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taeaura · 7 days ago

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Half-Cocked {WIP} Snippet / Synopsis

No, the title is not a sex-pun {but it could be}

TW: SA/Rape, Groping, Extreme Language, TCM-Canon-Typical Violence, Gore, Period-Typical Racism + Sexism {No slurs}

Here's a snippet of the fic I'm working on. This is essentially a draft so feedback is completely fine! I have no idea how this will go nor when it will be done, I do apologize. Reader is gender-neutral + race-neutral. {THIS IS NOT THE FULL THING; Will most likely be heavily altered once the final product is published} 🫀

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Not much was left of that forgotten town. The funding was gone, as were the people. After the meat plant shut down, residents lost their purpose in Fuller. It was a shadow of the life previously flourishing there - something only the wildlife could frolic in; Which is exactly why you were here. Miguel, a childhood best friend of yours, wanted to enlist near Dallas. He’d brought you and some mutual friends along promising tickets to a music festival, which you had accepted on the means of exploring the state. It had seemed ideal then but the overwhelming heat of the Texas sun proved otherwise. As you leaned your head on the window; August, who had been sitting in the passenger seat, began to mumble - Something about “needing to fix the air conditioner.” He always was one to complain; Miguel often joked about his ‘particularness’, saying he was a primma-donna at times. Though, he wasn’t too annoying; Not today anyway. A sweet guy with a kind smile, a bit too kind at times. Theia, Miguel’s sister - and mutual friend of yours, had her hair entangled in the wind with her head out the back-passenger window; Flowing in deep curls and coils.

Driving through the backroads wasn’t too entertaining, requesting a scenic route didn’t make it any better either. You fussed with the lace of your shoe - bending and untying, bending, untying, bending, untyi-

“Hello, did you hear us?”

You quickly turned your head, releasing the worn laces from your hands. You felt a small tap on your bicep - It was Edith. Edith was a classmate-turned-girlfriend of August’s, one of Miguel’s friends. She was nice, just a bit impatient, which had been amplified by the unforgivable heat.

“We’re gonna stop at a gas station in about 3 miles, okay?”

“Yeah..that’s fine. I needed a break anyway.” You said; Your legs had been feeling a bit numb from the lack of use. Sure would be nice to get your blood flowing. And Lord, did it do just that.

It had been hours since that drive; Since you’d made it to the community center; Since you’d felt safe. August was long gone; last you saw of him was his spotted blood-trail leading to the basement. The harsh screeching of that steel door sliding open, paired with the hiss of August’s nails as he dug them deep into the walls, attempting to prolong the inevitable torture. Edith; Dearest Edith. Her throat hoarse as she wailed, bleeding through the walls of the decaying house. Miguel, sweet Miguel. He was tied down the chair beside you, half-conscious. Dried blood painted his right temple, flowing down from the gash which plagued his hairline. His lips looked so mundane, as did his usually deep complexion. His head was tilted towards you, clouded eyes staring weakly. As your head lay defeatedly against the crest rail, the beaded eyes of a deer - long dead, glared. It scowled at the two of you from its head bust, nailed to the middle wall. Below it, two windows and a thin table dressed with picture frames and a cloth suffocated by years of dust and dirt. As you tried to think clearly, a pair of footsteps stuttered behind the walls. Strong and angered footsteps pounded the withered wooden floors, followed by frantic and unsteady ones. The sheriff - pseudo-sheriff - forced Theia into the dining room, her wails of protest filling the already claustrophobic atmosphere. As he threw her into the chair opposite of Miguel, another set of footsteps followed in. The ‘barbaric, chainsaw-wielding psycho,’ as Edith had called him, approached Theia. His swole hands took the rope from the sheriff’s aged ones, binding Theia’s wrists and ankles to the chair limbs.

“There you go, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” The sheriff taunted, his perverted eyes traveling down her form. “I tend to prefer blondes but, hell, I know a pretty thing when I see one.”

The sheriff cupped Theia’s shoulders as he forced his lips upon her head. His lecherous movements didn’t go unnoticed by anyone; Especially not Miguel. Even in his weakened state, he spat at the sheriff, his eyes filled with contempt.

“Get the fuck off her, you fucking whore!” He screamed - The sheriff immediately turned to Miguel, his eyes filled with slight shock. That shock was quickly overturned by indignation.

“Now who put you the fuck incharge?” He mockingly questioned as he walked over to Miguel, grabbing his hair and shoving his head into the table; “Last time I checked, this badge is the authority around here. I make the demands; I challenge the rules, not candy-ass hippie soy-boys like you.” The sheriff retorted as he let go of Miguel’s head, leaning his arms against the crest rail; “Get a grip on yourself, son; This shit don’t fly in out here, you got that?”

