuit is that the old liberal consensus was completely gone, and the new line had become something very radical. If today you were to put forward any of the shibboleths of high liberalism of the 1950s, you would be denounced as a terrible conservative.

…

Collins: I’ve also noticed a tendency to avoid detailed analysis of economic and social conditions, or concrete policy reforms. Instead, the issue of race after George Floyd is a simple moral denunciation, or a vague reference to ‘systemic racism’. You hear ‘Why do I have to keep explaining this?’, ‘I’m so exhausted’, and so on, as if the issue was beyond debate.

Bottum: Right. But also it’s defining the Church. It’s a way of saying you either have this feeling or you don’t. And if you don’t, you’re evil, and if you do, you’re good. Christian theology, and Christian spiritual practice, has dealt with this for millennia. This is the distinction Calvin would make between justification and sanctification. The idea here is that we no longer need to argue it, because any argument of it is engaging with people beyond the pale. They are outside the Church, they are the profane. They are just wrong. What are they wrong about? They are wrong in the central feeling of moral goodness. This is the attempt to get others to shut up.

We are living in the age of the ad hominem. The fundamental way to answer a claim is to say something about the person who said it. Whether it’s a tu quoque, or an abusive ad hominem, or poisoning the well – the ad hominem is a whole genus of different species of fallacy. How do we know others are wrong? They are wrong because some bad people have said it too. Bari Weiss [the former New York Times op-ed editor] must be wrong [about the illiberal environment at the Times], because Ted Cruz forwarded her tweet. That’s a wonderful ad hominem – guilt by association. It’s not about the content of what is said, it’s about the people who said it.

Why should Trader Joe’s give in, and say how stupid and guilty it was for not realising the error of its ways? Because otherwise its managers and staff are not good people. It doesn’t matter if there is any objective truth to it. The only thing that matters is where you stand. Are you one of us, or are you one of them?

If I can show that you are one of them, then your only response is to apologise abjectly, even though you didn’t know. You didn’t know that touching your middle finger to your thumb is making a white power symbol. It doesn’t matter whether you knew that. A Hispanic driver for a power company in California got fired because his hand was hanging out the window, with his finger touching his thumb. A women photographed it and declared it was the white power symbol, and the power company fired him. It’s really astonishing.

…

It’s not enough to be one of the good guys, to be on the right side. You have to be bulletproof against any charge. You have to be constantly abject. You have to agree with your condemners, or you’re evil. The [French philosopher] Merleau-Ponty wrote about this in terms of the Moscow showtrials – about the psychological process by which people can come to confess their own guilt about something that, at some level, they know they are not guilty of. So the psychological aspect is interesting. But this mode of permanent abject contrition is best understood in its religious modes. This is what you get when the Church of Christ becomes the Church without Christ, and these old Protestant concerns enter the public square, enter politics, divorced from and freed from their old constraints. To paraphrase GK Chesterton, the world is full of Christian ideas gone mad.

Collins: Why does the Elect have to go as far as to ‘cancel’? You could imagine a movement promulgating certain moral ideas in society, and hoping to win converts. Such a movement wouldn’t necessarily feel the need to purge others, who didn’t agree with them, from their workplaces and colleges. What drives the Elect to go to those lengths?

Bottum: Look, you wouldn’t want a Satan worshipper turning up at your Church on a Sunday. You would drive them out. But of course these people don’t live in churches any more. This is what happens when those old ideas break loose and become modes of behaviour in politics. They don’t want these people in their church, but their church is politics. Their congregation is Twitter. They want these people not to exist, they want them banished. There are the power reasons for this: look at how powerful I am; I am a 17-year-old kid, and I had a major US corporation kow-towing to me. But there’s also this kind of religious sense that we can’t let sinners into the church. That’s what shunning was for, to get people to confess their sins, to realise their sinfulness. That’s what we’re doing now – it’s just that the church, the locus of faith, is no longer your congregation on Sunday. It’s public life.

This demand that politics somehow solve everything is an apocalyptic, religious sense of politics. For hundreds of years American jurisprudence has worried about the impact of religion on politics. What’s really extraordinary is that it is finally happening – politics is becoming religionised – but it’s being done in the name of anti-religion.

#sean collins #spiked online #interview #joseph bottum #puritan hypothesis #puritans gonna puritan #great awokening #read the whole thing

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

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Eugenesis, Epilogue Scene Three: A National Holiday Is Declared

Mark your fucking calendars, folks, it’s a once in a lifetime event.

Now, what could be making Rodimus happy?

Telling himself that Kup isn’t dead, that Thunderclash isn’t dead, that Prowl isn’t dead, that the medics had managed to find their brains and fix them, that it wasn’t actually them who had died but some cheap copies.

Telling himself that Primus himself had given them the cure for the Inhibitor Chips.

Telling himself what he wishes was true.

Telling himself lies.

So, let’s try this again. It’s January 12th, 2013, and Rodimus Prime is awake and alive in the camp that is now home to the Autobots.

Rodimus has been spending the last few days listening to the recordings Perceptor made for him from the time he was busy being mostly-dead. He doesn’t remember any of the time he spent not-dead, but the scientists have been trying their hand at spirituality and more or less explained it to him as him ever-so-slowly approaching the event horizon of joining with the Matrix. The Matrix that we now know is a computer that makes babies, and that we’d already known was chock full of Unicron. Is this what being in the Cloud is like? Because if so, I’m just going to commit to a physical hard drive for all my stuff so my documents don’t become clinically depressed.

And while we’re on this whole not-really-dead thing: you know, retcons feel a lot less needing of justification when they aren’t being pulled by the same writer who made the retcon necessary in the first place, in the same piece of writing. Roberts, if you didn’t actually want to kill Rodimus, you shouldn’t have taken away all of his pigmentation and dusted his ass in a ditch after Kup went off the deep end.

I don’t think he’s actually happy, guys.

He’s currently staring out the window, totally not painfully aware of just how unbelievably tired he looks. Remember when this was the guy who went on fishing trips and joyrides with ten-year olds? Rodimus remembers. He remembers it very clearly. Someone let this guy take Animated Bumblebee’s place for a few days before he goes and finds a pod filled with robo-cancer or something.

It’s time to bury the pain again, as High Command comes through the door.

They made it! Rewind’s OTP lives, unlike him. Time to get down to business.

Rodimus thanks everyone for coming to the meeting, and starts going over the revamp process for the brand new Autobase- they’ve cleaned out the corpses, sorted them by faction, done god knows what to the ones that couldn’t be identified one way or the other, and we finally get to know just what in the fuck Jolup was doing Downstairs.

…Alright then, Ed Gein. Is this how they were going to handle that dropped Phase Sixer subplot in Lost Light? Because if so, Swerve what the 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔.

Rodimus has decided that they’re just going to bury that nightmare under forty tons of plasto-steel, to never see the light of day again. Moving on, he says that Metroplex is recovering rather well from his transplant.

Oh! Hello, Metroplex. You’re looking very… alive. Didn’t you just spend the better part of the week dead and lying on the seafloor?

Turns out that Titans are pretty hardy- they just ripped his head off and slapped it into the middle of the new Autobase and he was good to go.

Rodimus hasn’t heard from Galvatron since he got back- I’m hoping it’s because Soundwave took matters into his own hands- and it’s making him a bit nervous.

Time for status reports!

Magnus has had teams searching for bodies (brains, really) that they can bring back to Ratchet to fix up. He asks Rodimus about potentially building another outpost on Earth, but it looks like he won’t be getting to see Oregon again anytime soon. There’s also the issue of literally everything Xenon told him back on Aquaria- he asks for a private audience for that. Magnus, did you really wait this long to talk to your boss about this? He’s got the Matrix inside him right now, and you didn’t think it pertinent enough to bring up sooner? Priorities, man.

Ratchet’s injected all the POWs with the anti-Chip, which has helped their physical health tremendously. However, not all of them are regaining the ability to transform, and that’s opened up a real can of worms, mental health-wise.

I’m with Ratchet on this one. I know we don’t exactly have a ton of real estate on the bombed-out husk that is Cybertron, but surely there was something better than the epicenter of the Quintesson Antiholocaust/Transformers Holocaust.

Rodimus says that anyone uncomfortable with the camp can stay in Fort Max’s old place next door until they’re more open to the idea. The reason they aren’t staying at Fort Max’s altogether is because it’s apparently too small to house everyone. There’s, like, maybe three hundred of y’all left, and Max wasn’t exactly petite. Maybe I’m missing something here.

Rodimus, uncomfortable with the topic, moves on to one that’s equally as uncomfortable- Prowl. Ratchet wants to send him off with a full, personal funeral. He’s not dead yet, but he might as well be. Still no donor. Rodimus opts to let the guy die naturally, even after Ratchet explains that he might still be in pain even in a pod and knocked out. Geez, any more good news, doc?

Oh ho, you thought this would stop with just a single robot? Not even close.

Mirage is allowed to be in a bad mood this time. I can’t even remotely fault him for that. And Autobots don’t give parental leave? What a rip.

Yeah, except they’ve all been Quintesson nightmare babies. This is what some folks might call a problem. Are you telling me that they can just catch pregnancy like the common cold now? This is tapping into irrational teenage fears. Christianity-based fears.

I have to wonder, what’s the general feel behind this process? It’s completely random, even when it happens to someone who’s supposed to go through it, and people just kind of stand there and watch it happen. I feel like it’d be really fucking embarrassing to just keel over and start going through mitosis in the middle of a room full of your peers. Then the whole murder-baby thing starts happening, and folks are drawing guns on your abdomen to top it all off. At what point do you just say “screw it” and have your torso removed?

Ratchet’s been storing the Quintessons in stasis pods, as opposed to Soundwave’s snap judgement of “kill now, repress later.” He’s run all the tests he can think of, and the things aren’t exactly hostile- they don’t really do anything, honestly. Perhaps murder-baby is too harsh a term. Still, they gotta figure out something to do with the little bastards. High Command’s been asking around off-planet.

Well, there’s one mystery solved! Meeting’s over, Rodimus shoos everyone away, but Siren has something to report: he and Chromedome figured out Nightbeat’s final words.

Oh wow, I was WAY off. Road trip!

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #eugenesis #part seven #epilogue #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing

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maxolotl67 · 5 years ago

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children of dust and ashes

Triple H x Reader (gender-nonspecific)

Summary: Set in a Mad Max-esque future, a scrapper enters the court and good graces of a mysterious king.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: The following is VERY not safe for work. There is swearing and sex. Please read responsibly.

Notes: So, uh. This ended up being way too long. And porny. Oops. This is directly inspired by Triple H’s WM35 entrance, which I loved far more than is probably healthy. Title comes from a song in Natasha, Pierre, & the Great Comet of 1812, a highly underrated musical.

Coughing weakly as a breeze kicked up a dust cloud, you shielded a hand over your eyes and scanned the horizon. Nothing for miles save desert and rock.

No one knew you were gone yet, but it wasn’t likely to stay that way for long. With any luck, maybe they would forget about you and drive off in the other direction. But that would still leave you stranded.

Shade. Water. Options. Three very important things that you currently lacked. Still, it was better than staying and risking death. Or worse. You resolved to keep walking, quickly and quietly and as far away as possible.

Minutes stretched out into hours. Maybe even days. Your feet hurt, there was dirt in your eyes, and you’d long since lost track of which tire tracks were the ones to avoid following. Had the sun moved at all? You couldn’t remember. The horizon stayed the same no matter which way you turned your head. Was this hell? Had you died in that ramshackle camp and this was your punishment? That distant growl was probably the devil’s hound out for your blood.

Wait. Growl?

Far off to the south, the horizon had suddenly changed. You were no longer alone. Over the crest of a dune came a single solitary wagon, its engine baying like an angry predator. It seemed to be heading north - that was, until it made a sudden turn straight for you.

You wanted to flee, but every part of your body screamed in protest at the idea. It seemed unlikely that you could even get away or think to hide. You fell to your knees, exhausted. Hopefully this one would at least think to kill you quickly.

The car was clearly built for speed, exchanging size and practical armor for mobility and acceleration, yet the iron chains and barbed wire wrapped erratically around its sturdy frame suggested its builder was familiar with combat. There was only one rider. They wore a mask and hood, obscuring their face. You closed your eyes, resigned to your fate.

The engine fell silent. Two heavy boots hit the ground.

“Your reverence is appreciated,” a deep voice said, with more than a hint of amusement. “Though in your case, it isn’t necessary.”

Looking up and blinking against the light, you saw the rider had removed his hood and mask. He was a tall man, bald and muscular, with loose-fitting leather clothing, rust-colored eyes, and a commanding bearing. Your immediate reaction was one of awe - he was at once the most intimidating and the most intriguing person you’d ever seen. Perhaps this wouldn’t end in your death after all.

You shakily rose to your feet, politely refusing his outstretched hand when he offered it. “Why’s that? Are you a king?”

He smiled mysteriously. “The king of kings, baby.”

You groaned inwardly. Men. “If that’s the case, why are you out here alone? Don’t kings usually travel with an entourage?”

“Heard scattered reports of raiders traveling through our lands. Wanted to check for myself.” He squinted back in the direction you’d come from. “Small time, by the looks of it. Not worth bothering with just yet. You see them?”

“Came from their camp, actually. Bastards stole my wagon.”

