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the-dumb-smart-friend · 4 years ago

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I spent way too long on this so please give it attention

So my one friend and I have been working on the same rp for ~2 1/2 years, and right now we’ve been on a big break because of the whole quarantine thing, and inconsistent scheduling.

LET ME TELL YOU,

So many characters have changed so much in my mind over the break that I’m going to need to look through my logs of the characters before the break. I have plans for the story that can have it continue for multiple years into the future.

I have so much planned character development and minor conflict planned, not to mention the scandalous temptation of corruption arcs. My friend’s main character has literally murdered/hurt/threatened one of my characters on many occasions, and now they’re going to have to work together in order to save both their friends, family, lovers, and the entire concept of a continuous timeline before the winter solstice.

Meanwhile, the main villain has gone from pretty much an unstoppable god mary sue character to a touch starved twink with bad intentions and an attack dog evil scientist.

Every single character believes that what they’re doing is good, even if they know deep down that what they’re doing will have awful consequences.

And I’m not even done. I finally made a concrete reason to the timelines constantly looping, and the whole revival problem, as before I just had a loose idea. The two main gods that have been hinted at to be evil and really powerful and awful and stuff (despite one helping out the protagonists and the other being neutral/evil leaning) actually worked together thousands of years ago to do this really powerful spell thing so that every time this select group of really powerful people died (along with everyone that knew them, it was often one big catastrophic event), they would all be revived in the most recent year, over and over again until they found out how to break the “curse”.

The timelines will loop over and over again until the characters all find out how to stop it, which is to somehow keep magic (one of the key building blocks that’s holding life and the world as we know it together) from completely disappearing and dying out.

So the god of magic power was like “Dudes I’m gonna die if we don’t do something to keep magic from dying out.” and all the other high ranking gods were like “Bro no, last time we intervened with something on the mortal plane, we killed all the dinosaurs.” so then the magic god was all like “Fine, but you guys are all pricks.”.

So the he asked his sister (the goddess of time, memory, and significant events/holidays) to help out, and so they created the time loop idea. They cast a really old, really forbidden, semi-DIY’d spell with all their power, but because of the great crime they committed, the more powerful gods cast them out, and took all of their memories, condemning them to the surface for the rest of time.

oooh, looks like you’re interested, nice.

Also I’m on new meds, so sorry if this is confusing.

(TW for death, mentions of gore w/o graphic descriptions, mentions of kidnapping, hints at abuse, dissociation, cursing/verbal aggression, grief)

So the two ex-gods gave themselves new names, and decided to wander around, trying to find out who they were. The two had some moral conflicts and decided to part ways. Time Goddess, who now gave herself the name Raestress (pronounced Rye-stress) eventually stumbled upon one of the mortals that she and her brother cursed for the rest of time, and decided to stick with said mortal for a while, and by that, I mean kinda stalking said mortal.

Because Raestress wasn’t the one to come up with the time loop idea, and was the one that told the other gods, she was allowed to keep some of her powers, however she had absolutely no clue how to use them.

This next pert gets a little fuzzy, and I still need to iron out the details of it, but it ends with Raestress sacrificing both her life and all her power to the mortal, but because of her punishment from the other gods, was cursed to stay as a sort of ghost or spirit that follows the mortal (Remi) she just helped, only able to talk though/to her.

The sacrifice of Raestress’ powers to Remi led to Remi being able to remember all the past timelines she’s lived through, and all the other people that were chosen to live and die over and over again, and decides that she needs to be the one to bring them all together.

Back to modern day, Remi has amnesia for unknown reasons, and makes a bunch of new friends in this little north island town she lives in. One day, a random new math teacher shows up at her highschool, then one of her friends goes missing, then her friend’s sister goes missing and is later found dead, completely torn to pieces. Then she and some friends are about to take a little walk through the forest, when one of her friends is shot with a crossbow, and dies. Sure, they’ve gotten plenty of threats before, but they all just thought it was just some kids trying to pull a prank, but now Alice is dead.

The group try to compose themselves as they wait for the police to arrive, looking up through the trees as to where the crossbow could’ve been fired from, but everything is completely obscured by a swishing sea of branches and leaves. Remi looks up through the leaves, watching them spin and swirl, growing darker as her body seems to float back and fourth in an invisible ocean.

Her vision goes completely black for a moment, but she then sees herself, standing still and looking down at her friends, who have gone from hysterics to almost silent. The world seemed to have washed itself in a shade of periwinkle, swaying like the ocean, any sounds coming out as muffled and distant. Remi watched as her body began to shudder, shoulders bouncing up and down. She watched as her body laughed completely out of her control, quickly pushed against a tree and drowned out by muffled yelling and screaming from one of her friends, Aqua.

The others tried to hold Aqua back, but despite her small frame, she could fight like a 6′ brickhouse. Remi couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t explain, or shout “That isn’t me! I’m right here!”. All she could do is watch as her body’s eyes shifted from bottle green to a sharp, brassy yellow, somehow untouched by the blueish haze that blanketed the rest of the world.

Still, her body laughed, going on and on about something that Remi couldn’t hear, no matter how much she strained to.

The rest of the day seemed to continue in a blur. the police arrived, taking all the standard procedures, but it was hard to pay attention to anything but Alice’s body being carried away in a bag. Nobody really knew what happened.

Remi was still trapped outside of her body by the time they got home that night. Whatever or whoever was controlling her was managing to get under everyone’s skin without completely shattering the illusion of Remi still being in complete control. Guess those are the consequences of being known as the one who laughs at horror movies.

As soon as they both stepped inside, Aqua had thrown Remi against a wall, holding her by the collar of her shirt.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” she screamed, voice breaking before she could finish her sentence.

Remi’s body chuckled with squinted eyes, playfully glaring down at Aqua, boring into her skull.

“I should be asking you the same thing, sweetheart.”

Finally at that moment did the rest of the group realize that whoever was piloting Remi’s body definitely wasn’t her, because whatever spoke was using a voice that didn’t match in the slightest.

It’s voice sounded like it could’ve been either a young man or an older woman, familiar and welcoming yet cold and sharp as ice, sharp enough to cut through whatever was muffling the voices from wherever Remi was stuck.

Aqua dropped whoever this person was, taking shaky steps backward, clearly trying to say something, but no sound came out.

This strange person took a step forward, bowing and swishing their arm with a flourish.

“Though I can’t explain everything now, I’m sure that your dear friend Remi will.” They purred, staring through the veil and directly into Remi’s eyes.

“Who are you?” Aqua shuddered, invisible hands trailing cold fingers up her spine.

“A nobody, a somebody. A friend, an enemy. Nobody really knows when or where I’ll come or go, but if you were to call me anything, feel free to call me Crow.”

Something about that name just didn’t sit right, it seemed to send an imaginary bullet through Remi’s head, swimming through her thoughts and flipping every switch in her brain. Something, somewhere, was screaming at her, remember, remember. The already strange world started to get stranger, dark figures appearing all around Remi, reaching out and covering her eyes, ears, mouth, nose, everything until all she could sense was a dark void.

Crow smiled, kneeling down to meet Aqua’s new level on the floor.

“Right now, I’m serving as nothing more than a distraction, and maybe just a little something to get this story going” they said,

Aqua again tried to respond, but her voice had seemed to just disappear at the most crucial moments.

“I do hope we meet again.” Crow ruffled Aqua’s hair just as all the lights flickered out, leaving complete silence and confusion, after all, what was there to say?

Minutes passed, though nobody was keeping count. Nobody moved, and instead just stood wherever they were, trying desperately to process all of today.

When the lights finally flickered back on, Remi was passed out on the floor, but after everything that just happened, it took everyone a while to notice. Nobody said anything.

Will had carried Remi upstairs to her room, hoping that maybe staying by her side could make a nice distraction. Aqua had stayed sitting on the floor, back to back with the couch, head in her hands. Everyone decided to keep to themselves for the rest of the night.

By the next morning, Remi still hadn’t woken up. Sure, not quite unusual, but right now what everyone needed was an explanation, or one of her sarcastic jokes at the very least. It was at noon when everyone had started to worry.

It had reached 5PM when she finally jolted awake, catching her breath and running her hands through her hair.

“I remember...” She whispered,

“I remember everything.” She said again, quickly standing up and rummaging through her desk, despite Will telling her to take it easy.

“My notebooks, they’re all gone!”

“Remi, please,” Will tried to step forward and calm her down, but she pressed on.

“Don’t call me that.” She demanded, mumbling something afterward, “Just call me Rei.”

Alrighty so I might finish this at some point, idk, but the explanation/TL;DR is pretty much that BBEG had tried to kill Aqua, the main thing holding him back from achieving his goal, but Alice had jumped in the way and sacrificed herself.

Rei was then pushed out of her own body by a mysterious deity known only as Crow, who by the way is not Raestress, I just didn’t know how to quickly explain everything. Both Crow and Raestress had somehow managed to together give Rei back all her memories of the past timelines, but because of Crow’s distraction, the BBEG was able to steal all of Rei’s logs of strange dreams and little songs, all of which can be pieced together into an encrypted spell that has the ability to bring back the dead, a spell that has long since been completely banned and erased from the world.

When Rei was trapped outside of her body, she was actually pushed out into limbo/the spirit world, and all the dark figures were different versions of her from her past, though that was never really specified in the original story either, I just left it up to debate.

There is still very little known about Crow, but we know that they’re a sort of grim reaper character, have a past with Rei, and that they’re working for the BBEG for some unspecified reason.

The reason Rei doesn’t like being called Remi is because the letter M is considered evil and bad luck to her and others that are enemies of/know the atrocities or the BBEG and his family. Also because she prefers to distance herself from her past with Crow as much as possible.

Will, who was mentioned at the end, is actually Rei’s girlfriend.

Aqua is my friend’s main character, who is kinda really hotheaded, and is later tricked into killing one of my characters.

BBEG and his siblings are all children of the god of magic that was mentioned earlier.

If anything is confusing, or if you want more of the story, let me know, and I’ll try to add more.

#rp #writing #original rp #original character #oc roleplay #oc #oc story #original story

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scriberye · 4 months ago

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Thank you for the tag, Cat! Here's mine! (Send me your Cato fic when you're done, ahem.)

The Night Haunter’s head twitched, and with a slow, unnerving grace, his gaze swept over the area. His cold, penetrating gaze found her hiding spot. And in that instant, when their eyes met, the future unfolded before him. In one vision — her lifeless body, mutilated among the remains of a burnt garden and other corpses. But then, with a blink, the vision shifted. He sees her again, opening her arms to him with an impossible look of love in her eyes. “Who are you, to watch so carelessly?” His voice was a dark whisper, laced with menace. Ofelia doesn’t answer. “No one, then?” His smile was a cruel, twisted thing as he looked away from her. “Very well, I’ll find out soon enough.”

Last Line Tag Game!

Rules: share the last line written, tag some peeps, have some fun!

Tagged by @391780. Thanks Early! 😄

From Righteous Fury: Chapter 3

John frowns, looking down at his closed journal. “Nae yet. Maggie’s been blowin’ up mah phone, but -” he trails off, shrugging. “Y’ken how it is.”

Who's Maggie? You'll have to find ouuuuut. 😇

Tagging....hm. @the-californicationist, @maggiemayhemnj, @dwarvenales, @deadbranch, and @glossysoap! No pressure, obviously. 💚

#rye yells into the void

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angelslietokeepcontrol · 4 years ago

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( Olivia Holt, cis-female, she/her ) ⌇ have you seen Ryelle ‘Rye’ Richards around icaria? they are the 19 year old child of Eos. they remind me of empty pill bottles, late-night mistakes, and running on the beach. They’ve been on the island for 18 years.

( Virginia Gardner, cis-female, she/her ) ⌇ have you seen Ruelle ‘Rue’ Richards around icaria? they are the 19 year old child of Iris. they remind me of 80’s music, sugar-sweet lies dripping off pretty lips, and dancing barefoot on the beach. They’ve been on the island for 18 years.

Name: Ryelle Mia Richards and Ruelle Mya Richards

Age: 19

DOB: December 24th, 2000

Parents: Eric Richards and Amanda Richards (step-mom)

Siblings: Finlay (13), Dottie (10), Jedd (9), Cyrus (4), Ellis (1)

Ryelle and Ruelle, or the twins as their family called them, were born on December 24th, 2000. At least that’s what Iris and Eos had told Eric when they dropped the girls off. With no way to really explain that he had slept with two different goddesses and they’d both happened to give birth on the same day, he just said they were twins and their mom had left them. As far as the girls were concerned they were fraternal twins with the same mom and dad. Rye was older according to Eric but he never actually said by how much nor mentioned what time they were born.

Eric Richards was not a great guy and not a great dad. Before the twins, he was a playboy and a partier. His parents were rich which meant he didn’t have to work and he could do what he wanted. Eric was a charming bachelor so he had one night stands all the time. He never expected those one night stands to turn into a problem of having children. His lifestyle did eventually catch up to him though and he had two newborns foist upon him.

His parents threatened him and said if he didn’t settle down, they would cut him off. So he found some sucker of a woman and married her. Amanda and Eric had gone to high school together. She was poor and working two jobs to make ends meet when Eric asked her out. He showered her with gifts and attention, buying everything for her so she felt a sense of obligation to him. It wasn’t until after he was married that he even mentioned the twins to her.

Iris and Eos had told Eric that he needed to take the twins to Icaria when they were born. He’d ignored it for a while. Then when the twins were a year old he moved all four of them to Icaria with no explanation to Amanda or his parents.

Amanda bore the brunt of the twins’ care. She was a nice woman and she made a decent mother but didn’t really know what she was doing. Eric gave her no support and instead always was going out with friends. The entire house was left in her hands. Eric liked to pretend he didn’t even have a family and when he did come home, he expected Amanda to wait on him hand and foot.

The twins for their part were relatively independent. They were definitely a handful though and always gave Amanda a hard time. Rue’s temper was hellish and Rye was openly defiant of any rules given to her. When Eric was home he would lock them in their room for days to avoid having to deal with them. Amanda tried to be patient but it was more often than not too much for her to handle. More often than not she got frustrated and tired and ended up yelling at them or just letting them do what they want.