Miguel was now barely breathing, his eyes were glossed over and almost completely closed.

It hurt so much to see him fade. The light which was once rampant within him had disappeared. He weakly opened his eyes, their lids fluttering under the warm lights. You thought maybe he had gained the strength for something. Just do something. But he couldn’t. His eyes inevitably shut again as he steadied his breathing.

“Goddamn it..” You defeatedly whined. Your wrists struggled between the rope as it dug into your already stripped skin.

The brutish butcher had been standing in the corner of the room; Observing. He didn’t seem enthusiastic or encouraging of the matter; Rather - dissociated. His hands grasped onto the strings of his apron, bending and untying, bending, untying; Just as you had earlier. It was an intricate silence between the five of you; The sheriff had already gone back to leeching off Theia, and you couldn’t bear to look. Soon enough, the elderly woman from the community center presented a covered pot amongst the few of you; Placing it down on the aged lace that blanketed the old wooden table.

“Tommy, set the table for us, dear.” She said as she looked over towards Theia and the sheriff. “And you, give her some room! Don’t want to spoil dinner with your whirlwind of trouble.”

The sheriff lightly scoffed, but left Theia to rest. He stood behind ‘his’ chair at the head of the table, opposite to you. He mumbled a soft “No need for bellyachin’..” before adjusting his back.

As ‘Tommy’ returned with the plates, an elderly man appeared behind him. He approached the empty spot at the table and positioned his wheelchair accordingly; His expression often seemed dull and exhausted - That is until he saw a woman he fancied. His smug and slimy eyes would wander up and down as his body heat heightened. It was revolting. Luckily, he had no interest in Theia - he had voiced that many times.

“Where’d you put that other one? The blonde.” He impatiently asked. The sheriff scoffed in reply, turning his head unamused.

“In my room, that’s where. Ain’t none of your concern, now is it?”

“What? But you have that one right over there! You know I don’t like ‘em like that-” Monty protested, only to be cut off.

“Watch your mouths! I will not have any fighting at this table, do you understand me?” Luda Mae declared. She wasn’t one for unnecessary confrontation; Especially not over ‘ungodly’ topics such as these.

Both of them rolled their eyes, parting ways as they sat back. Thomas was sitting beside Theia, though he seemed uncomfortable. He kept staring between you and Miguel, only looking away during conversation. You were terrified to say the least; How could you not be? Your friends, your only support system, murdered in front of you. And now you’re forced to eat with the perpetrators? Tears you didn’t recognize fell from your eyes - mixing with blood and dirt to create a streaky film over your cheeks and neck. You tried to control your breathing, attempting to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. Nothing could’ve prepared you for this. Nothing. You hopelessly looked around the room, gravitating towards Thomas. He was still staring at you. Though his body language portrayed his enervation; His muted blue eyes looked consistently curious, and crazed. The staring continued for some time until the sheriff - Hoyt, interrupted:

“Bow your heads - Let's give thanks for the bounty that's been given us.”

___

This is so ass I'm sorry lmao {Again, NOT THE FINISHED PRODUCT} :)

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sidraseoiyh · 4 months ago

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Dangers of Wildlife Near Property: Understanding Risks and Prevention Strategies

Wildlife can be fascinating, but it can pose significant dangers when it comes too close to your property. The risks of having wildlife near your home include damage to property, potential disease transmission, and threats to personal safety. Understanding these risks is crucial for maintaining a safe and comfortable living environment.

Animals such as raccoons, squirrels, and deer can disrupt your yard and create unwanted hazards. Damage to gardens, landscaping, and structures can lead to expensive repairs. Beyond property damage, certain wildlife can bring diseases that may be transmitted to pets and humans alike, making it essential to know how to manage these encounters effectively.

Recognizing the signs of wildlife in your area and taking preventive measures can help minimize risks. By understanding why wildlife near your home is risky, you can better protect your property and loved ones from potential harm.

Assessing Risks Posed by Local Wildlife

Wildlife near your property can pose significant risks and threats, impacting physical safety and economic stability. Understanding these dangers is essential for protecting yourself and your home.

Physical Dangers and Health Risks

Approaching wildlife can lead to serious physical dangers. Animals such as deer, raccoons, and coyotes may enter your yard, and their presence can heighten the risk of accidents. For instance, collisions with deer are common on roads adjacent to wooded areas, causing vehicle damage and personal injury.

Moreover, some wildlife can carry diseases transmissible to humans and pets. Raccoons, for example, are known carriers of rabies. Additionally, ticks from deer and other animals can transmit Lyme disease. Regularly assess your property for signs of wildlife to mitigate these risks.