He looked you over, raising an eyebrow. “Must not be a smart bunch, letting you out of sight. Why don’t you come with me and we can discuss it?”

Discuss? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Could this kingly stranger be trusted? Was this another cage waiting to happen? You sighed. Even if this man was a tyrant, riding with him back to wherever he came from sounded better than dying of thirst out here. “Fine,” you said after a moment. “Though I doubt I could tell you anything you don’t already know, your highness.”

That earned you a laugh. “Please, call me Hunter.” He gestured for you to take the gunner post. You did so with a satisfied smile.

Hunter threw the wagon in gear, and it set off back south with a mighty roar. Yours had barely held together even at the best of times, so it was a refreshing change of pace to ride on a rig built for speed. If you played your cards right, maybe you could score yourself a setup like this.

Over a number of dunes and through a maze of stones the wagon flew, until you came to the edge of a dried lake bed. Or was it a crater? At the center lay a massive fortress adorned with flags. You didn’t recognize the emblem from any of the groups you’d come across in the wasteland - black fabric with a big yellow X.

So, an insular society ruled by a reasonable king, with fast rigs, a presumably large force, and a willingness to talk with strangers? This would be interesting.

The garage was cool and dark, an instant relief from the hellscape you’d left behind. Again Hunter offered you his hand, but you climbed off the wagon yourself without a word. King’s guest or not, you wouldn’t be patronized to today.

“What’s the word, boss?” A voice called from a high catwalk. You couldn’t see their face clearly, though you did see an impossibly long braid dangling over the edge of the railing.

“Trouble brewing in the southwest,” Hunter called back. “Get Lorcan and Burch out there. I need numbers, I need defenses. No engagement, got it? Purely an assessment.”

The person with the braid gave him a lazy salute and skipped off. Hunter gave you a smile that left a fluttering feeling in your stomach. “One of my kids. Not literally, of course. You’ll get to know them.”

Of course. A large group like this would need a familial bond to stay strong. As you followed Hunter through a series of hallways, you took note of the dormitory-like rooms, a few small armories, even a communal kitchen. Maybe an extended stay here wouldn’t be completely awful.

The two of you came to a large space, clearly meant for group gatherings. The high ceilings and second floor walkway around the room you understood, but what you found most notable and most perplexing about the room was the raised square platform in the center, surrounded by ropes attached to posts. A combat arena? A space for the king to address his subjects? Both?

On this platform, two men were exchanging blows. Not hard-hitting ones, though. It looked like they were training, though to what end you couldn’t guess. Hand-to-hand fighting wasn’t common in the wastes, or at least that was the case with the raiding groups you’d met.

“We have a guest,” Hunter boomed, stopping them in their tracks. “Johnny, stay here. Tommaso, I need Dream and Shayna in here now. See if Hanson and Rowe are back, we’ll need them too.” His tone was a lot different with his followers than it was with you. His authority definitely wasn’t to be challenged here.

The man with the grizzled beard nodded and ran from the room. The other jumped down from the ring with a smile. You saw then that his belt buckle was exceptionally large and made of what looked to be gold. It was marked with the same emblem you’d seen on the flags outside. “Johnny Wrestling,” he said, extending his hand to you. “Good to have you on board.”

“Don’t get excited,” Hunter corrected as he ascended the stairs on one corner of the ring. “They’re not signed just yet. Let’s hear their story before we decide anything.” You appreciated Johnny’s welcoming nature nonetheless, so you shook his hand politely.

A tough-looking woman entered the room, followed by a man draped in black linens. Both of them had belt buckles similar to Johnny’s, but otherwise their contrasting styles and demeanors almost made you laugh. If the people here were all this diverse, you’d fit right in.

“The Era’s been looking for you again, your highness,” the man drawled. “Always on and on about their rematches. Frankly, the Dream is tired of it.”

Hunter groaned, a long-suffering kind of sound. “Thank you, I’ll deal with them later. Everyone in the ring, now.” The three with the belts climbed between the ropes, until all the eyes in the room were on you and you realized that he had meant you too. Oh right, this was supposed to be about you. You scrambled in and stood awkwardly next to Hunter, who cleared his throat.

“As you know, since we’ve decreased the number of border teams there’s been a bigger need to keep an eye on movement outside our territory. Now, the last thing I want is to weaken our force by sending those teams back out there. What we need is to look into the possibility of more long-range recognizance. Outposts, checkpoints, whatever’s necessary to keep outsiders out of our territory. I want each of you to talk to your friends, have them talk to their friends, and start drafting plans. No idea is too small or too dumb. Have it on my desk as soon as you’re able.”

You were so caught up by Hunter’s expert calculations and contagious confidence that it took a moment to realize he’d turned to smile at you. “In the meantime, I’ve brought in someone you might call an expert. Our new friend here can give us a better idea about what goes on in just one enemy camp. Care to start from the beginning?”

Clearing your throat, you told them everything that you remembered about the raiders and their camp, from the details of your capture, guesses at their defenses and social structure, identifying markers and symbols, to numbers and potential weak points and how you’d escaped. You weren’t exactly a tactician, and it was hard to tell from their faces if they were impressed, but hopefully your information would be helpful to them in some way.

“And, uh. That was where your king found me,” you finished with a sideways glance to Hunter. “I’m glad he did. Without my wagon, my chances out there weren’t great.”

The corner of Hunter’s mouth formed part of that mysterious smile you were starting to like. “Well, you did well to make it as far as you did. Flying solo takes guts.” He turned to the others. “Let that be a lesson to everyone. You were once independents just like our friend here. You’re here now because you’re strong. Clever. Resourceful. The best at what you do. We will endure because of you. What’s our name?”

“N-X-T!” they shouted back, chests puffed and faces flush with pride.

“I can’t hear you,” he roared at them, beaming.

“N-X-T!”

“WHAT’S OUR NAME?”

“N-X-T!”

“Dismissed.”

Their determination was utterly infectious. As they filed out of the room, leaving you and Hunter alone, you were grinning. “Interesting bunch. Are all your kids like this?”

“Most of them. If they aren’t yet, they’ll get there with time.” Hunter stood opposite you in the ring and gestured to the walls around you. “That’s why I built this place. To shape the future. You know as well as I do that the wasteland doesn’t make warriors. It breaks them. Only by standing together do we have a chance to change the world.”

You hummed in careful consideration. “That’s quite a goal. You think you’re the one to make that possible?”

He smiled again. Damn that smile. How could a simple smile transform a face so completely? “I know that I am. And I know that everyone in this place believes it too. And I want you to help me make it happen.”

You blinked slowly. “Beg your pardon?”

As if impassioned by the mere utterance of his mission, Hunter stepped forward and took both your hands. “Stay,” he implored. “Train with us. I see in your eyes the same spark that laid the cornerstones of this place. The same spark that will ignite the flames of the future. You could be safe here. Food, water, a family to watch your back and help you grow into a champion. You could stand by my side as we build a better tomorrow.”

This was too good to be true. There was no way it could really be that simple. You were just a scrappy-looking scavenger, not a champion, and certainly not someone who could change the future. What was Hunter seeing in you that you somehow missed?

You exhaled shakily. “I don’t know. I...I don’t think I’m good enough for this place.”

The look in Hunter’s eyes was warm and reassuring. No one had ever looked at you like that before. “That’s alright. Give it a few days. If it’s not the right fit, you’ll know. For now, get down to the mess and get some dinner in you. Find Shawn. He’s my second-in-command, he’ll get you set up with your own bunk and a schedule.”

You’d only just arrived here, and already you were allowed to go places on your own? What a strange family. Hunter sent you off, saying something about royal duties awaiting him in his office, and you were eventually able to find your way through the narrow hallways to the expansive kitchen.

Shawn proved to be easy to locate. His laughter was uproarious and jovial, and the small crowd of young drivers behind him spoke to his respectability and experience. He knew you were Hunter’s guest before you said a thing - he waved it off as fast-traveling gossip - and after sitting down with you and a hearty bowl of stew, he peered over a pair of dusty glasses at a long list of names.

“Let’s put you in with Kushida for right now,” he said, scribbling a note. “He’s a newer face. Confident, experienced in the ring, and he needs a driver. You two can learn from each other.” Looking up, he flashed you a wry smile. “Boss must like you. He normally doesn’t bring in new blood unless he knows what they can do in the ring. You get a name yet?”

You frowned in confusion. “Name?”

“Yeah, your ring name! Or your family name, if you like. People who come here, or who are running away from what’s out there, they get a chance to start over.” Shawn gave you a roguish grin. “You think the king lets just anyone call him Hunter? That’s just for people he likes. His ring name is Triple H. Last poor sucker that called him Hunter without permission got two months kitchen duty. A name for you just means you’re part of the team now.”

Huh. You’d never considered the possibility of using any other name but your own before. But then, you’d never been a part of anything quite this meaningful before. Maybe this would be a good place to start over. To have a family.

You must have looked lost in thought, because Shawn then nudged you with an elbow. “Don’t stress about it too much. If you’ve got ideas, he’ll hear you out. He’s our king, sure, but he’s not a complete asshole, y’know?”

You nodded. That made sense. Just as you were about to ask more about Hunter, the doors to the kitchen swung open with a loud bang. Four men entered, looking very angry, and marched toward the front table where the gargantuan stew pot rested. One of them stopped and glared at you, his eyes a startling blue. You wondered what you’d done to earn his ire.

“You the new stray?” he asked. “His majesty wanted to see you after dinner.”

“Watch it, Cole,” Shawn warned. “Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

Cole, or whatever his name was, scoffed and sauntered away. You kept your head down, staring at the dregs of your dinner. Men like him didn’t scare you. There were more important things to think about. Like what your new name could be.

You stood outside the massive wooden door longer than was probably necessary. Every time you thought about raising your hand to knock, your stomach did a couple backflips. There would be no going back from this. Hunter was accepting you into his fold, more or less agreeing to care for you and train you to be a fighter. Someone who could stand with him without fear and face the future. Nothing you’d ever done before carried this much finality. Once you accepted your new name, this place would become your home, and Hunter would be your king.

A fleeting worry crossed your mind - what if he was disappointed in you, what if you failed to please him, what if he never spoke to you again after today - but you did your best to push it away. Unable to bear the waiting anymore, you knocked three times.

“Enter.”

You did, and the luxury that you beheld was instantly overwhelming. There was a cushy rug under your feet, the walls were lined with carefully crafted portraits and well-worn golden buckles, and the heady scent of incense hung in the air. So not only was this Hunter’s office, this had to be his personal room. Only a king would go out of his way to make his space as befitting of his station as possible.

Hunter sat in a massive chair behind a polish metal desk, bent over a stack of papers. He looked up when the door shut behind you and smiled. That was enough to get your heart pounding. “Settling in alright?”

“I’ll find my feet soon enough,” you replied with a huffed laugh. “What are you working on?”

He raised an eyebrow, and right away you felt sheepish, realizing he probably wasn’t used to being questioned so openly. It must not have bothered him too much, though, since he didn’t react beyond that. “Keeping records. Every driver, every match, every result needs to be kept for posterity. We don’t have much from the old world, so it’s important that we leave what we can for future kings.” He made another few scribbles before he set down his charcoal and smoothed his fingers over the immaculate surface of his desk. “That includes what you bring to us. Did Shawn explain our naming tradition to you?”

You nodded and swallowed. “I, uh. I did have a few ideas. But I’ll trust whatever judgement you make.”

Hunter rose to his feet, circling around the desk to stand in front of you. He was close enough to smell the incense on his skin. You tried not to think about it. “I always have time for new ideas. Let’s hear it.”

“Sparks.” Even now, it sounded like the most natural sound in the world. “Ty Sparks. If I am to spark the fires of the future, my name should inspire that.”

Hunter seemed to consider this for a moment, then smiled. “We sort of already have a Ty, but you’re on the right track. Sparks. I like that. What about Cadence Sparks?”

“Cadence. Cadence.” You rolled the sound around a few times in your mouth. It had a heroic feel to it. You beamed. “It’s perfect.”

“Then kneel.” You did so hurriedly, as Hunter placed a warm, heavy hand on the crown of your head. “Cadence Sparks, there are many warriors in this world, but none like you. Do you wish to stand with us and prove your worth?”

“I do.” Your heart hammered with excitement somewhere in your throat.

“And will you protect this family with your life just as we will protect you with ours?”

“I will.”

“And should you stand out among our ranks and become a champion, do you swear to defend your title with dignity and honor, setting the best example you can for the champions of tomorrow?”

“I swear.”

Hunter’s hand moved down, his fingertips skimming oh so gently over your cheek to cup your chin and tilt it up. It was like looking at him for the first time, the handsome king that came out of the horizon to save your life and change your world forever. “Rise, Cadence Sparks. And welcome to NXT.”

Suddenly overcome with emotion, you leapt to your feet and threw your arms around his neck. You panicked for a split second - this was most certainly not how you showed a king his due respect - but to your surprise, he embraced you back and chuckled into your hair. You felt your face flush a deep red. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“It’s alright,” Hunter murmured, as if he could hear your thoughts. “This is a big moment. It’s okay if you need to cry.”

You laughed. You knew you should probably have let go by now, but every second you held on, it got harder and harder to consider pulling away. Something about Hunter’s arms around you felt so safe, so warm, so much like home. “I just...I’ve never had a family before. Not like this.”