At school Rue was a social butterfly, she made friends with everyone and charmed all of her teachers. Rye was quieter and a loner who challenged authority at any chance she got.

When they were six their sister Finlay was born. Eric made a little more effort with Finlay but she was far easier compared to the twins. Amanda was bad about showing favoritism towards Finlay. Finlay was quieter and easier to handle, and most importantly she was actually Amanda’s kid. Rue turned to more attention-seeking behavior while Rye retreated more into herself.

The most important thing about the twins that most people didn’t realize, is that they were secretly attached at the hip. While on the outside they didn’t seem that close, Rye and Rue were best friends. They truly had a twin relationship. They loved and adored each other. They shared a room so they always had someone even if they were locked away. There was almost a secret language they had to the point where they could communicate in just looks. They were sisters first and foremost, no one could get between them and there was nothing they wouldn’t do for each other.

Neither were ever that way with Finlay because Finlay didn’t have to deal with any of the things they had to deal with.

When Dottie came around they were suddenly enlisted as caregivers. Eric finally found interest in his wife again and started taking her out. Finlay and Dottie were left in the care of the twins. Dottie wasn’t an easy baby like Finlay was and it’s not like two nine-year-olds were equipped to handle a newborn. Nevertheless, none of them died which truly was the miracle of it all.

By the time Jedd came around the twins had figured out their places in life. Rye was quiet and would beat the shit out of anyone who looked at her sideways. Rue was the charmer and the manipulator. She would bat her eyelashes and get what she wanted. Their parents went galavanting and the twins made sure no one died while providing in any way they could.

No money for food? Rye stole from her teacher’s purses.

No way to get to the store? Rue would charm people into driving her there.

At 12 they both got arrested for shoplifting and child protective services finally caught on to their parents deal. Money changed hands though, which meant the twins were released and no one was taken away by CPS.

Amanda stopped going out with their dad after that and the twins were more or less relieved of their parenting duties. The twins were left to their own devices while Amanda tried to actually be a mom to the other three kids. She made at least a little effort to be their mom. She packed lunches and did hair, but it was all surface-level stuff. There was no love felt.

Eric and Rye fought every time he came home and they’d get into intense screaming matches. Rue got a kick out of being his “favorite” so she’d be super sweet until he wasn’t looking and steal from his wallet.

Everything basically imploded when they started high school. They immediately fell in with the wrong crowd, finding drugs, alcohol, and sex. Considering the only love they actually got was from each other they found those things filled the void nicely. It was during this exploration that their powers started manifesting.

Rye accidentally stabbed a boy with her light when he tried to rape her and Rue found out she could fly when she fell off a roof after getting plastered. The truth came out then that the twins weren’t actually twins and had two different moms. Moms who happened to also be goddesses.

Eric hadn’t wanted Iris or Eos near the twins but with their powers, he was forced to concede. Unfortunately, the damage had been done and they both felt abandoned by their mothers.

Iris loved Rue, she really did. She tried to build their relationship and be a good mom. She was busy of course, but she tried to make time to show Rue what love was. Rue was bitter and wasn’t interested. She was only willing to listen enough to know how to control her abilities and that was that.

Eos made her own efforts with Rye and tried to show her merits to the world around her. She wanted Rye to understand she had someone to look out for her, even when it felt like the world was against her. Rye was mostly indifferent. She didn’t hold the bitterness Rue did, but she didn’t trust Eos to actually care.

The twins fell harder into bad habits and basically flunked out of high school. They moved out the day they turned 18 and found their own sources of income. Rye likes pills the most, whatever she can get her hands on, and Rue’s choice is alcohol. But they both are indiscriminate on drugs and alcohol.

Sometime in all the chaos Cyrus and Ellis appeared, but the twins didn’t have much interaction with them. They’ve been forced to babysit (aka Eric drops all five kids off at their house without asking or giving notice) so now they’re a little more fond of their siblings. They’re horrible influences though.

#m: rye #m: rue #m: the twins #bio #intro #bio: rye #bio: rue

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exit-path · 4 years ago

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Dangit. I caught myself slipping into a Holden Caulfield mindset.

Oh, have you heard that name in awhile? I haven’t heard that name in a looong time.

*exhale*

So, that guy, this 17 year-old kid, right? He was scared of life, and of “predetermined fate”, but most importantly of people getting hurt. He wanted to be the catcher in the rye. He based his motives on some lyrics he misheard one time, and he wanted to make sure that people he cared about, like his sister, were safe and happy. He wanted to make sure they weren’t hurt.

But as it turned out, the world didn’t need him. His sister found his newfound motives awkward. She didn’t need a “catcher in the rye”. The world didn’t actually need a catcher in the rye.

Now I’ve found myself becoming a “catcher in the rye.” At least, superficially. I became scared of the world, and when I did, I wanted to transform my blog into a safe space for people I cared about.

Have you ever heard of “eye bleach”? It sounds like such a strange and violent term, yet it describes something so seemingly innocent in comparison. It’s a part of the internet, just a subreddit, where people are supposed to go after they’ve seen something horrible online. Like gore, or something, which is the kind of stuff you want to forget. There, you can fill your eyes with a stream of “eye bleach”: cute dog photos, and cute cat photos, and for a moment, you can forget about the world.

That’s what I wanted to be! *repeatedly points at myself* I wanted to be that place!

But the world doesn’t seem to need a place like the one I’ve wanted to exist. The world doesn’t need a “catcher in the rye.” What I’m trying to do is create a stoic, positivity-centered blog, yet I control it. And I can’t do that, because my blog is an extension of myself. So by trying as hard as I am, I’ll inevitably turn some people away by the fake positivity and awkward interactions. So if I continue on this path, I risk losing a lot.

I wanted to show you—YOU—happy videos and stuff. Do you know what was going on outsides of the stuff on my blog? People were getting beat up in the streets! And you know that! Because I worried that you might be too preoccupied with the adrenaline and fear that came with being involved in protests and stuff, 24/7. I wanted to fill your dash with moments of relaxation. I often found myself reblogging stuff like iconic posts and cute kitten clips directly to my main blog, instead of my side blog, because I wanted people like you to see them. I wanted to be like that one post with the knight sitting by the fireplace, telling you to pause before you keep scrolling.

But now it’s July. Times have changed, and I’ve found myself surprised that they have. The first wave of COVID-19 has ended, and protests are not as relevant as they used to be. And now, the new “me” that I’ve created, it’s no longer needed. My ardent desire to re-brand myself as a “catcher in the rye”... it’s backfired. I’m scared now of posts about fundraisers, and wake-up calls to general society. By trying to center myself around positivity, I’ve ended up scaring myself around depressing stuff, and this is a problem because sad things in the world are just as much a recurring element of reality as happy things are.

I’m scared of disappointing the people I care about, and I worry that my standards have become so high that they’re impossible to reach now.

Tumblr is the place on the internet where people yell into the void. So by doing what I’m doing right now, by using this place for probably one of the purposes it best serves, I hope that some of the thoughts and worries I yell into the abyss can echo back on me. I’ve just essentially shared my concerns with the people I’m most scared of sharing it with, and to whom it most concerns.

I’m scared of what might happen if I begin re-branding, or reverting, or whatever it is I’m gonna do to my blog. But from where I stand, I’m worried what I’m doing is running from reality. So, as me alone, I should probably turn back.

#peysi #anxiety

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whitewolfbumble · 6 years ago

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Behind Enemy Lines - Part One of Two (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: Bucky was trapped in a locked down facility, the very one you were home grown in. Now you were back and to get him out you had to battle criminals, your past, and your fears to do it. Alive, preferably, but there was no promise of that.

Prompt: “What are you doing here?”

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence/blood, death, angst, kissing because let’s balance that angst lol

Word Count: About 6k

A/N: This is heavily inspired by The Raid so we’re talking action and fighting here (I do LOVE me a badass female lead, so this shouldn’t be a surprise). I do not normally go this action intense, so this was a fun experiment! Let me know if the page breaks don’t show up on mobile and I’ll see what I can do. This was written for @sweetboybucky 1K Writing Challenge! Congrats darling!! Hoping you like some action and angst in your fics??

MY MASTERLIST // SEND ME A REQUEST

The outdoors looked still as green leafy trees stood tall and motionless, a sheet of grey clouds covering the sky, not a drop of blue in it. From your position inside you couldn’t hear anything out there- not a single bird chirp- and the quiet was deafening.

You gripped the railing tighter, hating the stillness of everything around you as you buzzed with restless energy. You saw your face reflected in the floor to ceiling kitchen windows, contorted into an expression of shaky anger. If only to hide the worry that had taken root somewhere deep in your chest, growing and spreading like weeds. You were beginning to wonder if it would sprout out from your skin for everyone to see.

“He does this, Y/N.” Steve continued. “He needs his space, you can’t take it personally.”

“But why aren’t you more worried here?” you asked again, questioning how his best friend could be so ambivalent.

Bucky had left, needing time after a particularly bad mission, and of course the team had let him go. It wasn’t exactly an unusual thing for the brooding, damaged member of the team to need some space alone to come back to himself. Sometimes when he fought he went on a kind of Winter Soldier autopilot, slipping into that person he was working so hard to leave behind. The trauma of that hit him hard sometimes. It wasn’t a comfortable shell to slip back into or out of certainly.

And Steve was right, you shouldn’t take it so personally. But no communication- no calls, no texts, nothing- for over two weeks left you on edge of an anxious void, threatening to swallow you whole if you didn’t figure this out.

“Because he’s been gone for over a month before,” Steve said, one hand on his hip and one on the coffee mug, continuing reasonably. “He leaves when he needs to, and shows up when he’s ready. We can’t force him otherwise, and moreover shouldn’t. This healing is his process. And I trust him, Y/N. You should too.”

Your cheeks grew hot as your breath huffed out.

“Fine,” you said, trying to smile in amiable agreeance as you turned away from the window, but it fell decidedly flat. “I’ll drop it. For now, Boy Scout.”

You set off from the kitchen, Steve looking as though he was going to push the topic before just letting you go. You waited until you were out of view before your face fell into an expression of mixed frustration and anxiousness.

This wasn’t about fucking trust here. You trusted Bucky with your life, with your secrets, with everything. In a way that no one else around here did. When he came on the team you were practically the one to bring him around to being with other people again. He was a wall of silence back in those days, so you filled it with talk of the team members lives and eventually of yours. He got to know them all through you, allowing himself to open up little by little to the group. You revealed more of your life than you had told anyone else over the course of your time together.

Including your past. Because he would understand, at least partially.

Even though the majority of the team didn’t know about your backstory- and may never know the full extent if you had your say in the matter- Bucky did.

Details like the fact that this bad mission you had all been on two weeks prior was only a city away from where you were held captive. Where you were made all those years ago.

Storming into your room with thoughts of Bucky and your past swirling, you immediately walked across to your bed, pulling up your duffel from under it. You stilled, looking at its contents with hands on your hips as you mentally debated what you were thinking of doing here.

“Fuck it.” you muttered and walked to your closet, ripping off your sweater and pulling on your leather form-fitting stealth jacket.

You grabbed the duffel on your way out without looking, determination in your eyes.

You were going to find him. And he better not be anywhere near that base.

The apartment building looked decrepit. It was several stories, which would be mostly abandoned but a few floors. Black sludge had dripped down from the windows, staining the peeling stucco. The first floor around the building was painted a fading red, like it was trying to hide blood stains. Set on garbage strewn concrete and set against a grey sky, this place was a complete fucking hole. And if your memory was correct, it would be just the same inside.

You swallowed hard, clutching the handle of your knife sheathed at your thigh a little tighter. You knew your memory was right. It had not been enough years of distance between you and this place to forget a single detail unfortunately.

Your surveillance spot from across the barren courtyard was hidden enough, but still you felt the need to move or do something.

The search for Bucky had come up empty, and you had found yourself back here of all hellscapes you could visit. You wouldn’t give up looking for him, and the pit in you stomach was telling you he was close. Along with others from your past.

Pushing that thought out, you sprinted lithely towards the building, staying quiet against the concrete wall. You slipped in through the wide open gate, footsteps silent, breath held in your chest.

There would be one civilian-looking guard around the west side at the back alley way.

Because there would be no trouble getting into the building. They almost welcomed it.

Getting out though? Easy, if you didn’t care whether you lived or died. But if you wanted out alive, it was next to impossible.

Nonetheless, you took out your gun and kept moving closer, holding it tight as you ran to the back alley.

Beads of sweat dripped down your temple, the hot humid building on the wrong side of suffocating.

Your gun was pointed out, eyes sharp and fierce as you planted one foot in front of the other carefully.

This place was mostly people choosing to be here. They were those on the fringes of society, drugged up most of the time, ignoring the horrible and hateful things done here. The people who ran this place gave them drugs and kept them in a state of dependance in order to manipulate and control them. It was sick.

Some others, like you had been, weren’t so lucky. You were trapped in the upper levels, chained and experimented on, forced to fight for sport or whatever else the scum you were rented too wanted from you.

And now you were back here alone like a fucking idiot.

You hadn’t told but a couple people on the team about your past (and only minimally, besides Bucky) because you had never wanted to come back here. If you had revealed your history, they would have burst in with guns and plucky attitudes blazing. You just couldn’t handle that, for more than just one reason.

But here you were, waltzing in on a fucking hunch and fucking alone.

You heard the muffled sounds of obnoxious game shows behind some chipped wooden apartment doors as you walked steadily by. Or yelling. Or pounding house music. Or silence.

The smell here was one of urine and trash and cigarettes, remnants of the three all lining the hallway. You kept your disgusted eyes on the elevator across the way, knowing this wasn’t going to be the hardest part. But you still had to make it alive through it, which wasn’t a guarantee.

Those on this floor may be pretty common criminals compared to your elite abilities, but that was part of the deal of living here. Residence of this place were fucking loyal and would fuck you up in large numbers if you were stupid enough to trespass on this fortress. The lower levels were pretty basic, the upper levels were a nightmare.

As you got to the end of the first floor, your hand hovered above the black elevator button a moment. Looking to the ceiling, you heard it.

Muffled voices. That telltale elevator ding. A little yellow light signalling it was on its way to you.