Property Damage and Economic Losses

Wildlife can also cause economic losses through property damage. Animals such as rodents may invade attics or garages, gnawing on electrical wires and insulation. This not only poses a fire hazard but also leads to costly repairs.

Garden damage is another common concern. Deer and other animals may munch on your plants, leading to expensive replacement costs. Additionally, burrowing animals can disrupt landscaping and create uneven ground, which may require professional remediation. Implementing preventative measures can help reduce these potential economic impacts.

Strategies for Wildlife Prevention

Preventing wildlife from roaming near your house in Dallas requires a combination of exclusion techniques and natural deterrents. Addressing these factors effectively will help maintain a safe environment for your property.

Effective Exclusion Techniques

Effective exclusion is essential to keeping wildlife away from your property. Start by sealing entry points around your home. Inspect the foundation, windows, and doors for gaps and cracks. Fill these openings with materials such as steel mesh or caulk.

Consider installing fences at least 6 feet high. These barriers deter larger animals. Choose fencing materials suitable for the specific wildlife in your area.

Monitor your property regularly for debris and clutter. Removing food sources, like garbage and pet food, minimizes attraction. Incorporate lockable containers for waste to prevent scavengers from getting too close.

Natural Deterrents and Habitat Modification

Using natural deterrents can effectively keep wildlife at bay. Planting certain herbs, like rosemary and mint, may repel some animals due to their strong scents. Additionally, citrus peels spread around your yard can deter pests like raccoons and squirrels.

Habitat modification is crucial for discouraging wildlife. Maintain your yard by mowing the grass regularly and trimming overgrown bushes. This removes shelter and nesting areas that may attract animals.

Consider adding motion-activated lights or sprinklers. These can startle and deter wildlife from coming near your property. Keeping your environment less inviting is key to controlling wildlife around your property.

Professional Wildlife Control

Effective wildlife control is essential for maintaining your property's safety and peace of mind. Expert intervention can prevent potential dangers animals pose and assist in resolving existing issues.

Importance of Expert Intervention

Wildlife removal in Dallas requires specialized knowledge and techniques. Unprofessional handling can increase risks, such as injuries or property damage. Experienced professionals can assess the situation accurately and employ humane methods.

They are trained to recognize signs of wildlife intrusion and understand animal behavior. This knowledge ensures safe and effective removal. Moreover, they can identify entry points and recommend preventative measures. Ensuring that wildlife is managed effectively protects your family and property from the health hazards many wild animals can carry, such as diseases and parasites.

Choosing the Right Wildlife Removal Services in Dallas

When selecting wildlife removal services, consider their reputation, experience, and methods. Look for companies that use humane techniques, ensuring that animals are dealt with responsibly. Review customer feedback and ratings to gauge satisfaction levels.

In Dallas, Critter Stop is known for its high-quality work and excellent customer service. They offer free inspections and utilize effective removal strategies. By choosing the right service, you can address wildlife issues confidently and promptly, preventing future incidents. Don't hesitate to call Critter Stop at (214) 234-2616 for assistance. Their commitment to humane wildlife control is reflected in their fantastic online reviews.

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dhierro · 8 months ago

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What is the Home Decor Store in Dallas?

Transforming a house into a cozy and inviting home is a delightful journey. In Dallas, a city brimming with creativity and style, an array of home decor stores awaits to inspire and delight homeowners. These havens offer a treasure trove of unique items, from custom steel doors and custom iron doors in Dallas to exquisite iron windows and beyond. Exploring these stores is an adventure in itself, where you can discover the perfect pieces to infuse your living spaces with personality and charm.

Unchecking Your Artistic Expression

Dallas is a hub for artistic expression, and its home decor stores reflect this vibrant spirit. These havens offer a diverse range of pieces, from handcrafted artwork to artisanal furniture, allowing you to curate a space that truly resonates with your aesthetic sensibilities. Whether you prefer bold and contemporary designs or timeless and classic elements, these stores have something to captivate every style preference.

Blending Form and Function

While aesthetics are undoubtedly crucial in home decor, functionality should never be overlooked. Iron windows and doors in Dallas not only add an elegant touch to your abode but also provide durability and security. These sturdy elements blend seamlessly with various architectural styles, creating a harmonious fusion of form and function.

Embracing Sustainability and Craftsmanship

In today’s environmentally conscious world, many home decor stores in Dallas prioritize sustainability and craftsmanship. They offer eco-friendly products made from responsibly sourced materials, allowing you to create a beautiful and ethical living space. Additionally, these stores often showcase the works of local artisans, celebrating the rich cultural heritage of the region and supporting the local community.