“Mmm. That’s what I love most about this place. The bonds that are forged here last forever.” You inhaled sharply, realizing that he had begun stroking the small of your back. “Some go deeper than others. Some may only exist in passing. But all are equally unbreakable.”

You swallowed, daring to hide your face in his neck. “Like...like this one?”

“Indeed.” Hunter pulled back a little, though he was still smiling, still holding you close. “Though, uh...I should warn you, there is an informal tradition for my personal recruits. Once they’re named and sworn in, I make the effort to personally make them feel welcome.”

Something about his words, combined with the gentleness and intention in his touch, set a deep heat stirring in your belly. Feeling emboldened, you moved even closer, your lips barely an inch apart. “I’m feeling pretty welcome already.”

“Then allow me to seal the deal.” Before you could blink, Hunter closed the distance between you, kissing you with a fierceness you’d never experienced before. His hands dropped to your hips, holding you in place. Not that you would even dream of pulling away now.

Pressing impossibly closer with a soft moan, you allowed your hands to wander, learning the defined slope of his shoulders, the smoothness of his chest, the hard strength of his biceps. Maybe this had been what you were looking for all along - not just a family, but even just one person you could place your whole trust into. Whatever Hunter asked for now, you knew you would do anything to make it happen.

Hunter’s mouth moved to claim other parts of your face and neck, all pretense of gentleness gone, his hands busy with removing both your clothes. It proved difficult to blindly shift over toward his bed with both of you unwilling to separate for longer than necessary, but he more than made up for it with his confident and knowing touch. Every inch of your skin that he covered felt electrified.

His fingers found the spot between your legs that made you cry out just as the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. But he didn’t let you fall back just yet. He pressed on that spot over and over, rough and desperate and everything you wanted. “You like that, baby?” he whispered hotly, briefly sucking the shell of your ear between his teeth. “Gonna let me do whatever I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes!” you keened, too flushed with desire to think of how wanton you must have sounded. “Please, God, don’t stop!”

He released you when out of desperation you started to buck at his hand, standing over you for far too long, just looking, just taking the sight of you in. “God, look at you,” he said, lost in thought, a hand reaching down to palm his cock. “My perfect prize, all spread out for me. Gonna give it to you so good, baby.”

You whimpered, straining with the effort to keep your legs spread, shamelessly putting yourself on display. “Please,” you begged again. “I’m all yours. Whenever you want me. However you want me. Please, Hunter, touch me.”

“Careful. ‘M gonna want to keep you in my bed forever with talk like that.” At this point, you were very willing to consider that. He spat in his palm, and it was only a little disgusting, but he did at last put a hand on your hip. When at last he finally pushed in, all the breath seemed to leave your body at once. You had to close your eyes then, as the sight of Hunter inside of you, all around you, on top of you, was overwhelming.

He appeared to steady himself as well, just for a moment, before he began to thrust. Both his hands were on your hips now, holding you in place on the edge of the bed. You almost wanted to tell him to grip harder, to leave bruises, but at that point forming words was impossible.

You felt his mouth on your chest then, learning with his tongue what his fingers had mapped out only moments ago. You gasped when he hit a nipple, opening your eyes just in time to see his grin. “So fucking hot,” he murmured, thrusting hard enough to make you groan. “Say my name again.”

“Hunter,” you gasped. You reached down with one hand, unable to help yourself. “God, Hunter, that feels so good.”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, touch yourself.” His thrusts were brutal now, almost boneshaking. You wouldn’t even have to ask for bruises this time. “Who’s your king, Cadence?”

“Fuck — you! It’s you, Hunter, you’re my king.” God, your name sounded so good in his voice. With your free hand you gripped the sheets, desperate to ground yourself, desperate to finish with him.

“You need to come, don’t you? Gonna come on your king’s cock? Show me, baby, show me how good you take it.” His breathing came sharply, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you. You’d never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

“Oh God, Hunter, I — “ But you couldn’t even finish your warning. You came with the force of an oncoming storm, hard and fast and forever stuffed into a few seconds. And just as the world seemed to right itself again, Hunter came inside of you with a guttural moan.

You both laid there for a while, just breathing, just memorizing each other’s warmth, the feel of each other’s skin. He arranged both of you under his blankets, which was a good thing, as you were still too boneless to be of much help. Thankfully he didn’t seem to mind. There were a few more words, a few more lingering and lazy kisses, but you fell asleep in his arms soon after, confident and assured that you were exactly where you belonged.

#triple h x reader #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #max writes about wrestling

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firstpuffin · 5 years ago

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Some constructive suggestions for The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild 2:

Breath of the Wild 2, sequel to the latest Legend of Zelda game, is currently in progress and while I haven’t bothered to look into an estimated due date, I’m hoping it will be soon. That’s also my viewpoint on the Elder Scrolls 6; call me lazy if you will but I consider it me being patient. Anyway, I really enjoyed the game as did plenty of others (although those who didn’t like it seemed to really not like it, oddly enough) and am looking forward to this new entry.

The thing about Breath of the Wild 2 is that it’s Breath of the Wild two, which means it should improve on the first. As fun as it was, the first game was an experiment for Nintendo: open-world, different format, different clothes- it was not a very Legend of Zelda feeling game, which was only a weakness if you insisted on viewing as being another entry in the series. Which it was.

Is there a better way of explaining this?

Anyhoo, it was a fun game if taken by itself, but being an experiment it had some serious flaws. I don’t really do lists but here are a few improvements that Breath of the Wild 2 could do with.

Feel like a Legend of Zelda game:

What makes a franchise identifiable? I personally feel as though I’ve been asking this question a lot recently, what with Devil May Cry 5, Breath of the Wild- and that’s all I can think of off-hand; there have been more, I swear. The answer is made up of a few things: music, visuals and gameplay are the big three.

In the case of Devil May Cry, there was always a certain sound that the music had; a hard rock that moved into metal without quite leaning on the screaming that so many people dislike. Then DMC.5 (the reboot) and Devil May Cry 5 came out; DMC.5 went full on into metal with Cannibal Corpse and Devil May Cry 5 had more of a traditional sound to it. The Kingdom Hearts series has always had Yoko Shimomura as the composer and no matter how different the soundtrack, it always sounded like her; even the songs that weren’t originally hers.

One of the complaints for Breath of the Wild was how unmemorable the music was and, apart from the Hyrule castle stuff, I have to agree. Yes, the themes were there and I’m listening to the soundtrack as I write this, but none of it stands out as you play.

And then there’s the tunic: I won’t complain about customisation (I love that junk) but the famous tunic only appearing after a difficult and very optional side quest was not a good move, and the outfits that did have that telling silhouette were unlocked by the bloody stupidly rare Amiibo. Give us the option of looking like Link early on. Please.

And then there’s the dungeons. Breath of the Wild balanced a fine line here, with shrines and Divine Beasts instead of real dungeons. Don’t get me wrong, this was probably the first Zelda game in a long time to have real puzzles, but c’mon. What’s Zelda without dungeons?

Care for your weapons and they’ll care for you:

A range of usable weapons is a part of the customisation that I love so much, and weapon degradation was an interesting take that I liked more than expected. Despite being done so, so wrong.

I think that this was a big problem for fans. The weapons didn’t last long, there was no storage system for resource management and worst of all, no means of repairing them. I think everyone develops a favourite weapon as they play a game, and seeing it break after maybe ten swings is infuriating. I think that most games with this system have a repair option, so it’s kind of unbelievable that Nintendo didn’t include one also.

Having twelve different weapons that you picked up purely because you’ve lost the good ones sucks hard and was a terrible design choice. Not being able to store the good weapons for the end game wasn’t great either.

And while we’re on it, why was I always finding two-handed weapons when I was trying to focus on one-handed? The big weapons were too slow and you can’t use a shield with them, and considering the image of Link built up through decades of these games… well, it seems clumsy.

Of course, could I really escape talking about the Master Sword? Like, I get that what with the weapon degradation they had to do something to force you to mix things up once you got it, but that’s not really hard to do.

Rather than having the Master Sword somehow regenerate, just have it be outclassed by other, obviously rarer, weapons; except when facing “true evil”. It already gets stronger in the presence of certain enemies so just expand on that. Simply having the range of different weapons that the game already does means that people will want to mix and match. No need to force anything more.

Speaking of mixing and matching:

Weapons and armour are an odd thing in Breath of the Wild. Why have weapon degradation but indestructible clothes? That seems almost odd as the limited dying system where you can dye some clothes, and even then there’s a secondary colour that you have no control over.

And I could go into the bonuses that one: means you can’t mix and match without losing said bonuses, even if the clothes you are mixing have the same bonus, and two: have some really odd choices of bonus. Why increased speed at night but never day? Or all the time for that matter?

I’d like true colour customisation, mixing and matching and, where possible, to wear the same clothes as the NPCs. Nothing bothers me more than not being able to pick up and wear a lab coat (not that Zelda has lab coats- that’s just a peeve of mine). I could comment on how difficult it is to fully upgrade the outfits, but that’s personal; more importantly I’d rather the outfits had more of an effect. Wearing a set of plate armour should surely mean I don’t get half my health eaten by an arrow, ragdoll down a cliff with momentum that I can do nothing to stop, and die. From max health.

I don’t want to get rid of any of this, I just want it improved on. Oh, and the jewellery was great, I just wish they acted as a set bonus.

Suck it up and poop like a regular man:

I enjoyed the cooking in Breath of the Wild, but I’d like it expanded on as well. Have meals only edible outside of combat, and have it influence hunger and stamina for the next day. Have a thirst and sleep meter-

Or just abandon that half-explored mechanic and focus on the elixers which I preferred (for immersion among other things) and which seems less expansive than the meals. But yeah, the cooking was fun and a reason to use it other than health and other bonuses would be great. We all know the Skyrim cheese wheel memes.

Speaking of half-explored:

This- is not a complaint of mine, but I get it. As my friend said (although I dunno if he coined it), Breath of the Wild is trying to do what other open-world games already do better. And yeah, he’s right. There is a lot of running between everything and very little to actively explore. Sure, go look behind that hill; what’s there? A korok maybe. Possibly a chest.

There’s certainly no side-quests, or caves to explore or small towns. Let’s look at Skyrim: there’s stuff everywhere! Caves, abandoned forts, towns you likely would never go to intentionally; there’s side-quests, and characters expanding the lore and occasionally followers who desperately need to be improved for Elder Scrolls 6.

Breath of the Wild has huge expanses with nothing; the few NPCs may say something banal and if you are lucky there’s an occasional side-quest. There are fights but they aren’t as common as you might hope. I want more places to find those one-handed frost-blades because I love them but they are rare.

Give me various caves that I need warm clothes for, or to take clothes off for their fire equivalent. Let me explore, let me do. That’s why I spent so much time in Hyrule castle before the climax: it was probably the best place to just explore.

I enjoyed the game oh-so-much. But I also can’t return to it because it is, honestly, dull.

And that’s that. Yes, there’s a hell of a lot more but I don’t write this to complain, but instead hopefully to inspire.

Not Nintendo of course, they won’t read this. But maybe someone else will and remember it when they are creating something of their own, or maybe just expect a bit more from others in future. Because quality is an acquired taste, and if we don’t pressure others for it, we won’t get it.

#first puffin #the legend of zelda #zelda #link #breath of the wild #breath of the wild 2 #video games #video game design #thosetagswilldofornow

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imnovampire · 5 years ago

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Exfill Chapter 39

Helloo. TheColdEastWind here. It has been long and very long so let me just first say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and leave it at that. Now on a serious note, in this next chapter our story will be dealing with Sarin. It is a nerve gas, and absolutely horrendous. I don't go into any detail about its effects or what it can do, I just want to warn anyone who may feel uncomfortable with my usage of it. Also there is mention of drug overdose, please heed all trigger warnings.

"Hello J."

"Hello Mercy."

"With the information that you got from Trevor, I was able to find out where our asset is currently located and roughly who put him there. It would seem that his captors are holding three civilian scientists along with Sherlock at the same location."

"Brilliant work." John cut in and felt a surge of adrenaline, finally! "Send me the coordinates the extra bodies shouldn't be a problem..."

"J, there's more. We were wrong. It's not nuclear. It's chemical. Sarin."

"No." John doubled over with his hands on his knees and he thought he would vomit. "Please no." Sarin was one of the most volatile nerve agents to date because if it's ability change from a liquid to gas, it was odorless, colorless, and tasteless. John had seen what this shit could do it was gruesome and it made is blood run cold to think of Sherlock anywhere near it let alone the one making it, especially in the state that John believed him to be in. A death from Sarin was ugly, and anyone who even contemplated using it was reserved a very special place in hell.

"Get me there now." John's voice faltered.

"Copy that."

John stood on the tarmac looking down at the MacBook on the hood of his Land Rover trying desperately to focus on the plans in front of him. The Chinook was behind him ready for take off and so was he. So where the fuck was Moran? Had his fickle boss decided he wasn't allowed out to play after all? Fuck if John was going wait around for them to get their psycho shit together. Just fuckin fine. Alone it was then. And if he died trying to save the man he loved then so be it. Sherlock was worth a million deaths. Wait then that would leave Sherlock...still a captive. Fuck! Where was Moran?