Faster than your eyes could follow you were running to your right, crashing through a door into the dark echoing stairwell. You slammed your back against the door to stop its squeaking as you listened, breath heaving.

You heard it, people exiting the elevator, walking down the hall with harsh laughter and slurred speech.

Who the fuck gets drunk this early in the morning?, you thought to yourself, though you wouldn’t exactly turn down a shot of rye right now...

Giving yourself a moment to suck in as much oxygen as you could, you started moving again. Looking up, you could see right up to the top levels, this dark stairwell one huge, rectangular concrete spiral up.

You got up to the second floor, then the third, then the fourth.

You ducked and slammed down against the far wall as you heard a door and voices enter, just a floor below you. Cautiously you waited for what felt like minutes as their voices were carried lower, obviously taking the stairs to the first floor. You waited longer than strictly necessary, waiting until their loud voices were completely silent, probably out of the building by now.

You sighed with relief, about to get up when you saw it.

A person. A small one.

He couldn’t have been more than eight years old, wearing a hand-me-down yellow raincoat, looking down to you from the level just above you. Your heart lurched as you sprung up, leaping onto the concrete ledge, then launching clean across the four story drop to the upper level, gripping the small bottom ledge before pulling yourself up and over to to the boy.

But it was too late.

Mid jump you heard his voice positively screech out one word, echoing through the whole complex no doubt:

“INTRUDER!”

You tackled him to the ground easily, hand over his mouth, body pinning him. But there was no point. The damage was done.

This would be a fight for your life from here on out.

You waited, holding down the squirming boy, wide eyes darting around as you tried to make a decision. You had time, you could bolt out and maybe make it through the lower levels okay. Maybe there weren’t too many people home right now. Maybe there were all too drunk or fucked up to put up much of a threat.

But a single, ear piercing buzz rang out. You clasped your hands over your ears, giving the boy room to bolt, not that it mattered now. The siren lasted for thirty long seconds. And it signalled everyone in the building that someone was here. Someone that needed to be killed and brought to the head piece of shit that ran this place for a reward. Drugs, free rent, whatever they wanted.

And with that, your decision was made. They knew you were here. Bucky would know you were here. And you wouldn’t leave until you got him out.

“Fuck them,” you hissed standing up, angry eyes cast upward to the top level, ready for battle.

“She’s here,” said the man clad in an unbuttoned thin linen shirt, bare beer belly hanging out over his beige shorts. “Our little princess is back.”

Within the black room the only light was the greenish glow of twenty small security monitors. The two other men there watched as the man in charged tapped on one of the screens. Your fuzzy figure walking down a corridor, eyes determined and sweat dripping.

“Bring her to me,” he continued, leaning back. “Don’t let her get to the other Avenger. They are both are mine now.”

Silently the two of them walked out, down towards you.

“Okay, sixteen men outside the door.”

And some familiar faces. Which would be dying to get their hands on me again.

You stopped that line of thinking, heel of your palms pushing against your temples while your soul and body raged against the flashes of images from your past that popped up.

“Sixteen, sixteen, sixteen…” you repeated to yourself with the sound of their machetes hacking at the wooden door.

You were barricaded in a one room apartment, one mattress in the corner with burnt spoons and lighters strewed about, kitchen bare on the other side and nothing much else to speak of. The dirty faded colours and sulphuric smell was lost on you while your mind raced, thinking about nothing and everything. You ignored the blood dripping down a large gash in your arm, the booming shouts and lewd calls of the man desperate to get in and fuck you up.

But you’d fuck them up first if you had any say in the matter.

You gritted your teeth, stilling yourself and looking to the door, eyebrows pulled together and eyes fuming. Blood pooled and dripped off your knuckles as your fist clenched tightly.

You took and deep breath through your teeth, spinning on your heels. You ran to the kitchen, opened up a cabinet and grabbed onto a tank that you knew would be there. You wretched it free with a high-pitched whizzing sound. You opened the fridge door, pulled out the wired shelves and few remaining condiments there and hucked the stove propane tank in with a slam of the door. You then ripped the fridge cord out from the wall and grabbed on the ancient and heavy fridge, pushing it with all your strength.

It was a clean shot straight across the room from the fridge to the front door. You grunted and heaved the stupid thing right up to it, leaving a small gap.

A silver jagged machete hacked through the door, hoots and hollers sounding deafening as the men’s mouths foamed at the thought of bringing you down. You reached into your pocket, pulling out a lighter. You took another breath in through your teeth, decidedly not thinking through what you were about to do, for your own sanity.

The only thing you thought of was “get to the bathroom” on repeat, which was directly behind you.

Slipping in your hand with the lighter, you wedged it between the fridge and door, and lit it up.

There was a second or two delay, enough for you to turn and run, but there was no way to avoid this blast.

A high and low pitched shriek boomed in the small apartment, feeling like your eardrums were blown out as the force hit you like a concrete wall, sending you flying into the bathroom. A red explosion blasted out, send the fridge careening back across the apartment and out a window, and aimed the bulked of the force down the hall where the men where.

You coughed, bent over the tub, dust thick in the air and debris falling down around you. You moved off to sit sprawled out on the floor, ears ringing and head too dazed to string a word together. You pushed your nails into the cracked ceramic floor, trying to get yourself to move, to get up.

Gritted flakes of concrete and drywall scratched under foot as you stood, stumbling to the door frame for support. Looking out the explosion had blasted massive holes to the apartments above and below, splintered wooden floor and crumbled ceiling leaving them wide open.

You waved a hand in front of your face, brushing the dust away, then the smell. Like a mixture of chemicals and barbeque, you looked briefly down the hall. You weren’t sure if it was worse that you could barely tell the pile of red chunks plastered everywhere were once people.

You grimaced, turning back to the hole in the ceiling. A pipe partially hung down from it, and you quickly touched it, making sure it wasn’t hot. You grabbed on and gave a tug, but the thing stayed still. With both hands you hoisted yourself up, getting to the next floor.

One floor closer to him.

“Fuck!” you yelled, snapping the arm of one guy, dropping him like a stone and dodging as another came at you.

You kicked in his knee, causing the man to scream, while you punched him in the gut, another to his inner elbow to block his punch, then his head. You grabbed onto either side of his head, slamming it down over your knee before crushing it against the concrete wall one, two, three times. He slumped to the floor unconscious.

You turned around breathing heavily, adrenaline flooding you as you took in the scene down the hall. Twelve more bloody men strewn about on this floor, apartment doors kicked in, dead silent. You were nothing if not efficient, but you had a long way to go.

You had managed a few more floors since the siren, now ending up on the eighth. You were losing count of the bodies at this point, but definitely not the floor number.

Shaking your head slightly and trying to knock out the dazed feeling coursing through you, you pulled a hand across your face. In trying to swipe away the sweat you ended up wiping away blood. You temple was bleed steadily, head wounds always gushing the worst though your adrenaline was pumping way too much to feel any pain yet.

You stepped over the man at your feet and looked to the elevator, desperate to just press a button and have it take you to where you wanted to go. But it had been shut off long ago, and would most definitely be a trap if you could take it anyways.

You breathed, rounding the corner back to the stairwell. You had been weaponless for some time, your guns and knives being stolen away during fights. Under normal circumstances you would have been practically disgusted in yourself to lose your weapons like that, but you were in you own version of hell fighting through an entire building alone and outnumbered a hundred to one. So you gave yourself some slack here.

Rounding the corner you cautiously slid against the wall, hand reaching out to grab the handle…

The door burst open slamming against your hand and something unbreakable hit you square in the face, blood spurting from you and blinding you. Stumbling back you ran down the hall, angry yells of men fast on your heels.

You threw yourself into an apartment then threw yourself through a window into a fire escape. Bullets immediately sounded from outside across the building, bricks exploding around your face as snipers tried to shoot you down. Wildly you ducked and climbed up to the next floor, breaking and tumbling through that window as deafening shoots rang all around you.

You looked around the relative safety of the apartment, lucky for once that no one was home, and shot up to unbolt to the door, trying to ignore the little piece of glass embedded in your hands as you did.

You ran out and sprinted down the hall, blood dripping into your eyes, hands bleeding, heart racing. But you didn’t get far.

At the end, three men were stopped waiting. You chest heaved, trying to get oxygen into your veins as again you would have to demand more from your body than it wanted to give.

The four of you stood motionless for a moment, a stand still like cowboys at high noon, each waiting for the other to pull a trigger. Your eyes cast down to the lengthy machete one of them had, blade scraping along the floor.

So you tensed yourself and set off with a yell, refusing to let three men beat you when the last fifty did not.

You met full force the first man, blocking the swing of his knife with one arm before elbowing him hard in the ribs, then neck, then face in seconds sending him down to the ground. Another came a step behind him and you spun to avoid his attack, elbow nailing him in the spine as he tumbled with his own momentum behind you.

The third man you grabbed the shoulder of, throwing and pinning him against the wall and elbowing him hard in the neck. You heard one man get up behind you and your foot kicked out, hitting him square in the groin, stomach, then face. You kneed the one you were pinning and sent him back as a machete came at you forcing your head to go stretching back, just narrowly missing it.

You deflected, grabbed the man’s arm and using the momentum to force the machete through a door, gripping the man’s wrist while you kneed his stomach then punched him in the face and he went down to the ground.

A battle cry sounded behind you and you were pushed back harshly and slammed to the ground, someone’s thighs encasing your ribcage. He entwined his fingers together holding them above his head to hammer down on you but your hand went to his throat, chopping it hard before punching him and sending him off of you.

You were about to stab into the man’s chest but a hand grabbed your left ankle, wretching you back down the hall as you clutched at nothing to try and stop it.

“Take her leg!” the man yelled to another beside him, pulling out his machete.

Your eyes flashed wide before swinging your right leg around connecting hard to both of their faces. You kicked until you felt a release on your ankle, then your foot was replaced by your fists, flying back between either man and unrelenting until neither man was moving. You weren’t even sure they were breathing by the time you were done.

The hall was suddenly dead silent and you scrambled to your feet and back away from them.

You were buzzed with adrenaline and overwhelmed by numbness when hands grabbed your shoulders, retching you back into an empty apartment.

You were thrown down across the floor, tumbling to a stop. You sprung up as fast as you could, ready to launch at your next attacker, when you caught sight of him and stopped dead.

Everything in you was stilled, head ringing at the sudden quiet shock.

The man in front of you looked so much like you, the resemblance was unmistakable. The same coloured eyes and hair, same nose, but with a squared jaw and about half a foot taller than you.

“...Ward?” you whispered, heart not knowing what to do or feel.

“Hey sis,” the man whispered back. You were expecting a grim smile, but nothing came. “Now what in hell are you doing back here?”

You swallowed, wanting to close the distance to either hug him or ring your brother’s stupid neck. You had imagined this reunion a thousand times, always different, always stopped short in your mind. It was a reunion you never really wanted, because you never planned on being back here, and you knew Ward would never leave.

Your brother, the only family member in this world alive, was the other reason for not coming back. For not letting the Avengers clean out this place. For not calling them in to help you now. Because you knew if there was a fight, your stupid brother, as one of two right hand men here, would find a way to get himself killed. You might not agree with his life choice, but you couldn’t have that on your conscience. You never had anything when you were little. Only him. And even now you couldn��t give him up. You just wouldn’t.

“Took out the cameras down here for you, no one will know about this family get together.”

You were still stunned and he managed to smirk at you, familiar eyes a little mischievous.

“Consider it a birthday present,” To which you pulled a face. “I know, I know, it’s nowhere near your actual birthday, but I have a few to catch up on, don’t I.”

You snorted, rubbing your face with a weary smile. God, you had missed your stupid brother.

“Now, you can do me a favour,” he said, stepping forward. “ And get the fuck out of here. Now. I don’t want you in a fucking body bag, Y/N.”

“I can’t,” you admitted, determination shining in your eyes as the pair of you stood across this small dark apartment, reminiscent of stolen moment from the old days together. “You know why I’m here. You know I can’t leave without him. He’s my friend, Ward.”

“Oh, so you’ll come into fucking Hades for him, but not me?” he shot back at you.

That was all the confirmation you needed. Bucky was here. Holy shit, your skin was practically on fire at the news and your head reeled, gut instinct never proving you wrong.

You took a beat before continuing, not wanting to give away the fact that you really didn’t know for sure Bucky was here before strolling in. That would earn some ridicule. But your determination increased ten fold, and you knew you would be getting out of here. And with Bucky in tow.

“You chose to stay, Ward,” you continued, a warning in your voice. No one would keep you from your mission. From your Bucky now. “You can leave any time. You never once tried. You never once wanted too. So no, believe it or not, I’m not going after a lost cause like you.”

“He’s not worth it, Y/N. Whatever he is to you.” Now it was his time to speak with a warning. “The Boss wants you, Y/N. Badly. As long as you are in this building, he will send everything he’s got after you.”

“Well, I’ve done pretty well so far.” you shrugged, ignoring the sheer amount of blood and gashes and cuts covering you. “And I’m sure you’ve helped…?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Ganked a number on the way down here. All blamed on you, of course.”

“Of course.” you agreed somewhat good-naturedly. But his face got darker.

“Y/N… You need to leave him behind. I mean it.”

“No,” you said just as resolute as before. “So tell me where he is, and I’ll stand a better chance.”

“Y/N.” Ward growled.

“He’s my friend, Ward.” you seethed, done with wasting time like this. “So get on board with this or back the fuck off.”

“Yeah, maybe he’s your friend but I’m your fucking family!” he snapped back.

“I don’t think you can play that card, asshole!” you yelled.

“Because you refused to stay and learn your fucking place?! If you hadn’t tried to break out every fucking day you wouldn’t have been punished every fucking day! The biggest fucking idiot I ever met was you. You obviously still hold that title, coming back now.”

“Oh fuck,” you laughed, humourlessly. You forgot how much of a prick your brother could be. “Yeah, you go right on thinking that. You go right on thinking that your fucking boss cares at all for you, you fucking moron. Because I would have, Ward. I would have acted like a true family to you. I would have been enough. If you had only gotten out with me, we could have had lived together, as a family, outside of these cursed fucking walls!”

You clenched and unclenched your fists, blooding pumping out of the glass cuts, eyes closed for a minute while you tried to calm down.

