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eiloveir · 5 months ago

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𝖙𝖎𝖉𝖆𝖑 𝖜𝖆𝖛𝖊.

🔞 definitely ain’t for minors (contains frequent strong language and alludes to sexual content)

none are affiliated with the canon naruto series; this is solely an alternate universe of my own creation, purely fictional and set in a modern context compared to the original manga and anime plot.

pairing: uchiha itachi x female reader

gently bathing the streets in hues of reddish neon, an almost beautiful ambiance enveloped tokyo, a city that lived day and night. a woman glided with grace and elegance amidst the steady stream of people. everywhere she went, her appealing appearance attracted admiring looks from those nearby. driven by a thirst for attention, excitement, and power, she smirked quietly beneath her veil of black mascara. she had mastered the art of overcoming life’s challenges by leveraging her beauty in a society that often rewarded charm and appearance.

she understood the harsh realities of their world: those with the face of an angel were granted privileges others could only dream of. it was a brutal truth that even when harboring hatred or committing crimes, they could escape consequences with a mere flutter of their eyelashes.

her beauty was her shield, her weapon, her means to an end.

her heels clicked in time with the pavement as she moved, her movements purposeful yet worn out. she was surrounded by a plethora of sounds and images from the city, yet she didn’t lose focus because she knew where she was going. she eventually found herself at her designated spot after what seemed like hours of dealing with the streets that resembled a maze. she took a moment to compose herself before skillfully removing a phone from her sling bag.

“dei, are you there?” she inquired, her voice barely above a whisper.

the connection crackled, and after a moment of silence, a voice responded tersely, “hm. what is it?” she grimaced and rolled her eyes, a subtle display of frustration meant as a signal that her task was nearing completion, yet all she received was a nonchalant nod in return.

irritated, she demanded, “what am i supposed to do here, idiot?”

“didn't the boss brief you?” deidara asked, his voice is steady with amusement. her frustration seemed to amuse him rather than bother him. “so, are you already there?”

“god, deidara, just tell me!” she commanded firmly, her tone uncompromising. deidara chuckled softly, clearly enjoying her irritation.

“y/n, you need to infiltrate that place. the club is owned by kara. your mission is to gather evidence to bring them down. they’re our rivals, and you know how things work in the mafia world.” deidara’s explanation was concise, devoid of hesitation. almost as an afterthought, he added, “don’t worry, i believe someone’s already there to assist you.”

she exhaled slowly, her annoyance simmering beneath the surface. the implication that she needed help stung her pride. it seemed the leader’s decision was not without some disregard for her capabilities; she prided herself on being competent and self-sufficient.

“it’d better not be hidan.”

she prepared herself for the challenge ahead. glancing at her phone one last time before returning it to her purse, she straightened up and made her way towards the club’s entrance. above, colorful lights flickered ominously. with her senses sharp and her mind focused, she was ready to step into the lion’s den.

the game was on, and she intended to play by her rules.

pausing for a moment in the midst of the crowd, she took in her surroundings. her eyes scanned the scene: older men leering at dancing women with predatory gazes, friends sharing a joint enveloped in a cloud of smoke, and a couple lost in a passionate kiss cheered on by their friends.

nothing appeared overtly suspicious yet.

she ascended the stairs towards the second floor, where secrets might lurk. just as she was about to climb, a hand unexpectedly tapped her shoulder. she turned to see a man, visibly intoxicated but well-dressed, not much older than herself.

“oi, deepa, do your damn job! boss will kick your ass!” a red-haired man suddenly appeared beside him with a commanding voice that cut through the noise.

boss? she wondered, intrigued by the possibility of a potential asset in her investigation.

“don't interfere, code,” deepa retorted sharply, pushing the red-haired man aside to approach her with a drink. she hesitated, cautious of the drink’s contents, but accepted it with a feigned smile. perhaps playing along could work to her advantage.

“thank you,” she purred, adopting a coy grin as she prepared to adopt a new persona. “but what about him?” she teased, gesturing towards the red-haired man, mischief twinkling in her eyes.

“damn it, you’re insufferable.” code muttered to himself, glaring at deepa, flipping him off, and ruffling his hair in frustration before walking away.

she found herself face-to-face with deepa, the man she intended to exploit for her ends. his invitation to retire to a private room seemed to be an attempt to lure her into a familiar situation. yet, she maintained her charade with a smile. as they settled onto plush sofas, deepa poured drinks, offering one to her.

“so, what’s a pretty girl like you doing here?” he asked, his compliment catching her off guard.

“can’t girls have fun?”

clearly enjoying her banter, deepa smiled at her witty response. “of course. you’re welcome here.” he said, pouring himself another drink. he extended another offer to her, though she refused to sip from the glass, knowing they might be poisoned.

“you know, i’ve never seen you here before,” deepa said after a moment, breaking the silence. “are you new in town?”

she shook her head slightly, projecting a shyness. “just passing through,” she responded firmly yet gently. “i heard there are some exciting spots around here.”

“and what do you find exciting?” deepa chuck as he leaned back, studying her intently.

lowering her gaze playfully, she murmured, “you know, good music, interesting company,” she paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “and perhaps a few surprises.”

he grinned, clearly enjoying her company. “surprises? i like surprises,” he said, locking eyes with her. “and i guess you do too, otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

raising her gaze, she met his with a playful glint. “you could say that. and what about you? you seem to know this place well.”

“you could say i have a vested interest in this place, i’m responsible for its operation, after all.” he replies, swirling his own drink in his glass.

"so, you’re the boss, huh? that makes sense, considering how well you know the place.” with slightly raised eyebrows, she pretends to be surprised. she just caught the largest fish to aid her in her quest. with slightly raised eyebrows, she pretends to be surprised.

deepa chuckled softly, amused by her assumption. “let’s just say i have a... role in the operations here,” he corrected her. “i’m not the official owner, but i do have a fair amount of influence.”

bingo.

as y/n prepared to advance her mission by cornering him, an abrupt and silence fell over the room. in an instant, he moved swiftly behind her, pressing her against the sofa with a deadly quickness. stepping onto the back of the sofa, he loomed over her, the cold barrel of a gun unforgiving against her temple.

his breath was hot on her neck as he whispered, “you’ve played a convincing game of innocence so far, but i’ve always had a sharp eye for deception.”

heart palpitating, y/n’s thoughts whirled as she considered what to do next. though she had been waiting for this moment, the realization that he was so close still made her shudder. remaining composed, she cocked her head slightly, letting her hair cascade down like a curtain to partially veil her face from his inquiring stare.

“funny,“ she replied softly, her voice laced with confidence that masked the tension within her. “i could say the same about you.”

deepa’s grip tightened on her shoulder, a subtle warning of his control over the situation. “don’t mistake my curiosity for ignorance. who sent you here, and what do you want?”

y/n stayed composed, her thoughts racing to reassess her strategy. when she was this close to getting the information she needed from him, she could not afford to give away too much. she answered his focused look with a measured glance, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered how to respond.

“does it matter?” she countered smoothly, her tone measured with defiance. “you’ve clearly taken an interest in me. why spoil the fun with unnecessary questions?”

his fingers tightened on her shoulder before he released her, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. he straightened up, his expression hardening as he regarded her with suspicion.

“you’re playing a dangerous game.” he warned, his voice low but firm.

y/n leaned back against the sofa, her posture relaxed yet poised for any sudden movement. “aren’t we all?” she quipped, her words a reminder of the balance they both maintained in the world they inhabited.

before deepa could respond, the door to the private room swung open abruptly, startling them both. standing in the doorway was a tall man with long raven-black hair, his silhouette imposing against the dim light of the bar beyond. his manner emanated an authority that immediately altered the atmosphere in the room.

“deepa, you should know better than to handle your guests so roughly.” the man spoke—a calm yet authoritative voice.

deepa’s gaze flickered between y/n and the newcomer, his jaw tightening with restrained frustration. “who the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice edged with disbelief.

the man’s eyes, dark and piercing—met deepa’s with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

“i’m here to ensure she gets what she came for.”

y/n didn’t have any idea who this man was, but she played along—better than having someone pull the trigger of their gun on her head. she looked at the man, examining his face; she didn’t recognize him at all. but thanks to him, deepa’s attention was diverted.

“y/n of the akatsuki, you surely didn't come here unprepared, did you?” deepa asked, her heart skipping a beat with a sinister edge as he spoke her name. it was unsettling that her membership in the akatsuki was acknowledged; she had never disclosed it to anybody outside the group.

“you’re underestimating me, aren’t you?” she said confidently, getting closer to his face. she grabbed his hair and yanked it, making him wince in pain. “bitch.”

y/n cautiously stepped away from deepa, feeling a sudden coldness against her arm—a sharp pain from his stab. shock momentarily froze her, her mind struggling to grasp the sudden violence. “when did he?”

before she could react, a gunshot rang out, breaking the tense silence. the sound reverberated in the club, blending with screams and the abrupt cessation of music that intesified the panic that gripped the air.

her eyes widened as she saw the man, gripping a blazing gun with a tense expression. her voice shook involuntarily, confusion clouding her thoughts. “what have you done?”

“you’ve already messed this up,” he retorted sharply, drawing his gun swiftly. his intense stare unnerved her. ignoring her questions, the man grabbed her arm and guided her through the panicked crowd of the club. “let’s go before they catch us.”

the earlier atmosphere of the club had collapsed into anarchy within. screams that were high in pitch with the smell of alcohol and perspiration. the unexpected hush that followed the music’s abrupt cessation, which emphasizes the seriousness of the situation—fueled panic like a wildfire.

a police megaphone exploded, sending a strong voice resounding off the walls with its urgency among the chaotic scene. the words hung heavily in the air. “this is the police! immediate evacuation is mandatory! leave now to avoid any involvement!”

the man hurried y/n through the crowd and out into the parking lot, his focus solely on escape.

as they drove away, y/n tried to collect her thoughts, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. glancing at the man beside her, she finally spoke, “you can slow down now.” eyes flicking from the road to his unreadable expression. the changed from city life to the quiet of suburbia was abrupt; the car suddenly parked in a secluded spot surrounded by tall trees and silence.

the man complied silently, cutting the engine with a decisive click. stepping out into the cool night air, he opened his door, the quiet rush of the breeze filling the silence. as she took in their surroundings, y/n trailed behind, her footsteps leaving gentle imprints on the ground. contrary to the earlier chaos, her breath formed little clouds in the cold air.

the shock of the sudden events began to subside, replaced by curiosity and a need for answers. turning to face the man, y/n’s voice broke the quiet of the night. “how do you know this?”

for a little period, the man stared at her, his face difficult to interpret in the low light. with his cigarette shining brightly in the dark, he took a contemplative drag. his face was lit by the glow from the ember, which produced deep shadows that showed his features. he let out an exhale, the smoke curling around him like thin, spectral tendrils before vanishing into the evening air.

“i cleared your mission.”

“who are you?”

the man turned to face her, his black eyes meeting hers with a gentle, yet intense, stare. his features’ distinct contours were brought to light by the way the shadows moved across his face. he carefully extinguished his cigarette, allowing the flame to disappear into the night. his presence was dominating and mysterious as he moved to close the distance between them with a subtle ease. he took off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders. the material smelled warm, somewhat smoky, and very much like him.

“you might catch a cold.”

she silently exchanged emotions with him as his gesture made her heart skip a beat. she felt oddly protected and at ease because of the jacket’s warmth in comparison to the cool night air.

“i’m uchiha itachi.”

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neon-green-reagent · 1 year ago

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Vampire Films That Suck My Blood

But don’t SUCK. You know? What I mean? They’re good. Anyway.

Let’s start with the super obvious ones you’ve probably seen. And if you haven’t, go see them, they’re classics. Near Dark (my personal favorite), The Lost Boys, Interview With The Vampire, Horror of Dracula (Hammer), ‘Salem’s Lot, Blacula, From Dusk Till Dawn, Let The Right One In, and Fright Night, by which I mean the one from the 80s. Now we can get into some deeper cuts.

Night Owl | Filmed in black and white and set against the backdrop of the New York nightclub scene of the early 90s, this one is OOPS ALL VIBES. It’s full of house music and brutal murders. One of those films that feels intensely gay despite its best efforts to be straight. Very moody and arthouse. Obviously I recommend the hell out of this for a very specific crowd of people.

Pale Blood | What a nutso concept. A human is running around killing people in the style of a vampire. So a real vampire shows up to stop him. With Wings Hauser being super unhinged, as he tends to do. Lots of neon lighting that makes it all extremely 80s. And a neat little turn at the end that gives it a satisfying twist.

Bliss | Vampirism as addiction. It’s been said, but this isn’t just about having an insatiable need. It’s about getting so goddamn high that you destroy everything around you and awaken from being blackout destructive and realize you’re ruining your own life. Pretty intense stuff. Meaning it’s very bloody and wild. It goes the extra mile, for certain. The main character is a painter, so there is also a super gorgeous painting that she creates in her very high moments that I wish I could have on my wall.

The Night Flier | An adaptation of a Stephen King short story starring Miguel Ferrer, which I personally feel should be recommendation enough. But I’ll gladly keep going. Ferrer plays a tabloid journalist who is chasing after a serial killer who thinks he’s a vampire. THINKS, right? He just THINKS he is? Well, the deeper he goes, the more it looks like he has a real one on his hands. And he’s so fucking cynical that he’s probably going to stare into the abyss and the abyss will stare right back.

30 Days of Night | Hey, I just recently rewatched this one. It still slaps. In Alaska, there are periods during the year where the sun doesn’t rise at all. In this case, a bunch of vampires are like SWEET. And go there and absolutely body slam everyone in town. A handful of survivors are left trying to defend themselves against these superhuman creatures that are... just the scariest looking fucking things. It looks like if a human were crossbred with a shark. What a LOOK. There are so many memorable and standout moments in this movie. Truly just watch it.

Fright Night Part 2 | We all know the first movie. But the sequel tho. DAT SEQUEL. The big draw being Jerry’s sister Regine and her entourage of absolute characters that follow her everywhere. They’re out for revenge for the death of her brother, and suddenly the tables are turned. Charley becomes the one that can’t resist the vampire’s charms, and Regine is laughing all the way to the blood bank. She’s a queen.

Vamp | Another intensely memorable and awesome female vampire. Grace Jones dominates the screen here as Katrina. A vampire stripper who kills when she mates. She for sure steals every scene she’s in, but the movie is also bombastically neon 80s with the dumbest and most fun sense of humor. It’s a charming movie with an amazing villainess.

The Hunger | AND ANOTHER! Sorry for being so gay, but here’s a lesbian vampire movie. Miriam Blaylock is a vampire looking for love. And she both cares and doesn’t if that means eventually keeping your desiccated, still alive body in a box somewhere down the line. She’s a complicated lady. This was beautifully shot, very dream-like, and also stars David Bowie for some extra gay.

Dracula (1979) | Genuinely my favorite version of Dracula. It was based off of a stage play version. Which means all the names are reversed and nothing lines up with the book, but Dracula just seems fated to be adapted very loosely. Frank Langella swaggers rather moodily through the piece, melting every woman he passes with a look. I like this take, that Dracula is just a Chad that no one can possibly outdo because no one is good looking enough to stop him. It’s all rather romantic and swoony while also featuring one of the most terrifying ghouls in cinema history.

The Forsaken | Vampirism as an STD. If you’re bitten, you’ll battle daily with the virus that’s trying to consume you. Which makes the movie coded extremely queer, which is very fun for everyone, because it thankfully doesn’t stop there. The bad guys are super flamboyant and fun. The good guys are getting a little too involved with each other and sort of ignoring the girl sitting between them. And it makes one wish they could’ve just made it as gay as they wanted to, but the subtext is still very fun. It’s also action packed and exciting. Think 2001 version of Near Dark.

#horror recs #vampire movies #vampires

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apexulansis · 2 years ago

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Blood is everywhere.

So are bits of organs, blasted away pieces of flesh, the odd limb to and fro. Two's grip on his weapon loosens, the shotgun clattering to the ground as he heaves a tired grumble amidst the wrecked office. Even with Ardaka, the KASMAR militia put up a brutal fight, mercenaries and soldiers alike coming in endless waves of determined bodies.

Twenty minutes later they're finally done. Two pulls the mask from his face and steps over a dead militant, smoothing a hand down Ardaka's chest. He's tired. He's exhilarated. A part of him doesn't want the excitement to end.

So, he opts not to let it. A hand moves one of Ardaka's to his waist--then, to the small of his back.

Just above his rear.

" Hey, " He breathlessly intones, " Want to... have fun. I've still got energy. A lot. A lot of energy. I need to burn it off. I know you do too, big guy. " He walks two fingers up the kariian's chest. Two's eyes are lidded. Wanton.

There was carnage — cadavers strewn across a floor painted with blood and gore and discarded weapons. Corpses clad in so much armor that were it not for the blood, Ardaka wouldn't have even considered them Human at all.

It was similar to his time on Sigma Rhada. An entire lifetime away now, in a galaxy halfway across the universe. He wondered if the city had breathed a sigh of relief when it had realized Talon was prowling elsewhere — far away from its neon-lit streets and dingy, polluted factories. It was different — clean and clinical, for one — but starkly familiar. Even though it'd been just a little under a decade, immersing himself in the endless bloodshed was easy — like falling back to a long-ingrained reflex.

When he's fighting, the Hunter doesn't even feel the sting of the bullets that graze where armor does not protect. He crosses each distance in half-seconds, never needing more than a single lunge to bring his blade into range. One lunge, one slash, cutting through the narrow spaces between helmet and chest-piece and limbs. It's clean, almost, compared to his rifle — only blood, not viscera, until the pristine white floor is now a deep shade of crimson.

What isn't similar is the sensation Ardaka feels when he turns his gaze to watch Two. It was hard to ignore the vicious feeling that stirred within his chest, seeing Two in danger, no matter how he could have handled it. Potent hostility for the militia that surrounded them, and a lust for their blood to follow it. Each strike hits harder than the last, until he doesn't need the sword at all, only his claws.

The scent of blood permeated the air, and every sense of Ardaka's steeped in it. He could practically taste it on his tongue. The gaze once focused on his enemies darts across the room, scans the bodies across the floor; white pupils constricted until they were almost lost in the dark of his red eyes.

He jolts slightly under the light touch to the small of his back, and it takes self control clenching himself around the throat to keep from shoving Two into the nearest wall from startled reflex alone. He breathes in sharply, stance rigid and then forcefully relaxed, jumping from one extreme to another, a lucid part of himself balancing on the precipice between the two. A look is cast towards Two, his restless stare stilling some when it focused on him, as if contemplative. Tempted.

❝I should —❞

Then it closes, looks away, and Ardaka exhales lowly, veiling the predatory glint in his eyes. Breathe.