A slick black Porsche Panamera, came screaming down the airfield, it stopped with a skeet of the glossy black tires mere inches away from Johns bumper. A black clad Sebastian climbed out of the back followed by his boss, Moran turned and boxed him in with one arm resting on the door and the other on top of the car, Jim allowed Sebastian to kiss him deeply, while he kept his hands tucked neatly in his own pockets seemingly immune. Moran broke free and nipped Jim's lips once twice more, and the effects of the kiss were clear in Jim's flush cheeks and red lips. John had wondered if the pair were truly in love or simply drawn together by their shared psychosis, watching them now it seemed like a bit of both. Love and madness, the two were never far from one another.

John shut is laptop shoved it in his go bag and boarded the Chinook. Moran slipped on his headset and strapped in across the cabin from John.

"You sure he's ok...with this?" John made a gesture signifying the plane.

"This." Moran gestured between the two of them. John shot him the finger. "Is just fine with Jim. We have a beautiful new protege at home who's dying to impress Jim, and I think Jim is rather dying to be impressed. To tell the truth I think they couldn't wait till I left."

"And you're alright with that?"

"Once you get rid of your moral blinders you may just be pleasantly surprised at what you're alright with."

"Doubtful. Take a look at your laptop, it's the layout of the black site. What do you see?"

"It looks more like a lab then a facility capable of nuclear fusion."

"Spot on. In fairness I have to tell you, we're not dealing with uranium. The facility is indeed a lab, but not a nuclear one, a chemical one. There are four scientists total Sherlock among them, their making...Sarin."

Sebastian was still his gazed haunted with unwanted knowledge.

"Moran, if you're not up for this..."

"Have you seen what it dose? What it can do?"

"I have." John was solum. "Look this is a lot to ask..."

"What's the plan? How are we going in?"

"We're not. Not at first anyway. I figured I've got you, elite sniper, I may as well use you. You on the outside, me on the inside. Take out as many as you can and I'll clean up as I go. Once I've cleared the inside you come in and assist with the extraction."

"Brilliant."

~~~

Volgograd, Russia

The breach went off without a hitch. Moran did his part flawlessly taking out five armed men in lass then ten seconds, John doned is balaclava and went to work under cover of total darkness having had Mercy go dark, John gave the order to restore the power and Moran took up position behind him surrounded by the dead John had left in the dark.

Sebastian looked around and whistled. "That's some impressive shit Watson."

"Coming from the man who just dropped five men from a hundred yearns out in the dark in less then ten seconds, I'll take that as a compliment."

"Eight seconds. I'm going for a record."

"I just bet you are."

John gave the signal for silence as they stepped into a brightly lit hallway of hermetically sealed labs passing them at the other end of the hall they descended a set of metal stairs into a sub basement with six cell doors on either side. The smell on this level was instantly terrifying for John, it was the smell of death. John made the signal for Moran to go right, and he took the left. They checked the door seals for any visible traps finding none they kicked the doors in and cleared the first two rooms. John's first door he found a man small and diminutive laying in the fetal position on the floor, John felt for a pulse, the man was alive. Good enough. Time to move on. The next cell was empty just like the two that Moran had cleared on the opposite side. John had extracted more hostages then he could remember and breached more rooms as team leader then anyone else on Methos, but in this frozen moment his heart paused and his breath held still in his lungs dreading each step forward and anticipating them in equal measures. Deep breath. John cleared the next door and had to fight down the heave that rose to his throat. His heart bust back to life like a jack hammer as he inspected what was left of the body for identifying dark curls, he found none, this poor soul had clearly been used as a test subject. John paused for a second wondering if maybe they had been exposed to the chemical, but dismissed it just as quickly. They would be dead already. The next cell was empty too, just as all of Moran's had been, the next held more horrors, this man had been executed. It was all John could do to hold his composer and stay upright on wobbly legs. Last door. Empty.

"Over here!"

John made for the cell. Oh god, please god please please please please...

It was him. He was on the floor in an incredibly small ball. There was no movement. No sound. Still silence. John moved on auto pilot, pushing up his balaclava and pulling off his tactical gloves with his teeth ready to do what he'd done thousands of times, check for a pulse, the soft flutter of life flowing just beneath the surface. Please...

"John!" John was brought out of his mind by Moran's voice and he realized his hand just hovered, not touching not moving not finding out if Sherlock were alive or dead. Fuck. He reached into the balled up mass to rest two fingers in the hollow of Sherlock's throat. Ice cold, and drenched in sweat. John thanked God. He thanked the old Gods, he thanked all the Gods, he thanked any Gods! He didn’t know or care who was listening or what the price. His soul had been expendable from the second he and Sherlock had locked eyes.

"We need to go." John pulled his balaclava back down ready to move. As if on que Mercy called.

"J, There is a convoy headed your way, ETA ten minutes max."

"Moving now. With two civilians in tow."

"Make it quick."

"Copy that."

"I'll get the assets, you lay ground cover." Moran hefted Sherlock up on to his shoulder. John gave a curt nod knowing that it was the right call even if it didn't sit well with him. They made for the first cell, there Moran grabbed the small man and practically drug him by the coller up the steps. They ran to the waiting Chinook in the clearing with John at the ready to lay down cover fire.

Once aboard Moran laied Sherlock in the seats next to John like the precious package he knew him to be. Sherlock's head rested in John's lap curls plastered to his scalp with sweat, his skin pasty and gray, his eyes hollow dark and death like. John just stared down at him, relieved. Sherlock reached a hand up in a clumsy attempt to push back John's balaclava and failed. John was more then happy to pull if off for him.

"It's you." His voice was low and horse yet carried a note of calm. "John. It's always you." Sherlock smiled and faded out. John breathed a sigh relief. Moran got his attention from across the way. John put on his headset.

"Courtesy of my boss." Sebastian winked and pointed to the window.

John looked out in time to see the explosions of the convoy below. Love and madness.

~~~

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kriscme · 6 years ago

Text

Another three chapters

Hi, here’s the next three. This is going to be longer story than I thought. As usual, I have no idea where this is going. But there will be a love interest for Katniss soon. Chapter 17. The fresh meat in the fridge and the canned food are where I left them, untouched. I’m annoyed but not surprised. Haymitch neglects to feed himself, let alone a neighbour’s cat. Peeta would have been the reliable choice to take care of Buttercup’s needs while I was gone. But I didn’t want to ask him, so that left Haymitch. But Buttercup hasn’t starved despite the pitiful mewing and reproachful looks he greets me with. I left him a mountain of dry cat food and he’s more than capable of feeding himself anyway. It might do him some good to keep up his hunting skills and catch his own food for a change. That goes for me too. There’s still a week to go of the winter break before school resumes and I intend to spend every one of those days in the woods. Before I do, I check in with Haymitch. I want to tell him what I discovered about Lace. I thought of nothing else on the long train journey home. No, that’s not quite true. Lulled by the gentle rocking of the train, I fell into a doze and I couldn’t help memories of other train journeys drifting in. Of nights with Peeta, safe and snug in his strong arms, the comforting rise and fall of his chest against my cheek, a slight breeze from an open window fanning my skin. I had to give myself a shake and a stern talking too. Allowing myself to indulge in such thoughts won’t help. To my surprise, Haymitch is neither here nor there about my news. I thought he’d be as concerned as I am. “Look, if he was about to marry the girl, I might feel that I’d have to step in. But what of great importance has she kept from him, exactly? He already knows about the pregnancy and miscarriage. Half the country is pretending to be something else, depending on where they settle. Old hatreds die hard and the war didn’t change that. What’s a name change and a little stretching of the truth if it keeps the peace? Besides, he won’t thank us. He’s sure to see it as interference. I say let sleeping dogs lie. For the moment, anyway. And who knows, maybe she’ll tell him herself in good time. She might be forced to anyway, if Arthur tells her that you know. She’ll want to get in before you do.” Haymitch reaches out for another cookie. I found a bag of them at my front door and brought them over to share. A welcome home gift from Peeta, I assume. He keeps me well supplied. I have to admit that he does have a point. I wouldn’t expose my former prep team. They have also bent the truth about their past to fit into a new district. To their mind, they’ve done nothing wrong. They thought they were helping the tributes by presenting them as attractively as they could. But others, perhaps like Gale had, wouldn’t see it that way and would rather see them tarred and feathered and run out of 12. I try a different tack. “It doesn’t seem right, that’s all. You know Peeta has trust issues. It’s important that what he’s told is real. How is he going to get better if people lie to him? People he’s supposed to trust? He’ll go straight back to doubting what’s real or not real.” “Then he learns not to take everyone at face value. What do you care, anyway? I thought you were cutting him from your life,” he says.

“I am. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to him. I want him to be happy. And I don’t think he’ll be happy being lied to. Didn’t you tell me that I have to be honest with him because if I’m not, then he won’t trust me with the truth? I don’t know why it should be any different for Lace.” “We weren’t talking about Lace. We were talking about you,” Haymitch points out. “Lace isn’t the key to his past, like you are. Whatever she did before they met, it didn’t involve him. In any case, I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture anyone about honesty.” “What does that mean?” I ask, my hackles rising. “I mean that you’re not being honest with him either. You say you want nothing more to do with him, yet I see you walking into town with him most mornings. What’s Peeta supposed to make of it?” “He’s the one who waits for me!” I splutter indignantly. “What am I supposed to do? Just ignore him and pretend he doesn’t exist? ” “You could tell him the truth.”

Not this again. Haymitch and I will never agree on what I should do about Peeta. “I’ve done nothing but tell the truth, much good it’s done me. Whatever he’s asked, I’ve answered as honestly as I can. If he asks, I’ll tell him. But he doesn’t ask. We’ve been over this before. Peeta’s moved on and I want to as well. He doesn’t want to lose the friendship. That’s why he hangs around me so much.” I understand exactly what Peeta is feeling. I went through it with Gale. Clinging to the friendship and giving hope when there wasn’t any. But it wasn’t fair to him. And this isn’t fair to me. Turning someone loose can be the kindest thing you can do for them. Peeta would agree, if he knew. “Peeta can’t have us both - me to hang-out with, and Lace to . . . well, whatever it is they do together,” I say. “I’ll take a guess as to what Peeta and Lace get up to,” says Haymitch, giving me an arch look. Peeta’s a healthy young adult, physically anyway, and we know Lace has had at least one lover, so my guess is – “ “Just shut up about it, Haymitch.” I say irritably. I know what he’s doing. It’s a tactic he’s tried before. He’s trying to goad me to act. “I really don’t care what they do.” “Yes, you do, despite whatever nonsense you’re telling yourself.” Haymitch rises from his chair to shamble over to a sideboard piled with books, discarded bottles and loose bits of paper. “I don’t know what they do together. Peeta doesn’t talk about her. Hasn’t in weeks. They could be doing jigsaw puzzles for all I know.” “Peeta doesn’t like jigsaw puzzles.”

Haymitch doesn’t answer. He’s busy sorting through the papers. “Ah, here it is. The council asked me to pass this on.” Haymitch hands me a long white envelope addressed to me. There’s a coffee stain ring left by a cup resting on it. “How long have you had this?” I ask. “Not long. A few days, maybe. It’s a job offer. Apparently, you left your name with the council a while back.” I had forgotten about that. That was the day I went looking for work. I found a job at the bakery and Max approached me to work at the school. The council wasn’t hiring at the time, but I left my name and credentials in case anything became available. I tear open the envelope and pull out the letter. “They want me to act as a guide for some man who’s surveying the woods or something. It will have to fit with my job at the school if I do it. If they’re happy with three days over weekends it could work out.” I stuff the letter into my pocket. I want to get home now. I’ve told Haymitch about Lace and now it’s up to him. His favourite soap will be on soon and I know he doesn’t like to miss it. “One Life to Live” – the saga of two rival families and a forbidden love. “I’ll go now and let you get back to the TV,” I tell him. “Maybe tonight Blake and Celia will get their act together. How long have they dragged this out? Two seasons?” “Three. And they won’t. Because they’re idiots. It’s my curse to be surrounded by them.” I give Haymitch a baleful look. It’s wasted because his back is to me as he reaches for the TV remote. I get my revenge by snatching up the bag with the cookies and dashing out the door before he has time to say anything. A short time later, I’ve settled in for some television watching of my own with a cup of tea and the bag of cookies. I don’t remember Peeta making this kind before – soft, buttery with the outside rolled in cinnamon and sugar. I’m glad I didn’t leave them with Haymitch. I flick through the channels. There’s been an explosion of them since Plutarch became secretary of communications. He sets the programming for the airwaves. We have him to thank for “One Life to Live” of which he took over as executive producer. I switch to a news program. It’s a piece about that Muir person I read about. The one who wants to go around establishing national parks. He’s currently in 7, lamenting how much woodland has been sacrificed for commercial timber production. He wants legislation put in place immediately to stop further damage. The logging companies don’t support it. They had hoped that with the overthrow of the Snow regime, the woods would be opened up as a sort of free-for-all. But Muir’s managed to raise a lot of support from the local community. They’ve formed protest groups and do bizarre things like chaining themselves to trees. One woman, who looks suspiciously like Johanna Mason, has gone one step further and has chained herself naked to a large oak. The camera, after a lengthy time showing her in long shot, zooms in on her face. Yes, it’s Johanna. And having the time of her life, by the look of it. The program goes to a commercial break. I flick through a few more channels before settling on “One Life to Live.” I wouldn’t admit it to Haymitch, but I do watch it occasionally. It’s so slow moving you can miss entire episodes and still pick up the plot easily.