This was how it always had been with you two. Just two people, too different from each other. Loving and hating each other, able to swing each other’s mood to the opposite end of the spectrum with a couple choice words.

“So as usual, we do our own thing,” he concluded tersely, clearly not happy about it. “You burst in and out, and I stay behind.”

“Only works if I’m alive at the end of this.” you reminded him grimly.

Another beat passed before he rolled his eyes slightly and responded.

“Fourteenth floor,” he sighed. “Fifth room on the right, there’s no way you’ll miss him.”

His eyes held something in them at those words. You didn’t ask what, because you didn’t want to know. You just knew from that look that Bucky didn’t have a lot of time left. Not that either of you had much time since the second you walked into this building.

So you ignored the foreboding in them, shifting on your feet a little.

“I missed you, you know.” you said quietly, gaze locked to his.

“No, I don’t think you did.” he said, holding your stare. “I think you’ve spent every minute trying to forget this place. And me along with it.”

That should have hurt more than it did. But he wasn’t wrong. That’s exactly what you had done, and you assumed he had tried the same.

“Well,” you started after a moment. “See you in another twenty years?”

“Yeah sis, sure.”

And just a simple as that, your explosive family reunion was over, Ward leaving with a nod goodbye before slinking out.

Ward couldn’t take out every camera or every man between you and Bucky, but he warned you and could signal to the others that certain floor were cleared, leaving space for you to enter. You figured some security feeds must have been altered to protect Ward from getting caught, but that was his responsibility. Getting to Bucky was yours. Ward’s neck was on the line for this if his boss found out, but yours had been on the line since you stepped in. And he was right, he had missed his fair share of birthdays, so this was payback.

And, by some miracle, you made it to floor fourteen.

You had fucking done it.

You counted the doors as you snuck along the wall, the almost black corridor ominous as the dirty light bulbs flickered. You wanted to bolt, to rush in and finally see Bucky again and make this all worth it. Fighting every impulse in your body you remained slow and careful, watching out for any sign of trouble.

But as you got closer, you could hear him. Yelling moans floated and cracked eerily through the silence and flickered in time with the lights.

Bucky!, you almost whined in your head, face crumpled as you took measured steps towards his screams.

A rusted metal door with a scratched in number five eventually met you, the grimey little window too thick with dirt to see properly in.

Carefully you turned the handle, the door instantly creaking loud enough to echo down the long hall.

You were met with an equally dark room, and one Bucky Barnes.

He was strung up with chains tied tightly around his wrists, giving just enough space for his tip toes to touch the floor but not much else. A hand crank was behind him and beside that was a large box with a bunch of wires. They were clamped to his metal arm, sending shocks through his body every few seconds and making the light flicker as it electrocuted him with a crackling buzz of sound drown out by his screams.

“Bucky!” you called, letting the door slam as his wide blood-red and ice blue eyes stared at you, distant with untold days of pain coursing through him.

You ran to the torture devices, unplugging everything you could, shocks to you be damned. You turned and watch his body slump as you cranked the lever to give the chains slack.

He ended up on his knees hunched over, sweat drenched hair looking black in the dark room.

You pulled off the chains from his wrists and slid around in front of him, hands hovering over his arm and face while he tried to catch his haggard breath.

“Oh Bucky,” you whispered to him, pained. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

He was shaking with the strained effort of staying in chains so long, face crumpled and drawn into a white palour.

You knew what this was like, you remembered it as clear as day. They would have beaten him and whipped him with those chains first, red welts and purple bruises under his clothes or around split skin where the metal was wielded too harshly. They wouldn’t have fed him or let him rest. They would have isolated him and humiliated him, all in an effort to break him down.

You knew because that was exactly what they did with you countless times.

Sometime they had harsher punishments and threw you at some sadist client to inflict whatever tortuous hell they wanted on and in your flesh. But usually it was this, in one of these rooms, for days on end. Then once this part was over you’d be given a sip of water and thrown into a cage match to fight while betting, despicable men watched and jeered.

It had been a long time since you were that child, angry and beaten and hardened to life by the torment of an underworld like this one. But seeing Bucky like this- in your shoes- you felt both simultaneously responsible for it and somehow like you were that child again. Like this was all your fault. Like you were where he knelt now, broken and hurting.

You felt the hunger in your stomach, the thirst, the welts, the electric shock, the pain of it all like they had just done it to you all over again.

You choked out a groan turned whimper in your throat, pressing your sweaty and bleeding forehead to his sweaty and bleeding forehead.

“I’m so…” you breathed, words catching. “I’m just so sorry.”

You kissed him on the cheek once, lips pushing into his heated skin, needing in that moment to connect with him and take away that pain. But the moment your lips lifted off from him it didn’t feel like enough. You leaned in slightly again and kissed him once more on the cheek. Then one more time.

Your lips found their way to the side of his nose, the corner of his eyes, down his jawline and up to his forehead. It started quick and light, but with every kiss you made it a little longer. Then a little longer still.

Eyes closed you didn’t see him lean up and connect his lips to yours until you felt it, warm and comforting and desperate for affection. Affection you were desperate to give him and feel from him. Your eyes stayed closed as you inhaled and drank in the feeling of his lips on yours, moving and answering your need for him.

He broke that kiss, lips and face a breath away from yours, watching his pale eyes focus on yours. A feather light touch from his fingers trailed along your cheek, like he was making sure you were here and you were real. The touch answered his question, reality seeping into his mind again now that the pain was diminished.

“Y/N…” he whispered, hoarse and barely sounding like himself at all. “What… What are you doing here?”

Blue eyes gazed at you looking concerned and subtly stunned, like he was just understanding what your being here meant. Like he had thought you would never come to save him. You understood it all too well why he must have thought that way. But he had underestimated exactly what he meant to you.

“I’m taking you home, Bucky.” you whispered, forehead and heaving chest to his. “We’re going home.”

The easy part was over. You were here, you were with him, you were both alive. Now, the hard part. You somehow had to get out, and alive, preferably. Try as you might, you doubted you would be able to do so without running into the man who did this to Bucky. The man running this place and who still ran your nightmares.

Somehow, you found the strength to stand and pulled Bucky up with you.

It was now or never, and there was no where to go but down.

PART TWO OF TWO

A/N: Thanks for reading babes! Let me know what you thought!

Permanent Tags: @dontpanc, @smodvocate, @bunsterjonez, @buckybonky, @marveloustrashpanda, @hangirl93, @captainrogerrsbeard, @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen, @thisgirllikeme, @jjsoccer11, @innerpandablizzard-blog, @fanatic-fanfic, @mdgrdians, @christinky

Bucky Barnes Tags: @bexboo616 @kaaatniss

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #marvel #avengers #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #behind enemy lines #behind enemy lines part one #angst

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everlarkficexchange · 7 years ago

Text

Thief of Hearts Part 3 - Say Something

Written by: @mega-aulover

Prompt 43: Prompt - a story based on the song “Say Something”, by Great Big World and Christina Aguilera… [submitted @xerxia31]

A/N: This song is so great and I couldn’t help but snatch it up for Thief of Hearts, but I wasn’t sure which scenario to post so I wrote three.

You get to choose your favorite scenario so please comment and tell me which one you want me to continue. Please vote in the comments not in the tags.

Rating: T (warning rocky times ahead)

Find Part 1 Part 2

***KP***

* Scenario One * Say Something-

“Say something, I’m giving up on you

I’ll be the one, if you want me to

Anywhere, I would’ve followed you.” - A Great Big World, Christina Aguilera

The apartment looked like a tornado had gone through it, the sofa was tossed, the coffee table was upside down, shards of a broken lamp littered the floor. Peeta heaved, allowing himself to feel every single turbulent emotion at the loss of Katniss. He drank deeply from the bottle, it’s amber liquid no longer burned down his throat but the blazing memory of his last moments with Katniss scorched his heart.

Four hours earlier:

“Who are you?”

He turned around to see Katniss standing there in his shirt, her lovely hair askew, her silver eyes wide upon her face, hurt written in their depths.

“Katniss,” he approached her, his mind spinning quickly formulating words.

“Who are you?” She backed away from him.

Her backing away was like being kicked in the nuts.

“You mentioned the purse,” Katniss shook her head, her hand extended in front of her. “I wasn’t going crazy that day, it was you.”

“Katniss, I told you that wasn’t me and I wasn’t speaking about that…I was talking about a job.”

“With her, with the blond. I saw you yesterday…I didn’t want to believe it…but…she’s real…you’re with HER when you come home late,” Katniss mumbled, her large eyes filled with tears. She gazed at him, her lips trembling, her arms wrapped around her middle protectively.

“Cashmere is,” Peeta’s mind raced to come up with a way to explain it all. “Katniss I haven’t cheated on you. I swear. I never took your purse, I love you.” It was true, Peeta Mellark was in love for the first time.

Katniss stared blankly at him.

“Say something?” He could see she was giving up on him. “Katniss please say something, don’t give up on me, on us? I’m the one for you if you allow it.”

It had been love at first sight, when he saw her on the street that day. He ran because he was so scared, but her face, her eyes, they haunted him. Then he began looking for her. That night in the bar was no coincidence. He walked up to her to tell her the truth, but her kiss, her kiss was better than Fourth of July fireworks.

He brought her home, the sex was incredible, and when she’d hit him with the pillow he’d never been more in love. Then the worry set in. The entire time they were together, he was scared that his private and personal worlds were going to collide and combust.

He was living his nightmare.

“What else have you lied to me about?”

“Katniss I grew up in a bakery, I swear. I even paint…” Peeta ran his hands through his hair, quickly thinking how to keep her here to convince her, but it was a losing battle.

Katniss took a vase and launched at him. Peeta dodged it. “YOU’RE A LOUSY CREEP!” she yelled, then she ran, and he’d almost lost her. When she tripped, his heart nearly stopped. He cradled her in his arms, unable to think of her demise, He needed to catch her and he did, he thought everything was going to be okay. But she slipped from his hands like fog.

Four hours later :

The door to the apartment opened. “Peeta?”

“She’s gone,” Peeta slurred, he drank deeply from the liquor bottle. He followed her, he would have followed her anywhere, he was so in love.

“Peeta.” Finnick approached him slowly. “I’ve never seen you this way.”

“She left me,” Peeta muttered standing up, “I have to find her Finn…I love her.” Peeta swayed.

“Peeta you need to get yourself together, we’re too close to the end. We’ve worked too hard to have you fall apart.”

Peeta shoved the bottle at Finnick’s chest. “I want out.”

“Peet,” Finnick said, taking the bottle from him.

“I want Katniss,” Peeta said, his eyes were wild, “I had her, had her and she left. She overheard me with Cashmere…she heard me and thought I was a thief, and a cheat.”

“Peeta you are a thief, you’re the best thief and conman around, and if you don’t do what we planned they’ll kill your nephew.”

Peeta stared at him. The only reason he’d gotten dragged back into this world is because of his five-year-old nephew, Toby. Peeta was only a kid himself when he and Rye began stealing things. The things they stole were priceless pieces of fine art, expensive and rare jewelry. Peeta was agile and quick, Rye was the planner but he was reckless.

They were getting ready to pull the biggest job of their life, stealing the Mockingjay Diamond, when their father died. Peeta left it all behind. Rye kept up with this world. His brother wanted to steal that diamond for nothing more than the glory of taking it.

Then nine months ago, Rye was murdered and so was his wife. The only survivor was Toby, and Cashmere was using him as leverage to drag Peeta back.

Peeta had gone to Finnick, the man who had helped him get out. Somehow, he had ended up here, lost and broken.

“Hey Peeta, say something?”

Hearing those words repeated to him, caused him to feel small and hopeless.

Finnick kneeled down and handed him a clear photo. “Cashmere has him, she has Toby.”

Peeta glanced up at Finnick.

“Say something?” Finnick questioned.

What was there to question? It was already decided.

***KP***

* Scenario Two * I’m Feeling So Small-

“And I am feeling so small, It was over my head

I know nothing at all, And I will stumble and fall

I’m still learning to love, Just starting to crawl” - A Great Big World, Christina Aguilera

“Sweetheart?”

“Hi, Haymitch,” Katniss whispered, standing outside of his cabin in the rain. She was cold and wet. Her lips trembled. This was the only place she could think of, the one place where no one could find her.

Haymitch had taken her in at the age of eleven when she had no one. When he found her, she’d been living in the forest, hiding from the man who’d caused the death of her family. Haymitch had brought her up and helped her hide from Brutus the man responsible. She’d testified but her life was in danger and the government wouldn’t help her.

Haymitch took it upon himself to help her cope with the daily fear that someone could be out there wanting to hurt her the way they’d hurt her family. She kept a low profile, only had a few friends. She paid for everything in cash, had a disposable phone.

“Come in,” Haymitch waved her in.

It was like going back in time. Nothing had changed, nothing at all since the moment she’d left here. Haymitch remained.

“You in trouble?” It was a rhetorical question, Haymitch knew everything about her. He made it his job to keep her safe.

Katniss shook her head, but the tears threatened to fall.

“Yeah, you are,” Haymitch said wiping his face, “Come on, you look like you can use a bath and a good meal. Go get dry, you smell like a wet dog.”

The mention of food caused her stomach to grumble. She hadn’t eaten anything since she’d found Peeta with that woman, over 48 hours ago.

Haymitch didn’t say anything more when he heard her stomach, he only nodded, his peppered hair was askew.

Dejectedly, she walked down the hallway to the room, drenched from the storm outside. Opening the door, she put her bag down and stared into the void. Water droplets splashed on the floor. Everything looked the same, down to the dust bunnies by the window sill.

She began crying. She was feeling so small, everything was over her head.

How had it all gone wrong, she wondered. She’d finally felt safe, with him. As much as Haymitch protected her, she never felt secure enough, there was always an outside chance danger would follow her. Tears mixed with the rain streaking down her face as she recalled how happy they were three months ago.

Three Months Ago:

They were moving in together. Katniss watched Peeta’s ass as he moved up the stairs, his broad shoulders and the muscles moved as he carried the heaviest boxes with ease. He was strong, and she marveled at his physique.