❝...I should take a moment to calm myself first.❞

#precognitor #COMMS.#IC: A RESTLESS UNIVERSE. [ARDAKA]

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rumblelibrary · 3 years ago

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Hello, it's me again, your friendly neighborhood... Hungarian?!...👀❤️

Can I request a Sebastian Zöllner fic, where he is a coworker of Reader, and there's an obvious sexual tension, attraction in the office, they sit opposite each other, legs touching sometimes, hands touching... Idunno... Things like this 👀🔥 but nothing happened... Yet...🔥🔥

Never an Enemy [Sebastian Zöllner x Fem!Reader]

Word count: 5k

Warnings: A bad mouthed journalist with strong opinions about art and performance that might offend

Author’s note: Did I let this idea simmer in me for ages? Yes. Did I ever stopped thinking about it? NO.

You hummed softly while the music blasted in your headphones as you made your way up the stairs to the headquarters of the Art Tribune, the art focused magazine you worked for since over a year.

You liked the job even if to deal with artists was hard and the pay check could really deserve an improvement, it was stimulating and surely kept you on the edge. That morning in particular you needed to revise some background stories and just loads of reading to do to work on a new article for an upcoming exhibition. Just the usual fact checking, but you just couldn’t do it at home the day before so you decided to come early and enjoy some peace and quiet at the office.

You arrived at the top of the stairs of the fourth floor with a groan, you told yourself you had to do the stairs because you spent 70% of your life sitting in front of a computer, kind of self care, but brutal. You groaned lightly going straight toward the little kitchen installed for the team when you noticed something in the empty shared room full of desks. It was actually a really nice place with big industrial style windows that let lots of light inside, a very smart environment to work in, with areas where you could relax, free Wifi and loads of facilities. Usually people were put in big desks together, facing each other, trying to push a sort of ‘community feeling’.

Inevitably most of the people created barricades with books, and pictures of their dogs or even empty coffee cups. Yes, all cute and artistic, but do not talk to me.

That’s what also the attitude of the man you shared your desk with on your first day. He whined like a child for twenty minutes, complained he was happy to work alone, followed the assistant of the editor around the office and created a barricade of catalogues between the two of you so thick that you wondered if it was also bulletproof, only to rest his elbows over it half an hour asking if you had the change for the vending machine. Yes, that random man was you colleague and friend, Sebastian Zöllner.

The same that you are witnessing now asleep on the desk, head resting on his crossed arms while a stand of saliva went down on his shirt, wild hair and shoes taken off.

He could be considered an attractive man if he wasn’t a bloody nightmare of a person. You actually worked a lot with him and enjoyed his presence most of the days, your characters folded nicely and you would bounce off his attitude. He was strong on biographies and annoying the shit out of others, so he was always nagging at someone, you included.

You smirked slowly tracing his hair with your fingers, he never looked so innocent and you were always surprised to learn how those messy hair were so soft. It wasn’t the first time you did that gesture, sometimes he did lean his head like this only to be touched like an annoying mewling cat that needs attentions. “Kaffee” He mumbled making you chuckle, such a an annoying brat and he didn’t even open his eyes.

You carried on walking to the little kitchen room to prepare some coffee for you and your desk partner. You shook your head aimlessly as you started wondering why the man is here at this hour and if it was really a good idea to wake him up. To have him awake means to be able to do little to zero.

You watched the coffee get ready, the comforting tune of your morning playlist getting you still on the good side of your mood as you poured the coffee in your mug.

Then you saw it, an arm sneaking in front of you and taking the mug from your hand, you jump scared in a second almost pouring the rest of the coffee on the whole kitchen counter only to encounter Sebastian sleepy figure behind you bringing the mug close to his nose and inhaling deeply the aroma before having a gulp, you stared at him as his jaw clenched, his eyes got a bit teary. “Fucking hot” he whined making you chuckle, he deserved it for stealing it, luckily you were already doing some more for him so he stole your favourite mug but you had some coffee for you left.

You pulled off your headphones leaning them on your neck “No idea you’d be sleeping at the office, weren’t you off on some interview ?”

He shrugged “yeah, well me neither, but interviewing sculptors is always annoying as shit and those are always supersensitive” he said opening the freezer and pulling out some ice cubes from their box and putting them in the coffee mug. “Scheiße!” He cursed as the ice cube landing in the mug caused the coffee to spill onto his white shirt. You pressed your lips tight against each other not to laugh into his face, but he was already pissed off and it wasn’t even proper work time. You watched him lean over the sink trying to wash it off somehow without even bothering to take it off, just adding chaos on chaos.

“Y/N! Do not laugh and try to help me! Beside, the heck are you doing here at this hour?” You rolled your eyes at that comment, but you didn’t indulge him in that request.

“I was just looking for silence”

He nodded like he didn’t believe a single word of it, he was just an asshole and you had to deal with it like it or not. You almost hated how he was so freaking good at writing and that’s probably why many people indulged him. Even you knew his pieces on the magazine and didn’t expect to find out he was so…so Sebastian.

You let out a breathy chuckle taking your mug and making your way to your joined desk letting him wrestle his balance over the kitchen sink trying to get the stain wet and not shower himself in the meanwhile.

You sat down at your spot leaning the mug on side, hands covering your face trying to keep a clear mind letting out a big breath “okay, let’s do this”

You turned on the lamplight on your desk pulling out your laptop from your backpack. As the computer was ‘waking up’ you stared at Sebastian side of the desk compared to yours.

You had like a little citadel of books around you, but it was pretty neat, a little succulent gifted by your friend for your first day at work with the name tag ‘Danny’ on it sitting beside the lamp, lots of pencils and pens of different colours and notebooks to no end. If you had something in common with that beast of a man was that you both still relied on paper for sketching ideas and write down impressions in the moment, then onto the typing.

His side, however, was like a contemporary artwork in itself. Half empty cigarettes packages everywhere, the ashtray filled up, paper inside books and books filled with more papers. Notes everywhere, the damn king of neon yellow post-its, stains of coffee and crumbles of food invert corner, his red laptop showing off like a punch in the eye and his satchel bag always hang or thrown around.

You often wondered if the cleaning stuff just gave up on him. Your lucky guess was that he would probably throw a fit if anything was moved, so everyone just played the blind eye.

He was good at throwing fits.

You watched him come back sitting in front of you, half of his shirt soaked in the attempt to clean it up, he licked his lips picking one empty package of cigarettes looking in it and throwing it away until he found one with still something in it and he lighted his cigarette as he turned on his laptop. You sighed opening the window to let the fresh air not getting you intoxicated.

You went back to sip your coffee and stare at the screen quietly, every now and then your eyes falling onto the little cloud of smoke in front of you.

Sebastian was an attractive man, that was undeniable and you were sure that made him also a successful interviewer even though he was so random and chaotic, when he was silent and collected in thoughts he was indeed a sight to be seen. The dark hair framing his face like he was some cherub, his deep eyes staring into the void of his own words as he typed. He had a sort of decadent look on him.

Slowly the office begun to get filled, people coming here and there to tease Seb about coming early and he just waving his cigarette around asking for silence.

“Zöllner””

The chief editor shouted getting into his office without even turning around. Seb rolled his eyes looking at you as he pushed the cigarette in the ashtray waving his hand around to dissipate the smoke around him before standing up.

“I wonder how he managed to survive few days without shouting my name” he smirked.

You looked at him and mimicked his smirk.

What a chaotic man.

You had finished your reading by then and started to make a first draft of the article you were meant to work on.

“Y/N!!!” Sebastian voice rang through the office making you jump on your seat and he gestured at you to go with him with a big wave of his arm.

You looked at your screen with an helpless sigh, it seems like you will not write that article anytime soon, you’d better just have slept an hour more.

You stood up following that incessant wave as Seb put his hand on your back to get you in a bit quicker.

“Good morning”

You said as the chief editor nodded quietly “Look Y/N, it is a big favour I have to ask you” he begun frankly as you were beginning to get worried “you did your time with silly articles, so I thought it could be interesting to pair you up with Sebastian to go to tonight’s exhibition of Evita Schnecke”

Your eyes went wide as you looked at Sebastian shrug his shoulders.

“I need somebody to keep the horse with tight rains” Mr Megelbach continued gesturing with his pen at Sebastian and then at you “and you will dip your toes in those big time artists environment, but we really need to make sure Sebastian won’t hurt anyone’s sensibility, her interview has been obtained with lots of hard work”

“Yeah, we all know that hard work” Sebastian whispered in your ear earning a glare from Mr Megelbach who handed you a couple of catalogues from that artist and the invitation.

“So, put on hold your current article for today, make a plan with this train wreck and please make sure he doesn’t show up dressed like that”

“That was unneeded”

“All precautions are always needed with you, and now get out of my office the both of you”

You nodded moving out of the office, you were a bit anxious. Those artists were unpredictable just as Sebastian.

You made your way back to your desk with him as you sat down looking at the invitation. “So, it begins at 9 pm” you said almost understanding why Sebastian shouldn’t be allowed to go unescorted because the invitation on the dress code had: Wear something that talks about your soul. Only that could bring Sebastian to have an aneurism.

“I hate that bitch”

“Seb, that’s not a good start for an article”

He smirked as you said so but shrugged

“I mean it, this woman was born into privilege, she portrayed herself to be this underground rebel, but her simple black dress was a Chanel and her everyday boot Balenciaga, so I don’t trust her for a reason”

You smirked as you could agree with that and showed him the two catalogues the boss gave you

“Choose your fighter”

He groaned so loud he could have stabbed his toe and he leaned over his side of the desk picking one from your hand giving a light pinch on your side “teacher’s pet”. You chuckled softly as he always said that.

“Tell me if you read something that it is not about the performer’s way of life” he mumbled opening it in front of him.

You begun your reading and it was indeed the hell pit of a vey spoiled kid who was told to be the greatest since the first day of life, you picked your notebook and opened it taking notes on things that you could ask about.

Sebastian in the meanwhile lighted up another cigarette rolling it between his fingers mindlessly, his eyes looking above the paper at you every now and then among the little curses in German about the stupid things written there.

After some time it was becoming really a torture to read and you leaned your back on your chair stretching your legs forward for Seb to catch one of them among his.

You smirked as you often joked to him he was like some bear trap with those legs always catching yours.

He put his hand under the table bringing your leg up onto his thigh as you shifted even lower on your seat, his hand touching your ankle mindlessly as he had a talent for little massages like that. He did it the first time a while aback, a summer day where it was so hot and humid that you couldn’t feel your own legs.

So it became a little ritual among the two of you. You had many of those rituals, it was like an unspoken collection of attentions. Like you making the coffee in the morning because he was a grumpy ass. Or him always buying you some chewing gum or little treat when he went to buy cigarettes.

“I guess I am not the only one that needs a restyle”

He said bringing you away by the tenderness those little actions brought to you when he pushed his finger in your Vans shoe deepening a hole that you were trying to ignore from months.

“Seb, don’t do it, I wanted to make them last another season”

“Another season? These can’t last the end of the month, no doubt why your sex life is a train wreck”

You frowned at him taking your ankle off his hand to push on his chair making him roll back thanks to the little wheels underneath it, but he held on the desk and pulled himself closer again.

“What do you even know about it”

He looked at you, eyebrows raising up on his forehead

“Y/N, if I was your boyfriend I wouldn’t allow you to leave the bed that early in the morning to go to the office and that’s a fact”

“Oh, and how on heaven could you detain my passion for this job?” “Well, I can write you a list about it, you can consider it a to do list on your next date” His smirk was so wide, he enjoyed to tease you like that, the bastard, he knew to be an hottie and he always acted like half of the world was up to fuck with him.

“Oh please, do it, I want to see”

You teased him and he leaned in elbows on the table staring at you.

Oh the sexual tension with him was too much, you always went down on this hurricane of remarks, always him mentioning how you need more orgasms or implying it, or even implying how good he is at giving them.

“But be careful, because any act should be performed and not only lived”

You said quoting the artist you were reading about and he whined so hard like you really stomped your foot on his balls.

“Horrid witch”

“Me?” “No, that one”

He huffed and puffed picking another cigarette. Sometimes cigarettes just died on his fingers as he forgot to actually enjoy them more than waving them around.

The artist herself wasn’t remarkable, she used themes seen over and over before, she had a background as performer/dancer and she added painting to that, but more than talent she had an amazing marketing squad. You read her story and her commentaries about living like in a poem, which always sounds pretty easy with a big bank account.

You did all you could to stay neutral even if Seb was going down to massacre the woman, you two shared a bundle of two sandwiches (or better say, your brought a package of two and he was skipping his lunch so you just handed it to him) until you decided to get parted and go get ready at home.

That evening you were waiting for him in front of your apartment, when a taxi stopped in front of you and his figure appeared waving at you to come in on the back. His eyes widened in surprise “Well, well, well, look who got all fancy here”

He smirked as his eyes travelled on you shamelessly, the dress was actually one of those you brought ages ago and never used, also to wear heels felt like new, last time you went to a fancy event almost hard to recollect.

“Just move and let me in”

You said chuckling as you looked at him being so elegant when you noticed it, the price tag on his shirt.

“Seb, did you just buy this shirt?”

“Yes, and I am going to take it back tomorrow”

You looked at him puzzled

“What?” He groaned “I suck at ironing stuff”

You looked at him as a little laugh escaped your lips as he told you not to, but it was too late for that, you shifted closer to him anyway helping him to hide that price tag better behind his neck. Nevertheless the white shirt was really fancy and fitted him perfectly.

As you arrived in front of the gallery you sighed and made your way inside.

The place wasn’t crowded but few eyes turned as you got in.

“Would you like some champagne?” A waiter asked and Seb picked two flutes immediately downing one in a gulp on his own as the other was still in his other hand, he put the empty glass on the tray and then picked a third one handing it to you.

“Drink Y/N or you won’t make it to the end of the evening”

You smirked as he was always over dramatic, but indeed the evening seemed to be made for posh people to show off how cool they are.

You spotted the artist pretty quickly wearing a Valentino bright red dress, she surely had the dancer figure and gestures which gave her some kind of an edge.

"She is all yours"

You looked at Sebastian already half way through his drink, giving you that cheshire cat smirk.

"Are you sure?"

"You know I will insult her in a second if she names her dancing background one more time, I saw the videos, she looked like a three ready to collapse on the ground" he chuckled as you smirked shaking your head at his metaphor, but he is probably right, he is too much biased.

"I didn't notice the open back before" he said referring to your dress as he caressed over your skin with his fingertips making goosebumps raise up your spine.

"What? Am I too sexy for your own good?"

"Probably" he commented not losing a beat to answer you. You were taken aback from a moment, his eyes still down on his hand touching your back before raising up to find yours.

Then he took his hand away and pressed the cold champagne glass against it making you hiss "Now go, I'll check this bourgeois art"

You frowned but you just moved away from him. He always did it, he teased you and then made it a joke. You gave it back to him too, it was your relationship, that's how you balanced it.

"Good evening " you said to her with a smile holding your glass in your left hand before offering your right hand to her "I am Y/N, from the Art Tribune"

She went from neutral to smiling in a second

"Oh, I was waiting to meet you" she said leaning to kiss your cheek, surely she was a woman with charm, with a degree of boldness that made her charming and also, you noticed, extremely touchy-feely with everyone.

"We can define this a sort of retrospective of your previous works, I liked to see the evolution of it" you lied, because you just saw the catalogue.

But that was fair enough to have her go on about her, guess what? Past as a dancer, about how she needed to express herself, how she was her own muse and all the stuff you already read.

"What is next for you then?"

"I want to follow my dream, I have always wanted to found a space with my name where people could rent the rooms to perform dances and arts"

You stared at her. For real? Like there weren't other hundreds in the whole city?

"What will keep you apart from all the others that did this before you?"

"Nobody is me" she smirked like it was clear and obvious.

You asked few more questions, but you were sad to admit Sebastian was right. There wasn't art there, there was just profit, selling a name, a brand.

This saddened you because you met many artists that had less than a chance to make it but double the talent of Miss Valentino Dress.

"Y/N" Sebastian warm hand was on your back as you were downing the last bit of champagne "Come, come ,come quick" he said pushing you away as the artist clearly recognised him but he dismissed her with some insult or whatever he just mumbled.

"Seb, I was working, what the hell?"

"Elke is here"

You still didn't understand, you were puzzled as the reason of that anxiety was still unknown to you.

"Like your girlfriend Elke?"

"Put an ex in front of it" he said looking around frantically

"Oh, I am sorry, I didn't know"

"No, me neither, I thought she was just bashing around, she always did" his arm sneaked around your waist pulling you closer "please, act sexy for once"

You were one second from hitting his guts with your elbow when Elke herself approached.

"Oh, I didn't expect to see you here" she said waving her glass around

"Yeah, well I work for an important Art journal if you remember"

"How could I forget?" she groaned looking at you then as Sebastian's hand rested onto your hip. Really? Was he acting like you were his date?

"Hi, I am Y/N"

You said politely to her and she chuckled "Run when you can, this man is a leech and you don't even know it"

She mentioned it almost casually, but you could feel all the poison implied on your skin, Sebastian's hand giving you a soft squeeze, you had never seen him like this before. He looked like a dog that just got kicked, his back hunched over you lightly both trying to protect you and for protection.

"Well, thank you for your advice, I must be a real torment too because we actually have lot of fun together, I like his unpredictability"

You said it from your heart, you didn't want to insult her or anything, but you felt bad for him. Even if he probably deserved it, to be humiliated like this must be hard in any circumstance, in particular in a place where he is supposed to work and being known.

He looked at you a bit surprised, he leaned slowly pressing a kiss on your temple and you smiled because of that gesture so enveloped in that feeling of tenderness.

"Your shot" Elke said clearly a bit annoyed that you as she just moved along followed by a man that must be her date.

"Lets go out"

You suggested as Seb nodded and just followed for once, he held your hand as you guided him and for once he wasn't talking or commenting anything.

As you went out he sat down on the sidewalk pulling out his package of cigarettes taking out one immediately.

"Hey stand up" you said to him as he looked up at you and you snatched that cigarette off his lips "let's go away"

"Where? Don't we have to stay until she gets naked to dance?"

You smirked "No, we have all the material we need"

You took his cigarette away offering him your hand as he picked it and you guided him.

He was silent, which is rare, when he was silent it meant he was upset in some way, he always had a nice comeback line for everything usually.

His head leaned on side like a scolded child as he slowly laced your fingers together.

You walked across few streets, your heels clicking on the cement until you made it to your final location pulling him inside.

"Constatinopole?"

Seb asked looking at the sign, it was a kebab place, your favourite by the way.