Personalized Touches for a Unique Home

One of the greatest joys of exploring home decor stores in Dallas is the opportunity to personalize your space. From customizing iron windows and doors in Dallas to commissioning one-of-a-kind pieces, these stores cater to your unique vision. By collaborating with skilled craftspeople, you can bring your design dreams to life, creating a truly distinctive and remarkable home.

In addition to their artistic offerings, many home decor furniture stores in Dallas specialize in functional elements such as iron windows and doors. These sturdy and elegant features not only enhance the visual appeal of your home but also provide durability and security, blending seamlessly with various architectural styles.

#sliding door dallas #home furnishing store dallas #outdoor lighting dallas #custom bedroom furniture dallas #d'hierro light dallas #bedroom furniture store dallas

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completeoverhead · 10 months ago

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When to Replace Garage Doors in Dallas and Richardson, TX

The garage door plays a vital role in one’s home's security, curb appeal, and convenience. Over time, wear and tear can take a toll, leading to the need for replacement. Knowing when to replace the garage door and what factors to consider can help one make an informed decision. Homeowners need to have a clear picture of when they should stop spending on repairs and consider replacing the old garage door with a new one. The following are the things to keep in mind: Signs it's Time to Replace the Garage Door: Visible Damage: If the garage door is visibly damaged, such as dents, rust, or warping, it may be time for a replacement. These issues can not only affect the home's appearance but also compromise the security and functionality of the garage door. Frequent Repairs: If one frequently repairs the garage door, it may be more cost-effective to replace it. Constant repairs can add up quickly and indicate that the garage door is nearing the end of its lifespan. Loud or Unusual Noise: A garage door that operates loudly or makes unusual noises may have worn-out components that need replacing. Upgrading to a new garage door can provide quieter, smoother operation. Energy Efficiency: Older garage doors may lack proper insulation, leading to energy loss. Replacing the garage door with an energy-efficient model can help reduce heating and cooling costs. Safety Concerns: If the garage doors in Dallas and Richardson, TX, lack modern safety features, such as sensors that detect obstructions, replacing them with a newer model can improve the safety of the garage. Factors to Consider When Choosing a New Garage Door: Material: Garage doors are available in various materials, including steel, wood, and aluminum. Each material has its advantages and disadvantages in terms of durability, maintenance, and aesthetic appeal. Style: The style of the garage door can significantly impact the home's curb appeal. Homeowners must choose a style that complements the architectural style of their home, whether it's traditional, contemporary, or rustic. Insulation: Insulated garage doors can help regulate temperature and reduce noise, making them ideal for homes with attached garages or living spaces above the garage. Windows: Windows can add natural light to the garage and enhance its appearance. Consider the placement and design of windows to ensure they complement the home's overall look. Security Features: Look for garage doors with modern security features, such as tamper-resistant locks and rolling code technology, to keep the home safe and secure. Cost: Garage door prices can vary based on material, style, and features. Set a budget and choose a garage door that meets the needs without exceeding budget. Replacing the old garage door can improve the home's appearance, security, and energy efficiency. Look for signs indicating it's time for a replacement, and consider the material, style, insulation, and security features when choosing a new garage door.

#garage doors in Dallas and Richardson #TX

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ultraheydudemestuff · 1 year ago

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Harold B. Burdick House

2424 Stratford Rd.

Cleveland Heights, OH

Cleveland native Harold B. Burdick was known for designing 28 houses in Shaker Heights. Although he was best known for his English Tudor designs, Burdick stands out for his eclectic designs in Colonial, French, and Neoclassical styles. Born in 1895 to Halbert and Mariette Bennet Burdick, he graduated from Cornell University School of Architecture and served as a second lieutenant in the U.S. Army during World War I, where he became interested in aviation and served as an instructor for the U.S. Army Air Service at Love Field in Dallas and Barron Field near Eberman, Texas.

After the war, Burdick returned to Cleveland and joined Walker & Weeks—a firm known for its Neoclassical, Italian Renaissance, Moderne, and Art Deco architectural styles over four decades. While with the firm, he helped in 1919 with the design of the Federal Reserve Building on the corner of Superior Avenue and East 6th Street, and then worked with Meade & Hamilton before starting his own practice. Burdick’s first major design came in 1924 with a 4,571-square-foot French Provincial home on 19000 South Woodland Road in Shaker Heights. Many of his Shaker Heights designs can be found on Shelburne Road and Shaker Boulevard.