Celia Chastely and Blake Knight are from families who at odds. The Chastelys own a large agricultural farm in District 11 somewhere near the border of District 5. They are committed to the production of organic fruits and vegetables, chemical free and using only sustainable farming methods. The Knights, from District 5, are oil barons whose fields show signs of running dry. However, they’ve identified a rich oil reservoir on adjoining land. The difficulty is that this land belongs to the Chastelys who refuse to allow the Knights access. They don’t want anything to compromise the integrity of their produce. Celia and Blake first met when they were aged about eleven. Celia was riding her horse – an activity her parents encouraged as a healthy form of exercise, and an efficient method of delivering organic fertilizer in the form of horse manure to the outlying orchards. Blake had accompanied his father to inspect a new rig and had wandered down to the boundary fence with the idea of scaling it to help himself to an apple, or two. Just as Blake leaped down from the tree, Celia came upon him. Her horse startled and she was thrown. She wasn’t injured, being more shocked than anything. Angry at first, she was soon won over by Blake’s concern and help in retrieving her horse. It was the start of a covert friendship. Neither dared tell their parents about it, afraid that they would be forbidden to see each other. Over time, friendship turned to love. When they were sixteen, Blake told Celia that he was in love with her. But Celia, confused about her feelings, but knowing that a union between them could only end in sorrow, told Blake she didn’t feel the same way and they must stop seeing each other. Blake was crushed but he had no choice but to accede to Celia’s wishes. Celia lived up to her name. Beautiful but unattainable, suitors came and went, defeated by Celia’s impenetrable veneer of purity. Blake, reeling from the pain of unrequited love, fell for the wiles of the conniving Ginger Morgan, girl-on-the-make. As they move about in society – parties, balls, hayrides - Celia and Blake are often in the same company. Coolly polite when they interact, they are unaware of the deep, passionate love the other has for them. Celia is convinced that Blake loves Ginger, and Blake is convinced that Celia can never love him. In tonight’s episode, Blake proposes marriage to Ginger after she tells him she’s pregnant with his baby. The child’s father is actually the lead guitarist in a rock band with whom Ginger had a brief fling a few months ago. Celia has a nervous breakdown when she hears and the episode ends with Celia standing at her bedroom window, tears streaming down her face.

I grab the remote and turn off the TV in disgust. The whole situation makes me want to throw up. Fools! Why can’t they just be honest with each other? Why do they always assume to know what the other is thinking? Communication! That’s all it would take. Their problems aren’t insurmountable. I don’t know why I watch this rubbish. But I guess it did, at least, get my mind off what Haymitch hinted at before, when we talked about what Peeta and Lace do together. It’s been niggling at me since he said it. It’s not something I haven’t guessed at, but it’s another to thing to have Haymitch bring it up. It makes it more real, somehow, that it’s not just me who thinks it. Of course they would be having sex. Peeta is nearly twenty. Lace must be twenty-one if she was seventeen at the time of our Victor’s tour. And she’s had sex before. She’d be experienced then. Do men like that? I suppose they must. I can’t imagine it would be as enjoyable with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. Like me. In my dreams that night, I’m at the mayor’s party in my midnight blue Cinna dress with the diamonds. Max spins me around and diamonds pop off in every direction, whizzing through the air and hitting people close by, including Lace who is struck on the side of her head. Peeta frowns at me, at first in disapproval and then in disgust. I look down at my dress and see that it’s disintegrated into a pile of ash at my feet. I’m naked except for my silver high heeled shoes. I hear someone call out “Katniss Ever-ready.” Is it Max? I don’t know. All my focus is on Peeta as he grabs Lace by the hand and leads her through a set of swinging double doors. I follow them into a labyrinth of dark passageways, intersecting, and twisting this way and that. I soon lose sight of them in the darkness and I’m afraid that I might be lost in there forever. My feet hurt and I take off my shoes, holding them in one hand and using the other to feel my way along the passage walls.

Presently I hear what sounds like soft grunts. I follow the sound, listening carefully as it grows louder until I come to the end of the passage where it intersects with another. In one direction there’s darkness, but the other is flooded with light. But when I turn into the lit passage, relieved to have found a way out, I freeze with shock. There, standing directly under a wall sconce, and bathed in light, is Peeta and Lace. My brain registers every detail. I don’t know how, because I’m incapable of ordered thought. But like a camera, it records every image. Every nuance. And this is something I’d like so much to forget. Peeta’s back is to me. Lace is behind him, her back pressed against the wall. His pants are slack around his hips. Her dress is rucked up around hers, one leg wraps his waist. His hand squeezes her breast, while the other is tangled in her hair. His face is mashed against hers, mouths working feverishly together. His hips thrust rhythmically into hers. With every thrust, her leg tightens around him. With every thrust, one, or both of them, grunt. My shoes slip from my fingers, and fall to the ground with a clatter. Peeta slowly turns his head in my direction, but his hips keep thrusting. He’s grinning at me. “Katniss,” he says. “Why so shocked? You’re so . . . pure.” Lace is mocking. “So pure,” she repeats scornfully. “No wonder he turned elsewhere.” I turn heel and run, back into the dark where I don’t have to see such things. “Virgin, virgin, stupid, stupid virgin,” Lace calls after me. I wake sweating and with a racing heart. It was just a dream, I tell myself, just a dream. But at the mayor’s party they really did disappear behind a set of swinging double doors. I didn’t dream that. It happened. And Peeta did leave with Lace after Max spun me around when we danced. And Lace’s hair was mussed when they eventually returned to the party. I’m convinced now that if I had followed them, I would have caught them having sex. Not just making out. But having sex. Probably in some dark corner somewhere, rutting like animals, and grunting like the pig the Mellarks kept behind their shop. What else would they have been doing? Couldn’t even wait until they got home. How tacky! How disrespectful! I hate him! Hate him, hate him, hate him! Chapter 18 It’s fortunate that I don’t see Peeta until the day when school resumes. I’ve since calmed down and made myself see reason. It was only a dream, after all. I don’t know what they did behind those swinging double doors. But even if Peeta and Lace did sneak away for sex, it’s none of my business. There was never an understanding between us, and there certainly isn’t one now. Peeta’s free to have sex with whoever he likes. As am I. It’s of no comfort though, the thought of having sex with whomever I like. The only one I want to do it with is Peeta. As soon as I see him, I’m ashamed of myself. His open, honest face glows with pleasure when I emerge from my house. He’s waiting to walk with me into town, as he does every work day. None of this is his fault. I need to remind myself of it constantly. This jealousy of mine gets worse, not better as I hoped it would. I just want the torture to end. “Thanks for the cookies you left for me. They were delicious,” I say. Guilt makes me say the first kind thought that comes into my head. Peeta smiles at me. “You’re welcome. There’s a story behind those cookies. It’s an old family recipe, but do you think I could remember it?” He shakes his head. “I must have baked hundreds of them when I worked in the bakery. But I just couldn’t replicate it. Something was always missing. But then Dr Aurelius suggested that I stop trying. To just go through the motions and not think about it except to keep the final result in mind. So, I creamed butter with sugar, like I usually do when I make cookies, but when I went into the pantry for baking soda, I also found myself reaching for cream of tartar. And that was it! That’s what was missing. You don’t have snickerdoodles without it.” “Is that what they’re called? Snickerdoodles? I like the name. I ate almost all of them in a single sitting. Well, not almost all of them,” I add, in case I sound like the glutton I really am. “Haymitch helped.” “Dr Aurelius said that technique might help with regaining other memories. To re-enact them, without thinking about it too much, while I visualize what I do remember,” he says. “Maybe,” I say. “I guess it can’t hurt.” I don’t have high hopes, despite memories coming back. Not the way Peeta interprets everything. “How was the wedding?” Peeta asks. “It was good. Sateen got the wedding she wanted. Lots of tulle, lots of guests, lots of bridesmaids. And the Buttons were very welcoming. They had a dinner for me and showed me around 8. It’s changed a lot from how we remember it. I mean, how I remember it,” I quickly correct myself. “I remember quite a lot about 8, actually. Grey and depressing. Nothing but factories and tenements.” I nod. “That’s it.” A thought comes into my head. “Do you remember the Victory tour party?” “Yes. Not that there was anything particularly memorable about it. It was just as awful as the rest of them.” He doesn’t remember meeting Lace then. He’d mention it, if he did. “It’s much better for factory workers now,” I say. “Most of the tenements are gone, and they’ve been replaced with nice new apartments with courtyards. And there’s plenty of parks and gardens too. And shops of every kind. Lace would barely recognize it. Does she ever talk about going back, even to visit?”

“Lace doesn’t talk about 8. Too many painful memories, I guess.” I watch Peeta’s face carefully for any change of expression, but there is none. My guess is that she still hasn’t told him. Haymitch either. “Yeah, I guess,” I say. And too much to hide, I silently add. I hitch the straps of my pack forward to ease some of the weight off my shoulders. It’s heavy with books I borrowed from the Matsons to read over the break. They’re training me to take a more active role in the classroom. At the moment I teach nature studies and assist Moira with the little ones. The Matsons want me to have a class of my own teaching first graders. They say it’s the next step. And needed too, with the school expanding as it is. “Here, let me take that,” says Peeta, taking the pack from me and lifting it to his own shoulders. “There’s no need,” I protest. But I’m happy to have Peeta carry it. My back feels deliciously light to be relieved of its burden. “Did Arthur enjoy the wedding?” Peeta asks. “Oh, um, I suppose,” I say, with a laugh. “He seemed to, although I don’t think social occasions in general are Arthur’s thing. Not unless there’s business contacts to be made, that is. Why do you ask?” I’m curious why Peeta wants to know. It was his sister’s wedding. And he’d be among people he had known for years. Why wouldn’t he enjoy it? “Just something Lace said. About how boring weddings are in 8 and she was glad she didn’t have to go. Lace loves parties so that’s really saying something. She seemed to think Arthur was in for a miserable time.” “Oh,” I say, considering it. It sounds like sour grapes to me. She’d know what kind of wedding Sateen would have. Lace is a long-standing friend of Arthur and Sateen’s and a member of the owner class herself. I’m certain she would have been invited if the circumstances were different. But, as things are, it would have been impossible. People like Aunt Paisley would have made mincemeat out of her. Maybe even boycotted the wedding if it was known she’d be there. How galling it must be that I got to go when she didn’t. Perhaps she’d imagined that I’d have a great fuss made over me too. But why single out Arthur, rather than me, for not having a good time? It would make more sense to hope that I’d be the one who’d be miserable. Unless . . . she thinks Arthur is interested in me. Sateen could have given her that impression. And she also saw Arthur and me having lunch together. Why, she’s jealous! Jealous that Arthur’s devotion might go to another. And to me, of all people. How ironic for Arthur, if that all he had to do to get Lace’s attention, was to appear to look elsewhere. “Well, I suppose Lace’s experience with weddings in 8 would be as a factory worker,” I say. “If they’re anything like the weddings in Seam, it would have been no big deal.” A trip to the Justice Building. A small celebration with close family and friends and maybe some cake, if it could be afforded. And then escorting the newlyweds to their new home to sing the traditional song as they crossed the threshold. The final ceremony, the toasting, was a private one. That was a typical Seam wedding. Again, I watch Peeta’s expression. There’s no change when I mention factory worker. “Yeah, I guess that would be it,” says Peeta, not looking entirely convinced. We walk in companionable silence for a little while. It’s a beautiful day. Clear blue skies, the snow glistening in the sunlight. It reminds me of other walks into town with Peeta before he was hijacked. He’d take me by the hand as we walked. It was part of the act, of course. We had to be seen to be lovers when we were in public. But it felt so natural, I was never aware that that’s what it was. I must have loved him then, without realizing it. The memory makes it that much harder for what I must do next. I can’t continue as things are. I want an end to it. I want no more dreams like I had the other night. I take a deep breath. Courage, Everdeen. “So, when are you and Lace getting married?” I ask brightly. Peeta appears startled and it takes a few moments for him to answer. “What? Married? I haven’t even thought about it. We haven’t known each other for that long.” “It’s almost a year since you started dating. My parents married after only a few months. Not that they dated, exactly, but you know what I mean. I just thought . . . well, the two of you seem to be very much in love. And when you’ve found the one you’re meant to be with . . .” I say, trailing off. “You think Lace is the one I’m meant to be with?” he asks, somewhat dubiously. “Well, I don’t know. Only you can answer that. But if you’re sure, and there’s no one else, I can’t see the point of dragging things out. We’ve both lost people close to us. Who knows how much time we have? Maybe we should grab what we can, while we can.” “I suppose you have a point. But marriage . . . it’s a big step to take. I don’t know what Lace thinks about it either.” “There’s only one way to find out.” Lace will jump at it. Married to the man of her fantasies, it’s a dream come true. “But she seems smitten with you. It’s the same for you, isn’t it? Love at first sight, being a good boyfriend more important than anything.” I can’t help sounding bitter at this, but Peeta doesn’t seem to notice. His brow is creased in thought. It’s the same expression he has when he’s trying to make sense of his tangle of memories. What’s real or not real. “I try to be a good boyfriend,” he says, uncertainly. “I don’t know. I’ll have to give it some thought. But you think it’s a good idea?” He looks intently at me, as if the answer is to be found in me somehow.