"I am hungry" you just said making him lower his head and smile like a kid with cue breathy chuckles.

You ordered for the two of you as he went to sat down putting another cigarette between his lips when the man behind the counter glared at him and he just put it back in the package.

He sat down slouching as you did some small talks with the guys there, you clearly knew them. The soft music from the radio holding the place into a sort of magical aura as his eyes travelled over your naked back once more, the need for a cigarette becoming even more urgent.

You two dressed so elegantly really were so noticeable in the bright lightend place, he smiled to himself thinking it could be a nice painting by Hopper.

You came back offering him his kebab with a soft drink, very thoughtful because he was indeed already a bit high on champagne.

You ate quietly together, it wasn't uncomfortable, your silences were happening often at work and always filled with a sense of common understanding, you leaned your leg up like you always did at the office and rested it on his thigh as you sat sideways beside him. His hand flying naturally on your ankle to give his usual massage, his thumb tracing your skin with imaginary patterns as his other hand held the kebab close to his mouth.

The speaker at the radio announcing next song as Rocket Man by Elton John filled the room with a melancholic vibe. You couldn't help but think the song suited perfectly Sebastian, his being out of this word, out of control.

"Thank you" he said at some point as he tried his best not to ruin his shirt, you looked up at him as he was staring, his eyes telling you something on their own "You have been the best girlfriend I have ever had"

He added with a bitter smile diverting once more his gaze, you smiled back at him, he looked so resigned. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you have never seen him so fragile before.

"I could be"

His eyes darted up to you, his surprise evident as he put down the kebab, the soothing voice of the British singer still giving a dream edge to the moment as he moved closer. You slowly shifted your leg to give him room of movement as his right arm sneaked to rest on the back of your chair closing the space between the two of you.

His lips tasted still a bit of champagne as he pressed them against yours, you kissed him back slowly as his left hand travelled on your thigh pulling you closer to him probably staining your dress because of his greasy hand.

He pulled back almost immediately before leaning onto you again titling his head on the other side. This second time the kiss was more deep, more intense. Your hands slowly cradling his face before pulling back yourself.

He smiled against your lips and you smiled back.

Maybe tomorrow you will regret it like Elke said, maybe not.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved@fictionlandslanddreams@charistory @greeneyedblondie44@apparrio @hb8301@whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl@obsidianlaszlo@alindeluce@zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahlingLet me know if you want to get tagged to my publications too <3

#sebastian zöllner x you #sebastian zollner x reader #sebastian zöllner headcanon #sebastian zöllner x reader #sebastian zollner #sebastian zöllner x y/n #sebastian zöllner #sebastian zollner x y/n

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whoopsieintheuniverse · 4 years ago

Text

A Bother

Shigaraki x reader

AN: I hope I got shigaraki’s character right. I really do. I’ve been hanging on to this idea for a while now, I hope I do it justice. Maybe I’ll do a reader and LOV continuation and have the reader have some time with each member of the league? Maybe....

Kamino was quiet. The low buzz of neon lights and the rumble of a lone car passing lulled the city into an early sleep. Shigaraki thrummed his fingers on the bar; the silence was unnerving to him. He was used to the bustling sounds of the rest of the league. Dabi, of course, was no where to be seen, and probably wouldn’t show back up unless specifically asked. Toga and Twice had came in earlier that day, said something about a small festival outside of town, and had merrily made their way out of the door. That was six hours ago.

‘Hope they don’t get spotted,” Shigaraki thought. ‘It would be bad for the league.’

Shigaraki was roused from his thoughts by the shuffling of crates and bottles in the back. Figuring it was Kurogiri, the young man sighed and stood up, stretching his legs. God, waiting to do something was brutal, but waiting to do nothing was even worse. The league was annoying, yes, but at least they were stimulating. At this point, Shigaraki was down for anything or anyone to provide a distraction. As he finished stretching, Shigaraki moved to behind the bar, deciding to pour some scotch. As he grabbed the glasses, he heard the back door creak open and swing shut.

“Kurogiri? That you?” he asked.

“Ha! No! It’s Y/N!”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. Y/N. The newest recruit. Extremely efficient at their job; the league had more information on heroes and their whereabouts than every thanks to their skills at reconnaissance. However, they never stuck around for long, and as such, Shigaraki didn’t know much about them. The last thing he wanted right now was more awkwardness added to the silence of the bar.

As he finished pouring his drink, Y/N stomped into view from the back. On their arm, the small lizard they used in their spying flitted up and down. That was another irk of Shigaraki’s that made him uneasy about spending time around Y/N. The animals were everywhere. Y/N could talk and control animals to some extent, and as such, the vermin were always around. On their first meeting, Shigaraki was bitten by one of Y/N’s rats. Closing his eyes, Shigaraki could swear he could still feel the teeth in his ankle.

“No one else here yet? It’s Saturday. Usually, we all crash here just a little bit on the weekends, at least, that what I thought,” Y/N asked. They sat down at the bar, watching their little reptilian friend hop off their arm and make a home for itself in a bundle of napkins.

Shigaraki shrugged.

“Dabi is a no-show most of the time. Toga and Twice found something to do. Kurogiri has popped in and out of here; he’s busy with some stuff for the league. It’s just me.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay! We can still hang out! Ain’t that right, Draco?” Y/N looked down at the napkins that held their lizard. On hearing his name, Draco poked his head out of his makeshift blanket. Shigaraki said nothing, opting instead to take his drink and step out from behind the bar. Y/N’s eyes followed him as he made his way across the room to a booth. Setting his feet up, Shigaraki removed Father from his face and stared at the ceiling, sipping on his drink.

Silence fell over the room. Y/N wiggled in their seat before grabbing Draco and placing him on their head. The little lizard squawked indignantly, but nonetheless stayed on Y/N’s scalp. Making their way to where Shigaraki sat, Y/N watched him drink for a moment before deciding to sit opposite to him in the booth. After a while, Y/N started to thrum their fingers on the table in front of them.

“Sooo...” Y/N started.

“Yeah?”

“Ah. Well, nothing. Just, must be hard, doing what you do. Organizing stuff, planning, I think it’s cool.”

Shigaraki felt his eyebrow twitch. He had never been called cool or considered himself as such. Clearing his throat, Shigaraki sat up and resigned himself to looking everywhere but in Y/N’s eye.

“Yeah, well. It’s nice to be appreciated for once. About time,” he said.

Y/N snorted.

“I’m sure the rest of the league appreciates you, Shig. I mean, we haven’t spent that much time together, but I still appreciate you,” Y/N said.

“Yeah. Whatever,” Shigaraki said. He felt the skin on his neck start to crawl; being complimented was something he was not used to, and it was putting him a little on edge.

Y/N, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice her companion’s discomfort. They opted instead to play with the lizard that had since made its way to the table surface. Shigaraki watched as Y/N poked at the reptile with a straw; the lizard would swing at the straw with its tail, and the two would repeat the game, accompanied with the sound of Y/N’s giggles.

“Do you wanna touch Draco?” Y/N asked.

Shigaraki looked up. Y/N was still messing with their pet and hadn’t even moved while asking the question. Thinking his mind was playing tricks on him, Shigaraki took another sip from his drink and tried his best to ignore the two.

“Did you hear me? C’mon, Draco loves his belly scratches!” Y/N goaded. They finally looked up at Shigaraki with a smile and wide eyes. Y/N used one finger to prod Draco over to Shigaraki.

“No,” Shigaraki said.

“Aw c’mon! Look at him! Say ‘hi’, Draco!” Y/N said.

Draco shimmied over to the edge of the table, and he circled around himself before plopping in front of Shigaraki. Shigaraki glared down at the reptile and sneered.

“Take your little friend back. I’ll dust him,” Shigaraki growled. Y/N sighed and held out their hand. Draco, however, didn’t move. Squeaks came from the animal, and Shigaraki rolled his eyes.

Y/N huffed.

“C’mon, Draco. Shiggs doesn’t wanna play,” Y/N said. They extended their palm again, only to be swatted by Draco’s tail. Draco trilled and edged closer to Shigaraki, who grumbled and looked the other way.

“Look, even if I wanted to, I’d literally dust him. Get your lizard away from me.”

Y/N squinted and frowned.

“I mean, it shouldn’t hurt if you just use one finger, right?” Y/N asked. “I trust you...and it looks like Draco does too!”

Draco trilled excitedly.

“Fine. But it’s not my fault if you have to get a new ‘friend’,” Shigaraki said. Slowly, he extended a finger to Draco’s head. Y/N held their breath as Draco was pet, once, twice, three times before Shigaraki quickly retracted his finger. A happy chirp sounded from the small lizard, and Draco shivered happily before scurrying back to Y/N’s hand.

“C’mere you spoiled little rascal,” Y/N said. “And don’t you bother Shigaraki again.” Y/N put Draco back on their head, and Draco happily made himself home on their perch. Shigaraki watched the two, feeling his face heat. His neck started to itch again, and Shigaraki rolled his eyes and stood as he scratched his neck.

“Whatever. It wasn’t a bother.”

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha shigaraki #shiggy

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years ago

Text

Falling Ch. 8

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader [and a few more to come]

Summary: For a moment you had something good, something wonderful. But moments pass. Now, left with nothing but the ashes of a life and a love you fought so hard for, you find yourself in a free fall. Who will you be once you hit the bottom? [Sequel to Only For A Moment but can be read independently.]

Warnings: Loss, grief, drug/alcohol abuse, violence

A/N: I don’t have words for this one but like... yeah...

TAGS ARE OPEN

Months passed. Your rage did not.

And you didn’t want it to.

Anger was simple, singular. It didn’t tear at you like your grief.

So you fed it. Letting it blot out the pain of one year without his touch, or his smile, or his laugh.

Pain was useless. Anger was a tool.

Rocket often found jobs for you all that mostly harmed the powerful and, when possible, helped those who needed it. You weren’t sure if this Robin Hood-ing was intentional but you didn’t question it, knowing the person on the receiving end deserved what they got, justified your brutality.

That brutality got results. And, subsequently, was gaining you a fast reputation.

It started before your brief stay back on earth. Rocket’s crew apparently had a fair amount of recognition, and it wasn’t missed that most were gone, replaced with some human--even though most had doubts due to your abilities--and Thanos’ sadistic daughter. Now you were challenging Nebula’s title for ‘most vicious woman in the galaxy.’

You didn’t mind and neither did your shipmates. This was the kind of rep that served up bigger paydays. And the side steps and cautious glances felt good, it felt like protection for you and those you loved.

As good as it felt, it wasn’t enough. None of it was.

The truth of it was that all the fighting and fucking and drugs and drink in the universe wouldn’t be enough to sate the hunger in you. You could swallow it all whole and it wouldn’t fill the void.

But you’d promised Bucky that you’d keep going. So that’s what you were doing.

At the present moment, the only place you should be going was to a medic.

The Kelozyn woman grinned at you, her leonine features gleaming with sweat. Her tongue ran across her sharp front teeth and you wondered if her species preferred living prey.

“Getting tired, Terran?!” She goads, circling you.

Getting. Tired was a state of being. You spit blood onto the ground, your breath billowing in the cold Contraxian air.

As you assess her, you do a little math. If you lost this one, or forfeited like you probably should, you’d be out most of your cut from the last job plus some. Tack on the medic fees and, well, thankfully you didn’t have to pay rent on the Benatar.

She charges you and all thoughts of forfeit flee your mind as adrenaline and anger take their place.

For a moment, there is only this. Nothing exists outside the sound of your breath, your heart beating in your ears, the blood and sweat on your tongue. There is no room for thoughts that don’t pertain to your next move, to reading your opponents body language. Just this.

Her mistake was assuming you were beaten down by four other rounds, ready to give up. Her mistake was assuming you were weak.

A missed swing opens her up to a dislocated shoulder. The pain distracts her enough for you to land a kick to her knee. As soon as she rights herself, her attempt to attack gives you the leverage you need to toss her over your head.

She lands flat on her back, wheezing and disoriented.

You place a boot on her neck, her one useful arm scrabbling at your ankle.

“Yield,” you huff.

She does and the crowd roars.

This is why you did this. Not the crowd, or the money. No matter if it was a job or in the ring or in a back alley, you did it for the victory. The reminder that you could win, that you had the strength and ability to protect what little you had left.

It wasn’t enough. But it was something.

Someone presses a bottle in your hand and you drink, not bothering to check what it was. The cheap liquor tastes like bad bourbon but it does ease the throb in your bruised ribs just a bit.

The announcer bellows at the crowd, already trying to find another challenger and elicit more bets from those eager to burn through their credits on a little blood shed.

But you’re done. As you make your way to cash out someone steps into the ring.

She ties her blonde hair up into a ponytail as she announces, “I’ll have a go.”

Carol saunters up to you in a white tank and tactical pants, almost identical to your own though notable missing smears of dirt and blood, and plucks the bottle from your hand, taking a deep drink.

The announcer practically vibrates with glee, “Do we think she knows what she’s in for folks!?”

“This hardly seems fair, Danvers,” you take your bottle back.

She grins, “When I win I’ll buy you a drink.”

“You’ll buy me at least two,” you finish the bottle, tossing it back into the crowd.

It took all of five minutes for her to have you pinned.

The disappointed crowd groaned.

“Well, well, looks like Lady Death’s own gatherer met her match tonight!” The announcer bellows. You’d been called many things but that was a new one.

Carol extends a hand and pulls you up, “Meet at the bar?”

“Sure,” you grumble. Slinging your pack over your shoulder you can already feel just how much you’re going to regret this in a few hours.

“On the house,” the bartender sets a mug full of something frothy in front of you. You nod in thanks, finishing half in two deep gulps.

Carol gives your back a firm pat as she sidles up beside you. You grimace, the bruise left from the hard kick you’d taken between your shoulder blades in the first fight already screaming.

“Sorry,” she says, taking the seat next to you. “Thought I was buying?”

“On the house,” you say, taking another drink. “Considering the money I made them tonight it’s the least they can do.” Not that it made up for the loss.

Carol plunks down a stack of credits next to you, the little silvery cards glinting in the dim light. You cast her a sideways glance, finishing your drink.

“It was a little unfair,” she says with a smile.

“Mhm,” you pick them up counting. “Still took a cut though,” you say with mock seriousness.

“Hey, I did win,” she nudges your shoulder.

“You know,” you tuck the credits into your pocket, “we could probably run a pretty good hustle.”

“Not my style,” she flags the bartender who plops two more mugs before you both.

“Do all captains hate fun?”

She smirks as she takes a drink, “Has nothing to do with that. I just don’t need to hustle when I know I’ll win.”

“Cocky,” you start on your second drink.

“Is it cocky if I’m right?”

“Fair,” you laugh a little, holding your throbbing side.

She downs the rest of her drink and looks around, “Can we go somewhere slightly less…”

“Covered in sweat and blood?”

“Yeah.”

You shrug, “This is Contraxia. I feel like it’s either sweat and blood or sweat and-”

“I got a room, if we’d rather-”

“Cute, you think that’s better.”

“Just like any hotel, I’d prefer not to think about it.” You can’t help but laugh again, ignoring the pain.

“Something away from the teeming masses sounds good.”

“And the drinks are better,” Carol says.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Outside, the frigid air stung your skin but it felt refreshing, a bit cleaner than the cold air of the bar. You shrug on your black coat, shoving your freezing hands into your pockets. Carol still wore only her tank, the bag with her uniform slung loosely over her shoulder.

“Do you ever get cold?” You ask as your breath plumes.

“Not really,” her skin pulses with a warm glow.

Carol opens the door to one of the nicer hotels and you step inside. The entry was warm, and didn’t carry any questionable smells. Even the elevator you step into seemed relatively clean.

She catches your questioning gaze, “Owner owes me a favor.”

Just like on earth, being a hero didn’t exactly pay the bills. But almost everywhere you went, Carol--or rather Captain Marvel--knew someone and that someone likely owed her their life. May not be as reliable as having cash on hand but it wasn’t a bad way to get around.

The wall of windows that greeted you when the elevator spit you out into her penthouse suite looked out over the glowing neon mess of Contraxia and the icy mountains beyond. From here the city looked like a bizarre, debaucherous, snowglobe.

“As promised,” Carol holds out a glass of shimmering blue liquid. You drop your bag by your feet and accept it.

Whatever it was danced over your tongue, fizzing without being carbonated. The taste was floral, but not sweet, and had a tang to it that reminded you of something you couldn’t name. Best of all, it was strong. Warmth spread through your limbs as the constant humm of your power fell completely silent.

You both finish your drinks in silence, soaking in both the view and the peace.

Finally you ask, “Did you catch what the announcer called me?”

“The Lady Death thing?” She grabs your glass for a refill as you carefully lower your throbbing body onto the couch.

“Yeah.”

She takes a seat across from you, “You’ve been running out here for almost a year and you haven’t heard of Lady Death yet?”

You had. Death on most planets was personified as a woman with many cultures worshiping her or at the very least honoring her in some way.

“Of course,.” you take a drink. “The whole gatherer thing though…”

“Ah,” she rests her feet on the small circular table in front of her. “It’s like, someone or something that sends people to death but isn’t exactly death itself.” A chill crawls down your spine, chasing away the warmth of the drink.

“So, like a reaper,” the word, the title Hydra blessed you with, tastes bitter on your tongue.

“Yeah,” Carol nods. “Pretty close.”

You finish your drink in one gulp and rise, “Thanks for the drinks.” Holding out your hand, your bag flies from across the room to you.

“What? You’re leaving?” She stands, placing herself between you and the door. “I mean it’s not a pleasant comparison but you’ve been on a bit of a tear. Don’t let it ruin your night.”

“It’s not.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, looking you up and down. “At least take a long bath, you’re still bloody and your body-”

“I’m fine.”

“Y/N,” Carol grabs your arm as you walk past her.

Anger flares in your chest as you look from her hold on you to her concerned gaze. Whatever that anger translated to in your own expression was enough to make her release you, stepping back.

“Maybe, you should take some shore leave. Go home for a bit. Give folks out here time to cool off and they’ll stop thinking of you as-”

Your eyes narrow, “Why do you care?” Her head tilts to the side in a wordless question. “Why do you care what they call me?”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because, they aren’t wrong.” It felt like the truest thing you’d said in a long time.

Out here among planets you’d never imagined existing you’d allowed the beast that had always been inside you to come out to play. It bared it’s bloody fangs and the people saw you for what you were, understood it’s true name.

Reaper.

Hydra had simply tried to bring out something that was already there. But they’d done it for their own gain. This time you’d take the title, in all it’s bloody glory, and it would be your own.

You walk past Carol, reaching for the door.

“Y/N.”

You pause. It’s long enough for Carol to block your exit.