Perhaps Burdick’s most unique design was his own Cleveland Heights home at 2424 Stratford Road. He designed and built the glass block International Style home in 1938. He designed the house as a prototype for an economical, quality house. Its streamlined 1,688-square-foot design features some pioneering first for the 1930s—an electric kitchen, the first domestic use of fluorescent lighting, open spaces, and walls made of glass and mahogany panels. The home was added to the National Register of Historic Places on September 17, 1974, was a 2013 winner of the Cleveland Heights Historic Preservation Award, and is a featured home on the Heights Heritage Tour. Burdick died at the age of 51 on May 24, 1947. He left behind his wife, Marjorie, and two children. He is buried in Lake View Cemetery.

Harold Burdick not only designed and built this house for his own family, but also as an example of an International Style, mass-produced home. By using modern architectural concepts and manufactured materials, he hoped to create a prototype for a mass-produced house for middle income living. The later years of the Depression in the United States saw a blossoming of the International Style – the style of Gropius and his group at the Bauhaus in Germany, and of Corbusier in France. Built in 1938 for an estimated cost of $12,000, the Burdick House is a very rare example of a Midwest residence designed according to the principles of this short lived but interesting architectural mode.

The International style shows itself in the use of glass block walls and ceiling-to-floor plate glass windows, thus proclaiming its steel frame construction. No masonry or wood construction could do this. The second floor deck over the garage with its slim curved railing is suggestive of an ocean liner, as well as the esthetic Corbusier set up in his 1923 Vers Un Architecture. Burdick used modern manufactured materials for his construction in an effort to link home construction with mass production, thus reducing costs. There is no hardwood in the house. Stucco and flooring are laid on Masonite board and the ceilings are Celotex. All interior walls are paneled to avoid having to maintain plaster. The entire frame is supported on steel beams and the interior walls are movable.

In this American version of a “machine for living,” cabinets are built in and all doors slide into the walls on ball bearing tracks. The rooms wrap around a vertical core that contains the stairs, chimney and utilities. Yet there is ample space where it is needed, and a feeling of spaciousness for the activities of the family. The Burdick house was built in 1938-39 as a prototype for an economical middle-income house. Modern materials not commonly used in domestic architecture at that date were used in the construction, such as Armenite (a masonite board) and linoleum, plywood and plywood veneer walls, and stainless steel. Curved deck railings and some curved interior walls suggest the modernistic aesthetic of the ocean liner and streamlined vehicles. The house is framed of steel, and its most characteristic feature is the large expanses of plate glass and glass-block windows. The house also incorporated one of the earliest uses of fluorescent lighting and had an all-electric kitchen. Located in a typical neighborhood of traditional houses in Cleveland Heights, the house stands out because of its simple rectangular shape, bare stucco walls, and large windows. Burdick lived in the house from 1939 until his death in 1947.

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steeldetailingconstruction · 2 years ago

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pastelwitchling · 3 years ago

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I’ve combined about four prompt requests here, and they are;

A completely insane version of Michael searching for his betrothed? Thank you 😊

hello if you're still taking prompts I was wondering if you'd be willing to write a reunion fic for Malex for when they finally find Alex wherever he is? Thank you!

Hey idk if you're still taking promotes or not. If not I respect and understand and If you are. I was wondering if you could write one where their all hanging out and Dallas wonders what made Michael fall in love with Alex or what he loves about Alex.

I just love when Michael's love is on full display and I thought it would be adorable for Michael to get that cowboy love sick look in his eyes telling them his for Alex

Also can you please write something where Max Michael Liz and alex find out about Is and Kyle and their reactions

***

Michael was vibrating. The image of watching Tezca pull Alex into the ground had been replaying in his head for the past several hours. Michael felt like it had been years, and the longer he went without Alex safe and sound in his arms, the faster the decades raced by.

He was dying. He hung his head, his palms pressed against the steel table at Deep Sky, trying and failing to control his breathing. It might’ve been because of his fevers, but . . . he knew better. It was not having Alex here, knowing he was in danger and not knowing how to protect him, not even knowing if he was . . .

“AGGHHH!” he screamed, and the room around him blew apart. Chairs and tables were thrown into the walls, the windows cracked, and Max, Isobel, Liz, Eduardo, Kyle, and Bonnie stumbled as the ground shook.

“Michael, calm down!” Max warned. “We need this place running if we’re going to find Alex!”

Michael whirled around. “Why are we still here?” he demanded. “We should be tearing Tezca apart until she tells us what she knows!”

“Michael, you can’t,” Bonnie shook her head miserably, her eyes glassy. “She’s too strong for that, she’ll know you’re coming. If she took your boyfriend –”

“Alex,” Michael growled. “His name is Alex, don’t treat him like another part of your stupid plan!”