“It’s not about what I think, Peeta. It’s what you think. She’s the girl of your dreams, isn’t she?”

At this, Peeta seems more confused than ever. Worse, he looks almost panicked. Suddenly I’m sorry I brought the subject up. I was sure I was only voicing what Peeta was already thinking. It was just to give him a nudge in the direction he was going in anyway. And to give him permission to do as he wanted, in case his need to hold on to my friendship was holding him back, as mine did with Gale. “Look, I’m sorry I mentioned it. It’s none of my business who, or when, you marry. Please forget what I said. I have marriage on the brain from Sateen’s wedding, that’s all.” Peeta nods, and we lapse into silence again. But the sense of peacefulness has gone. I have this awful feeling that I’ve planted a seed – a seed that might not have existed before. Peeta is vulnerable to suggestion. I hope I haven’t steered him in the wrong direction. I reap what I’ve sown a week later. It’s late on a Sunday morning when Haymitch comes in to my house unannounced. I’ve just returned from a hunt, my game bag still in hand, and eager to change out of my clothes as soon as possible. I’d slipped and fallen in a puddle of melting snow. My back is sodden.

He gets right down to it. “I have some news about Peeta. You’ll want to sit down for this.”

“Just tell me,” I say. I dump my game bag onto the kitchen bench and turn to face him. He looks worried and that makes me worried. “Has something bad happened?” “You could say that. He’s got himself engaged. To Lace.” I stare blankly at him. “Right,” I finally get out. I clutch the back of a kitchen chair to keep myself steady. “Well, I suppose it’s not unexpected. It’s been coming for some time. As long as Peeta is happy.” “Oh, he’s happy, alright. He’s whistling about the place, he’s so happy. He was at my house almost at the crack of dawn to announce the news. I’ve been waiting for you to return so I could warn you before he comes here.” “Thank you, but Peeta and I don’t visit each other’s homes anymore. Not without an invitation,” I say. My voice sounds abnormally calm. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I should be devastated. But I just feel numb. “Katniss, it’s alright to be upset. I know it’s a shock. But we have to stop it. He can’t marry in the state he’s in. To anyone. And we barely know the girl, except that she’s lied about who she is,” he says. “Maybe Dr Aurelius will talk to him. But I think we should let him be. I’ve interfered enough. I just make him worse, whatever I do.” I did this. This is my fault. I thought I was doing him a favour. But I was just being selfish, like I always am. I wanted an end to it. Not for Peeta’s sake, but my own. And I got my wish. I put the thought of marriage into his head, just as I put the notion of her being his girlfriend into his head. “He loves Lace. I know he does. And I think she loves him,” I say. “We have to let him find his own happiness, whether we agree with it or not. He deserves that, after everything.”

“What he deserves is to be protected from himself until he’s well enough to make that kind of decision on his own,” Haymitch argues. He runs a hand through his hair and begins pacing the room. “Fuck, it was those tapes. I should have been more forthcoming with him. Came straight out with it, instead of fucking around, only revealing bits of information at a time. I’m sorry, Katniss, but this is my fault.”

This gets my attention. How could it be both our fault? “Why? What’s been on the tapes?” “Until recently, nothing much that involved you. Aurelius had to change the sequence when you dropped out, so there was a delay before he got back into it. But then what he mostly sent was Peeta’s own game before you allied with him. How he got in with the careers, the two of you in the training centre, that sort of thing. But the last one . . . It was the interview you both did with Caesar after you won the Games. He asked if it was part of the act. And I told him that you were acting, but he wasn’t. And then, later on the train journey home, why I told the two of you to keep up the act a little longer. That it was to give you an out – so that you wouldn’t have to keep up the pretense once the cameras were gone.” I think back to the Caesar Flickerman interviews after Peeta and I won the Games. I’d played the romance angle for all it was worth, and thought Peeta was doing the same. But what had been a strategy for me, had been real for him. When the truth came out, it caused a rift that wouldn’t heal until we were forced back into each other’s company for the Victory Tour. “What did he say?” I ask. “Nothing! Not one question, except to ask if I wanted another drink. But his face had gone white, as if he’d just received bad news. And then he left the room. And when he came back a few minutes later with a pot of tea, he was normal again.” He stops his pacing for a moment. “I don’t even drink tea,” he adds as an afterthought.

“But that shouldn’t have upset Peeta. He knew I was acting, and last I heard, he thought he was too. The worst that could have happened is that he’s gone back to thinking it was an illusion, rather than an illusion of an illusion. You know, that he did feel love for me, but it was based on an illusion.” I give my head a shake to clear it. “I mean, it still doesn’t count. And, even if it did, I don’t see how it would make him propose to Lace.” I hear a note of hysteria creep into my voice. The numbness is starting to leave and feeling is coming back. Despite my wet, dirty clothes, I unhook my fingers from the back of the chair and sit down on its padded seat. My legs are having trouble keeping me up. “He could have dropped the illusion thing altogether and now believes that what he felt for you was real, even if you didn’t return it,” he says. “But that still doesn’t explain anything. Even if he thinks it was real, it doesn’t mean he still feels it. Why would he marry Lace, if he’s in love with me?” And then it dawns on me. He wouldn’t. Peeta is following his own inclinations. He wouldn’t marry one girl, if he was in love with another. He has his parent’s unhappy marriage as an example of how disastrous that can be. The girlfriend thing, the proposal, was simply Peeta’s need for my permission to move forward. Without his memory, he would have had no way of deciphering the real from the not real. So, he looked to me to either confirm or deny before he made any decision that would contradict the stories he’s been told. Haymitch’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Who knows what’s going on in the boy’s head? All I know is that what’s in there is either incomplete or distorted. This method of feeding him odd bits of his past hasn’t worked.” He stops his pacing to stand in front of me. “You have to tell him. Everything. Hold nothing back.” “No! No. Absolutely not,” I say in horror. “I told you. He’s not in love with me. He told me he’s not. Hasn’t it been bad enough that I’ve had to watch him with Lace? That everyone I meet wonders why Peeta dumped me for her? Now you want to add another layer of humiliation. He’ll just tell me it’s her he loves. Peeta mightn’t have all his memories, but he knows what he feels. I know him. He wouldn’t marry unless he had given his whole heart. He saw how miserable his parents were.” Haymitch snorts in frustration. “He wouldn’t if he was thinking straight. Well, I can’t force you. But I’m going to do everything in my power to dissuade him. If you decide to get on board, let me know.” And with that, Haymitch is gone. I sit awhile, lacking the energy to get up. Maybe, if I stay in this chair, and not move, the world can go on as its always done, while I can just sit here and not have to deal with it. It takes a concerted effort to rise and trek upstairs to my bedroom to change out of my damp clothes. From my window, I see white clouds scud across blue skies. I hear birds chirp, as if in celebration of the coming spring. My eyes drift downwards, to the road outside my house. Peeta is there, striding jauntily towards the town. He’s happy. Shouldn’t that be enough? But when I lift my hand to my cheek, it comes away wet. Chapter 19 Before I see Peeta the next day, I work hard at composing myself. I want to be convincing when I tell him that I’m delighted that he and Lace are to marry. I’d seriously thought of sneaking out of the Village half an hour earlier to avoid him, but then decided it would only delay the inevitable and it was better to get it over and done with. So here he is, waiting in his usual spot, at the usual time, sporting a bashful smile and, weirdly, sunglasses. It’s eight in the morning and a dull day. When the usual pleasantries have been exchanged, Peeta, after a nervous cough, announces his engagement to Lace. “There’s going be a toasting. I’ve asked Lace to marry me.” I fix a smile to my face. If I pretend that I’m in front of a Capitol audience, I can get through this. It doesn’t have to be real. People see what they want to see. “That’s wonderful news!” I gush. “Congratulations.” “Thanks,” he says. “I know it’s sudden. But I feel so good when I’m with her. And, as you said, we don’t know how much time any of us have, so we should make the most of it. Besides, how many times does a person get to fall in love?” I should be used to it by now. But it’s like I’ve been erased. And it hurts. “It varies. For most people, more than once,” I say. I don’t think Peeta hears, or if he did, he ignores it, because he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “Lace’s family is coming in August, so we’ll have the wedding then. Her brother and his wife are already here, and there’s a friend in 8 who’ll want to come. So that’s quite a few people from her side. Not many from mine, though,” he says sadly. “Delly’s the only childhood friend I still have and she’s in 6. I want to ask Haymitch to stand for me. Eight has a tradition where one member from each family welcomes the new member into it. Haymitch is the closest I have to a father now.” I don’t remember that tradition at Sateen’s wedding. Perhaps it was during the speeches. There were so many that I tuned out on most of them. “I’m sure Haymitch would be happy to,” I say. Haymitch won’t be, but I’m positive he won’t refuse. He’ll think it’s more important to be there for Peeta than ever, but he’ll be fighting it all the way. “This is where it gets awkward,” Peeta says. “I know it’s strange with the star-crossed lovers and everything. And technically you are my ex-fiancée. But Katniss, I’d love you to be there. If it’s OK with you, that is.” I can hardly believe my ears. What, now it gets awkward? I’ve been living with awkward since he got back to 12. That horse bolted long ago. His open affection for Lace, their frequent public appearances, his sidelining of me in preference for her. He can’t not know this, if he’s worried how their wedding will affect me. And technically I’m his ex-fiancée? I was his fiancée, no technically about it. From some place deep inside, something rises and expands, like yeast in bread dough. I knew this meeting would take all my self-control to get through it. But I thought I’d be battling heartbreak. Instead, I’m fighting anger. “Look,” he continues, “I understand if it would be strange or uncomfortable for you to be there. I don’t even know if it’s proper to ask you, given how I used to feel about you, even though I don’t remember it.” Not proper to ask me? Had he really thought about not inviting me? I thought we were friends. “I won’t be offended if you say no, and I only want you to be there if you feel comfortable. I had to ask you, because if you do feel OK with it, I’d like you to be there. But either way, you’re still one of my best friends.” One of his best friends. Thanks, Peeta. I swallow hard and force a smile. “Of course, I’ll be there, Peeta,” I say, as evenly as I can. “In fact, I can’t wait to dance at your wedding. And there’s no need to worry about me feeling uncomfortable. I’m very comfortable with how things have turned out.” Peeta’s bright smile falters. I can’t see his eyes because they’re hidden behind his sunglasses. “Do you mind if I run ahead?” I ask. “I forgot that I need to be at the school a bit earlier today. Staff meeting.” Before he can answer, I’m halfway down the road. When I get closer to the town, alternative routes open up, and I take one that Peeta doesn’t use. My feet slow to a walk, and I take deep breaths to calm myself. Grr! The arrogance of the man! To assume that I’m so broken up over our former engagement that I can’t bear to be present at his wedding. Well, of course I have to be at the wedding. People will talk even more if I’m not. But after that I want nothing more to do with him. Or her. And I’m not leaving the Village either. They can be the ones to leave if they find it too awkward. Both of them belong in the town, anyway. My anger helps sustain me throughout most of the day, preventing any descent into melancholy, but by the time I’ve come home and eaten my dinner, I’m feeling down again. It really is over then. I’ve lost the boy with the bread. My dandelion in the spring. The boy who said that without me, he’d never be happy again.

The phone rings, jarring me back to the present. It’s Dr Aurelius. An unusual time to call, since it’s after hours. Peeta must have called him and told him what happened today. He’s checking up on me, to make sure I’m OK. I give my side of it, convinced that Dr Aurelius will disapprove.

“What did you feel?” he asks. I dig around inside myself and find the usual emotions when I think of Peeta. Longing, sadness, hopelessness, and anger too. But there’s something else. Something new. “I felt . . . empowered,” I say, finally finding the right word. What I said to Peeta wasn’t the truth, but I’m determined that it will be. And what’s more I said it to him. It was me declaring my independence. And it felt good. Really good.

“Maybe that’s something to think about, going forward,” he says.

Dr Aurelius’ words stay with me over the following days. It occurs to me that perhaps this is what he’s had me working towards with Peeta. To come to a place where I can be at peace with how things are and even see it as a positive thing in my life. And, I have to admit, Peeta’s not the boy I fell in love with. Something has been lost along with his memories. A certain perceptiveness and sensitivity. Well, when it comes to me, at least. Haymitch isn’t happy with me. Peeta told him of my reaction to his upcoming nuptials. “I’m trying to get him to see that he’s doing the wrong thing, and you’re telling him you can’t wait to do the funky chicken at his wedding.” “I did not say that! I said – “ Haymitch ignores me. “He’s had a relapse. He’s right back to how he was. Worse. At least then he approached everything with caution. Now he’s rushing headlong into this thing as if his life depends on it.” He looks at me accusingly. “Did you know he’s booked the ballroom at the Town Hall?” That’s where the Mayor’s party was held. Maybe he wants to sneak off with Lace during the reception for a bit of post-wedding sex. “It will cost him a fortune. And this girl seems to be encouraging him, as if he’s a bottomless pit of money. He’s paying for every one of her relatives to come out too.” To be fair to Lace, the Capitol did exaggerate how wealthy Victors were. But in fact, we got enough money to keep up appearances, but not so much that we could accrue large sums of it. If what Haymitch says is true, then what Peeta has planned, will wipe out most, if not all, of his savings.