“Come on,” she slips a finger under the strap of your bag, teasing it off your shoulder, “don’t leave.” She closes the small distance between you, close enough now that you could feel the ever-present warmth of her. “At least take a shower.”

When you don’t respond, she leans in, lips almost brushing the shell of your ear, “Stay.”

In a flash your hand wraps around her throat, pushing her into the door with a hard thud. Light flares briefly in her deep brown eyes as a wicked little grin plays on her lips.

You press your body flush to hers, forcing her thighs apart with your own.

The pink tip of her tongue darts over her bottom lip, teasing you, daring you. Taking the bait is too easy.

To call this kiss hungry wouldn’t be right. Hunger implied a level of desire you struggled to tap into these days for most things. No, this kiss was a vicious, gluttonous, thing. Something to have because it was presented.

Your tongue rolls over hers, your teeth grab her bottom lip and tug.

Carol returns your fervor, grinding against your knee.

There was no pretense here. Both of you knew there was someone else you'd rather touch, a different kiss that would truly satisfy. But you wouldn’t starve yourselves for the sake of your longing.

Holding her in place by her throat you pull away, “Rain check.” You lean in and flick your tongue over her open lips.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” she pants as you release her.

“Nope,” your bag floats up to your hand.

She doesn’t fight you as you push her aside and step out, leaving her slack jawed and frustrated.

You’d make it up to her. For now though, all you wanted, the only thing you hungered for, was to be alone.

A few weeks later you come to consciousness in the dank lower levels of an abandoned building, your ears ring, vision blurring in and out of focus. Sticky blood coated the side of your head, it felt cool as rivulets ran down your cheek.

This job was supposed to be stupid easy. Too good to be true, easy. Now it was pretty clear that the old cliche applied even on some far flung piece of shit planet.

After blinking away the fog, you make out the blaster leveled at Rocket. Fear and relief flood his features as he realizes that you were not, in fact, dead.

The telltale humm of the weapon is the first sound that breaks through the pounding in your head.

No. You would not lose one more friend.

Without you having to fully form the thought, your power latches onto the woman before Rocket--not abnormal since your fight against Thanos, since you tried to save Bucky. It sinks into her unfamiliar anatomy, seeking something to break. You don’t care if you kill her or only manage to incapacitate her, all that matters is that you stop her.

A jolt runs through your body, electric, intoxicating…

Hungry.

You’d lived with the hunger the stones left in you for over a year now. Had gotten used to it. Most days you even forgot about it. Now that hunger howled to be slaked.

The woman shudders, blaster slipping from her hand. Rather, it slips from the place where her hand had been.

Understanding comes too late. You feel the fabric of her unravelling, those points of light and energy snuffing out bit by bit.

Just like Bucky.

And you cannot stop it.

No, that wasn’t right.

This was not like Bucky--not some force beyond your control tearing someone away from you--this was somehow yours, and you didn’t want to stop it. Something in you wanted this, yearned for it in the far recesses of your being.

Darkness deeper than any shadow seeps from widening cracks in her body like smoke, billowing from the space where her hand once was. Merciless black tendrils curl around her, consuming her until there is nothing left but a ringing in your ears and a brief moment of utter calm.

The sound of Rocket’s ragged breathing fills the room, echoing around you. In the pause between his breaths you almost swear something whispered.

Again and again you think you hear it, don’t quite catch it. Something in the silence, in the dark.

Oblivion.

Rocket’s breath.

Oblivion.

Panic--mad, wild, terrible panic--threatens to blot out whatever sense or sanity remained in your mind as you sit paralyzed, unable to ignore the sound. You’d thought the word in a dream, heard it back on earth when your power ate away at a bottle of liquor, that same dark nothingness hovering around the broken glass.

Your conversation with Carol returns. How you’d thought people simply saw the monster in you. How you thought it was a monster you understood, one you could name and tame and use for your own gain.

Idiot, you chastise yourself.

“Are the two of you taking a nap?!” Nebula bellows on your comms. The anger in her tone pulls you back from the edge you felt your mind toeing.

You meet Rocket’s wide eyes for a breath before he nods, a kind of calm you envied descending over him.

“Got held up,” he responds. “Where are you?”

As soon as you’re back on the ship you head straight for your room without a word to the others.

Out of habit you reach for the bottle by your bed and pause before bringing the mouth to your lips.

There was no need. No tremor in your hand. No pain in your body or your mind. Your power, the aching want the stones left in you, the physical impact of the fight… All of it was silent.

This was distinctly different from the times you’d brushed against that vast nothing, that oblivion. Those times had left you a little sated, the constant storm in you soothed, even if only for a few moments.

This was not that.

Because there was something else missing.

Your grief.

A chill crawls up your spine, spreading gooseflesh over your body. The utter wrongness of everything turning your stomach. You set the bottle down with a shaky hand.

No matter how good it felt to not ache for him, you didn’t want it to end. The ache mattered, meant there was something worth losing.

“Bucky,” you whisper his name like a prayer. “James.” The taste of his name on your tongue brings back a tickle of the familiar ghost of your mourning.

“Bucky, I’m scared.” Saying it felt like letting out a breath held for too long.

It was as though that confession was some secret code. Bit by bit you feel it all come back, the pain and sorrow, your fear and longing, the unyielding hunger and storm rooted in your power.

From under your pillow you pull out the shirt you keep tucked there, one of Bucky’s. It still retained the barest trace of his smell.

Pressing it to your nose you curl into the fetal position on the bed.

You were upholding your end of the deal, you were still going on as he’d requested. You just weren’t sure where the road you were on was leading…

Or what it would cost.

TAGS

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @demonlover87 @winterboobearsworld @this-kitten-is-smitten @amorluzymelodia @nutellakirb @nighttwingg @coffeebeforewater @shesalatesh @maniacproffesor

#bucky x reader #carol danvers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fanfic #captain marvel x reader

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kyber-kisses · 4 years ago

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I, Alone (Part 5)

Dean Winchester x Reader

wanna start from the beginning? Here is the masterlist!

Warnings: Dean continuing to lose his mind, more angst, spn level gore🤷‍♀️

Summary: as Dean continues to search for the missing piece in his life, the reader hits a snag on a case.

A/n: ahhh I am really loving writing this series! I hope you guys are enjoying it! Anyhow, the spn Taglist is still open and please tell me what you thought!

You missed home. There was no doubt about that.

No matter how fast you ran, no matter how many miles you put between you and the home. . . You missed it. You couldn’t help it.

Tucking your hands into the pockets of your coat, you moved silently down the street, eyes scanning over every inch you could see. Though the cobblestone street was empty, there were still street-lamps shining stubbornly into the night, casting sharp shadows on the opposing brick walls. It was as if they simply loved to share the amber glow. Under their steady watch the cream brickwork brought back a nostalgic feeling you couldn’t quite pinpoint. As you walked you let a hand trace over the bricks, slowly getting lost in thought.

Home. It had been so long. So long. At first being gone felt slightly weird, but now it just felt wrong. You didn’t belong here. You belonged on the other side of the Atlantic, not here on some abandon street in some small town in Spain. This wasn’t home. . . It was the furthest thing from it.

Home was the bunker and it grey walls, and the library with its massive collection of lore books. Home was the abandon back roads of America, the small motels with their flickering neon signs. Home was the backseat of Baby and her worn leather and faint scent of gunpowder, the sounds of Classic rock rolling freely out of the speakers. . . Home was Dean and his terrible jokes and contagious smile. You missed the last one the most, almost to the point where you could feel your heart breaking in your chest all over again and suddenly you had tears in your eyes to go along with it. Maybe it was because you knew he didn’t miss you in return.

No,no- now was not the time.

Quickly shaking your head, you cleared the haze in your mind. You were hunting. Now was not the time to be reminiscing about the past. Up ahead you could see the building you were aiming for, the slowly collapsing farmhouse only a silhouette as it sat at the end of the street, beyond where the lamplight ventured.

One thing you learned very quickly when you set foot in Europe was that the spirits were different. They were older and stronger and so much more restless. The ghost you were currently hunting was something of a poltergeist, and had killed several people in the last two weeks. No-one had survived a night in the abandoned rock built dwelling in living memory either. The locals said to stay away if you knew what was good for you. ( the victims clearly hadn’t listened.)

It was said that in life he was a mild mannered farmer, but around 1820 he watched his entire family get slaughtered before being treated to a particularly brutal death. He was hung by the neck and had his guts cut from him while he was still alive. Now he was restless, unable to rest in peace and full of fury.

Tightening up the straps of your pack, you eased open the lone door in front of you. The hinges creaked harshly making you wince as you stepped through the threshold, the darkness swallowing you for a moment before you adjusted again and turned on the headlamp, your other hand tightly gripping your shotgun. All you had to do was find his bones which were supposedly underneath the floorboards somewhere and burn them, and then you would be on your way and to the next town that needed saving. Easy peasy.

The rotted floorboards moaned with age as you crept through the space, ears and eyes alert to every little movement and sound. An uneasy breeze blew through the slowly falling apart building, bringing the scent of mildew and rot with it, a scent you knew all too well. Every step you took was met by another discordant shriek from the worm rotted floor boards, but you didn’t stop. You had done this so many times that not even the sounds up head of you made you flinch. A fine layer of dust coated the place and as you walked deeper into the belly of the home the floor got dustier, the floor boards got creakier and there was torn paint everywhere you looked. The vintage furniture was broken, chairs without legs and cabinets without doors - like a body with no soul that would never work.

Then like a switch being flicked, the temperature dropped and your breath came out in wispy little clouds, and within seconds you were on high alert. the beam from your headlamp bouncing across the room as you whirled around.

But unfortunately you weren’t paying enough attention because a cold hand shot out of the dark and wrapped around your ankle, sending you to the rotting floorboards with one sharp pull along with a shout of surprise. Your shotgun slid off into the dark, leaving the light from your headlamp as your only ally. And then the poltergeist was on top of you, hands wrapped firmly around your throat as you desperately clawed at the floor trying to find something to help fight back. The spirit pulled you foreword slightly before slamming your head harshly back to the ground. Your mind quickly went into autopilot, in a last ditch attempt to survive—

And then the world went dark.

*. *. *. *. *. *. *

The bunker was a mess.

That was the only proper way to describe it as Sam stood stoic in the middle of the library. Books had been piling up on the table for the past few days, the shelves slowly becoming more vacant, some even littering the ground along with scribbled notes.

“Dean, what the hell?!”

As if on cue his brother poked his head up from where he was seated on the other side of the table, a mountain of literature dividing the two.

“What?”

“The place is a mess! What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out what the hell is happening to me and why I can’t remember things!” The older brother fumed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I just need to find a spell or something to help. Cas was helping me-“ Dean paused, eyebrows drawing together as he looked over his shoulder for the angel. “But he left. Angel business or something.”

Not this again. Sam thought, letting out a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dean how many times do I have to tell you that you are not missing anything? You’ve been droning on about this for weeks. You need to stop.”

“I’m not stopping, Sam. I’ve lost something important to me and I intend on finding whatever it may be.” Dean flipped the page of the book he was currently buried in, a set look on his face. He wasn’t gonna let this go.

“Alright whatever. Continue on your crazy quest or whatever to find this ‘missing thing’. I’m done trying to stop you.”

“Alright, fine.” Dean muttered, eyes still fixated on the words in front of him as he picked up his book and moved out of the library, no doubt moving to his room instead.

Dean didn’t even have to look up from the massive leather bound book in his hands as he navigated the quiet corridors of their home. It was like shifting into autopilot. He knew this place like the back of his hand. His steps only faltered once when he came to the door from before, the brass numbers staring back at him intimidatingly before the Winchester shook his head and continued on towards his room, nose back in the book.

Nudging the door open with his foot, he flicked on the lights. The hinges of the door slightly squeaking as he closed it behind him fully and moved to take a seat in his desk chair, kicking his feet up on the worn wood of the desk. He was gonna find something soon. He could feel it in his bones.

He had maybe been seated for a mere minute before he paused, looking up from the book with eyebrows tightly drawn together. A sudden wave of curiosity rippled through the hunter as his jade eyes look across the room towards his nightstand, head tilting ever so slightly.

It was as if he was being pulled because he slowly closed his book and moved across the linoleum tiles, searing himself on the bed as he cautiously slid open the top drawer. He had no clue as to why he was doing it but he didn’t stop himself. Shifting through the contents of the drawer he came across an unfamiliar book at the bottom. . . Or was it familiar? Ignoring the rest of the contents he pulled the small book free before closing the drawer with a sharp thud.

The photo album was small. The front and back wrapped in a deep green leather that was soft to the touch, his initials burnt into the lower left corner of it. It was his. . . But he had no memory of ever buying it.

“Well hello there.” Brushing off the thin layer of dust collected on the top, Dean opened to the plastic pages, recognizing the the photographs held within as he flipped through them. They were pictures of him and Sam, Bobby, Cas. Even the one of him with his mother. His most cherished photos were all there, safe and tucked away.

But what got him wasn’t the photographs in front of him. It was the blank spots between them where other photographs clearly used to be. No person in their right mind would leave open spaces between photographs in a photo album. Something was meant to be there. Those spaces weren’t supposed to be empty. . .

Deans eyes stayed glued to the laminated pages, as he let his fingers dance along an empty photo slot. “Someone. . .”

The moment the word left his lips his eyes widened and he sucked in a breath as realization struck him, And then Dean Winchester was shooting off the bed like it had caught fire, throwing the door to his room open and bolting back down the hallway, the photo album clutched tightly in his hands.

“Sam!”

“God, what is it now?”

Deans socked feet slid across the floor as he rounded the corner into the war room, practically vaulting over the steps as he entered the library.

“Found it!”

“Found what?” Sam let out a sigh, before slightly jumping as Dean slammed the open photo album down on the table, a wide smile on his face.

“Look!”

Peering down at the page the younger Winchester shrugged, looking back up to his brother. “What am I looking at exactly?”

“The blank spots, see?!” Dean rapidly tapped on an empty space in the book, wide eyed and out of breathless.

“Yeah, you don’t take a lot of pictures-“

“No! No you don’t get it- it’s a someone.” Dean breathed, both excited and relieved that he was finally getting somewhere. “I’ve lost someone very important to me.”

To Be Continued. . .

SPN Taglist (still open)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @neerness @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #bi-danvers writing #dean winchester angst #spn x reader

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spideybb · 3 years ago

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songs for when you wanna feel like the main character

i’m getting a car soon so like...i made a playlist to blast with my windows rolled down while driving on the highway. thought i’d share if with yall <3 peep the spotify link at the end! also will be updating <3

01. mr. brightside the killers

02. somebody told me the killers

03. heat waves glass animals

04. daddy issues the neighbourhood

05. everybody talks neon trees

06. edamame (feat. rich brian) bbno$

07. wait a minute! WILLOW

08. can i call you tonight? dayglow

09. someone to you BANNERS

10. brutal olivia rodrigo

11. dear maria, count me in all time low

12. cooler than me — single mix mike posner, gigamesh

13. pumped up kicks foster the people

14. everywhere i go hollywood undead

15. last young renegade all time low

16. still don’t know my name labrinth

17. take on the world you me at six

18. why’d you only call me when you’re high arctic monkeys

19. she looks so perfect 5 seconds of summer

20. numb to the feeling chase atlantic

21. sex EDEN

22. I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE maneskin

23. smack a bitch rico nasty

24. dancing queen ABBA

25. pompeii bastille

26. don’t threaten me with a good time panic! at the disco

27. okay chase atlantic

28. kissing in cars (bonus track) pierce the veil

29. backseat serenade all time low

30. hot girl bummer blackbear

31. sweater weather the neighbourhood

32. i miss having sex but at least i don’t wanna die waterparks

33. 18 anarbor

34. falling chase atlantic

35. don’t stop me now — remastered queen

36. blinding lights the weeknd

37. circles post malone

38. centuries fall out boy

39. the only exception paramore

40. hall of fame (feat. will.i.am) the script

spotify link

last updated: august 7

#pov: you're the main character #playlist #playlists #music recs #song recs

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flowersandskeletons526 · 5 years ago

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“Speak” - Glitra Fanfic

This is just a little drabble I wanted to get down. Hope you all enjoy!

----

Silence was deafening on Horde Prime’s ship.

Glimmer decided it was something to do with the black and gray paint that coated every surface. Despite the metal and concrete, everything not directly in front of her was dampened to a low rumble in the walls and floor. The mechanical creaks and groans became distant rhythms thudding in her skull. The conversations of the clone army were little more than vibrations beneath her hands, and only when they were just outside the cell.

She thought back to the lively villages within Brightmoon’s borders, the chirping birds and calls of citizens throughout the castle. Even in the tranquil quiet of home, there was noise. The woods themselves spoke to her. Complete silence never occurred and when it did, it was cold and hostile, the sound of a battlefield after the fires were put out and she was the last one lingering around to bear witness.

It was fitting. Every day spent stuck with Horde Prime was a battle in itself, between biting her tongue when he threatened another world and fighting to keep a calm face when he lashed out in a brutal fit of anger. She lost count of the poor clones that met their end whenever Prime met a mild inconvenience.

Their blood was green, she learned. She wondered if Prime’s was the same. That horrid fluorescent green of their blood and teeth was the one thing that wasn’t dulled by the sterile monochrome of the ship.

That, and Catra.

The force captain sat across from her day in and day out, watching her with narrowed eyes. There was a cold truce between them now, but only barely. For the first weeks in their new shared home, they fought until neither could raise a fist. The splits in Catra’s eyebrow and lip were just now beginning to heal. Glimmer figured the claws marks on her hands and arms would leave scars in their wake.

It took weeks of brawling before they said a civil word to each other. After the floodgates opened, they told stories. They shared confessions and secrets. In between insults and snaps, Glimmer watched Catra soften around the edges. Her claws no longer dug into Glimmer’s wrist when she had to stop the queen from speaking against Horde Prime. Her gaze didn’t cut across Glimmer’s skin from across the cell.

When they slept back to back on the one cot provided, when either or both of them woke up screaming, Catra’s grip on her hand or shoulder wasn’t so harsh anymore.

Glimmer found that Catra had a habit of curling up in her sleep. Lately, it was against Glimmer’s back, which never bode well when Glimmer shot up straight out of a dead sleep.

Catra yelped as she went tumbling off the side of the bunk. Glimmer clutched at her chest, panting and drenched in sweat as Catra clawed her way back up with her hair standing on end. She snarled and flattened her ears against her head as Glimmer screwed her eyes shut.

“What the hell was that for, Sparkles?!” she demanded. Her voice was still loud, at least.