“I’m not! I swear, I just . . . if Tezca took Alex then it’s because he’s a part of the Alighting somehow.”

“The radar will pick up Tezca’s heat signature,” Eduardo said. “We’ll go after her, we’ll get Alex back.”

“If he’s been missing this long, then she needs him for something,” Liz tried. “She wouldn’t hurt him –”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” Michael screamed, and the building shuddered again. He stormed towards the door. “I’m done waiting here, I’m gonna go find my boyfriend.”

“What do you think you’re going to do?” Max demanded, following him. “Uproot the entire town until someone tells you where Alex is?”

“I’m just gonna find Clyde and kill him from the inside till he talks.”

“He didn’t know about this!” Bonnie pleaded to deaf ears. “He couldn’t have!”

“Michael, stop a second!” Isobel demanded, catching his arm.

“DON’T!” he warned, and Isobel let go, stepping back with wide eyes. “The love of my life was kidnapped the day he left home,” he said, his voice trembling with anger, “and I didn’t know. I should’ve felt it the second it happened, the second he was hurt . . . and I didn’t.” He inhaled roughly. “So don’t tell me to calm down, and don’t tell me to wait, because you have no idea what this feels like.”

“Okay,” Isobel said, holding her hands up. “Okay, you’re right, I have no idea. But look at me—look at me, Michael. Would we ever let anything happen to Alex? Would we risk his life? There’s nothing you can do out there, you have to trust us.”

Michael ran a hand over his mouth, shutting his eyes only to be plagued by the image of Alex trapped underground. He flinched, falling back against the wall and clinging to his glass necklace.

“Alex is my best friend,” Kyle finally said into the silence. He’d been standing there with his arms crossed, watching the monitors as the radar spun, jaw clenched until now. “If I thought there was even a chance of finding him outside, you don’t think I’d be looking? But Alex’s best chance is here.”

“Valenti—”

“I know you need him,” Kyle cut him off calmly. “But you have to think about what he needs right now, and he needs you to calm down, do what you do best, and think.”

Michael swallowed thickly, the edges of the glass cutting into his palm. He licked his lips, forcing in one shaky breath after another.

“Think . . .” he murmured, and came up to the computers, looking through them. “I can—I can make something to make it go faster. Max, give me your phone.”

Max raised a brow at him, but handed it over at once. “I’m not getting this back, am I, MacGyver?”

“No,” Michael said, all his thoughts on Alex, his hands working like lightning. “And when we find Tezca,” he said, already connecting to the computer’s radar, “I’m gonna make her sorry for touching him.”

Michael’s genius had been on overdrive. No later than five minutes, his extension to the radar helped pick up a signal that they suspected was Tezca. Whether or not they were sure didn’t matter as Michael had taken one look at the location and run for his truck. He had Max who’d managed to make it into the passenger seat and Kyle who’d thrown himself into the back as Michael had raced away from Deep Sky.

“He’s okay, Michael,” Max tried, one hand gripping the edge of his seat to protect from Michael’s sharp turns. “If he wasn’t, you’d feel it.”

Michael’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “I know Alex is busy, but you’d think he’d check in.” He’d said those words just days ago, wanting nothing more than Alex and not caring how whiny he sounded. He’d wanted Alex at his side, his hand on his forehead, his kisses on Michael’s temple. He’d wanted Alex curled in tight next to him with Michael’s head on his shoulder, hugging him tight and breathing him in, Alex’s whispers in his hair, assuring him everything would be okay. That he would fix everything. Then Michael had found out about Alex being taken and his powers exploded out of him in a frightening way.

All this time, Alex had been trapped, scared for his life, probably sure that Michael had noticed his silence and gone to look for him hours after he’d left. His eyes burned, but he inhaled sharply, keeping the tears at bay. He would beg for forgiveness later. Right now, he just had to find Alex.

Michael brought the truck to a screeching halt outside the cave. His necklace glimmered and shined, aching for its other half. Eduardo soon drove up behind them, Isobel, Liz, and Bonnie at his side, but Michael was already entering the cave. Max warned him to stay behind him, to stay alert, but he didn’t see any sign of Tezca, despite this being the place where her heat signature had showed her to be.

There was only the darkness and cold of the cave. Michael shivered. The idea of his Alex being anywhere in here, all this time, his hope of Michael saving him dwindling . . .

Michael’s powers rose to the surface frighteningly quickly, and the ground began to shake. Rubble was just starting to fall from the walls when he saw it; a light at the end of the cavern, flickering purple, blue, pink, green, orange—and at the center, the Lockhart Machine.