It was hot outside, her internal temperature, however, was hotter. She swallowed, she wasn’t as experienced as other women, she’d only had two boyfriends. Her first was a high school boy named Marvel, but he was only nice to her until the moment they did ‘it’. Afterwards, he turned mean and cruel.

Katniss was glad that he’d gone off to school and broke it off with her.

Her next partner had been Darius. He was safe, and the sex wasn’t great either. Maybe because she wasn’t emotionally involved with Darius, and it showed. They dated for nearly two years, and she was never comfortable with him touching her.

Peeta, on the other hand, she couldn’t wait to be with him, around him. She was amazed that someone who was hot like him wanted her. He was beautiful, exciting and she had finally found out what it was like to orgasm. Her nipples tightened at the thought of having him once more, her underwear became damp. She began imagining him stripping off her shorts and taking her roughly against the door.

“Are you okay?”

Katniss snapped out of her naughty daydream. She blinked and her cheeks bloomed pink. They had arrived at his floor and were in front of his door. “I need a bath,” she rushed out as she opened the door for him.

He put the boxes down. His eyes twinkled and he gave her that darned sexy grin of his, the one that made her knees week. “I can join you now, we’ve got a tub that’s big enough for two.”

Her eyes widened, she hadn’t considered doing it in the tub before.

Peeta chuckled, “You’re so pure.”

“I’m not,” Katniss shot back. He didn’t know of the things she’d done to survive, who she had become. If he knew, he would have a different idea about her.

He picked her up, surprised, she squealed.

“Yeah you are, but you’re perfect for me.” He put her down in the bathroom, his mouth quickly sought contact with hers. He backed her up to the sink, his kisses causing a rush of wetness that ruined her underwear. Katniss hands frantically sought purchase on his chest. She slid them down, toying with the hem of his t-shirt, as she pulled away from his dangerous kisses.

He stepped back slightly to remove his shirt, and she expelled the breath she had in her chest. She shyly ran her hands up his muscled abs. His hands were still at her waist, waiting for her signal to undress her. The one thing she learned about Peeta was that he was a gentleman, he didn’t take from her like others had, he always gave her pleasure first, always waited to see if she was ready, and he put her needs above his own. It was thrilling, to know she could dominate this beefy gentle giant.

His hand cupped her cheek, his lips were only a breath away. “You sure you’re okay with moving in with me?

He looked so vulnerable, his blue eyes were seeking assurance.

“I know it’s only been three months but I just can’t imagine not coming home to you.”

Katniss nodded, the action caused her lips to join with his. She wasn’t afraid of taking the leap, but then she’d never actually lived with a man, shared his bed, and allowed him into her inner sanctum. And two weeks into living with Peeta, Katniss had learned so much about herself. She was learning to love, and like an infant, she was starting to crawl.

Three Months Later:

Her hand went to her midsection. She’d been flying high until she’d seen him with that woman yesterday. Everything changed in a blink of an eye. Betrayed and broken, she gave up on him, on the dream of what they were. Katniss blinked as she took stock of her surroundings.

“Peeta Mellark,” Haymitch said coming into the room. He put a plate of food on her dresser. Took the towel he had draped over his shoulder and wrapped it around her.

Frowning, she registered that she was trembling. She rubbed her shoulders. She was numb from the inside out. “How bad is it?”

“Thought you would ask,” Haymitch reached into his back pocket and produced a file.

She took the file, her eyes trained on her mentor. Swallowing, Katniss was unsure if she wanted to know the truth. There was a lot at stake. Biting her bottom lip, she silently flipped through the information.

“What else are you hiding?”

His question stopped her from reading the file. Her hands trembled. She looked down a lonely tear streaked down her cheek.

“Say something?” Haymitch persisted.

Going to her wardrobe she collected her weapons. What was there to say? It was already decided.

***KP***

** Scenario Three ** And I will Swallow my Pride-

“Say something, I’m giving up on you, And I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you

And anywhere, I would have followed you….And I will swallow my pride

You’re the one that I love, And I’m saying goodbye” - A Great Big World, Christina Aguilera

Peeta rounded the corner and saw her waiting in line to get on a bus. He realized this was one of those out of town buses, not a city bus. “Damn,” he muttered, jamming his hands through his hair.

He had woken up when he heard the soft click of the door. At first, he thought she was in the other room, but when he heard the front door shut close he knew she was leaving him.

Flying from the bed, he had quickly grabbed the pants that Katniss always instead he keep folded over a chair, and shirt. He hadn’t even bothered looking for his shoes. It was imperative that he get to her. He’d hurt her, and in turn, she’d walked out on him. Peeta couldn’t even blame her, he’d broken her trust by not telling her what was going on. He kept things from her for her own safety.

But that had backfired. Everything blew up in his face. He still recalled the heartbreak written on her face, her pain so great her hands trembled. Hands that had gripped him with want and need. But it was more than just desire, they needed each other.

He yelled, “Katniss,” but someone honked the horn at the same time and she didn’t hear him.

He was still a block away from the stop where she stood. Peeta took a shortcut, running through an alley, but he was too late, the bus flew by. He saw her sitting inside the bus. “KATNISS!”

“STOP!” he yelled at the bus, waving his hands, hoping the bus driver saw him. It kept on going. Peeta took off after the bus on foot.

He panted as he ran full force chasing the bus, but the great machine rolled on. Not even his metal bionic leg helped him chase down the bus. He came to a stop but noticed his car was few feet away.

He would follow her to the ends of the earth, he wasn’t going to give up on her. Not now that he knew her secret, he wasn’t going to let her slip through his fingers. As quickly as he could, he took out his keys and before long he was driving after the bus.

He was willing to swallow his pride, he was willing to give up his lifestyle for her. Because he loved her. She was more precious to him than the Mockingjay Diamond Cashmere wanted him to steal. He shouldn’t have said yes to the job, but he needed the money.

During the two-hour car drive out of the city, he put on his shirt and discovered he had a pair of his non-lace up sneakers in the car. The bus drove into a smaller town. He followed it wondering where Katniss was going.

The bus came to a stop and several people got off, Katniss amongst them. He quickly scanned the area for a place to park. Peeta saw a spot to park and although there was someone waiting he cut them off and stole the spot. The guy behind the wheel was honking at him and yelling obscenities. Peeta didn’t bother responding.

He jumped out of the car and hopped around on his feet to put on his sneakers. The man shut up when he saw his metallic foot. With his sneakers in place, his eyes searched for Katniss. It wasn’t a busy town, it was quiet. There was an afternoon crowd, but nothing compared to the throngs of people who lived in the city.

He spotted her as she walked briskly.

His heart beat quickly when saw her cross the street. He thought he could reach her until he saw her head to a police station. He came up short when he saw a tall man dressed in a suit. This guy wasn’t a regular cop, this guy had government agency written all over him, from his polished black shoes to the dark navy blue tie.

He was a tall bronzed man with sea green eyes, and he was calling her name. “Katniss.”

She waved at him, indicating familiarity.

Had she betrayed him, he wondered. Then he shook his head, that couldn’t be he knew the truth about her.

One Month Ago:

He’d arrived early from his trip, he had anticipated surprising Katniss. Lately, she hadn’t been herself. Her eyes didn’t focus on him they strayed off to the side as if she was thinking of something other than him. She also avoided certain things, like tea, and just before he’d left he wanted to take her to a steakhouse and she declined.

She couldn’t stand the smell of his favorite tea. Plus she told him to take it easy on the cologne. Katniss always liked the way he smelled. The conference held nothing that could help his father’s bakery. He heard his phone go off, he was going to let it go, but it kept on ringing.

Frustrated he pushed back the shower door, as he was showering, soap got in his eyes. “Ah hell.”

He blindly searched for a towel as the ringing persisted.

“Hello,” he growled into the phone.

“Hello, Peeta.” Cashmere’s smooth voice caused Peeta to sigh angrily. The woman was dangerous, but she wanted something. She’d been trailing him for months now, it was one of her goons who had attacked Katniss, he’d seen him and tackled him to the ground.

“Cashmere.”’

“I heard you were in town again. How was the conference? Did it help you figure out a way to save the bakery?”

“I’m not interested, Cashmere.”

“Oh come on Peeta, be reasonable.” She sounded like she was pouting over the phone. “I need the best and you are the best thief. I will make it worth your while, there is a great cash reward, it will help your family.”

His father was ill, the bakery was being run by his mother and was failing. They’d let go of the staff, made changes, but the economic fallout had hurt them. Skyrocketing prices of ingredients combined with no one wanted to pay the higher prices affected the revenue.

“No.” Peeta shook his head. As a kid, his mother had beaten him, and Peeta found the streets to be an escape. He had been good at stealing good at morphing into a character in order to take what wasn’t his. Soon, he found himself stealthily getting into places no one else could. Then on one of his jobs, someone got shot. An innocent woman, It changed him seeing a human die. Peeta lost his drive all he could see was her face and he couldn’t steal anymore.

It helped him see what he would miss if he ever got caught. He had walked away, gone back to the bakery.

“I’ll give you one more hour,” Cashmere said before the line went dead.

He threw the phone back on the desk. There was no way in hell he was going to help her. They would be okay. Angrily, he rushed back to the bathroom, by now the water was no doubt tepid at best, but he had a head full of shampoo. In his haste, Peeta forgot the floor was wet and slipped. He grabbed the door handle of the shower but he kicked over the wastebasket.

The contents spilled on the floor. “Crap.”

Quickly, he picked up the scattered contents, then he stopped short when he pulled a toothbrush-like handle from behind the toilet bowl. Peeta fell on his butt when he realized what he was holding.

The pregnancy test stared up at him, its sign positive.

It all made sense; her lack of appetite for red meat, her turning green at his tea choice and her sensitive nose. His hands shook at the realization that Katniss was pregnant.

One Month Later:

The discovery of the test she’d carefully thrown out in the garbage propelled him to say yes to Cashmere, with the understanding that after that he was out. It was why he’d said yes to the job. He knew she was pregnant, and was waiting for her to say something to him. It’s why he couldn’t let her go, why he would follow her anywhere she went even if that meant turning himself in.

Peeta loved her, and he was going to be a father.

He watched her lower her head, she didn’t look at the man in the face, she stared at her feet as she spoke, he could tell she was distressed. The screeching sound of a car could be heard. Peeta watched from his vantage point as the car came barreling down towards her.

“KATNISS,” he screamed, running toward her.

Katniss turned around at the sound of his voice as if searching for him. Then she turned her attention to the man. She pushed him out of the way screaming his name, “FINNICK!”

Peeta watched, horrified, as the car hit her and then sped away.

“KATNISS.” Peeta ran to her. His hands shook as he held her. “Katniss, I love you.”

Around him, cops poured out of the station. An ambulance was called.

“Say something?” Peeta touched her skin, it was still warm, but she didn’t reply. It seemed as if she was saying goodbye.

But there was nothing to say, nothing he could do.

#mega-aulover #Springtime Edition 2018 #prompt 43 #submission

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ununniliad · 6 years ago

Text

Writer's Block Person #40: "Too Much Time Inside My Own Skull" Part Two

Last time:

From within the helmet came a voice, swallowing, struggling to get the word out. "Skull..." They threw their head back and howled. "SKULL WRITER'S BLOCK PERSON!"

Now [still early March 2018]:

"Oh, heck." Whisperion pushed herself up with her staff and got to her feet. Something not-so-nice had actually come out of Writer's Block Person's psyche. What should she do?

Keep her word. Fight alongside it. She pointed her staff, and energy flowed into her friend's distorted form; she could feel it distorting along the way, but they shook themselves out and howled again, replenished.

The monstrous man rose up, tilting forward as if pulled by strings, and stared into Skull Writer's Block Person's burning gaze. "Ohhh, I see." The sneer came through. "You think your anger is special--"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" With two long steps, Skull Writer's Block Person crossed the distance between them, ramming their shoulder into the monstrous man and knocking him askew. "I DON'T CARE!"

The monstrous man staggered back. He laughed, but it had a haggard, stressed edge. "Yeah you do. Yeah you do."

Skull Writer's Block Person ROARED! Their claws lashed out, and sparks burst from the monstrous man's chest. "People like you just keep fucking with us and making things hard for no goddamn reason and I can't stand your bullshit anymore! I! Don't! Know! Why! You! Just! Don't! Be! GOOD!"

The monstrous man let out a grunt of pain, but it turned into a sardonic chuckle. Shadows surrounded his fist and he took a swing at Skull Writer's Block Person, who blocked it with a solid arm, then swung that arm out in a powerful, spark-flaring attack.

Holy cow. If nothing else, this transformation was having an impact. Whisperion focused on the battle, channeling the different flavors of darkness curling around Skull Writer's Block Person into light and life. Maaaaybe this was okay?

In Writer's Block Person's head, it was not okay, and at the same time, it was glorious. It was fire and rage and righteousness and truth and helpless shouting at the void. And then they heard the void whispering back.

There's so much pain to this, it whispered. The pain of people's suffering. If you let go of it, you could have this fire, this strength, without the pain... you could be strong... I made this one strong, but you could be stronger... get it?

For a moment, Skull Block Person stood, smoldering in place.

"Yeah," they said. "I get it."

With both hands, they grabbed the monstrous man, gripping the plates of hardened material on his chest, and ripped them away! "I GET that you want to FUCKING use me like you USED everyone in the FUCKING WORLD, you ASSHOLE!"

The man shouted in pain, real pain, sounding helpless, stumbling back. The unprotected-- material? flesh? was red-gray, and shadow streamed from it. Skull Writer's Block Person lashed out along the unprotected flesh, and it bled bright, bursting in lines of blazing sparks. "You want to turn us all into your pathetic machines to make money or what-the-fuck-EVER and for WHAT? NOTHING!"

No... whispered a voice.

Whisperion's head jerked up - she heard the voice - recognized it, or rather, the way it threaded through the wrinkles of her brain - this was a demon.

For everything... For power... all the power in all the worlds... you could have it... could be mine... ours...

"Get. The fuck. OUT OF MY SKULL!" Skull Writer's Block Person grabbed the monstrous head, stared into its glowing green eyes, and blazed. Their eyes burned a red whose color went beyond the physical operation of rods and cones, an impossible hyperbolic ultrascarlet that burst right through the electromagnetic spectrum and into the metaphysical.