Glimmer didn’t respond. Even if her world now was all muted grays and neon green, the blood in her dreams was still as vivid red as ever. She covered her mouth to stop herself from crying out for Adora, that dopey grin stuck in her head between flashing images of fallen warriors and mortal wounds. She thought of being in the blonde’s arms again. She just needed one chance to apologize for all the horrible things she said before Prime arrived. One chance to let Adora know she didn’t mean it. It was all she needed.

Any more waiting in this silent hellhole was going to drive her insane.

Catra’s warm hand on her shoulder drew her back to reality. The force captain’s ears swiveled forward, and her posture relaxed as her luminescent eyes studied Glimmer. She took a deep breath. Glimmer turned away.

“Tell me,” Catra said.

“Adora,” Glimmer explained curtly.

Catra’s eyes narrowed. “It’s always Adora.”

“What?”

Catra’s hand drifted across Glimmer’s collarbone to the side of her neck, coaxing her closer. She pressed her lips to the curve of the queen’s shoulder and held them there. It wasn’t a kiss, only a comfort. That’s what they told themselves. They weren’t comfortable with each other, only civil and lonely and trapped together in one small cell for weeks on end. They were human contact and nothing more.

“She’s not coming,” Catra mumbled against her skin.

“You don’t know that.”

“Sparkles.” Catra tugged on her. Glimmer sighed, grabbing Catra’s wrist and holding her hand in place against her neck. “I know how her rescue attempts go when it comes to you, remember? She would already be here if she was going to come at all.” She nuzzled her nose against Glimmer’s jaw. “Trust me. I know her.”

“No, I know her. You knew her.”

“Do you think you��ll tell her the same thing about me?”

“Stop it.”

“Glimmer.”

A chill raced up Glimmer’s spine. “Say my name again.”

Catra lifted her head. “What?”

“Say my name again.” She closed her eyes and turned her head to press against Catra’s shoulder. “Please.”

“Glimmer.” Catra wrapped her arms around the queen’s neck. “Glimmer.” She cupped her face and pressed their foreheads together. “Glimmer. Look at me.” Glimmer’s eyes cracked open as Catra brushed the pad of her thumb across her cheek. “She’s not coming back.”

Glimmer’s eyes went wide. She tried to pull away, but Catra held her in place. “She will come back,” she said, more to herself than Catra.

Catra’s fingers tangled in her hair. Her eyes turned cold and sharp and ruthless again, their old smug humor entirely absent. Glimmer barely noticed before Catra pushed her back with a scoff. “You’re hopeless.”

“What?”

“Go back to sleep, Sparkles. You act even worse around Horde Prime when you’re tired and I don’t want to wash any more clone blood out of my uniform.”

Catra curled up with her back to Glimmer. Taking a deep breath, the queen pushed her hair out of her face and stretched out on her side, her back pressed to Catra’s as she closed her eyes. Just before she drifted off, Catra turned over and wrapped her arm around Glimmer’s waist. Although the rest she prayed for never came, Catra’s warmth pressed against her back made it just a bit easier.

---

Glimmer paced through the empty cell, biting at her thumbnail. Her stomach twisted in cold knots as she waited for the muted footsteps of clones in the corridor. The soft thrumming of machinery through the walls drowned out her panicked thoughts, like a beehive in her skull driving her mad. She banged her fist against the metal wall just to hear something, but nothing helped. Nothing except Catra.

It was never a good thing when Horde Prime separated them. Glimmer shuddered, thinking of his cold claws against her cheek. Separation meant beatings and threats, clones killed with no warning just to show what he could do to them if they stepped out of line. The last time Glimmer faced him alone, he grinned as the clone bled out, writhing on the floor as it took its last breath. His claws were stained the same color as his teeth.

Glimmer whirled around as the energy field sealing off the cell disappeared. Two clones held Catra by the arms between them, her legs dragging behind and her head slumped forward. Glimmer froze. The clones tossed Catra face down into the cell and activated the energy field behind them.

“Catra!”

The force captain groaned as she rolled onto her back. One eye was swollen shut, and blood trickled from her nose and the corners of her mouth. Her breathing was heavy and labored, coming in short gasps as Glimmer knelt beside her. Holding Catra’s head in her lap, she eased her headpiece off and brushed her hair out of her face. Catra hissed through gritted teeth.

“What happened?” Glimmer asked.

“What do you think?” Catra choked out. A rattling cough wracked her body, and she twisted in pain beneath Glimmer’s hands.

Glimmer shushed her and eased her down. “Take it easy,” she cooed.

“Say something.” Catra opened her eyes, holding Glimmer’s hand against her cheek. “I’m sick of everything being so quiet. If you weren’t here, I’d lose my mind.”

“Catra…”

“Please say something. Anything. I just need to hear you right now.” Catra’s breathing evened out as she gripped Glimmer’s hand. “Tell me what Brightmoon was like before all the fighting. Tell me about Etheria outside the Fright Zone.”

“I… okay.” Using the corner of her cape to wipe away the blood on Catra’s face, she sighed and conjured Brightmoon in her mind. “It’s calm there. It doesn’t look anything like here or the Fright Zone. All the colors are light pastels.”

“Like you?”

“A little, but they’re not as bright. Um, there are birds and little animals everywhere. The castle is surrounded by these massive gardens and waterfalls that turn gold as the sun goes down, and you can see the whispering woods for what seems like forever. It’s easy to breathe in Brightmoon. The air is fresh and smells like the forest. It doesn’t stink and burn your lungs like the air in the Fright Zone.”

Catra snickered. “It does stink.”

Glimmer smiled and stroked Catra’s cheek. “What else do you want to know?”

“What’s going to happen after we get out of here?”

Taking a deep breath, Glimmer looked aside. “I don’t know.”

“I can’t stay.”

“You saved my life. The princesses won’t-”

“The princesses won’t look past what I’ve done.”

“I did.”

Catra rolled onto her side and shoved herself up, taking Glimmer’s face in her hands. She pressed their foreheads together as her fingers twisted in Glimmer’s hair. There was an ache in her bright eyes, but it wasn’t from her wounds. Glimmer knew what that looked like. This was different, colder and quieter, fleeting through her blood streaked features as her gaze settled on the queen.

Glimmer’s hands rested on Catra’s waist. Catra held Glimmer’s head in place with one hand while the other traced the long muscle reaching from her jaw to her collarbone.

“Do you want me in Brightmoon?” she whispered. “Don’t lie. Tell me you want me free to roam around Etheria. Tell me you forgive me for everything I did.”

“I want you here.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

“I can want you without forgiving what you did.”

Catra bristled. “How?”

“I don’t know! I just know that I do.”

“Do you want me like you want Adora?”

“I don’t want to think about Adora!” Glimmer pushed her away, staggering to her feet. She wrapped her arms around herself as she screwed her eyes shut and shook her head. Catra stood across the cell from her. “I don’t want to think about Adora and Bow and how I messed everything up because I’ve gone over it a thousand times in my head already. I wasn’t ready to be queen and it got thrown back in my face! I don’t want to keep being reminded about everything I’ve screwed up!”

Catra pushed Glimmer against the wall and kissed her.

Glimmer melted into her touch, wrapping her arms around Catra’s neck as she pressed closer. Her touch burned through the chill of the cell, her lips full and chapped against Glimmer’s and rough, calloused hands gently gripping her waist.

Giving in to the kiss, Glimmer pushed all other thoughts from her mind. There was heat and passion behind it, maybe even longing, but she knew it was only comfort. They didn’t love each other. This wouldn’t last. They were isolated together with nothing else to do and not enough energy to fight. What else could they expect?

Catra broke the kiss and buried her face against Glimmer’s neck, taking a deep breath. Glimmer held her tight and brushed her fingers through her hair.

“Do you love her?” Catra asked.

“Don’t you?” Glimmer said.

Catra responded with another kiss. Glimmer pulled her close and tried to forget the world outside, tried to think past the blood she tasted on Catra’s lips and the way her body trembled against her.

It won’t last, she told herself as she kissed Catra back. This won’t last.

---

Horde Prime’s ship laid in ruins in the center of a massive crater. The woods around it were obliterated, reduced to smoldering stumps amidst the wreckage. Glimmer stood at the edge, looking over the remains, bloodied and bruised but still standing. Catra stood off to her right and watched it burn in silence. They turned to each other. They were home, but they knew what that meant for them. This was a different world than the one they made in their cell. There were different rules.

Catra swallowed hard and drew herself up. “Glimmer, I-”

“Glimmer!”

Adora and Bow burst into the smoking clearing. Catra shrank back as Glimmer whirled around, watching the queen’s face light up as she leapt into their arms.

“Bow! Adora!”

The trio fell to their knees, tears streaming down their faces as they clung to each other. Bow held her hand as he pulled away and struggled to speak past his sobs.

“W-We’re so happy you’re okay! We, we thought…”

“We didn’t know what happened,” Adora filled in. “We thought you were hurt.”

“No, I’m okay, you guys,” Glimmer assured them. “Everything’s alright.”

Adora helped her to her feet as Bow composed himself and wrapped her arms around Glimmer’s waist. “I missed you,” she whispered. Glimmer closed her eyes, relaxing into the fortress of Adora’s strong embrace. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“I am, too,” Glimmer sighed. Lifting her head, she looked over Adora’s shoulder.

Blood was smeared across Catra’s face. She watched them with a frigid glare, her mouth twisted and teeth bared. Her fists trembled by her side. Glimmer thought of those trembling hands on her waist, the harsh, snarling lips pressed gently against hers. She bristled as her stomach dropped, and she stepped out of Adora’s arms.

“Catra,” she began.

“Catra?!” Bow squeaked. He and Adora turned on the force captain, and Adora drew a simple sword. Glimmer didn’t have time to wonder why She-Ra’s sword had been replaced. Catra backed away, her eyes locked with Glimmer’s.

“Catra, wait!” she begged.

Adora stepped between them and pushed Glimmer behind her. “Stay back, Glimmer! We’ll handle this.”

“No, Adora, you don’t understand!”

Catra turned on her heel and ran.

“Catra!”

Adora held Glimmer back as the force captain disappeared into what remained of the treeline. Glimmer’s heart sank. Adora wrapped her arms around her, oblivious to the guilt contorting Glimmer’s expression. She buried her face against Adora’s shoulder and fought back tears as Adora stroked her hair.

“It’s okay,” Adora said. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you, Glim. I’m right here.”

Glimmer risked a glance over Adora’s shoulder, her vision blurred by tears. For just a moment, a pair of luminescent, mismatched eyes caught her gaze before they disappeared into the trees.

Adora held her tighter. She hid her face against Adora’s chest and, for the first time in months, begged for silence.

#She Ra #glimmer #catra #adora #bow #horde prime #she ra season 4 #spop #glitra #glimmadora #glimadora #glimtra #pining #kissing #gay

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enkelimagnus · 3 years ago

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The Winter Soldier

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1930 words, rated M for violence

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 3 Power Broker

Bucky's inner thoughts when Zemo, Conrad Mack and the Winter Soldier walk into the Brass Monkey

TW: violence, slight dissociation during the fight

Read on AO3

Part 21 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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

Low Town is overwhelming. Neon lights, smokes, sweat, sex, food, trash, everything out in the open. There are signs in multiple languages around him as they walk by. Bahasa Indonesia, Thai, Mandarin, Japanese, Russian, English, Arabic. He can read most of them. They’re all shop names, advertisements for services. Amongst them is a 24-hour Russian laundromat that probably doesn’t launder clothing.

Money changes hands at the corner of his eyes, fat stacks of bills in various currencies. Kuwaiti and Bahraini dinars, US Dollars, Euros, Yen, Rubles. He can’t see any rupiah, which is interesting for an Indonesian-archipelago island but Madripoor has always been its own thing.

There are guns everywhere, from small pistols to assault rifles paraded around on shoulders with little to no care. There are so many of them it’s hard to count but he does it anyway. 78 firearms by the time they make it to the door of the Brass Monkey. 91% of those they have crossed paths with were armed in some way that he could see.

It’s so much. It’s familiar in an almost overwhelming way. Zemo walks ahead, proud and tall and confident. Any hint of the wistful man in the plane has been scrubbed off. He’s Baron Helmut Zemo; commander, colonel, criminal. Bucky doesn’t know exactly what Zemo did to get those Madripoori contacts. He’s thankful for them anyway.

Sam follows him, obviously uncomfortable in his colorful clothing, his slightly heeled boots, the necklaces and flair. Sam’s a soldier, a man of simple needs, simple clothing. He’s not used to this. Bucky’s pretty sure there’s a hidden meaning in the wax pattern of the suit, but he doesn’t know it. Zemo must. Unless the twinkle in his eye when he took the outfit out of its bag in the plane was born from somewhere else.

Bucky closes the march, keeping an eye on their backs and their surroundings. He almost expected Zemo to have a copy of his Winter Soldier gear in the second clothing bag but he didn’t. This… is better. Much better. He doesn’t know how he would handle being in the Soldier’s actual clothes again.

The jacket is leather and only has one sleeve. It’s a deep, dirty red, rusted, ashy, and bloody. The pants are tactical, close with a thick belt. There’s a harness around his chest, the same kind he used to wear to carry his Škorpion vz. 61 on. Except he doesn’t have his guns right now. Zemo insisted they come weaponless. The harness is purely decorative. Fucker.

Granted, it does make Bucky feel less like himself, and more like the Soldier. The harness pulls his shoulders back by the simple fact that it’s there. It’s not tight, but it’s just… there. And it makes him stand differently. He has fingerless gloves as well and the air against his fingertips is almost strange.

He finds himself moving differently, with the perfect silence of the world’s best trained assassin. He finds himself melting once more into the skin of a machine. And for once, he lets himself go.

He wishes for guns or knives, but all he has is himself. It’s enough to make him lethal, of course; his body was made for killing. Every cell in his body makes him an apex predator. It’s a wonder he doesn’t have fucking razor sharp teeth.

In between the serum and the training, he doesn’t need a weapon. He is the weapon. He walks behind Zemo and Sam silently, darkly. He doesn’t need to bare his teeth for people to know one word from either of the men in front of him and he will rip them to shreds.

Zemo’s voice resounds in Russian.

There are 103 people in this room, and if the earlier statistics are right, at least 93 of them are armed with a firearm or large knife of some sort. With the way the crowd envelops them, it’s impossible to completely avoid fire if something has to happen. He’ll take care of taking his handler to safety. And Sam.

Right. And Sam.

Two handlers is one too many in this sort of situation and he doesn’t have an order of importance. He’s big, but he’s not big enough to shield the two of them effectively. He’ll find a way. He always does.

Is that the Winter Soldier?

They’ve been noticed. Baron Zemo, Conrad Mack, and the Winter Soldier. Enough names to make heads turn. He understands a bodyguard needs to be close.

There are two exit routes that he can currently see. The one they just came in from, which would be complex if the crowd turns against them and bars the exit. He can probably make a way for them. Possible, if not for the stray bullets. How big the casualties would be is unknown. The other option is a door behind the main bar. What lies behind it is unknown, but he will take corridors and close quarters over crowded bar. Less space for the unknown. Easier to shield both men.

He keeps one ear on the conversation - mostly on the inflection of tones in their voices - and settles against the bar. He starts his radar watching their immediate surroundings. 23 guns he can see, 21 knives, 15 people watching, 5 actively talking about them, 3 in English, 2 in what sounds like Bahasa Malaysia, or perhaps Bahasa Indonesia.

And then Sam gets distraught about something. Bucky watches him drink a very suspicious looking shot under Zemo’s amused eyes. That one’s enjoying this too much. Bucky feels a sneer coming up to his face but he doesn’t move a muscle. Not the place to show open animosity towards his handler.

And then the first man comes.

You ain’t welcome here.

Threat against Zemo. Bucky forces himself not to roll his eyes. Of course he’s not welcome. Fucking hell. They’re gonna have to fight their way through this, because Zemo walked them right into the fucking lion’s mouth.

There’s a chat, it doesn’t know anywhere. The “Power Broker” is a hilarious name. Cocksure assholes, all of them.

And then… it shifts. From the corner of his eyes, he sees a whispered conversation between the first man and a bigger man, tall and large and obviously a strong arm. Bucky shifts. Sam seems to have noticed the change as well. Zemo is still chatting with the bartender, despite the threat. Bucky knows better than to believe he’s oblivious.

When Zemo’s eyes meet his - dark, intense, sharp and somehow both commanding and questioning -, Bucky nods.

The Russian order wraps around his mind. The man’s hand never touches the handler’s expensive coat.

The crowd parts for him, makes space for him. The man’s wrist bones are crushed to dust by the time he stops walking him to the center of the room. He switches hands, holds out his left arm and sends it flying into the man’s collarbones at full power. The man is on the ground, screaming. Shattered collarbone.

He has the time to take a breath and turns around. A second, younger, darker-haired man launches himself at him, right hand closed into a fist. He sidesteps, wraps his right arm around the man’s, and sends his left punching hard in between the man’s shoulder blades, keeping his right arm straight.

The man bends in half and he strikes him in the chest. The man’s hood falls over his head. Another hit on the back of the neck. He pulls him back, forces him to stumble backwards and kicks him hard in the chest, the full power of his enhanced legs behind him. There was a third man getting ready to join the fray behind the second, but the kick takes care of the both of them.

Out of several people behind a coffee table, one gets up, stepping onto the table to join the open circle where he’s now fighting. He drops to the ground, swipes his right leg out, breaking the table’s leg and sending the guy balancing on it down. As soon as he lends, he’s welcomed by a hard kick in the chest.

The guy might not get back up. He doesn’t have time to check.

When he turns back to where the handler and the other are, he sees the handler’s hand on the back of a man’s coat. And suddenly, number 5 is shoved towards him. Knife in right hand. He shifts. The knife hits a few centimeters to the right of where his prosthetic is anchored in his flesh, against vibranium.

He feels the shock slightly, hears the scraping of metal against metal, sees the man’s eyes widen in fear as he realizes that he hasn’t managed to hit the soft, tender, sensitive part where flesh and metal meet. Of course he failed. The new arm is set further in than the old one was.

A knife has been brought out. A weapon. After that, there’s no holding back.

Men fall around him like flies, his body moves without thought. It’s brutal, it’s violent, it’s perfect. He doesn’t think. He acts.

Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.

The words bloom warm into his chest. Pride.

He’s squeezing down on the first man’s throat, choking him in a familiar motion, when a hand lands on his prosthetic. Someone’s holding him back. He almost growls at that until he hears the familiar voice.

Zemo whispers to Sam to stay in character.

“Отлично, солдат.”

The Russian wraps around him again but this time, it feels like so many things Bucky feels nauseous. There are guns being cocked, whispers, machines, stares on him, lights, it’s overwhelming. It’s too much. It feels like there’s a large, too bright, stage light shining on him.