Except it was different than the last time he’d seen it. It was engulfed in colorful lights, those of the spaceship glass, connecting to a figure lying unconscious on the floor.

Michael’s heart nearly stopped. “Alex,” he breathed, running to him despite his aching body, the fever and fatigue that never quite went away completely but which vanished at the sight of his boyfriend. Michael fell to his knees at his side, turning him over to find his face and hands covered in scratches and bruises, his knuckles and fingers scraped and coated in dry blood. He’d fought to escape.

Michael looked to the machine that was connecting to Alex, and his eyes barely twitched before it shattered to pieces. But Alex wouldn’t wake up.

“Alex,” was all Michael could say, his voice trembling. Alex was wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day he’d left, his skin was ice-cold to the touch, and his head fell against Michael’s arm as Michael held him against him. He pressed a shaking hand to his chest. His heart was barely beating. “Alex, wake up. Come on, baby, wake up, please.”

But Alex wouldn’t. His piece of the spaceship glass hung off his neck, glimmering as it came into close contact with Michael’s, but Alex remained still.

“What’s happening to him?” Kyle demanded at once, kneeling at his side, checking Alex’s pulse.

“Alex,” Michael murmured, shaking him slightly even as he held him tighter. “Please, baby, wake up. Come on, wake up for me.”

“Michael,” Isobel tried, her voice faint. “Let me enter his mind, maybe I can wake him up from there.”

“We don’t know what his mind looks like right now,” Max warned. “We could end up making it worse.”

“Well, we have to do something!” Bonnie demanded.

“I know that,” Liz managed, her own words shaking like she was trying not to cry. “I know, just let us think for a minute!”

“There’s no use,” a soft voice said, and Tezca emerged from the shadows. “He’ll be dead before long. He’s already served his purpose.”

“Yeah?” Max moved to stand between them, shielding Michael and the others from Tezca. “And what purpose is that?”

“This machine,” she said, kicking a piece of the shattered Lockhart Machine aside, “needed a pure heart to power it. Of all the faces it’s come across, it chose him,” she jerked her chin at Alex. “The purest of them all.”

“Power the machine for what?” Liz spat, her voice trembling, her eyes glassy.

“Don’t you understand yet?” she tilted her head, smirking. “The Alighting. The machine isn’t just a radio to my triad, it’s a radio to all of us. We were spread out over the galaxy. You think Earth was our only landing spot? But they’ve all been waiting, ready for war, to start over. And they know where to come now, because of him.” She tilted her head at Alex, her smirk widening. “To think, so much power in a human. Your sacrifice will not go by ignored, Alex Ma—”

Tezca cut off with a choke. Her smug and cruel expression fell to something shocked and pained and . . . afraid. Good.

Michael held Alex tighter to him as he turned Tezca’s organs inside out, as her nose bled and her body convulsed. “Don’t. Say. His. Name.”

His voice was cold and distant even to him, and even the others looked torn between relief and concern over what Michael was doing. He didn’t care. Alex was still freezing and asleep in his arms, his breathing nonexistent. Michael’s entire body shook as he felt something much angrier and larger and worse than a panic attack coming.

Tezca tried to speak, but she only spat blood instead. She tried to move, but she was frozen in place. Michael had said he would kill her, and now he would . . . but then Max knelt in front of him, blocking his view of Tezca and squeezing his shoulder.

“Alex,” he reminded him. “Michael, you can still save him. Focus on saving him. Hey!” he squeezed harder, breaking Michael’s concentration and bringing a world of noise back to his ears. “Alex needs you.”

Michael looked down and swallowed thickly. He pushed a trembling hand up Alex’s shirt to his chest and spread his fingers over Alex’s heart. Their necklaces lit uncontrollably as they came into contact. Alex had never taken his off.

Michael clenched his jaw and thought about nothing but his love for him. How Alex must’ve clung to his own necklace, thinking of Michael, hoping for him, having faith that he would save him. His eyes burned and filled with tears faster than he could control or consider them.

“Alex,” he croaked, his nails digging into Alex’s chest, a warmth spreading underneath his palms. How Alex must’ve thought of Michael as he’d been pulled underground, how he must’ve said Michael’s name over and over to keep from giving up, how he must’ve cried and silently hoped that Michael would find him. Because they’d finally found a home and neither of them could give it up.

With his other arm, Michael pulled Alex in tighter, Alex’s head resting in the crook of his neck, Michael leaning his head on Alex’s own. “I love you,” he cried, “please wake up. Wake up for me, Alex.”

Your dreams, and your heart. Always.

“WAKE UP!”