There was a sound that didn't exist, sheet metal being ripped apart overlaid with heavy static. The demon was screaming. The man's body was frozen in a rictus of shock, his face tight, without the glee, without the power.

Skull Writer's Block Person let go of his head, and he fell, boneless, to the pavement and the grass. They spread their arms and screamed at the sky. "STOP DOING THIS TO ME!"

"Drew, it's okay!" Whisperion tossed her staff to the side and raised her hands. "It's done, you can stop--"

"NO I CAN'T!" They covered their face with their claws, panting, great ragged breaths. She could see the tension in their arms, the little twitches that accompanied every movement. "It's not done, I, Whisperion-- you can feel it, right-- I--" Their shoulders went up and a series of shudders wracked their body. "Min-young, I gotta-- they're so awful and maybe I can fix it and maybe I can fight it because they're all out there and they're HURTING us and I HAVE TO STOP THEM!" They threw their head back and screamed, and leapt into the air, and out of sight.

Shit, thought Whisperion, this has officially gone Too Far. Someone had to snap them out of this. ...unfortunately, she didn't know how. Maybe if the demon--

She looked and nope. The monstrous man was gone. Well, double shit!

Okay, keep it together. Her staff blazed with light and she cleared the last of the darkness out of her system, clearing her head. They had a lot of allies; who among them would be best to stop a Writer's Block Person who had gone off and--

Oh, duh. Whisperion looked around. Which one of these was Distraction Damsel's house?

...well, probably the one with the lawn gnomes in hot pink and banana yellow, the snow sculpture of humanity swordfighting God, and the big sign that said "NOT THE HOUSE OF DISTRACTION DAMSEL, THAT'S FOR SURE" on the roof. Must be nice to live in a neighborhood without a homeowner's association.

Whisperion picked her way across the crazy-paving walk and knock-knock-knocked on the door with the window painted on it. "Hoy! Alarums! Calls to action! Distraction Damsel, I need your help!"

The intercom (disguised as a fake rock with a fake key under it) crackled. "Look," said Distraction Damsel, "I told y'all. I don't fight bad guys, I just fight heroes when they need fightin'."

"No, no, no," said Whisperion. "It's Writer's Block Person! They've gone berserk!"

A loud squee came out of the intercom, and then it went silent. Whisperion heard a door open and slam shut on the other side of the house, and Distraction Damsel ran out from behind a stand of rainbow flamingos. "Eee!" she said. "Kismessitude! :D"

Hey, wait, has Distraction Damsel been described yet? Wow, no. Okay, I'll do that now: She's a lanky black girl, speckled with vitiligo, with foofy pink hair, wearing purple glasses, a holofoil bodysuit, and oversized golden gloves and boots like in anime or Mickey Mouse. She wears a purple cargo utiliskirt with oversized pockets full of distractions; glitter, confetti, inflatable dolls, just one more episode, ponderings on the ineffability of existence, and so on. Right now she is very happy so let's continue with that.

The two of them got on Whisperion's moped and sped over to where all the yelling was coming from. Skull Writer's Block Person was standing outside a (thankfully closed) restaurant, yelling at a "NO LOITERING" sign.

"...trying to make it illegal for people to EXIST, or just to be POOR!?" In a single blow, they slashed the sign to ribbons, scoring the brick beneath with clawmarks. The one janitor who had been in the place exited quietly out the back door because they sure as hell weren't dealing with this today.

"Yikes." Distraction Damsel flipped off the moped and ran her hands thru her hair, making it extra foofy. "This is gonna be easy, tho."

"Seriously?" said Whisperion, raising an eyebrow. "They look pretty focused."

"Watch and learn." Distraction Damsel pirouetted up to Skull Writer's Block Person. "Hey, nerd!"

They spun, claws at the ready. "Viv! Nrrrrgh--" Their hands went to their head. "Keep back, I gotta-- gotta focus, I can't--"

Before Skull Writer's Block Person could finish their thought, Distraction Damsel pointed at them and said, "Why don't you just put the whole world in a bottle??"

"Er..." Skull Writer's Block Person lowered their hands, and their burning crimson eyes blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Whoops, wrong one." Distraction Damsel pulled a stack of index cards out of her pocket and leafed thru them. "Here we go..." She tossed them over her shoulder and pointed at Skull Writer's Block Person again. "If you're fighting the bad guys with your new powers, when are you going to have time to write?"

"Uh... well, I guess I'm gonna have to rest sometime, so--"

"And if you're doing that when are you gonna have time to hang out with people?"

"Er, well, if they want to fight evil with me--"

"And if you're doing that what about those books you wanna read,"

"Um--"

"and what about going to those community meetings you're always talking about,"

"Uh--"

"Or organizing your stuff better, or learning to draw, or having a sexy time, or--"

POP-hwoosh! In a burst of crimson light, Skull Writer's Block Person de-transformed, and Drew tumbled to the sidewalk. "...ow..."

Distraction Damsel mimed blowing off a pair of six-shooters and stuck them in her belt. "My job here... is done!"

"Oh, right," said Whisperion. "They de-transform when they can't figure out what to do. I forgot it worked that way."

[Half an hour later...]

Writer's Block Person finished their turkey on rye and drank their glass of water. "Thanks." They leaned back. "I feel a lot better."

Whisperion nodded, clearing away the plates. "Good!" She deposited them in the kitchen, then came back and stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "You gotta take care of yourself, you nerd, or else shit like this happens."

"Ehe..." Writer's Block Person rubbed the back of their head and smiled. "You're right."

"Seriously, I was really worried about you." She took a step forward. "You really can't do shit like that. You're going to really hurt yourself and... and..." She ran across the room and swept them up in her arms, one around their back, one around the back of their head. "And you're too important for that. You're too good."

Writer's Block Person made a "mrhf!" noise as she embraced them, surprised but welcoming, and put their arms around her as best they could. She pressed their head into her shoulder, and they nuzzled in, standing there for a few minutes, cuddling, breathing.

Eventually, she let go. They gave her a little kiss on the neck, and took a step back, though their hands were still on her sides. "Sorry for worrying you, hon."

She chucked, smiled down at them. "It's okay."

"I dunno if I'm actually important, tho. Like, Comic Book Resources would probably call me a C-lister."

Whisperion snerked. "You're important to me, nerd."

Writer's Block Person smiled. "Fair fair. Then I guess, since I love you and all, I gotta take care of what's important to you. Which means..." They let go of her, spinning to point into the distance melodramatically. "It's time to activate... The Zero Closet!!"

Whisperion gasped, then clenched her fist. "Good luck!"

"Thank you!" Writer's Block Person leapt over to the closet, tossed the door open, then spun dramatically to look at her. "I'll need it!"

Whisperion held up her fist for a moment, trembling... then broke out in guffaws. "Heeheeheehee. Okay, weirdo." She blew them a kiss. "Have fun, I'll hang out and finally get some reading done."

Writer's Block Person giggled. "Thanks, hon, you're a peach~" They stepped into the closet and closed the door behind them.

This had originally been a hallway, back when this building was a set of deluxe luxury apartments for the robber-baron-era Pittsburgh elite. Now, it was a big-ass closet with several smaller closets along the walls. It was also an excellent space to be alone with one's thoughts.

With one flip of a switch, the closet was bathed in light from several full-spectrum lamps. Writer's Block Person sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, letting the light fill them.

Slowly, the wisps of seasonal depression rose out of their mind. They inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly, letting the random activity of their mind settle down. When it felt like they'd reached some kind of equilibrium, they reached up and turned off the lights.

The darkness was a closet, a close, confined space. And Writer's Block Person took their mental model of the space, and made the walls fall away. It stretched off, now, in all directions, their surroundings one part of a vast space.

In the space, a door rose up - not like the one on the depths, but familiar, solid, the door that you can open and say "I'm home!" And with a little creak and a jingle, the door opened. Two figures stepped through.

One was an anthropomorphic bull, long-horned with orange, shaggy fur. She was six feet tall, muscular, and wearing a flannel shirt and magenta-pink denim overalls. Through her nose was a ring in the shape of a Venus symbol.

[Bedelia Dunaidh. Highland Cattle bullwoman. Strong and warm and proud of you. Playful and powerful. Horn-y on main.]

The other was a woman whose paleness was the hard-earned result of many days spent inside. She wore a black crop top, a holofoil skirt and wraparound reflective shades, plus dark blue glittery lipstick.

[Nyx. The ultimate '90s hacker. Sparkles and neon and scrolling green letters. Snarky as hell. Loves to not give a fuck.]

Bedelia closed the door behind her, and with a wave of her hand, it slipped down into the endless mindscape. She stood, relaxed and confident, a pillar of strength.

"Well!" said Nyx, leaning back against the wall with a smirk. "That didn't go well."

"Now, now," said Bedelia. She knelt down and put her hand on Writer's Block Person's shoulder. "How are you doing, love?"

They sighed. "Well, not as bad, but..." They shook their head. "God, I could've really hurt someone. I mean, I did hurt someone, but someone who, y'know, wasn't physically attacking me. ...which I still feel guilty about, anyway."

Nyx rolled her eyes. "You were halfway to burning yourself out as it was. You would've taken a swipe at an innocent rando and keeled over from anxiety."

"Well, maybe." Writer's Block Person rubbed their upper arms, looking oddly comforted by the idea. "Still... ugh." They shook their head again, looking down at their feet. "I was so hungry to do things, so hungry to unleash my anger on a deserving target..." A lonely howl sounded from far away. "I still am."

"That anger's still in you," said Bedelia, "though it's cooled, now that you've released it. And that's no bad thing; there is much in this world to be angry about. The trick, of course, is keeping your own will and compassion in the face of it."

Writer's Block Person sighed. "Yeah... mnnnngh... bleh. I just want to be effective." They ran their fingers thru their hair. "It's so hard to feel like I'm really doing anything. Like, people are suffering in ways I can't help them with, because of what somebody did to them, or what somebody's doing to them now. Even inside my cute little bubble, sometimes." They sighed, looking up at the invisible ceiling.

Bedelia stepped behind them and sank her fingers into their hair, rubbing their scalp. "You are being effective. You're supporting people, every day. You don't always see the results immediately. Sometimes they seem unaffected, sometimes they just get frustrated at themselves or the world, end up screaming or burned out. But that doesn't mean they are unaffected. Every little gesture of support matters. It creates a pattern of support; it becomes part of people's lives, a feeling like there is support out there, even if it isn't available right now."

They sighed. "I know. It's just hard when I can't see it."

She smiled. "You're a dandelion."

They tilted their head back, looking up at her. "...thank you?"

Bedelia laughed, rich and husky. "You want to plant the seeds of people's stability and goodness, but you don't realize you already are. You're just planting them willy-nilly, like dandelion seeds blown by the wind, letting kindness float out into the world. Your reckless love lands and grows all over the land. And you really don't need to worry that any one gesture of support falls flat, because there's a dozen more growing tall and strong and nigh-impossible to root out."

"...awh." Writer's Block Person took a deep breath, let it out. "That's... really good to hear."

"Excellent, you deserve good things."

They sighed. "Still don't really know how to deal with this anger, tho."

"That's my cue." Nyx stepped forward... and flopped down lazily over Writer's Block Person's lap, making them oof. "So nerd, one question." She snuggled into place, relaxing. "Why you gotta be so angry?"

"Well, 'cause of all of this awful stuff, I thought I said."

"Nah nah nah." Nyx stuck out a finger and booped them on the nose. "You're not listenin'. Why do you have to be angry? Izzit fixin' the problem?"

"I mean... not really. But I just am angry."

"Yeah, but that's the thing." She sat up, putting an arm around their shoulders. "You've got those feelings, but you don't gotta feel them all the time."

"That's true," said Bedelia. "You're trying to deal with every bit of it at once."

"Yeah, but..." Writer's Block Person slumped back, boneless. "I worry that, if I don't make sure I feel all of the bad things as they come up, I'm going to fall back into a place where I can't feel them, where they're just lurking below the surface, fucking with me unpredictably." They sighed. "I've worked so hard to get outta that place..."

Nyx sat up in their lap. "First off, yeah, yeah, fair." She wrapped an arm around their shoulders. "Second... you're an idiot." She pressed her fist down and gave them a noogie.

"l;fgljkfd!" They flailed!

"You did work stupid hard, and you're not gonna undo all that work just by takin' a break from feeling it!" A-noogienoogienoogie and Nyx let go.

"I, bu, I..." Writer's Block Person attempted to words and failed.

"It's true," said Bedelia. "Distancing yourself from your feelings in the moment can absolutely be healthy, as long as you let yourself work through those feelings when you have the time and the focus."

Nyx nodded firmly. "I know you hate all that '90s ironic distance bullshit, but there's a reason people liked it." She mussed up Writer's Block Person's hair and they wiggled. "It's okay to fuckin' enjoy it, nerd. 'S not going to ruin your precious emotional vulnerability."

"Yeah... I guess so." Writer's Block Person ran their hand thru their hair and smiled.

Bedelia grinned. "Well then." She leaned down, picked both of them up in her arms together, and squeezed them in a tight hug. Nyx acked and flailed. Writer's Block Person was squished between them, and for a moment, was crushed in comforting self-love.

Nyx managed to wriggle out and hop down, and Bedelia put Writer's Block Person back down on the floor, and smoothed out their hair. "We'd best let you take care of things now."

Writer's Block Person shook themself out and nodded. "All right."

Bedelia waved her hand and the door rose back up out of the darkness.

Nyx hopped up. "Remember when this series was all about getting an issue done in a day? Hah!"

Bedelia opened the door, releasing a breath of summer. "Take care, dear," she said. "Remember, we're always with you."

"I know." They smiled. "I can feel you cheering me on."

"Right, 'n just so you don't forget." Nyx pulled off her sunglasses and gave them a toss, with a spin that landed them directly in Writer's Block Person's lap. "Catch ya on the flipside~"

The door closed. Writer's Block Person sighed, and opened their eyes. The darkness was just darkness again. They flipped on the the light - not the sun lamps, just the regular lightbulb. The closet was just a closet again.

But the sunglasses were still in their lap.