There are hands on him. Sam’s hand has left his left arm. Those are Zemo’s hands, both of them. One on his shoulder blade and one on his stomach, on the soft, tender underside. Steadying. Not holding him back. Steadying him.

And then it’s done. He lets go of the man. They have made a nice enough display. Successful. Prideful. He made the handler happy. Fuck off . He has no reason to make Zemo happy. He made Sam worry, and that’s worse.

Sam doesn’t need more worry. He doesn’t need that. That was the whole fucking point of Bucky not answering his texts for three fucking months. That Sam wouldn’t have to worry about him. And now he does, and he’s seen him.

He’s seen the Winter Soldier. Worse. He’s seen Bucky. Because there were no codewords, no chair, no coercion. He did it. He did it. It’s disgusting and horrifying and Sam might as well call the army now and tell them to throw him back into the Raft and throw away the key.

The adrenaline is still buzzing through him and he could go for hours more. This was an easy fight. This was the best fight he’s had in a fucking decade.

“You good?”

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, no. No, i’m not good, no, I can’t do this, take me away, fuck, fuck I can’t do this.

He has to do this. He has to go through this. Because it’s necessary. It’s what he has to do to get the information they need so there aren’t more supersoldiers than there needs to be. And that number is zero. Fuck. Fuck, it’s bad.

He would be shaking if he didn’t have absolute control over his body at that moment.

He nods. Sam might not buy it. There’s no time for therapy right now.

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #fatws #fic #mine

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bighousela · 4 years ago

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MODERN ART chronicles a life-long rivalry between two mavericks of the London art world; the rebellious art critic Peter Fuller and Michael Minas the most expensive living artist of all time, as they cut their path from the swinging sixties through the collapse of modern art in Thatcher-era Britain.

WRITER’S STATEMENT Peter Fuller was my late father and I wrote this Biopic screenplay based on his memoirs, private letters and journals from the archive held at the TATE. This project has allowed me a dialog with the father I never knew. The story really came together when I created the character of Michael Minas out of Peter’s best friends and rivals, and my own adaptation. Comparisons have been made to two of the most popular streaming series this year; THE CROWN, which has brought a context to 20th Century British political and cultural history like never before. And breakout series QUEEN’S GAMBIT which has popularized the game of chess, an otherwise niche field, whose participants are obsessive and yet the story is entirely character driven. These are equally the aims of MODERN ART. 2020 has only proven we need art, now more than ever. Peter Fuller was like a punch in the guts to the art world from 1969 to 1990. I want for this film to reach the person walking into an art museum for the first time knowing nothing about the paintings in front of them and hit them emotionally just as hard as the collector with five Picassos on their wall. This is an inside look into a world that is a closed door to the average person, I want to kick that door down with this piece. Laurence Fuller, 2020

SYNOPSIS INTERVIEWER: Michael Minas, your latest piece, a car wreckage made of solid gold at Deutscher Galleries, has made you the most expensive living artist of all time. Can you tell our readers what you believe is the state of Modern Art? MICHAEL: This moment, as we all know, is missing someone. He was my oldest friend and greatest adversary. Thirty years on and we still feel his absence stronger than ever. He pulled himself to the centre of this carousel and watched the horses dance for his pleasure, wincing at the neon lights. PETER FULLER… This is all your fault. When my assistant found Peter’s journal in my studio this morning, there was no more hiding the origins of my work. The radical 60s; John Lennon plays guitar with Che Guevara, Vanessa Redgrave rallies a protest in Trafalgar Square, Peter and I were there for it all and we had the scars to prove it. Shaggy hair and anarchy everywhere. Art was the centre of this game and art was radical. It was time to question everyone and everything. And yet, Peter was struggling to find his voice amongst so many competing agendas. Peter was a terrible painter, I kept encouraging him to write instead, none-the-less he insisted on having a solo exhibition, for which he sketched his first wife the sensual COLETTE as the Venus De Milo. The show was a critical disaster in all the papers across England, I should know, I wrote one of them. Peter’s confidence as a painter was shattered, but it was that day a critic was born. Britain didn’t need another painter, it needed a writer. I connected him with the revolutionary journalist Tariq Ali who inspired him with the words “Write our revolution. Seize the time.” Peter’s fierce and prolific columns inevitably led him to JOHN BERGER. There was no greater critic at the time. After an invitation to join Berger at his home in France, they talked for days, Peter became fascinated by the man, who became his surrogate father. I am ashamed to admit it now, but I was jealous. The three of us locked in a power struggle: Two brothers fighting for the father’s approval. At Berger’s request to find out which side he’s really on, he asked me to keep an eye on Peter. I watched him in the hungry hours of the art openings. I watched him feed his demons at the late night whipping houses and horse tracks where he spent his last pennies on the strangest hopes. Little did I know, he was watching me just as closely. I took it upon myself to steal his journals. I could not do this alone. I had to enlist the help of the person closest to him, Colette. As I read them feverishly, of course I knew it was wrong, but what was he hiding? I was obsessed with trying to figure him out.

Anxiously I read in Peter’s journals how he wrestled with his father in the tormented dreams of his childhood where we first met at boarding school. The older boys could be unusually cruel back then. Failing to comply with their authority we were tied to a fence in a bull paddock and whipped within an inch of our lives. Reading his account again inspired me to create the exhibition MINOTAUR’S SONG in 1986. I knew I could never beat Peter with words, but my art would torture him and force him to rebel against us. And he did by publishing brutal columns. John felt as though he had lost his son, he turned to me. Colette could no longer bare Peter’s anguish and the marriage was ripped apart, she turned to me. Peter went mad with jealousy and confronted Berger and myself at the exhibition. Our next debate was televised and it was merciless. Peter turned his back on all of us. He was black listed across the entire art publishing trade, except for his own passionate glossy MODERN PAINTERS. The magazine tore the entire establishment apart on both sides of the divide. There, revealed at its centre, was Peter holding the curtain open to the dying light of beauty. At the launch neither Berger, nor I were spared in the most intense debate I have witnessed let alone been a part of, as nobody could use language as a weapon like Peter. Finally, he had undeniably found his voice. I did not see his final letter until after the car crash which claimed his life so abruptly. Of course Peter’s final move in this game is a crescendo which reveals the purpose of beauty and the preciousness of life. Who better to deliver me this message than my assistant, but did she know more than she was letting on? George Mackay Michael Minas MICHAEL MINAS - 30s Caucasian Male (British), Peter’s lifelong best friend, though rougher round the edges, the two are locked in a constant cycle of camaraderie and rivalry. The emotional rollercoaster of their relationship escalates from adolescence through the revolutionary 60s, into passionate televised debates of the 80s, sensational art openings and betrayals of love and loyalties, played out on the art world’s stage. LEAD JOHN BERGER - 40s-50s (British), a handsome man with a large presence and a wisdom that is expressed in the lines of his face and the openness of his heart. John Berger was the leading art critic in England throughout the 20th Century. Notorious and internationally recognized for his controversial perspective on art criticism which was also deeply personal and autobiographical. He was Peter’s mentor and over time his surrogate father as their intense relationship sent ripples throughout the art world. LEAD

Modern Art Script Trailer

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cassiopee-utopia · 4 years ago

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The day I ran into you #2/3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Meet me at the show

(3k words)

At this right moment, I can’t help but smile, and as I want to "play it cool" I guess, I’m trying to act like it wasn't one of the best offers I had in my life and I simply answer with a soft smile:

- Sure, I'd love to!

- Great!

- But wait, I've nothing to wear, I can't go to a Paris fashion show like that!

Indeed, I’m wearing the simplest outfit ever, a white tee-shirt, denim shorts and black converses.

- It's not matter don't worry! People dress good only because they want to expose themselves on social media, it's not your intention, right?

- Well, no I guess.

- Good! Come on in, I just need to change my shirt and we're off.

As I enter his room again, he goes to the bathroom to get changed but he doesn’t close the door completely. I can then see him removing his tee-shirt, revealing his beautiful back, but my pretty view didn't last long as he immediately put his bright blue shirt on, before getting out.

- If you're really concerned about your look, you can wear one of my oversized tees as a dress with… um… (he's looking inside his suitcase) this! he hands me a big black belt and a long with tee-shirt.

- Okay, why not, I smile.

- Good, but hurry up, we're really late!

I take his cloths, Timothée Chalamet's cloths OMG, and go in the bathroom to change as quick as possible, but unlike him, I close the door properly.

- Ta daa!!! I say when I get out.

He raises his head as he was tying his shoes and smiles.

- You look beautiful Rachel, actually, I think this tee-shirt look better on you.

- Thank you, I answer blushing.

- Okay let's go! He says as he stood up.

We get out of the room and go down the stairs as fast as we can to join the exit.

- Where is the show?

- Luckily for us, not too far from here, come on, we're gonna take the subway.

- The subway? I ask confused.

- Yes, sorry to disappoint, not every star travel in limo.

- Sorry, that's not what I meant…

- I know, just teasing you.

I roll my eyes and we enter the subway entrance. As I have no idea where we are going, I just follow him.

On the platform, I look around me and am praying that nobody would recognize him, because yes, I was selfish and wanted to keep him for myself as long as I could.

We don't wait long for the train to come and we get inside.

- You can't imagine how much I hate the subway, I explain, and luckily for me, I have the great pleasure to take it every single day.

- I recognize that it's not the most glamorous means of transportation but still, it's really useful.

- Sure, I'm not saying the opposite, but it could be much better if people weren't so… dirty. Oh and if there were less people too because the line that I take every day is the most used. North part of the 13th, a real pleasure to play sardine with strangers…

- Sardines?

- Yes, during rush hours, the coaches are so crowded that it's like we were a giant sardines' tin so tight we are.

- That's a funny comparison, he says smiling. Come on it's our stop.

- Oh, indeed, it wasn't that far. (it was just 3 stations away from the hotel)

- Yes, but we still have some walk to do, (he looks at his watch) and the show is supposed to start in five minutes!

We hurry to find the way out and once upstairs in the street he stops:

- Ready?

- What? I answer.

- Set?

- … I made my most confused face.

- GO! He screams and starts running like a madman.

- Oh dear… I thought out loud.

I take a deep breath and run after him as fast as I can.

We continue like that for about 2 or 3 minutes, but I am totally exhausted as I never do sport, like, NEVER. So I slow down a bit and stop to take my breath back. But when I raise my head up, I realize I can’t see Timothée anymore.

- Fuck! I say loudly.

I am looking everywhere but no trace of a cute curly haired man.

Suddenly someone jumps on me brutally.

- Hey what's wrong? He asks.

I jump from surprise like never and when I snap out of it, I yell at him:

- What's wrong with YOU, you should say, you scared me you little nut.

I am still out of breath at this moment and for him, well he seems fine.

- Running is not your thing huh?

- Everything associated with sport is not my thing.

- Aha I see… Then I guess it's a good thing that we're arrived. Look, it's just across the street.

Indeed, when I looked in the direction he was pointing I saw a crowd of people and a lot of flashes that I didn't even noticed when I was looking everywhere for Timothée just a few seconds ago.

- Yes!! I scream with arms raised, which makes him laugh.

We cross the street and join the rest of the group.

- Woo, right on time! He says satisfied, when we got close to the entrance and the group of people. Luckily for us, fashion shows are always late, so it didn't start yet as there's a lot of people still outside.

The moment we enter in the area where the crowd is, a huge wave of flashes come in our direction or rather, in his direction.

- Timothée! Timothée!

When I realize what is happening, I instantly pull away, as an instinctive reaction I guess.

From the side I can see photographs and paparazzies going mad about who has just arrived.

Timothée poses a little, letting those people doing their job, waves and then looks at me in order to make me understand to come inside.

At the entrance, a simple "she's with me" from him is enough to allowed me to enter.

- Thanks again for letting me come with you, I say.

- No problem, it's a pleasure, he smiles.

- Hey man! What's up? Says a guy arrived from nowhere to Timothée.

- Yo buddy, it's been a while! Good! What about you?

- Fine, hey, come on we got a lot of catch up to do, the boys are over there, he says taking him away without even noticing me.

As he was taken away by his friend, Timothée quickly turns towards me, still walking and says:

- Sorry, um… Explore the place and we'll meet after okay?

The only answer I find is a little thumb up and a weird smile saying "thank you for letting me alone in a place full of people that I don't know at all".

He then mouths "Sorry".

So here I am, all alone, in a giant room full of strangers. As I am absolutely not the type of person that go and start a conversation with unknown people, I decide to do what Timothée suggested me, a visit of the place.

It is a little bit dark, the décor is simple, just some bright neon, blue, yellow and green, and big screens showing workshops and dress designers of the brand.

Once I finish my little tour of the place, I just lean against a wall so as not to be alone in the middle like an idiot.

That's the moment I start to pay attention to people that are here. I observe all this well-dressed people, which makes me very uncomfortable in addition to the fact that I don't know anyone. My eyes end up laying on a young blond woman in the back. As she come closer to talk to someone I realize. Oh my god, it's her.

I immediately run towards Timothée who was laughing with the guy who took him away before and a bunch of others. I pull him backward by his arm without even considering the people he was talking to.

- Did you bring me here because of her? To make her jealous or something? I ask pissed.

- Wait, what? Who? He answers confused.

I make a slight and discreet head move towards her direction. He turns around, examine the place and suddenly opens his eyes wide.

- Shit shit shit! He says looking panicked while trying to hide behind me.

- Okay, my turn: Wait, what? What the fuck are you doing? Why are you hiding?

- I just don't want to see her or her to see me, okay? He whispers, still hiding, or at list trying to hide.

- So… You're not the one who invited her?

- No! Of course not! Why would I do that!?

- I don't know… She's your ex, not a monster… She's your ex, right?

- Yes, Lily's my ex. I already told you, we broke up a few months ago.

- Then, what's the problem?

- Well, we haven't talk since, so it would be very uncomfortable.

- Okay, but I still can't get where's the problem here. A lot of people have exes, and it's not that big of a deal. Or… did you break up in bad terms?

- Um, no… yes… I don't know! He said frustrated. It's complicated. Let's just say that we both wanted to break up: she was playing the "femme fatale" too much for me; I was too immature for her… but in the end, it went wrong and we started screaming and arguing for no reasons… Anyway, I just don't want to see her.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and then said:

- Come on, let's get a seat.

I am really confused about this whole situation. First, I randomly met Timothée Chalamet, after that he brings me to his hotel room, then to a fashion show, and now, Lily-Rose Depp, his ex, shows up. That's way too much for one day.

He leads me to the catwalk and the benches, and we sit in the front row. Apart from these weird circumstances, it's true that as I love fashion and would like to work in this industry later, it's really awesome to end up on the front row of a fashion show in Paris. It's not my first show though. Thanks to my PR teacher, my class has been able to assist to one back in February for the fall/winter fashion week. Even if it was for a small brand that had just starting out, and only eight or ten models had been presented, I really enjoyed this experience.

A few minutes later, still waiting for the show to begin, I notice someone on the opposite benches a little more on the left, looking in my direction, well, in his direction. Lily. I lean towards Timothée and say while looking at her:

- Looks like it's a fail for the operation "I don't want to see her or her to see me".

He raises his eyes in the same direction as mine and as I turn to see his reaction, I can see how muddled he looks. In a way, it reassures me a bit. Timothée raises his arm a little and wave awkwardly at her. The only response he gets from her is a confused look followed by an eyebrow rise. Seeing the whole scene, I wonder: God, how did I get in this?

This situation suddenly stops as the lights go down and the music starts: the show begins.

The firsts models arrive with their incredible looks, only the catwalk is lighted, but we can still see the audience thanks to the light of the numerous phones, because of course, almost everybody is filming or taking pictures. During the whole show I can't help myself but look in her direction and I'm pretty sure she did the same. Regarding Timothée I don't know if looked at Lily as I really tried to stay focus on the show, and well, her obviously…

The show lasted for about 10 minutes and was incredible. After the great applauses for the creator of the brand, full lights were back and everybody stood up and went in direction of the exit or the buffet. Of course I was planning to go to the buffet but I got interrupted:

- Hey, I'm gonna try to find Haider, do you want to come with me?

- Yeah, sure.

Thus, we head for backstage.

He leans towards me and whispers to me:

- Don't worry, I'm sure the buffet will still be here when we'll be back.

I can totally hear the smirk in his voice, so I say with the most innocent voice:

- I have no idea what you're talking about.

- Mmh mmh.

- Stop it! I'm not a glutton if that's what you think! I say pushing me slightly.

- Hey.

When I turn my head in direction of the voice, I immediately lost the smile I had on my face and I just say:

- Um… I let you two talk.

I leave before anyone could answer or protest. I just really don't want to hear their conversation and I guess that I also can't stand by a person as beautiful as Lily-Rose Depp without being extremely uncomfortable.

So I did what I had in mind first, I went to the buffet, and yes, I may actually be a little glutton, sometimes… okay often.

Even if the food is really good I can't stop thinking about what they could be saying. What if they want to have a more serious conversation and just leave without even telling me? Or what If they unexpectedly fall in love again? At this moment I really don't know what to do because if they are indeed gone, I am still in the middle of a private event without anyone knowing who I am, I can get in trouble. I’m starting to freak out.

- I knew you would be here.

I turn back.

- Timothée, thanks god you're not gone! I say with a blow of relief.

- Gone? Why would I be gone?

- I don't know… um… because of…

- Because of Lily?! What! No! of course no! You know it was just a random conversation with the common "Hello, how are you, who is she…" that kind of stuff…

- And what did you say?

He made an interrogative face.

- To the "who is she" question, what did you say?

- Oh, um… I said "A really nice girl I met today" (while saying that he was doing big pompous movements to exaggerate).

I roll my eye.

- So we have to see Haider now before he leaves.

- Yeah, I follow you.

- And, yes, I think you’re a little glutton, he says smiling.

I stick my tongue at him as an answer because in this moment I can't find any excuses.

We went to the backstage and talked, well, Timothée talked to Haider Hackerman for a bit. I was a little set back as I really didn't know what to say and of course my shyness didn't help. I exchanged some word with him tough when Timmy introduced me as the "really nice girl he met today". This man was very kind but also very occupied, so we had to leave as he had to go talk to the journalists and his guests.

We are now heading to the exit.

- So, what did you think about it? Did you like it?

- Yes, that was incredible! Thank you very much Timothée! And thank you for the clothes too!

- You're welcome, he says with a satisfied smile. You can keep them if you want.

- Really? You don't have to…

He stops and look at me in the eyes.

- I insist.

I smile widely.

Almost arrived at the exit door we see that paparazzies are still there. We can hear screams too. I guess that somehow fans either heard that Timothée Chalamet or Lily-Rose Depp were here.

- You know what? I think we should go out the back.

- You know another exit?