I run into Lace a few days later. I’m on my way out of the Village when I hear her call my name. There’s no way to avoid her. She probably wants to gloat. I school my face into an impassive mask and wait until she catches up to me. “Katniss! I’m so glad I caught you,” she says, clutching a hand to her chest. It takes a few moments for her to catch her breath. “I’ve been wanting to thank you.” I frown in confusion. “For what?” Lace beams at me. “For agreeing to be in the wedding. Peeta was afraid you’d find it too awkward. You know, with your past together as the star-crossed lovers.” She slips her arm through mine and I fight the temptation to throw it off. “I’m so glad he did ask you and you agreed to come. It means so much to him. He holds you in such high regard.”

High regard? Is that what Peeta feels for me now? High regard is respect and admiration, but it’s not affection or friendship. I guess I should have expected it. There’s been a steady downward progression, from love object to a “one of” friend to – what is it now? – a national monument?

I take a hard look at the woman who’s clutching my arm. She’s smiling her girlish smile, and laughing her pearly laugh. She’s very friendly all of a sudden. She’s never come across as sincere to me, and she doesn’t now. There’s more to it than relief that I’m no longer a threat. This is just too much, too soon. She’s rubbing it in. Even to repeating Peeta’s words that I’d find it too awkward. They’ve both been carrying on in front of me for months and they didn’t care then. You’d almost think they were hoping it would be, they love talking about it so much.

I can do two things. I can go along with it, and keep my true thoughts to myself, as I have mostly done so far. Or I can take control. Like I did with Peeta earlier in the week.

I hug her arm to my side and place my free hand over hers. “Of course, I’ll be there,” I say, as if the alternative is just too ridiculous to contemplate. “To be honest, it didn’t even occur to me that it might be awkward until Peeta mentioned it. I just hope it’s not awkward for him. Or for you.” Her smile slips a little. I lean in closer, and lower my voice, as we if are girlfriends sharing a secret. “People got very emotionally attached to the star-crossed lovers. Some might not take it well, especially if they see you as having broken us up. You know how people love to talk, and throw around blame. They’ll probably hate Peeta too. But I’m sure you’ll cope. After all, it’s nothing you haven’t faced before, Tilly.” Lace tries to pull away but I tighten my hold to prevent her escape. “You see, you need me to be seen at your wedding having a good time. Because any hint that I’m heartbroken over it, like staying away, will make people hate you even more. And I know what happened in 8 and who you really are. But don’t worry, I’ve no intention of exposing you. It’s really no one’s business. But it is Peeta’s, and if you don’t tell him soon, I will.” She pulls harder this time and I loosen my grip. I’ve said almost everything I want to say. She stands a few feet away, her bright mahogany hair emphasizing her pallor, and two spots of anger rouging her cheeks. “One last word of advice,” I continue. “We Victors aren’t as rich as the Capitol had everyone believe. So, unless you want to start married life with nothing left in the kitty, I suggest you try to curtail Peeta’s spending on this wedding. Bakers don’t earn much, you know. And there’s talk of stopping our pension.” There isn’t really, but the opportunity to wind up Lace even more is too good to pass up. I’ve felt powerless for so long. It feels so good to take some of it back. I give her my best fake smile. The one I perfected for the Capitol. “Well, have a nice day. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. Afterall, we’re going to be neighbours!” And leaving her with that cheery thought, I turn my back and head out for the town. I want to punch the air in triumph, but it’s not long before the euphoria of victory fades. There’s no getting away from it. Lace is the real winner. She’s got Peeta. Max is already at the pub when I get there. It’s become a regular Saturday night outing. Sometimes Moira or Milo join us, but most often they don’t, so it’s just Max and me and anyone we get talking to. Lately, Arthur meets us here too. I’ve decided to take him under my wing and make sure he gets out regularly. I think Sateen would like it, and without her watchful eye, I’m more comfortable in his company now. I feel a little guilty too. Without my interference, this wedding might not be happening. I’ve ruined Arthur’s chances as well as my own. But then, maybe they never existed in the first place. Arthur seems to think so. He took the news with magnanimity, as if he were expecting it. Max, with his gregarious personality, has also managed to draw Arthur out more, and we discover that there’s more to him than just business. He’s a great reader and can speak on a wide range of subjects. He likes puzzles of all kinds, especially ones that involve piecing things together. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at tailoring. But most surprising of all, we discover that he’s an avid fan of “One Life to Live.” Of course, Max has to scoff. “That rubbish? I don’t know how anyone with more than half a brain can stand to watch it. I mean, who came up with the stupid idea of oil barons? There’s no oil drilling in 5. It’s all hydro and wind turbines. As for fraternizing between the districts, there was a great solid wall between 5 and 11. You couldn’t even smuggle a banana through it. And that they spent their free time attending balls and going to the theatre?” He gives his head a shake in disbelief. “Fuck, those fools in the Capitol would believe anything.” “You seem to know a lot about it for someone who doesn’t watch it,” I point out. Max is taken aback for a moment. “Moira watches it. I can’t help it if I happen to be in the room at the same time.”

“I actually find it a fascinating insight into the Capitol psyche.” says Arthur, as he puts down his drink. He leans forward with the same intent expression he gets when he’s about to explain the complexities of factory management. I think we’re in for a lecture.

“So, what do think of the characters?” I say quickly to distract him. “That Ginger’s a real bitch.” “I think Ginger’s misunderstood,” says Arthur. “She’s seen as the villain because she appears to stand between Celia and Blake, when in actuality the only thing keeping them apart are themselves. In fact, in some ways she’s a victim.” “How do you figure that?” I ask. As far as I can see, Ginger is in for what she can get. She’s even so low as to pretend the baby she’s carrying is Blake’s.

“Because Blake is using her for validation and as a substitute for Celia. He’s not really in love with her, even though he might tell himself that he is. His self-image is of a man who’d be too honourable to use a woman like that. His name isn’t Knight for nothing.” “But it’s not like it’s not mutual,” I argue. “Isn’t Ginger using him too? She wants him for his status and his connections. And she’s not even faithful to him. Not that I have a high opinion of Blake, either. He tells Celia he loves her and then look how he shows it. No wonder Celia is a mess and finds it hard to trust men. They could all turn out like Blake, for all she knows. One minute declaring undying love, the next getting it on with the town floozie.” “Floozie?” laughs Max. “I didn’t think anyone still used that word. Look, Celia told him she wasn’t in love with him, so what was he to do? Be a hermit for the rest of his life? It’s really her own fault.” “It is not!” I say hotly. “She was confused. She was an innocent young girl with no experience at that sort of thing. Blake caught her unawares. And she broke it off for him. His parents would never have allowed it. The Knights hate the Chastleys.” “Well, how was he to know? And what’s he supposed to think with all those men hanging around? From his point of view, she’s moved on.” “But she hasn’t slept with any of them. None of them have touched her heart like he has. And he . . . he’s about to get married. He just gave up on her. He could have given it another try, at least. He didn’t stop once to consider why she did it.” I don’t know why, but I’m on the verge of tears. I take a gulp of my drink in an attempt to cover it up. Max leans back in his chair and regards me quizzically over his glass. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. As if knows something that I don’t. “He’s not a mind reader. And she doesn’t act like she’s in love with him. Not when she’s around him, anyway.” “How can she? When he’s got a girlfriend that he flaunts in front of her at every opportunity? She’s trying to do the right thing, by letting him go. And anyway, how could she ever feel the same way about him, now that he’s been with Ginger?” “She can’t.” says Arthur quietly. I’d forgotten he was here. “It changes their relationship irrevocably. If they do get back together, it must be as two different people.”

“I don’t think they can get back together. Not unless he breaks up with Ginger. Celia won’t say anything while he’s with her. I know I wouldn’t,” I say. “Celia just needs a good fuck,” says Max. I fix him with a steely look. “What? It’s obvious, isn’t it? What’s Celia done but mope around the place, rejecting every man that shows an interest in her? As far as she knows, it’s over with Blake. And her reasons for breaking with him are still valid. So why not get on with her life? Blake did.”

“Blake’s not happy. Not really. I can’t say that “getting on with it” has done him much good,” I say.

“No, but at least he’s tried another relationship, even if it is doomed to fail. Celia needs to do the same. Look, as far as she knows, Blake is happy with Ginger, right? So she’s achieved her goal. And, if by some miracle, they do get back together, at least they’ll bring the same amount of experience to it. Otherwise he’ll always be the one who broke faith, and she’ll be the one who didn’t try her wings when she had the chance.”

“I don’t know. I think if you’re going to get involved with someone, it shouldn’t be to get over someone else. That’s what Blake’s done. Arthur, what do you think?”

Arthur blinks, as if he’s surprised to be asked, but he gives a considered response as he always does. “I think Celia should do whatever feels right. And she may not know what that is until the moment strikes.”

“Be adaptable, in other words. Be open to possibilities,” I say.

Arthur nods. “Yes,” he says. “Something like that.” He gazes pensively into his glass of red wine. I wonder if this talk has reminded him of Lace, and that this is advice he gives to himself. In this moment, I resolve to help Arthur find those possibilities. It’s the least I can do.

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daedalcs · 6 years ago

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A study in Headcannons: Jean Masters edition

This is a compendium of all the headcannons I could find that I’ve posted on my blog and a few that I hadn’t managed to write out yet. Gives some finer details on Jean and overall adds to her story.

There is a small weathered brown leather sketchbook in the front left breast pocket of her work jacket that has a hand carved wooden pencil bound to the side. Inside the yellowing pages, you can find increasingly detailed sketches of the targets that she’s been given to kill. This book started when she had turned 18 and the first entry is of a stoic and serious looking man, this would be her father. It’s not particularly well drawn, though there’s one part of his face that she’s seemed to have spent the most time getting correct and it’s the piercing stare the man wears. A few of the drawings have color put in key places like lips, eyes, or facial tattoos though most are in regular pencil. Maxamillion’s sketch has a small note scratched onto the back that isn’t in Jean’s handwriting and it reads “Studying your target gets you one step closer to killing them.”

Jean had quite a few tattoos and one iron brand that had gotten taken off when she lost her arm. There is a dragon winding up the side of her thigh and across her ribs, along with an all-seeing eye on her right shoulder that is the mark of her company Trinity. These tattoos are the major identifying features of her along with a nasty healed bullet wound scar just below her navel.

Jean was actually entirely homeschooled by her father, and while she’s not a superstar at math she’s pretty intelligent in the street smarts sort of way. Max thought that practical skills were much more important than anything they were dishing out in school so he made a point to teach both his children the arts of protecting yourself, smooth talking, and hitting a target from a click away the basic stuff. So sure, she’s a smart gal but calculus is a mystery.

While her occupation and previous trauma have steeled her emotionally Jean is actually a soft person underneath all the walls and locks. Some part of her aches for a person to just hold her and tell her things will be okay. She internalizes a lot of emotions and guilt from her past and when it’s dark and quiet those thoughts and monsters crawl up out of the woodwork.

Night terrors and insomnia are common plagues of the woman keeping her from getting sleep a majority of the time. The few times that she’s had restful sleep is when she’s in the arms of someone else. And I’m not talking like a one night stand or anything like that, I mean that she trusts this person enough to just melt into their arms and fall asleep. Her work takes a lot out of her and she’s just tired.

Jean has two boats. One is currently dry docked in Morrocco while the other is a 67-meter superyacht by the name of the Sea Widow which is the base for most of Trinity’s mobile operations.

Jean is technically a multi-millionaire. With about 250 million in offshore accounts and floating among various proxy accounts so dirty money can’t be traced. For the most part, she lives rather lavishly.

Jean has been married twice. First one lasting for a few years before the toll of her lifestyle took too much out of the man and he divorced her and left the country. Jean abides by his wishes and does not keep tabs on him.

Her second husband had been a double agent and had her kidnapped and tortured for two weeks which ultimately ended in her losing her arm and her killing him after she’d escaped.

Jean has spinal compression from various hard falls and the connective tissue in her knees is pretty beat up. There are occasional phantom pains from her missing arm and the tissue around where the metal connects to her body gets irritated when not taken care of properly. Partial hearing loss in her left ear from an explosion. There are patches on her body where she has little feeling due to previous injuries, this is most prevalent on her back and left side.

For a minute she had a dependency on painkillers, though after some tough self-discipline Jean got herself away from them and now prefers not to take them if at all possible. She’s tried to stop smoking on several occasions but found that it just made her temper terrible and her hands shake with the withdrawals so she’s gotten down to half a pack a day.

If you were to look around Jean’s home you would notice that there’s a lot of spackled over patches here and there. This is because she forgets the strength of her metal arm from time to time and has put holes in the walls. One of the largest holes that had happened was when she had been trying to hang a painting and she put the entire hammer through the wall.

Weapon of choice is a Remington CSR, collapsible and powerful it’s great for both long and medium range. While the short range stuff is kept to super 625 .45 revolver ( just in case her target decided to hide behind a tank ) or a trusty KBAR knife that’s been lovingly sharpened and oiled.

Multilingual Jean can speak four languages fluently and a handful of others to a conversational level. English, Spanish, Russian, and Arabic are her main languages simply for business sake with those being the biggest contenders.