Whisperion looked up from her book as the door to the Zero Closet creaked open and Writer's Block Person stepped out. "How'd it go?"

"I feel better," they said, looking down at the sunglasses. "But... I'm not sure what my next step is."

"That's fair. Wanna hang out and chew it over?" Whisperion patted the couch next to her.

"Yes please." They sat down on the couch, their legs over her lap, and relaxed. They got out their phone and started checking their messages. Ah, Edwina was on another ramble about proofreading on the Discord server.

| ...and, as no messaging client as yet supports the "new paragraph" symbol, I propose that it be created as a transparent image and included in our server's list of custom emoji.

Thank you for your time. - Ed. (UE) |

"...THAT'S IT!"

"Please don't scream in my ear," said Whisperion mildly.

[A couple days later]

Whisperion and Distraction Damsel were having a nice picnic. It was a bit chilly for it, but the sun had come out and most of the snow had melted, so they didn't care. They sat on a blanket in the park, and snacked on sammiches and chips.

Writer's Block Person stood in front of them, bouncing from foot to foot. They were already transformed, and holding their sparkly purple transformation pen in one hand. "So, I had to practice this a lot, but I think I got it down. You ready? Um..." They bounced a bit, caught between excitement and politeness. "Need any more food, or... anything?"

Whisperion laughed and shook her head. "We're ready!" She gave them a thumbs-up.

"One hundred percent up for learning your strategies so I can take advantage of it later!" Distraction Damsel gave two thumbs up.

Writer's Block Person giggled. "Okay, then..." They held the pen out at arm's length. They took a deep breath and...

...reached down inside, down deep, it was easier this time, finding that door. They took the knob and they didn't have to fling it open, they could open it just a crack, hold their position and just feel what they wanted, what they could handle...

Click! "EMOTICONVERSION! CUSTOM CODE POINT! SKULL WITH COOL SUNGLASSES!"

A flat CGI image appeared in front of them, of a cartoony skull wearing sunglasses. It flew into their form and exploded in CGI flames, and when the flames died down, they'd transformed.

Their armor was shining white with bright red accents and a simple black bodysuit. Along the sides and back of their chestpiece were vents. Their cape was red, with a line of white fire running along the bottom. On their head, atop their helmet, was a white trilby hat with a black band, held in a rakishly tilted position, and their visor was shaped like sunglasses as well. In place of their belt buckle was a bright red lever, and In the center of their chest was a ruby with the silhouette of a skull wearing sunglasses.

"Yessss!" They pumped their fist. "Okay, and now..." They held out their pen again. "PEN IS MIGHTIER! BONE OF MY SWORD!" Click!

In a fiery flash, the pen transformed into a curving white sword with a sparkly purple grip. Bony protrusions curved out of the pommel, and in the middle, a skull-with-sunglasses-shaped ruby was mounted.

"Ooooh!" "Ahhhh!" Whisperion and Distraction Damsel applauded.

Writer's Block Person grinned under their mask. "Right, and..." They started going through basic sword exercises, stepping back and forth, the blade slicing through the air, fighting against an imaginary opponent.

As they practiced, memories floated into their mind, and they let them come. Memories of the monstrous man, and the things he'd said. Memories of the times they hadn't been able to help. Memories of the people who seemed to sit, apathetic, in the face of suffering. They held their position, letting the anger through as a natural flow, not an explosion of pain...

And as the anger rose in them, the bone-white blade began to glow. Gradually, it heated up, turning a lurid red. Writer's Block Person's movements became more forceful, more decisive, the sword swings accompanied by plumes of steam. They spun and danced, the anger rising and rising, and they used it, and they used it, and it became almost too big to use and...

Their off-hand went to the lever at their belt. They raised their sword for a decisive strike, and pulled the lever; and the anger in their body exploded out into the world, and steam burst from their vents, and the sword flashed a brilliant crimson, and they brought it down in a burst of blinding light.

When the light faded, Writer's Block Person was kneeling on the ground. The sword was white again, wisps of steam rising from the blade and from their vents. For a moment, all that was audible was the wind...

Then they bounced up and shook themselves out. "Whew!" They de-transformed, put the pen away, and ran their hands thru their hair, grinning. "That's better. Sometimes ya just gotta let off some steam."

Whisperion laughed, standing up and pulling them into a hug. "That's great!"

"Good job!" said Distraction Damsel, munching on chips. "Lots of color, ten outta ten."

Writer's Block Person laughed and hugged. "God. I feel so much better."

"Yeah?" said Whisperion.

"Yeah! I can live in this world, face its awfulness, without freaking out. And..." They turned, and looked off into the distance, fist clenched. "When that guy comes back for a rematch-- I'm ready!"

[June 2018, over three months later]

"...REALLY, CAPTION BOX?" Writer's Block Person, in a Squirrel Girl T-shirt and a light summer skirt, flopped over Whisperion's lap. "Uuuugh. I'm worried about that guy."

"He did try to kill you," said Whisperion, petting their hair.

"Yeah and probably I killed him. Probably I straight-up killed him gaaaaaaah." They rolled over, mooshing their face into a pillow.

Whisperion rubbed their back. "Hon, he disappeared straight away. Probably went off to recover."

Writer's Block Person propped themself up on their elbows. "I guess, but why's it been so long? Ugh, I also hate the idea of him just lurking out there, doing shit..."

"He also seemed to be pretty focused on you, as an enemy." Whisperion pet their hair. "I'm sure you'll get that rematch."

"I guess..." They sighed. "I just don't want someone else to suffer for my personal development. Even if it's a demon guy."

"That's fair. But you can't affect it right now. The worry's not useful right now, so put it away and live your life."

"Yeah, you're right." Writer's Block Person sat up, and stretched out, and looked out the window. "For now, it's a new day, and we keep moving forward."

"That's right." Whisperion handed Writer's Block Person a roll of paper towels and a bottle of spray. "And you can move forward by cleaning the bathroom grout."

Writer's Block Person blinked in surprise, then snerkgiggled. "Awwww, but I'm having an emotional moment!"

"Look," she grinned, "you *told* me to make you do it, so I'm makin' you~"

"And what are you gonna do if I don't? Spank me?" They stuck out their tongue.

"No, I'm gonna TICKLE YOU!" She leapt on them and began the torment.

"EEEEEheeheeheeheenoooo..."

On the corner of the dresser, a pair of sunglasses glinted as the sun began to set. Life went on.

----

Author's Note: "Min-young" is a Korean given name. Whisperion's is specifically spelled with the hanja pronounced "min" that means "clever" and the one pronounced "young" that means both "flower petals" and "heroic". Distraction Damsel's first name is Viviana. It doesn't have any especially relevant meaning, I just liked it - which seems perfect for her.

#Original Fiction #Superheroes #Adventure #Silliness #Legion of Net.Heroes #LNH20 #Writer's Block Person

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icariamusing · 4 years ago

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CHARACTER BASICS

FACECLAIM: Virginia Gardner

NAME: Ruelle Mya Richards

AGE: 19

BIRTHDAY: December 24th, 2000

OCCUPATION: Employed at Phyrne

HOMETOWN: Icaria

PETS: Blue (Wallaby

POWERS

Ability to control light

BIOGRAPHY

At school Rue was a social butterfly, she made friends with everyone and charmed all of her teachers. Rye was quieter and a loner who challenged authority at any chance she got.

Neither were ever that way with Finlay because Finlay didn’t have to deal with any of the things they had to deal with.

No money for food? Rye stole from her teacher’s purses.

No way to get to the store? Rue would charm people into driving her there.

Eric hadn’t wanted Iris or Eos near the twins but with their powers, he was forced to concede. Unfortunately, the damage had been done and they both felt abandoned by their mothers.

JJ | she/her | 21 | EST

#iris

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flame-cat · 8 years ago

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Nothing To Lose- or, In Which Jack and Ryan Are Fucked

you guys asked, and so here it is! this is a sort of prologue to the other thing i wrote for @samijen‘s au. i hope you enjoy this as much as the last one! i had a lot of fun with this one too, mostly because jack and rye’s dynamic is Good. its a lil shorter but again, prologue. shrug. ill tag this and future fics for this with #ntl

We see the muted greens and blues of the forest at night. For a few long moments, we hear nothing, but the air is tense and the silence speaks of an unseen danger. Suddenly footsteps, rushing and pounding on the soft earth, and we see the blur of boots and then nothing, then another blur, then nothing. We begin to hear panting, desperate and frenzied, and we start to hear what the strangers are running from- low, gurgling moans, hisses and clanking bones.

We see in full view RYAN and JACK, running into a slight clearing, and the shadows the trees cast from the moonlight are like sentries to their dooms. The monsters come from behind them, staggering zombies, scuttling spiders, two skeletons in the back volleying arrow after arrow. As RYAN and JACK turn around to just maybe cut down on the mob, just maybe give themselves a fighting chance, another volley of arrows thwips into the air, missing them narrowly. They yell over the cacophony.

JACK: You seriously think we can take them? I don’t even have a sword! RYAN: Not all of them, but I have some splash potions- *he begins searching his bag* Get to the edge of the clearing, quick, I might be able to-

He cuts off as an arrow narrowly avoids him again. JACK looks uncertain but doesn’t hesitate, dashing off again before glancing back. RYAN is still there, once again looking through his bag, muttering to himself and backing away from the approaching swarm, hurrying, hurrying, hurrying, his hands are shaking- he yells out in triumph as he finds what he’s looking for, dashes in JACK’s direction, and tosses a splash potion of poisoning behind him. The effect is almost immediate as the mob’s cries grow pained and in volume, and they slow.

RYAN: *passing JACK, who is still catching his breath, and yelling over his shoulder* Come on, they’re not down yet!

JACK doesn’t need to be told twice and follows. They swerve between trees and under branches, leap over ditches and brush, and just keep running for as long as they can.

We see the sun, now peaking over the horizon, giving the area a red hue. RYAN is stopped, leaning against tree, gulping air. JACK appears behind him, in a similar condition, hands on his knees. As he catches his breath, he looks around at the surrounding foliage, and huffs out a laugh.

JACK: I think we made it!

RYAN doesn’t respond besides nodding a bit and giving a thumbs up, still leaning against the tree. After a few moments, he gathers himself and straightens.

RYAN: Yeah, I think we might be good.

JACK: Still think we shouldn’t’ve left earlier?

RYAN: Hey, I’m not the one who dropped the spider’s eyes, okay? How about we stop playing the blame game, accept we fucked up royally, and agree not to do it again?

JACK: Okay, mister “It’ll only take an hour or two.”

RYAN: I accept the blame for that! Is this really the time?

JACK: Let me lighten the mood a little!

RYAN: If that’s what you wanna call it…

JACK: What’s the even supposed to mean?

The two of them aren’t being serious, and there’s clear laughter behind JACK’s voice. Behind him, we see a skeleton draw its bow and take aim from the shadows.

RYAN: It means I don’t think you’re funny.

JACK: What’d I ever do to you?

RYAN: Dropped my spider eyes!

JACK: We were going to DIE!

RYAN: But we didn’t, which means I have plenty of time to be bitter about it.

JACK: So you can be bitter, but I can’t?

RYAN: Well- D- Yes! N- no! Fuck!

JACK: *laughing* Take it easy, buddy, didn’t mean for you to have a stroke.

RYAN pouts as JACK laughs. His gaze catches behind JACK and he see the skeleton, about to strike-

RYAN: JACK! MOVE!

But there’s no time. In an instant the arrow leaves the bow and shoots towards them as JACK is about to turn. Thinking fast, RYAN shoves him out of the way and-

THWACK!

We see a dark, dark, dark expanse. There is void, slightly purple, almost fuzzy like television static. Every color is muted, but the island at the center of the scene is clearly made of white rock. There is no sun here. No sky. No life, apart from a sick, obsidian mockery that flickers between planes. And here, in this dark, dark land of black towers and floating almost-islands, something shifts. Something grows or suddenly becomes aware. And we hear something. It’s distorted, bubbling and growling, a hundred voices at once speaking through an indeterminate amount of mouths- if they had mouths, or a mouth, or anything resembling a real body. And this something- it laughs.

#ender eye au #achievement hunter #ryan haywood #jack pattillo #ah minecraft au #ntl

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cauliflowergnocchidyke · 8 years ago

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I forgot to bring my notebooks to school

#izzie yells into the void #abt me #I just have a laptop and a copy of catcher in the rye #also like cake for my friends because it's their birthday today #so theres that

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mynameisdreartblog · 6 years ago

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Cars 3

Libra: Acura NSX. Immortalize me in stone for all I care: it won't matter when I'm six feet under. «Libi, you’re too old for your age to have the pessimistic thoughts of a teenager. You’ve been far more disappointed than them to come to those conclusions!» Agh, I know, I know, but the thought of impermanence just gets to you once in a while. I wish I could’ve been one of those weirdos who takes a picture of themselves every morning for every day to document their ageing in such a way that’s shockingly dreadful after a couple hundred photos. The concussion I had when I was a teenager didn’t turn me into one of those savants who could remember the exact details of each day of their life… Eh, what else? Oh, I’ve only cataloged any excitement in my life within the suffocating walls of the library: There’s memoirs of my experiences behind my desk, and you gotta be a special someone to have access to them while I’m still alive. «Libi, all you put in there is corny jokes and write-ups about exact status of each book; believe me, it’s not exciting.» [,] Pfft, it’s the same with all of you; that attitude is just fueling my boredom! Thus, making me want to catalog even more. Be lucky I’m not tossing another book at you. «Yeah, I still have the scar from last april when a hardcover copy of Catcher and the Rye hit my lower back.» Hey, I thought it wouldn’t hurt that much, because I got a dozen of the things in all the various editions, releases, repackagings, and promotions. I was confident I tossed you the one that was the wimpiest. Besides, that’s something you could remember fondly in this moment! You might not be able to remember it a couple years down the line… «You also might not be alive a couple years down the line, so maybe don’t spend your precious days throwing things at me.» At that point, this place is yours for the keeping and my diaries are yours to browse! <Yellen tends to her work once again.> […] «On second thought, that shot was somewhat awful, let’s go out on the range and brush up on your accuracy. And remember the silencer! You don’t want the patriarchs finding out about your professional shooting.»