- Well… There's always a back door, right?

I shrug.

- Come.

We walk around the place a little bit and finally manage to sneak out after asking a security guard for an alternative exit.

We are walking in the street with, from what I deduced, no particular destination. We eventually end up to the subway station we went out earlier.

- So… I would like to invite you to dinner, he says hesitant.

I stop.

- Me!? I answer surprised.

- No, the streetlamp behind you…

- …

- Of course you! He says laughing. So, what do you think?

Right now, my whole body is just fireworks, I am so happy! My day with Timothée isn't finish! Again, not to appear like a hysterical fan I answer softly.

- Yeah, I would love to.

-Great!

We smile at each other like two idiots.

- So right now it's 6:25 pm so maybe we could meet in the lobby of my hotel at 8? Is that okay for you?

- Sure, it's perfect.

- Nice! See you at 8 then.

We both pass the revolving door and he starts walking to one of the two directions of the metro line cause he knows my apartment was in the other direction as I told him earlier.

- Yes, see you.

Being a big paranoiac and an anxious person, I can't help but stop him.

- Timothée wait!

He turns back.

- You will be there right? I ask with a low voice.

He retraces his steps, comes close to me and says:

- Yes, I will be there, I promise.

He then leans towards me and kiss my forehead.

Before I could realize anything, he was gone in the tunnel.

Continue reading ! -> last chapter: Chapter 3

#timothee chalamet #Timothée chalamet imagine #Timothée chalamet fiction #first fiction #shortstory #timothee blurb #fanfic #Timothée chalamet story #Timothée chalamet fanfiction

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very-grownup · 4 years ago

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THE YEAR IS 2020 AND I WATCHED NEON GENESIS EVANGELION FOR THE FIRST TIME, PART 6

Episode 17.

A military tribunal grills Misato and gives her shit for not presenting Shinji for grilling and/or grilling him herself. There are a lot of shots of silhouettes in isolation and heavily shadowed faces obscuring expression in this episode. Lots of NERV talk about branches and the Dead Sea scrolls and attempting to intuit the intentions of Angels.

The rest of Episode 17 and Episode 18 behind the cut.

There are apparently two more EVAs out there in the US and Germany but actually only one more because one of the other two just fucking disappeared with like everything including the people all around it?

There's also ... another teen with the power to pilot the giant upsetting robots and it is both a shock and concern when various people find out who it is although we the audience do not find out who it is (it is probably Shinji's classmate with the little sister who got hurt).

There's just a lot of stuff that seems to be setting up things for the next episode with no resolution so there's not much to report on. Kaji isn't dead. Rei misses some school. That one girl in class who isn't an EVA pilot is trying badly to express interest in dude with sister.

Shinji cleans Rei's shitty garbage apartment, Rei blushes and has some kind of quiet Rei crisis about thanking him after he's gone and also about Shinji's awful father because she still has his broken glasses and they're like the only non-utilitarian thing she owns.

There's no angel attack or anything particularly weird or cool or gross. Just a big sense of building to something. Ritsuko has a coffee mug with cats on it that says CAT CAT CAT CAT and that's pretty great. This concludes my report on Episode 17 of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

Episode 18.

It culminates in maybe 10 solid minutes of me with my hands over my mouth in absolute horror, so. Let's go.

After all the setup of last week's episode with the mysteriously disappeared EVA and the EVA coming from America for a new pilot who is clearly Tohji whose sister got hospitalized because of EVA fight fallout, things open with Americans talking American! They're transporting the American EVA by air on I don't know bungee cords or something and this thing is such obviously colour-coded bad news. It's like, dark grey and black. Then they fly into huge ominous clouds with lightning flashes. This is fine and will be fine.

Misato's off to be involved in all the stuff that NERV needs to do for having a new EVA and even though she has a perfectly good roommate to look after Shinji and Asuka, she tells Shinji that Kaji will be babysitting them instead of Penpen. Fuckin' Kaji. Before she goes she tries to work up to telling Shinji the identity of the new EVA pilot while Shinji works up to asking her about the disappeared EVA rumour. Good job Shinji! Asking questions, even though it's scary! Misato reassures him about THEIR EVAs and safety to avoid bringing up Tohji because ... Misato's a disaster who is trying to be a responsible grown-up and sometimes knowing the right thing to do and wanting to do it isn't enough. Ritsuko gives her a hard time about this later because everyone agrees that Shinji should know Tohji is going to pilot an EVA and since Misato is the only person who said 'someone needs to look after this literal child when he isn't in the robot' she has to be the one to tell him. Because EVERY ADULT IN THIS SHOW SUCKS AND IS FAILING THE NEXT GENERATION except for Misato and she's an overworked alcoholic who gets a pity pass.

All the kids are tense and weird because they know Tohji is going to be piloting an EVA or want to pilot an Eva themselves or are trying to confess to Tohji or they're Shinji. (Asuka almost manages to relate to someone like a normal teen so good job, Asuka.) Rei has a feeling. Lots of opportunity for /literally anyone else/ to tell Shinji that Tohji's the new pilot at multiple opportunities but no one does.

Instead, Shinji tries to have a nighttime man-to-man conversation with Kaji. Fuckin' Kaji. Shinji wants to know what Kaji thinks of his father. Kaji mocks him for this being the only way Shinji can think of to get to know his horrible father, then is flippant about how actually you can never really know another person. But you know who you can really never know?

WOMEN.

Fuckin' Kaji.

So the next day Tohji isn't in class because he's getting EVA orientation which at NERV means he gets in the EVA and they turn it on and see what happens and hey, guess what, the ominous dark EVA almost immediately becomes a BAD TIME. It opens the mouth it has to scream and also it has jagged red teeth in its horrible unnecessary mouth and then a part cracks or something and it's like a huge gooey organic pulsing thing on the EVA and when they try to eject the pilot plug it becomes blocked with goo tendrils.

It's been whole episodes since I last commented on how upsetting I found the design of these giant robots but hey, the giant robot is upsetting and I hate how it has teeth and screaming and all the goo even if the goo is possibly not part of the design since it's also an Angel?

THEN THE GIANT ROBOT GOES MORE BERSERK AND FUCKING BLOWS UP THE ORIENTATION TEST SITE OR SOMETHING AND IS ON THE RUN and there's a weird, creepy quality to how the EVAs are animated when they move, a hugeness of arm movement that is very unrobotic, but moreso with this EVA. It's good and cool but also I hate it.

The kids get called in and this is around when I covered my mouth and just kept getting increasingly upset because Shinji's dad is in charge due to Misato maybe being blown up and Shinji's dad wants the kids to eliminate the rogue EVA with Tohji inside. Rei knows, Asuka knows. Shinji still doesn't know but he knows /a/ kid is in there and that is enough to make him unhappy and reluctant with his father's 'destroy the rampaging robot' orders. But Asuka gets taken out fast. Then it basically teleports onto Rei and starts dripping more awful goop. There's lots of gross veiny pulsing in this episode, very Akira, I hate it, and the goop from Tohji's evil EVA melts and infects the hand of Rei's Eva and I guess it's Angel goop that lets the Angel control the EVA? So the infection can't get further than the EVA hand. And under the brave leadership of Commander Ikari the obvious solution is just /fuck that whole limb/ without desynching Rei from her EVA so hey why not just a teenage girl screaming as she feels like her entire arm is ripped off, cool cool cool.

So now it's down to Shinji who still doesn't want to destroy this giant robot with a child in it and even if his heart was in it, this thing is fucking intense. ALSO IT'S STRETCH ARMSTRONG? Like, it goes from shambling to shooting its arms out insanely long to choke Shinji's EVA. It's choking Shinji's EVA so hard that bruise marks are showing up on Shinji's throat. Meanwhile, his father is telling him to stop being a useless child who is being choked to death by a giant robot and do the child murder like I'm ordering you to, child I hate. Shinji won't and also Shinji can't because he is being choked to death.

At NERV it is suggested to Commander Ikari maybe they should lower the synch on Shinji's robot so he can't be choked to death /through a robot/ and for reasons known only to shitty dads, that's not an option. But what is an option is just shifting control from Shinji to the AI control and if AI control is an option maybe just work on doing that instead of this whole child soldier thing but no one at NERV can hear me over the sound of parental neglect.

Everything goes red when the dummy AI is implemented and fuck the colour work in this series is /so good/ and Shinji just has to sit and feel everything as his robot proceeds to destroy Tohji's robot. Ripping limbs, punching until everything is cracking and blood is everywhere. Don't worry, America made sure their giant robot was also full of red, red, red blood. Vast quantities of blood. In the setting sun a river looks like blood. There is blood weighing down a traffic light in an amazing shot. It's awful. Shinji doesn't know it's Tohji, but we do. The robot that is so clearly an extension of Shinji's body even if he can't control it removes the pilot plug from the grisly wreckage of Tohji's robot and it crushes the plug, the orange liquid spurting out and he /still doesn't know/.

Commander Ikari smiles.

Shinji's father has been a bad father throughout, sometimes in ways that really, distressingly resonate, in really lowkey, banal 'bad dad' ways, but here he's just a monster. He can see his son, hear him, but he doesn't care. It doesn't penetrate.

After everything, Shinji is just numb in the robot, still and shocked, unable to grapple with this overwhelming sense of having just killed someone, horribly and violently and brutally. It's bad and you feel bad and I started crying and still Shinji /doesn't know/.

Then cleanup and ambulances arrive and out of the giant robot wreckage they pull the somehow still alive Tohji and then Shinji /does/ know, he sees Tohji's battered and beaten body, and Shinji starts screaming because somehow it's worse. This concludes my report on Episode 18 of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

#neon genesis evangelion report #fuckin' kaji

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letsquestjess · 4 years ago

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Subnautica: Echoes- Chapter 6: The Sacrificial Lamb

TW: There are some slight descriptions of wounds and cuts in this one. Nothing major, but thought it best to put a warning on anyway.

* * *

Like a decrepit house abandoned for centuries, the halls of the lava facility creaked. Vacant corridors groaned and mirrored each footstep, each breath. The luminescent green light crept along the walls and slid through the labyrinthine patterns, dispersing the shadows that had lain there for a dozen lifetimes.

“Are you sure Marguerit will be okay back there?” Samuel asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “It doesn’t feel right leaving her.”

“She’s survived way worse than waiting,” Cassidy replied. “Besides, it was her idea to wait.”

“She promised to call if there are any problems,” Lyra assured him, tapping her nail on the PDA attached to her arm.

“And you trust her enough not to run off and leave us here?” Samuel challenged. “Or contact Alterra to tell them where we are?”

“I do.” Lyra patted his shoulder as she passed him and jogged up the ramp to the central reservation. Tubes and wiring poked into the tank where a deceased creature lay contorted in on itself. It died helpless. Trapped and alone. She hunched down to get a better look at the specimen, pinpointing the lines where brutal hands had cut and sliced with precision, but not with sympathy. A sorrow prickled within her heart as she stared at the poor little soul.

“My child,” the voice lamented, emanating in the deepest reaches of her mind. “Taken from me by savages. Carved up for the vultures to study.”

Whooshes of colour rushed past Lyra and she tumbled back onto the grate. Centaur-like beings galloped by her and left a river of lilac and blood red sparkles in their wake. Alarms blared somewhere in the distance, and the stark warning to evacuate looped over it. A creature leapt over her in their haste to flee, their horned head swaying and the lights within their frame shifting from a neon purple to a distressed crimson.

“Monsters. All they knew was to dissect, never to show compassion or to ask for what they desired. They almost took everything. Their ignorance killed them.”

Lyra’s chest heaved with each panicked breath. Why was she seeing these things? How was she seeing these things? Sturdy arms lifted her and the strange creatures vanished, the trails of sparkling red floating away.

“What happened?” Cassidy inquired, letting go of the woman once she was upright again. “I heard a bang, and when I turned around, you were on the floor.”

“I snagged my foot on the grating as I tried to get up,” Lyra responded.

“Never had you down as the clumsy type, but as long as you’re not hurt…”

Lyra nodded and rubbed her palms down her legs to free them of the scratchy dust. “We should move on. I don’t think we’ll find much more in here.”

The building held a plethora of artefacts and rooms, entire halls crowded with relics and eggs from the creatures that called 4546B home. They spent some time examining them and comparing them to the Alterra archives, and made notes of their own as they ventured deeper into the planet’s tumultuous history. Everywhere they went, the green glow followed, igniting in the structural framing and guiding them through the forsaken facility.

Stepping into a darkened chamber, Lyra halted and awaited the neon green shimmer. The place remained shadowed but for the rectangle of water in the centre. Overhead, the ceiling sloped and blocks hung above the pool, reflecting the white sheen.

“I wonder what’s down there,” Samuel said, leaning forwards to peek into the clear depths.

“Only one way to find out.“ Lyra hooked her rebreather mask over her face and secured the latches. “If there is anything dangerous down there, come straight back up.”

“Like we’d stay down there to get eaten,” Hunter jested, his jovial tone crackling through the receivers in their face masks.

“In that case, I’ll see you all in there.” Lyra dived in and sank onto a platform a few metres below.

Three plumes of white bubbles fizzed as the others plunged feet first into the aquarium.

“What the hell is this doing here?” Hunter spun to gather his bearings, the water whooshing around him.

“Could be a vehicle platform, or an observation stage?” Samuel suggested, crawling to the edge of the platform. He peeked over cautiously and abruptly pushed himself backwards in a rush of bubbles.

Cassidy caught him in his whirlwind haste to retreat and held him steady. “Calm down, Samuel. What is it?”

“There’s something big down there,” he screeched, grabbing hold of the pilot in his panicked state. Rough breaths whistled through the speakers in their masks. “Massive even.”

Lyra floated to the rim of the wide surface and gazed down at the aquarium below. Fish of all kinds swam in peace, not a single aggressive snip or snap in sight. Flora sprouted from the sands, and an arch like the one they’d passed through to get to the facility lay at the other end of the containment. In the centre of it all rested a motionless creature, bones poking through the scraps of skin and scale still clinging to its skeleton. “Whatever it is, it’s dead,” she assured them. “None of the critters down there seem to be dangerous either. Even the Stalkers aren’t attacking anything.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t try to take a bite out of us,” Samuel pointed out.

Lyra grabbed the side of the metal plank and propelled herself down into the depths of the aquarium. She kicked her legs to continue the downward motion and halted once she’d reached the Architect structures at the bottom. Alien blocks seemed to spring from random locations around the containment, situated strategically she imagined, not that she could sense any pattern to them.

The others split to cover more ground, and Lyra explored the arch and the skeleton. Five empty holders sat around a plinth like the one Marguerit used to get them there. She reached into the first box and felt something sharp brush against the back of her hand, startling for a moment before realising it wasn’t moving and drawing it out. She thought it a piece of fractured pottery, but when she turned it over she clocked the distinct curve of an egg.

“My children, now free,” the wispy voice called, louder this time. Closer.

Lyra looked up at the colossal skeleton, her eyes almost bulging from their sockets. An absurd thought struck her. “Are you the one speaking to me?”

“What was that?” Samuel questioned, his words waning through the fluctuating connection.

“Nothing.” She kept her attention fixed on the decaying face and the drooping antennae of the deceased creature. “I thought I heard something, but it was a bit of static. Nothing to worry about.” She jabbed at the side of the mask to shut off her microphone and paddled towards the remains. “You’re the one who’s been talking to me?”

“I am, child.”

“How? I mean no disrespect, but you seem rather… dead.”

“A body may die, but a spirit does not,” the creature replied. “Your father came here once. He helped me. But I was awaiting your arrival.”

Lyra glided forwards and crossed through wide, crooked ribs, the arching bones flowing above her and sinking down into the sand below. “Why were you waiting for me?”

“We must protect our world at all costs. Greedy hands reach for the riches this planet nurtures, and whatever they can’t take, they will destroy.”

“But what has this got to do with me?” Flecks of colour jostled before her eyes. A prickling sensation teemed at the outskirts of her mind, and a roaring pain flared in her brain. A flickering face grew before her, four blue orbs examining her and a veiled silhouette fluttering behind them. She clenched at her head where the excruciating torture blazed and fought against the overpowering tide bristling against her. Her finger flicked at the microphone switch on her mask as she desperately clutched at her skull.

“There is a woman who needs your help. She is cold. Take this. You will need it.”

The agony sparked through her body, her vision riddled with a crushing light. She tried to call out to the others, but all that shot through her lips was an unstoppable, ear-piercing cry before the darkness swallowed her whole.

* * *

Hunter thundered down the hallway. His footsteps resounded on the metal like a coin rolling down a pipe, clanking in a rapid rhythm as he rushed back to the gate. Lyra jostled and whimpered in his arms. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he soothed, rounding the corner and finding Marguerit waiting for them.

“What the hell happened to her?” the mercenary demanded, taking one look at the limp woman in his grasp and staring at the others accusingly.

“No idea,” Cassidy replied, collapsing to her knees opposite Hunter as he lay Lyra down on the ground.

“Here,” the doctor said, lifting Lyra’s head. “Put your hand here. And be careful. I don’t know what damage there might be.” Once Cassidy had a secure hold of the injured woman’s neck, he ripped the first aid kit from his belt. The velcro backing scraped against his fingers as he turned the pack over and wrenched at the zip. “Samuel, take this. Keep it pointed towards me. Steady as you can.” He thrust out his PDA for Samuel to hold before loosening the top of Lyra’s dive suit and sticking multiple pads to her pulse points. “Her heart rate is a little high, but she’s breathing.”

Marguerit held back, waiting to be of service if the physician called upon her. “Was she attacked?”

“There was no blood, so I don’t think so,” Samuel said, hunching down to position the PDA better and peering up at the mercenary. “We were in a containment aquarium, but the creatures down there weren’t aggressive. There was a massive skeleton, and Lyra was exploring it. We heard her scream through the comms, but by the time we got to her, she was unconscious.”

“Temperature stabilising,” Hunter reported, concentrating on the many readings popping up on his PDA. “Physiology scans won’t settle though. They’re scrambling around her head.” He slipped his hands underneath Lyra’s skull and gently unlocked the clasps on her mask, sliding it over her face. He almost buckled at the sight that greeted him, but kept himself composed for his patient’s sake.

“What are they?” Samuel gasped, gaping at the semi-circular orbs sticking out of Lyra’s temples.

The doctor checked her vitals and took a syringe from the first aid bag, ripping the protective tube off with his teeth and spitting it onto the floor. "Cassidy, support her head again and try to keep still.” He urged the needle into the sleeping woman’s neck and gradually pressed on the plunger until the clear liquid had drained.

Lyra’s rib cage heaved and she vomited water, coughing and retching uncontrollably. Her hand shot to Hunter’s chest as she desperately tried to grab a hold of him.