In the Monster Hunter verse, Jean is unable to fully die. She will sustain harsh enough injuries and enter a state of in between. Due to a pact that she’d made with the grim reaper in her younger years, though when her time finally comes and she fulfills her mission Jean is given just enough time to spend a few moments with her family then simply fade from existence.

Jean can play two instruments, guitar, and piano. She was taught how to play the guitar by her brother Stephan when she was younger, it kept her mind from other things and gave Stephan and her something to do together to avoid their father. The piano she had taught herself after she’d lost her arm in an attempt to gain finer finger dexterity back after the accident. The piano helped her combat the phantom pains that she experienced frequently in the beginning and it also allowed her to become used to the new appendage.

Not a day goes by that Jean doesn’t think about her brother. Stephan had been her support and guardian from her father’s rage and beatings for most of her childhood after their mother died. When he ran away after he turned 18 leaving the then 14 year old Jean alone with the husk of a man that was their father Jean never quite forgave him. It’s this acidic hole in her chest that burns her up inside. There are so many questions that she wants to ask him most of them starting with why. Why did he leave her without saying anything? Why didn’t he take her with him? Where did he go? Where did you go? Jean runs this old film reel over and over in her head at night

Jean wanted kids. She really wanted to be a better person for them and grasped for that white picket fence life for so long that when she had gotten shot in the stomach and had her internals so badly damaged that it ripped that away from her, the woman didn’t really ever recover. There are times where the assassin absently traces that scar on her stomach thinking about everything that could have been.

Dreams are less of night terrors and more like glimpses into a different life. Sometimes it’s hazy memories of picknicks with the whole family when her mother was still alive. Sometimes its visions of taking her kids to go see uncle Stephan who lives somewhere in the mountains. Though waking up is always the same, leaving this harsh ache in her entire body when she realizes that all of those dreams are just dreams.

There had been moments when Jean wished she failed in killing her father. Knowing that the consequences would have been her own demise she silently wonders what would have happened. If there was such thing as an afterlife could she have watched the man that had once been a rock for their family fall apart under the knowledge that he’d killed his only daughter and drove his son out of the home? Jean has always wondered.

#*|| .・。.・゜THE DEVIL YOU KNOW ・゜・。.MUSING #Some good information in here #super long post though #head cannons #headcannon

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holy-kpop-hoe · 6 years ago

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Between Sea Foam || Part 2

Disclaimer: Welcome to something I like to call “Bangtan Tales”. Between Sea Foam is based on “The Little Mermaid” by Hans Christian Andersen and the Disney version with the same name.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Mermaid!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Word Count: 2219

Warnings: none

Synopsis: You escape your prison and are now in a world you barely know, getting chased by people that will hurt you. You are happy for the storm that brought you to him.

(Big thanks to my girl @supersailorrapmon for being my beta for this chapter and my favorite girl @kpopcinnamonswirlroll for always being my beta and supporting me through this mess <3 Also a big thanks to @btssavedmylifeblr for saving me from the procrastination demon with her advice and kind words. Means a lot <3)

Prologue - Pt1 - Pt2 -

The rushing of a pair of shoes can be heard passing through the white and sterile hallways of the underground laboratory. The young man is slightly sweating, his thick-rimmed glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He stops in front of a large door, puts his glasses in place and cleans his sweaty palms on his dark jeans. He lightly brushes his knuckles on the wood, a voice firmly responding on the other side. He goes in. "I'm sorry for the long wait, Dr. Young I-" "Did you find them?"

A tall woman in her mid-thirties stands by the thick glass windows that show the bottom of the aquarium outside. Big and small water specimens swim carelessly in the big manmade habitat, all living in harmony. She's dressed impeccably in a black pencil skirt and purple blouse, her dark skin covered in shades of blue and green due to the water on the other side of the glass. Her manicured hand is against the window, almost as if petting the big octopus that is glued to it on the other side. The woman turns with a frown at the lack of an answer. "So, did the Flotts find them or not?" "Ursula, the situation is..." he sighs. "...complicated." She turns away from the glass windows and walks in his direction. "Keep the names for the bedroom, Namjoon. You know better than this." she stops mere centimeters away, one of her hands lightly touching his chest. "Now, tell me - Where are they?"

Namjoon gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down at the motion. Her brown eyes are piercing his own, and he knows it's better to just tell her than try to get around the matter. "They tried to stop Mark Tuan and the subject, but the van they escaped in crashed into the ocean." Her eyes wide and he continues. "Mark's dead and they couldn't find the girl's body." Dr. Young turns her back to the man, taking a deep breath. A headache was starting to form and she rubbed her temples, trying to collect her thoughts. "Well, that's a shame. That boy was a wonderful professional. Such a pity that he couldn't split his work from his feelings." she walks to her desk and takes a seat, crossing her legs. "Tell the Flott's to track that mermaid down. Preferably alive." "Ursula, plea-" "Dr. Kim, I think we're done here." her stern look makes him impossible to talk back. "You can go back to your work." Namjoon looks at the face of the woman he loves but doesn't comprehend. He knows better than to stress her more than she already is. "Yes, Dr. Young." And he leaves. -------------- The first thing you notice is the smells. They hit you in a wave that makes you take a deep breath. You recognize the strong scents of human male and another one that belongs to an unknown animal. You're lying on something soft and comfortable. You freeze. Whispered voices make their way to your sensitive ears and you don't dare to move a muscle. Maybe they will go away if you just stay still. "Hey hey, I think she moved!" exclaims a deep voice. The whispers stop and you hold your breath, fearing the worst. "Are you sure?" sounds another male voice. "She seems pretty dead to me." A smacking sound and a protest make you flinch. Are they fighting each other now? "Shut up, brat." "Fine." he hesitated. "Are we leaving her just sit here like this, though? All wet, tits out, fishtail on our couch? Shouldn't we - I don't know - cover her up or something?" You now know that three men surround you. A pain in your shoulder makes you shudder, and you hiss only to stiffen when you notice what you've done. The silence now would be deafening, if it wasn't for the loud breathing of what you suppose is the animal you can't identify yet. You slowly open one of your eyes, quickly closing it when you see four shadows right in front of you. "Hey." his voice is soft, calm. "We're not going to hurt you, I promise. You're safe here.” You keep your eyes closed, but relax a bit. You stay there in silence for a few minutes, thinking of what decisions to make. You don't know these men, and your experience with humans, in general, is not something you want to go through again. They might hurt you, or worse. But you also don't have many choices. You'll have to face them either way. So you open your eyes. Three men and something big and furry are looking at you. You don't move, and neither do they. One of the men, the shorter one, gets closer to you, hands up to show you he means no harm. He's quite attractive, with his black hair and full lips. You wait for his next move, your tail flexing in case you need to use it. He doesn't get any closer though. "Hey, how are you feeling?" he waits for an answer that never comes. "We found you passed out in the middle of the storm, so I brought you to our boat. You're safe here." You keep looking. "Jimin...I don't think she wants to talk." said the brunette, tall one. He is beautiful, and you lose yourself in his fine features. You look at the other man or, should you say, boy. He doesn't look older than you. This one is pretty too, with shaggy raven hair, big eyes and thin lips. You notice the tired look on his face and signs of stress. You wonder if he's sick. "Maybe she doesn't speak human." murmurs the younger boy. "Do fish - mermaids or whatever - know human talk?" You huff and glare at him, offended. You're no fish! They notice your reaction and the one who spoke to you first, Jimin, giggles a light laugh. "She may not speak, but she definitely understands us." he looks at you. “Excuse him, Jungkook doesn’t know how to talk to a lady.” You relax a bit more, almost certain they weren't a threat. The tall one gets close to you, hand stretched out, offering you a blanket. "To cover yourself." he says, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I’m Taehyung, by the way.” You accept it, holding it against your naked chest. Suddenly, the big ball of fur next to them comes to life and approaches you, sniffing. You stare at it, not quite sure what to do. Jimin quickly grabs the animal, afraid it might do something to scare you. "This is Max, the one to see you first. He's a good dog." You smile at the animal you now know is a dog. You had seen dogs in videos that Mark showed you, but they looked nothing like this one. You extend your hand to pet him as you've seen people do, and Max happily accepts your hand, rushing forward to lick your face. You giggle and continue to pet him. The men are still looking at you, curiosity in their eyes. "I noticed you got a bruise there." says Jimin. "Can I see it?" You look at your shoulder, where a big scratch opened your skin enough to draw blood. The area surrounding it is red and hot to the touch. You give him a nod in affirmation and he gets a little closer to you, eyes focused on your wound. “It doesn't look that bad, and I don't think you'll need stitches.” his fingers lightly graze the skin around it. “But it definitely needs to be cleaned.” You shiver at the skin contact, looking at his face. People don't usually treat you kindly, besides some exceptions, but these men were taking care of you. A part of you was still fearing for their intentions, but there was nothing in them that made you alert. Jimin is concentrated on his current task, cleaning and disinfecting the cut. Taehyung and Jungkook watch from the side, not quite sure what to do. “Ok, it's all fixed.” says Jimin. “You should be ok now.” and stands, giving you space. You notice how the younger has his gaze focused on your tail, a slightly freaked out expression on his face. His gaze caught your eyes and he quickly looks at the ground, ears turning red. The other one looks at you in a mix of fascination and curiosity. “How is this possible…” you hear him whisper. “What happened to you?” he asks, this time aloud and directly at you. You close your eyes and sigh, memories coming back to you in full force, now that you try to remember what happened. Your memories are still foggy, but you can clearly remember that Mark was shot, lost control of the van and crashed. You remember the feeling of falling and the sensation of the freezing waters when you fell into the ocean. After that, it was only darkness. And now you are here, in a stranger's boat. You sigh and look at Taehyung, your eyes starting to tear. “Oh, right… you don't speak.” he looks around and grabs something from a near table. “Do you know how to write?” and shows you a notebook. You nod fervently, stretching your hands in his direction. They had taught you how to write at the lab. The man gives you the notebook and a pen and you open it on a blank page. You immediately start writing everything down. Your name, where you were locked up before and how you got there. Your final words: Help me. You hand him the book, and the three of them get together to read what you wrote, eyes widen at your words. “Oh man, holy shit, this is for real!” “Are you sure they'll be looking for you?” asks Jimin. “Maybe they'll think you died in the crash.” You shake your head no. You know she will never stop looking. -------------- Jimin is back on deck, looking at the after storm sky. They, fortunately, got to the marina not long after rescuing Y/N. The storm wasn't as bad as it looked and he was glad for that. Stars shine in the clean dark blue sky, the marina quiet at that hour of the night. He couldn't stop thinking about what happened. "It feels unreal, right?" says a voice from behind. Jimin turns around to give a faint smile at Taehyung that stops next to him. He had given his room to the mermaid, preferring to sleep on the couch, and the exhausted girl fell asleep not long after hitting the pillow. Jungkook had run to his room as soon as the excitement of the newcomer died off, leaving Taehyung and Jimin alone to reflect on the recent events. "It feels like a dream." Jimin laughs, fingers brushing his hair. "I have a fucking mermaid sleeping in my bed!" "We gotta watch our backs." laughs Taehyung. "Now is mermaids, next thing we know we have the Kraken trying to sink us." Jimin looks at the brunette with wide eyes, proceeding to punch his arm. "Yah, don't say that!" he laughs. "My grandpa would haunt us for the rest of our lives." "What are we going to do about all this though?" "Well, we have to protect her, of course." says Jimin. "I know a guy that can help us." "You know a guy?" Taehyung laughs. "A mermaid specialist or something?" "Well... you know Min Yoongi?" "Crazy Min! Are you serious?" he scoffs. "The guy is batshit crazy!" "Yeah, but I think he can help us. I'm going to ask around for him tomorrow." "Well, good luck on that." Both men spend the next minutes sitting on the boat limits, just looking at the night sky and enjoying the silence and the smell of sea water. Jimin decides to break the quiet. "I didn't forget our talk, so don't get too comfortable." Taehyung lowers his head and stands up. "I think I'm going to bed." "Hey hey hey, not so fast!" Jimin grabs him by the elbow, making the other man stop and gaze at him with an annoyed look on his face. "C'mon Taehyung, just cut the shit." "Jimin, I said it before, it's none of your business." he tries to pull his arm from Jimin's grasp, but he doesn't let go. "I swear to God I will punch you, let me go!" "So tell me." he lets go. "Please, Tae." Taehyung closes his eyes and grunts in frustration. "Look, I don't know either ok?! One time we were good and the next time I see him he hates my guts." They lock eyes. "Happy?" "Not really." Jimin shrugs his shoulders. "There's something you're not telling me." "You're insufferable, you know that?" he's serious, with a shadow of a smile on his lips. "One of my best qualities, if I say so myself." says Jimin with a smirk. Taehyung turns his back and walks inside the sailboat. "Goodnight, asshole." "Yeah, you know you love me." his expression turns serious. "But Tae, for real, I'm not letting this go until you either tell me what's going on, or you fixed it. I want my friends back." Taehyung stops but doesn't turn. "Curiosity killed the cat." he sighs. "Goodnight, Jimin."

#bangtanarmynet #bts jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #jimin scenarios #bts scenarios #bts taehyung #bts fanfic #kim taehyung #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #Between Sea Foam #my writing

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