Cancer: Mazda Miata. Out of all the dark voids I've been in, this is the most ominous. The year is who-cares A.D., the day is Sexta-feira, and Disturbia is still the best pop song ever made since its inception in 2008… Well, maybe it’s not the best. Lights by Ellie Goulding is a strong contender for the best pop song ever made… I’m sure this void has a great taste in music too: I’m guessing it likes more classical variations of Fado given where I managed to stumble into it, but I could be making assumptions there. The void could have just as varied and distinct tastes as I do. I mean, it’s kind enough to offer me some sort of audio refraction, so I can thankfully hear myself whenever I make a sound in the blackness… Yeah, this void has been quite accommodating despite being so off-putting, but maybe I was being too harsh in my initial judgements. […] You know, dark void, I think we got off on a bad start: My name’s Springe and I’ve lived in southwest Córdoba for fifteen years after I was relocated from my birthplace in… Oh, I forgot that I don’t remember where I was born. I just know I was born on this continent and that was it. For my accomplishments, I’ve been employed at an after-hours clinic for eleven of those total years and I’ve long gone past the point of worrying if I’ll make it to the point where I can find a higher paying job: That’s why I appreciate what you’ve done for me so far, void. I appreciate you because I’m used to failure, and you’re the realization that failure isn’t always what we hype it up to be. Sometimes… it’s just somber and reflective. I’m not even reflecting on how I failed, rather I’m reflecting on why I pursued victory in the first place. […] Void, I wanna thank you for the time you’ve spent with me here, and I wanna let you know that my first impressions were inaccurate. From my conversations with you, you seem like a very personable void with a lot to talk about and a very cultured mind that can talk for hours. As much fun as it’s been, we have to depart. So long, dark void, you’ve would’ve made a great podcast co-host… Hey, who said you would have made a great co-host? You can still be one! We can sit in here for hours and just pretend to record a podcast with our lack of recording equipment. We’ll call it… the Eternity Flame.

Virgo: Type 57 Atlantic. Okay, you know, I admit: I might be mildly obsessed with the idea of Guy Fieri as a cute lesbian with frosted, spiky hair and button-up shirts who goes around talking about Flavortown. I really feel like making up another goth friend for her to be with, but I don’t want her to be just another generic goth you know: I wanna diversify my goths as much as possible, like creating a lineup of goths to pick and choose from. I want this lesbian Guy Fieri to have a goth girlfriend who isn’t immediately disgusted by the thought of eating at some place like the Heart Attack Grill. She’ll be named something ironic though in contrast to her fearlessness when approaching the western corruptions that are the Heart Attack Grill and other imitators like it — lesbian Fieri would like any sincere appreciation of the Heart Attack Grill because she’s not worried about the health risks; she’s just worried if the food tastes good or not. So, the irony that comes from her girlfriend’s name is hilarious, and her name’s gonna be Электрификация. The electrification of her opposition to disgusting American fast-food places is exemplified towards her electrifying attitude towards a modest approach away from them, hence the name Электрификация. […] I wonder if, like, I can code in some underlying arc about lesbian Fieri needing to find the twelve sacred restaurants and relighting the hidden power beneath them to restore the balance of the… meat and produce industry or whatever. Each restaurant has a different theme associated with them, and each has a tragedy and lesson waiting for our lesbian hero, Fieri, and her girlfriend who acts as a foil character, but in a way that exposes the faults of a common attitude. [,] Oh, maybe the first restaurant will be Lebanese-themed and what lesbian Fieri and her girlfriend encounter is a Dabke ensemble called Goddess County, and they seem normal at first, but then reveal themselves to be the ancient spirits holding the sacred spirit of the restaurant that lesbian Fieri must pacify. Ooh, what if she has to go through a series of challenges all centered around cuisine? […] «Ms. Rusalka, what is this sheet music you’re submitting me? Why is Guy Fieri here and why is he a lesbian with frosted tips and a burger-critical girlfriend that he somehow gets along with?» Um, it’s my project; I’ve been working on it for a while, you see, and I think it’s zany enough to warrant publication. «That's not gonna reach anyone! He's a damn internet meme and the lesbians don't want that, and I don't care how nice of a guy he is!» Excuse me, how are you to assume what lesbians would be interested in? Square up, right now.

Sagittarius: DeLorean DMC-12. Uh, okay, I’ll tell you a story from my recent service in the military. Hold on, let me get one thing before I start. <Rossouw eats one last chip from her bag of kettle-cooked, and she begins positioning her hands so as to make them instruments of verbal storytelling.> "It was five years ago, and I was deployed in the southern border of Angola to assist the army there in their seizure of an abandoned sector of development they believed to be taken over by a terrorist group. I was part of a squad of seven, and we were tasked with infiltrating the largest building in the area. They made sure that any threats of terrorist forces on the outskirts were eliminated or push backed, so we arrived on the front safely.” [,] Before I begin, I should tell you my role in that squad: I was a rifleman given the responsibility of being the main receiver of squad-leader orders, and I had to make sure every other specialist had to follow said orders. The firearm at my side was nothing special, as it was a standard-issue military crossbow that they gave me the liberty to paint a healthy tint of pink and brandish a serial code of… something that ended in eleven. Now, this was before I recognized how stupid an army lifestyle was, but it was also the time where I was promoted from being a simple mechanical worker to being a gun-toter, and that was the turning point for me. Anyways, back to the story. […] “Our leader was Ofc. Bahomana, and they led with us sneaking into the backdoor that was cut open via wire-cutters. Inside was nothing much: Just an expanse of a dark, empty shopping center that could’ve been a nice place for me and my nephew to visit in the summertime, but it just had to be occupied by troublemakers. Through the decrepit sectors of once an active shopping sprawl, we sensed nothing but the sound of pipes leaking and the smell of arcane rust. But despite the emptiness, we were on our toes for any sudden attack… eventually, two hours passed and we seemed to’ve scavenged the entire area only to find no visible threat; mold was the most dangerous thing in that store. [,] All was quaint, until I heard a sudden electrical signal and the center light turned on, and the intercom speakers blasted with the sounds of a boot-up. Immediately, our ears were pounded with the roar of ‘Attention, Kmart shoppers!’ and the doors that we entered through were shut.” [,] I urgently demanded Bahomana what we should do, but all they could do was just sit and stare like a deer in headlights… I kept yelling at them, but they would just become more still. […] Regardless of the sheer terror of the moment, it certainly grabbed our attention.

#Zodiaccupuncture #Zodipunc #Libra #Cancer #Virgo #Sagittarius

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wineanddinosaur · 6 years ago

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Quality Whiskey and ‘Sexy-Quaint’ Design Are Giving Irish Cream a Craft Makeover

America imports more Irish cream than any other country. Of the 7.5 million cases sold in 2017, we bought 1.9 million. That’s 25 percent of the world’s Irish cream in a given year.

We like it so much that two young companies recently decided to gamble on our thirst, introducing Irish Cream-proximate products that marry certain craft tenets (transparency, lower sugar, regional character) with our proven enthusiasm for boozy butterfat. Five Farms Irish Cream and Nooku Bourbon Cream distill and blend their next-generation craft creams in Ireland’s County Cork and Colorado, respectively. Together, they’re bringing some street cred to the style.

“The lack of a craft Irish cream was a gap in the category,” Mick Harris, president, McCormick Distilling Co., says. He co-created Five Farms in coordination with veteran Irish drinks pro Johnny Harte, who’s just now starting to push Five Farms in Ireland. “We saw a large and established category that has not seen a lot of innovation.” Whether there’s room, or really interest, in innovation is the next gaping question. Nooku and Five Farms are hoping that answer is yes — and are ready to duke it out for your favor.

Five Farms features whiskey from Ireland’s Middleton distillery and milk from a 500-strong Irish dairy cooperative. Credit: Fivefarmsirishcream.com

They share a formidable opponent. Bailey’s, a.k.a. “Big Irish Cream,” accounted for 92 percent of all Irish cream sales in 2017. For most Americans, Bailey’s isn’t the Irish cream category leader; it is the category.

No surprise both Nooku and Five Farms have creatively aggressive (aggressively creative?) marketing and expansion plans for 2019. So which do you save room for? Well, that depends on what kind of artisanal liqueur void you’re looking to fill.

Nooku Bourbon Cream, made by Old Elk Distillery in Fort Collins, Colo., is a homegrown upstart, positioning itself on the charred-oak-aged backbone of all-American bourbon.

“What we found was there was a big gap in the ‘cordial liqueur’ category,” Luis Gonzalez, CEO, Old Elk Distillery, says. “It was very seasonal. We wanted to bring more of an evergreen product, year-round, really innovate a whole new category.”

Innovation is great and all, but there are also practical reasons Nooku isn’t calling itself Irish cream. Irish creams are protected as a Geographic Indication (GI) and “must be produced on the island of Ireland in accordance with strict technical specifications.” In fact, the Irish Spirits Association (ISA) is currently dealing with Canadian liqueurs “claiming to be Irish cream but without a single connection to Ireland.” (Come on, Canada.) In March 2018, ISA president William Lavelle told The Independent, “It’s about protecting those dairy farmers across Ireland who provide our industry with over 316 million litres of cream every year.”

Complicating things further, liqueurs are, by definition, flavored and sweetened. Nooku is — adamantly — neither. It’s more of a rugged, Colorado bourbon-meets-milk concoction that took home 86 points at the 2018 Ultimate Spirits Challenge and just so happens to remind you a bit of Irish cream. Really, though, the stuff is sufficiently unusual that “a specialty spirits subcategory was created specifically for the product that we put forward,” Gonzalez says. They’re literally category-defying: “Our classification is actually ‘real bourbon with real dairy cream.’”

Pressed for more intel on the ingredients, Gonzalez only spoke about the spirit, a two-year-old variant of the company’s Old Elk Bourbon, which is typically aged four years. “The mash bill is 51 percent corn, 34 percent malted barley, 15 percent rye,” Gonzalez says, noting the higher proportion of malted barley as a key component in Old Elk’s smoother, rounder taste. All he’ll tell me about the company’s dairy partner is they’re “well known.”

The name I do get from Gonzalez is a big one: Greg Metze. For 38 years, Metze was the master distiller for MGP, the mega Indiana distillery that rather controversially produces the non-Kentucky spirit in such power players as Rebel Yell, Widow Jane, Bulleit, and Templeton. Metze suddenly departed MGP in 2016, and Nooku snatched him up.

American-made Nooku is positioning itself on the charred-oak-aged backbone of bourbon. Credit: Nookubourboncream.com

Where Nooku has Metze and marketing, Five Farms is going full-throttle Irish. Yes, the self-described “Single Batch Irish Cream Liqueur” is imported by McCormick Distilling Co. in Weston, Mo., but it trades on all things Eire, promoting the Irish provenance of both its whiskey and milk. (This is easily the only instance in all of craft drinking where the “single batch”on the label refers to dairy, not alcohol.)

Five Farms’ primary challenge is reinventing a historically less hip product while remaining true to its origins. The company plans to do so by focusing on the caliber of the ingredients, hinging on the very true fact that no less than a 500-strong dairy cooperative provides the cream for Five Farms, which is carefully collected and lovingly married to some lovely Irish whiskey within 48 hours.

According to Harris, Five Farms originally wanted to go even craftier. “At its inception, the idea was to use the cream from a single cow,” he says. The concept evolved organically from there, with brand developers asking themselves, “What would it look like to create an upper-premium Irish liqueur with a lot of differentiating points,” Noelle Hale, Five Farms’ communications director, says.

One distinguishing factor is Five Farms’ triple-distilled Irish whiskey. “The whiskey is from Midleton,” Hale says, referring to the massive Cork operation that just so happens to distill for Jameson and several other more blended Irish whiskeys. “That’s as much as I can say about it on the record.”

Five Farms can tell you it’s the only distillery that uses 10 percent Irish whiskey in every 750-milliliter bottle (other brands, says Harris, “use a thimbleful,” getting to the retail-ready 17 percent ABV with neutral grain spirit). “When we were experimenting with the amount we put in the bottle, you wanted a balance between whiskey and sweetness,” Hale says. The company tried different proportions, going up to 15 percent whiskey until deciding on 10 percent “as a sweet spot,” says Hale. “At some point, if it’s too whiskey-forward, you’re losing some of the sweetness of a cream liqueur.”

As for that sweetness, it “comes primarily from the cream,” Harris says, well aware of the growing market for low-sugar-anything (“Keep Calm and Keto On”). Additional flavor comes courtesy of Madagascar vanilla, and style points come from what can only be called sexy-quaint package design.

Make no mistake, Five Farms and Nooku are ready to earn your dollar. When they first launched stateside in December 2017, Five Farms was happy to discover Missouri had “two of the three largest Irish festivals in the country,” Hale says. “We had tastings, [we] were available for purchase at the bars. We were really making our debut to a lot of people.” The method worked. Add 25-plus states to distribution in 2018 and fast forward to now, and Five Farms “[has] a similar [thing] going on with the Irish Cultural Center of New England up in Boston,” Hale says. “That’s a big one.”

Nooku is expanding at a similar rate. It debuted in November 2017 and expects to be in 34 states by the end of March. Last winter, the company released a peppermint Nooku. “We add a very low volume of peppermint extract,” says Gonzalez, and nothing else. It was a hit, and the company plans to conservatively introduce new flavors and even regional- or state-specific variants.

As much as marketing seems to outpace reality these days (my Facebook self is thriving, thriving!), both Nooku and Five Farms are marrying their artisanal sizzle with quality steak. The companies have done their homework, and are ready to take on everything from consumer misconceptions to competition to the weather.

“It’s really much more of a summer drink for people than we would have anticipated,” Hale insists. “At the Kansas City Irish Fest on Labor Day weekend, it was very hot and humid, and yet the response was unbelievable. We were the No. 1-selling drink.” Sweet milky booze might have a home in your Fourth of July picnic.

“You saw these people in the sweltering heat walking around with a cream liqueur on ice,” Hale says.

Move over, frosé.

The article Quality Whiskey and ‘Sexy-Quaint’ Design Are Giving Irish Cream a Craft Makeover appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/best-irish-cream-whiskey-craft/

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