“Where did all that come from?” Cassidy sputtered, angling herself away from the gathering puddle. “She was wearing a mask and it’s dry.”

“I don’t know,” Hunter replied, busying himself with pacifying his frantic patient. He brushed through her hair with his fingers and held onto the hand clutching the blended Lycra of his swimsuit. “It’s all right, just breathe. That’s it.” He gave a cursory glimpse at the readings on his PDA. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. How are you feeling?”

“Rough,” Lyra wheezed, the initial shock dissipating. She squinted around at the perturbed faces surrounding her and puffed out some steady breaths. “How did I get here?”

“You blacked out,” Cassidy explained, stroking her head. “Do you not remember?”

With Hunter’s aid, Lyra sat herself up, the dizzying sensation beginning to melt away and the memories returning like bubbles popping. “I recall a face,” she mumbled. “And a voice.”

Marguerit stooped down by the shaken woman, unable to avoid the glowing ellipses protruding from the side of her head. “What did this voice say?” she asked gently.

“Something about greedy hands wanting to take things, and that the planet needs protecting.” Lyra groaned and rubbed at her forehead, the pounding relentless and nauseating. “I can’t remember much more.”

“We shouldn’t worry about that now,” Hunter said, removing the pads on her chest and helping her zip up her dive suit. “We need to find somewhere to rest.“

“I saw an old Alterra base as we were coming in,” Cassidy told him. “It didn’t look like it was being used.”

The skilled doctor packed up his medical gear and stuck the pack back on his belt. He aided Lyra to her feet and wound an arm around her waist, keeping all of her weight on him as he manoeuvred her towards the gate. Once there, he passed her over to their pilot. “Send her through after me,” he instructed before rushing through the portal and emerging back in the cave. Seconds later, the raven-haired woman staggered through the wavering green liquid. He caught her before she could topple to the stone and held her tight. “You good?”

Lyra nodded and chuckled as he slipped an arm behind her legs and around her middle, lifting her off the ground. “I can walk. I’m fine.”

“Do you know how many patients have claimed they felt fine, only to collapse when they got up?” Hunter raised his eyebrows at her. “The last thing we want is for you to take a tumble down the cliffs.” He peered back over his shoulder to make sure the others had made it through before he headed towards the cavern entrance. “Come on, princess. Let’s get you to your castle.”

* * *

Hunter gently placed Lyra down on the bed, careful as to not disturb her slumber. He balanced his PDA on the table next to her and hooked up a few wires to her arm. “Rest easy,” he whispered, shifting a strand of hair from her face and covering her with a frayed blanket. The gentle breaths emanating from her lips deepened as she slipped further into her dreams, and he scanned the four readings split across the screen. Nothing abnormal or worrying until he returned his attention to the luminescent blue spheres. They weren’t causing her any discomfort by the looks of things, and her results revealed no traces of distress. Yet there they were. Pulsating. Alien.

He shoved himself up from the edge of the bed and trod quietly back through the bulkhead, encouraging the heavy door shut to give Lyra some privacy while she slept.

“How is she?” Cassidy asked, whirling from her spot by the fabricator at the sound of the doctor’s soft footsteps. “Do you know what those blue things are?”

“She’s resting,” Hunter replied. “All of her life signs are normal and she doesn’t seem to be in any pain. It’s just a case of waiting for now.” He scratched at his head, his cracked nails catching the loose fibres of his bun. “As for the orbs, the scans all seem to suggest they are ocular transmitters.”

“Like eyes?” Samuel clarified.

The physician nodded and slumped down in the seat by the window. Something crunched as he leaned his forearms on the glass table. He lifted them and cringed at the clumps of grit and dust clinging to his dive suit. “Sort of,” he muttered, grunting in irritation and swiping at the muck.

“What do you mean sort of?” Marguerit challenged. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you? Surely you know what’s wrong with her.”

Hunter grumbled under his breath and tugged lightly at the earrings around his left ear. He was sure Marguerit didn’t mean to sound so brash. “Whatever happened to her, it has altered her biology,” he explained. “Only slightly, nothing worrying from the initial scans. The orbs on the side of her head seem to act as a second set of eyes, but they’re not like ours. I don’t know what they can see or if they’re even capable of sight.”

Cassidy glanced between Marguerit, Samuel, and Hunter. “So what do we do? Lyra is in no fit condition for travel, and we found nothing of Astrid in that facility.”

“We need to help her recover,” Hunter responded adamantly. “Once she’s better, we’ll work something out from there. For now, we should all get some rest. It’s not been a simple day and I’m sure we could all do with some sleep.”

#subnautica echoes #subnautica fanfiction #subnautica fanfic #subnautica #subnautica below zero #subnautica below zero fanfiction #subnautica below zero fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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phantomphangphucker · 6 years ago

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One Lonely Star

⚠️warning: analysis of the human condition, angst, depression, violence, mass global death, murder, major character death, suicide, torture, cannibalism, body horror, dissection, animal death⚠️

When all the stars fell down,

there was nothing I could do.

For all my power and heroism,

there was nothing I could do.

-a phantom of the past-

Chap. 1 - Star Fall Down

I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw the light of day, I walk pushing and shoving rubble out of my way. I’m not sure what they belong to anymore. I used to be able to tell which brick belonged to which building, which siding was from the school or what piece of neon lighting was from the nasty burger. Now it’s all just a blend of grays and browns, there’s the occasional splash of something else but it’s fleeting and eventually becomes muddied too. The odd living or sentient thing I see, is best avoided I’ve found. Societal collapse relieves most folks of their inhibitions and it gives them newfound urgency. Urgency which always trumps whatever morals and mental high roads they have or once had. It’s different for me, I knew this urgency before the fall; had my morals tested before everything crashed.

So I guess I was a step ahead, I’m still unsure if that’s for the best or not. Sure it made it easier to adjust to all of this but others noticed my ease; and people, humans especially, are easily paranoid. It doesn’t help that the young, quick to fight, and those seeking to take advantage of things were the first to succumb to this harsh reality. Those were the ones who trusted me and believed in me most. I mean sure my parents are still around but they never really knew me, trusted me or even really liked me. Well, at least that’s how they were about half of me, though if I’m honest they didn’t know either half of me. Before everything fell I had suspected they were starting to realize how far from them I had become but that doesn’t matter now. Survival and trying to protect what’s left is what matters now. At least my parents can agree with me on that. Though if at any point they had begun to trust or like all of me, that time had since past. My ease with suffering, destruction and sudden mass disaster made them blame me. Because of course, since I was used to everything going to hell then I must be the cause! I guess if I hadn’t reacted with jokes or may be shown a facial expression other then resignation, they may have viewed me differently.

I visibly sigh, giving my current surroundings another once over; just in case. I need more, always more. Yet there’s never really enough. There isn’t enough for anyone and there are not enough people to need things either. Sure there’s an abundance of many things, picking up a discarded poker chip, but those things aren’t good for much. Flicking the chip across the floor it manages to break off some glass from one of the few somewhat intact windows. Chuckling, it’s not like windows do any good down here anymore. Deciding that there’s nothing here worth the effort I elect to head back to my overpass, not that it really counts as an “overpass” anymore. Looking back I’d honestly rather just jump out one of the real windows. One that can actually see the outside air and sky. But I know that’s a fools game today, a gamble not worth much thought. Even if I did find a way out to the above from that building, who knows how far a drop the ground is; and it’s not like I can fly. Chuckling dryly, it’s been longer than I’d like. Turning back, using both memory and the glow of my eyes to guide me “home”.

“Home” is a funny word now, it really doesn’t mean what it used to mean. All it means now is that I can rest, stop, breathe; for a while. When I’m out I never breathe, I just hold abated breath. Can’t risk anything or one hearing. Before I could breathe, I did breathe, all the time actually. That seems dangerous and absurd now. Back then dangers came and went, they were boisterous, flashy and wanted to be noticed. Now danger is a constant, it never leaves, and it doesn’t care about making itself known. Before I could fight back, I could spar, I could joke; I can’t do that now. Not with this danger.

Humans can be ruthless things, sure ghosts have naturally equipped weapons but they seldom have a true drive to just end you. Ghost can be content with returning to the same game of hunt and chase, over and over again. Humans want finality and when they really truly want it, they never take breaks. Maybe that’s why I’m still here, why I still keep doing this again and again. I’m not content to succumb to accepting the finality of this situation but I’m also not willing to just try again later. I won’t accept finality and I won’t take breaks. So that’s why I went looking today and why I’ll go again tomorrow. Till I have what I need, what they need.

Ghosts gave up on this place years ago, I don’t think I’ve even sensed a single one in months. I guess humans are no fun to scare when they’ve gotten past all their senses. And I guess cities aren’t so fun when nothing works. Sadder thing yet, it’s not just here; it’s everywhere. They’re everywhere.

I used to love the stars, there were my everything when I had nothing else. They were a safe haven I could have fled to if everything went to hell. Well, guess what? Everything did go to hell, but the stars were the hell. Yet I can’t bring myself to ever hate the stars, even if they’re on earth now rather than the sky. Everything’s better in the sky, including me; I would know. That’s the great irony of this all, my one love stole my other love. The two things in the world that gave me mental safe haven, apparently unable to coexist. On top of that, I’m basically the definition of two things that technically can’t coexist, coexisting. That’s another reason why really, because dammit, if I can make life and death coexist then I damn well will do the same to the sky and stars. Though that’s not something that’s really a desire of mine much anymore, these stars, our stars, need to be destroyed.

As I sit here, legs crossed, tinkering away on what little I’ve managed to find over time; I can’t help but look back. That’s always how it is, get in the zone of simply making something, anything, and the mind goes to pleasanter times. Before all of this mess I was a pretty happy kid, all things considered. I can’t really say if I’m still happy. I think I am, but it’s not the same kind of happy. Maybe it’s closer to hope than happiness. I remember the day with odd clarity but I’m sure much has gotten muddled in the years since. I can’t really say how long it’s actually been, times a funny thing like that.

Just a day with ordinary classes, ordinary teachers and extraordinary friends.

At first, I thought it was nothing more than another ghost attack, we all did; how could we not? We all lived in Amity Park after all.

One look outside changed everyone’s mood though, the sky was alight with a great many blazes.

As if someone had set every single cloud on fire, turns out that was pretty close to the truth.

Emergency broadcasts erupted over every phone and every speaker.

Screaming to stay indoors, away from the windows and to not under any circumstances look at the sky.

Being kids, we did what kids do, we looked to the skies.

Light danced across the sky in massive arches, I knew it immediately as lighting.

Far more massive than anything I’d ever seen and very much not right.

I foolishly assumed it must be that weather ghost again and looked for a way to leave; to change. I wish I had been right.

The teachers had herded us all up, packed and watched closely. There was nowhere I could run and no one who could hide me. So I waited, just like everyone else.

Not knowing was the worst part, I’ve learned over the years before this time and since this time that the worst thing I can do, is to do nothing. Both for my own sake and others. If I didn’t believe that before the day the stars fell I would have after.

In movies, people like to say the crash came without a warning but that’s not true. We had a warning, the buzzing, the popping, the air becoming brutal just to breathe in.

Instinctively I just stopped breathing, I had known no one would notice. That was something I had been right about.

Everyone had gone to the ground, I had gone into a fighting stance originally but I got pulled down by the chaos of the others.

The roof shook for only a second before it all came down, massive flashes of blinding electricity shooting everywhere and at everything.

It hadn’t taken me long to notice that it wasn’t just things it had struck and was still striking, but rather beings.

They say this is when fight or flight kicks in, when you see a person's true colours. That saying is true and I had long since lost my flight response. Fighting was all I knew, had been all I’d known for so long. But this, this was something I couldn’t fight. I hadn't even known where to start.

So I did what I knew, I protected. I wore my colours, my true colours. Secrets be damned, secrets don’t matter in the face of death. In the face of people dying while you’re just, there.

Turns out I needn’t worry about my secret, there wasn’t anyone left to tell.

That day I learned something, something about intangibility. Something I wish I hadn’t.

There’s a big difference between a regular human being made intangible and me becoming intangible. Raw electricity will go through me, it won’t go through them. But that wasn’t for a lack of me trying, anyone who was there wouldn’t dare disagree; if they had lived.

I screamed, I cried, I wailed, I begged. All while struggling to hold onto, grab onto, and cover as many as I could. They flocked to me too, understanding that I always had and would play protector. But it didn’t matter, the electricity went through each one, most I didn’t even get to see die.

They were gone too fast and eventually I was left to cradle the last one. I’ve seen so many others go like this since, had so many others go because my protection just wasn’t good enough; that I can’t say who I was cradling that day. Things blur, it’s all a matter of time.

Stepping out of the destroyed school I had been soaked in blood, none of it my own, and tears, all of it my own. And I looked to the skies.

And everything was coming down, crash and burn. Every building, every plane, every person unable to hide. This was on such a level that for seconds all I could do was stare, eventually I made some unremembered joke. I’m sure it was either really stupid or unbridled genius.

Then I got to work, I did the one other thing I knew. I tried to exchange witty banter and a few blows. Turns out that doesn’t work on a gigantic ball of electricity and exploding gas. And that was when I knew, I remember looking up and seeing the empty night sky. Not a single star. Then staring around me, massive balls destroying everything.

I had no time then to think about, really think about it, now I do. Back then I had simply fallen into trying to get people inside shelters, away from the nightmare from the skies. Others did the same too, even my parents. But they as always didn’t recognise me as their son and I guess I was acting to calm, too collected. In short, I had gotten too good at lying and playing a facade.

They shouted and yelled at me, assumed it must be my fault. Some plan to make myself look like a hero. My mom has always been good at fear-mongering and being a ghost expert everyone assumed she was right about me, who to them was just a ghost. And like that, they turned on me, now that they had something to blame, something that had a consciousness. I quickly learned that my human allies were all dead or gone.

I hid, I had to, if not for my own safety then for theirs. Humans, in their chance to seek revenge on those they deem responsible, will put themselves in harm's way. I couldn’t have that. And if they managed to destroy me, in their fear, then I wouldn’t be here to protect them. I couldn’t have that either. So I ran.

And that’s how I discovered that flying was bad, very bad. The stars electricity was drawn to movement and the higher up the movement was the more attractive it was, and I move both fast and high. This caused the electricity to target me, and this show caused the humans to be even more sure that I was somehow controlling or responsible for this. While my intangibility could protect me, I could only hold it for so long and the blinding light really was blinding.

Eventually, everything caught up with me, emotional and physical exhaustion, I just stopped. Stopped all of it, the flying, the intangibility and my colours. In some way, I wanted the pain of electricity, felt I deserved it. Why wouldn’t I? I had failed to save everyone. My ghost healing is all that saved me then.

The only other like me was not so lucky, it turned out. Shortly after this catastrophe started he, being the frootloop he was, tried to bend the arm of the world. Tried to offer his “protection” for a price. He didn’t know what I had already learned and I’m not sure he would have listened if I had been able to get a hold of him. Intangibility wouldn’t work. He tried his plan and it killed him. I know it did, I’d heard it over the radio.

Eventually, I think I’m done with my tinkering; this one might actually do something. What exactly? I don’t know but anything is better than what currently is. I’ve given up on testing things, on making sure it’s just right; I guess I realised I don’t have time for that anymore. I don’t have time for much at all anymore. But that’s ok, my time was never really mine was it? No, it always belonged to everyone else. To their safety, their future, their survival. It always was and always will be. And that’s ok. It really is.

Look I know you can’t always save everyone, but that’s always been my plan. At the very least I’ll save some of them, a part, something that can exist on. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I have been, and will continue to be, saving more parts than wholes. A leg here, an eye there, even a patch of hair will just have to do. I can’t afford to be choosy with anything, not a single scrap. And every single scrap has seen me bleed and cry, that’s what doesn’t get easier. Mourning still happens even if I don’t have the time, even if no one does. I know a lot of people walking around are permanently mourning, unable to just carry on. They’re the ones waiting to just be taken out. I wish they wouldn’t do that, they’ll become another person I can only save part of. And everyone, every single one, is worth being save in the whole. I don’t care what hardships they’ve seen or who they lost, dammit! They have inherent worth! They deserve the right to survive! I always want to shout at them when I do spot one of the wanderers. If you can’t bare to survive for your own sake then find someone or thing else to survive for! Someone or something needs you! Wants you! I promise! But I know shouting does no good, I’ve tried; oh how I’ve tried. They’ll either learn it on their own or well.............or they just won’t. But I’ll be there to pick up the pieces, always. Put back together what I can and hope the rest forgives me for not rescuing it too. I like to think they all do but I know some don’t, they’ve told me so.

Picking up my new trinket I begin the walk to the surface, breathing stalled and eyes always scanning. Looking for stars or looking for people, I no longer know which I’d really prefer. The first time a saw some eat another person was when I knew this really was hell. As I pass one of the many haphazardly built concrete caves, I do wind up spotting a person; and they spot me.

I never take off my colours now, I can’t afford to. I need to be able to fly, fight, fire, or become intangible at a moments notice. I must not die. Sometimes that’s a problem and right now is one of those times. This person is clearly one that blames me, I know that immediately, as the fling anything they can get their hands on. A second runs out and attempts to fire what is a now empty ecto gun, old habits die hard. I shake my head and sigh at them, my parents. They look worse for the ware, with them being so close to where I’ve been resting and tinkering; they must be tracking me. This knowledge just makes me sigh deeper and longer, I know talking to them is no use. They’ve lost everything, believing both their kids dead and gone. And they blame me, a parents desire to kill who they believe is their children’s killer is unmatched. It can’t be faltered or bent. I know that and I know that to tell them now would break them to dust. They need something to blame and if they knew they’d eventually blame themselves, that’s yet another thing I just can’t have happening. So let them blame me, I’ll gladly take the fall. It’s what I do.

It doesn’t take much to get away from them, they’re weakened and without usable weapons. Though they’d rip me to shreds with their bare hands if they could, and I know they’d think they were doing it for their kids; for me. Which is touching and I choose to hold on to the warm feeling that brings. Warm feelings don’t come often, so they have to be cherished.

The time comes when I get to where and when I need to be. This star is the biggest I’ve spotted, so it’s always the one I pick to try and destroy. Take out the biggest, baddest foe and the rest will fall like flies, that’s how it works right? Well, I sure hope so.

I stick my fists inside and charge up the blasters with my own ghostly energy. They look something like giant balls attached to tubes encasing my arms. Balls to defeat balls, I find some humour in that really. Once they’re all charged I ram them inside the star with an angry growl.

It doesn’t work.

I know I can’t go back to the same place as before, I know my parents will be waiting for me. I’m used to this though, just move on. Keep going. You’ll get it. Eventually.

to be continued.....

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