At once, an array of bright lights shot out from Michael’s palm and Alex bolted up, eyes wide and gasping. He put a hand over his chest as he groaned, and looked around at the others. His expression was lost, confused, startled, then he said, “What happened?”

Michael saw his handprint peeking out from Alex’s collar, right where Alex was resting his own hand, his other still on Michael’s knee, as if instinctively seeking out his touch. A sob escaped his lips before he threw himself at Alex, his arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, his face in the crook of Alex’s neck.

“Alex Alex Alex Alex,” he breathed out, crying all the while and unable to stop. Michael heard more cries and sobs and sniffling behind him, but he didn’t dare let go of Alex. Slowly, Alex put his hands on his waist.

“I was . . . underground,” Alex murmured, still trying to regain his memories. “I . . . tried to fight back, I—”

“Shh,” Michael whispered, putting a hand in his hair and turning to nuzzle his ear, breathing as much of him in as possible. “It’s okay, don’t talk. Just save your energy.”

A few seconds passed, then Alex slumped in Michael’s hold, wrapping his arms more tightly around his waist. “I want to go home,” he murmured.

Michael swallowed and kissed his neck before he nodded. “We will. You and me, Private, we’re going straight home.”

Michael wouldn’t let go of Alex for a second. Tezca was captured, suffering from internal injuries that Eduardo, Kyle, and Liz were trying to heal, but Michael was taking Alex home. After a long hot bath and getting him in his sweats, Alex had all but collapsed into bed with a groan and a whimper that only Michael could hear.

Alex clung to Michael’s waist, unwilling to be apart, and Michael knew there was nowhere else he could be until he knew Alex was safe and sound. He wrapped him in his arms and lied next to him, raking his fingers through his hair as he slept, Alex’s face in his collarbone, Michael’s lips against his brow.

Michael watched him sleep, watched his brows twitch every once in a while and his eyes flutter and another whimper escape his lips. He shushed him softly, brushing his hair back with his fingers. He kissed the spot between Alex’s eyes, his nose, his cheek.

“Sleep, baby,” he whispered softly against the shell of his ear. “I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Alex clung a little tighter to Michael and settled once again. Michael couldn’t help but again take in his bruises and cuts. They were cleaned, some of them bandaged, and Michael hitched his leg up around Alex’s, bracketing him and keeping him close against his chest.

His hands trembled as anger, fear, misery, hope, joy all surged within him at once. He’d almost lost Alex—he’d almost lost Alex—and he was sure he was going to explode. The objects around the room trembled and rose from their surfaces. Michael shut his eyes tight, trying to control himself, trying to remind himself that Alex was alive and safe now. He wanted to hold him hard enough until it hurt them both, until he could be assured that Alex was back and this wasn’t an illusion, but he didn’t want to wake Alex or disturb his sleep in any way.

Then Alex hugged his waist tighter and sleepily kissed his neck. “Hold me, baby,” he murmured, as if hearing Michael’s thoughts. “It’s okay. Hold me tight.”

Michael shivered, exhaling shakily before he did what he’d been longing to do for the past hour, and clutched fistfuls of Alex’s shirt, roughly running his hands up and down Alex’s back, wrapping his legs around Alex’s thighs and holding him tight enough to bruise.

Alex only moaned at the touch, snuggling deeper into Michael as if he couldn’t get close enough either. A sob escaped Michael’s lips and he pressed wet kisses to Alex’s hair, his forehead, his temple, his cheek, his nose, his jaw, his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he cried against Alex’s mouth. “I’m so sorry, baby. I should’ve known, I should’ve—I should’ve come for you sooner—”

“Shh,” Alex said softly, kissed Michael’s lips, and cupped his jaw. “I knew you’d come. And you did. You saved me, Michael.”

Michael’s lower lip trembled, and he turned into Alex’s touch, holding his wrist tight and kissing his palm. “I love you,” he murmured, and kissed the inside of his wrist. “I love you so much.” Another kiss on his forearm. “I love you, Alex, I love you.”

Alex chuckled sleepily as Michael kissed up his arm, his shoulder, his neck, his jaw. “I love you more,” he whispered, hugging Michael’s back and urging him lower to kiss his lips.

Michael was already moving to hover between his legs. “Not possible.” He moved down, leaning his body into Alex’s, eager to feel every inch of him, when the door suddenly swung open.

“See?” Isobel demanded to a flustered Dallas. “I told you he’d be on him before he was even awake. Would you get off, he still needs to heal!”

“I can help him heal faster,” Michael said to Alex’s laughter. So relieved to hear that sound, Michael slumped down on top of Alex, pushing his face into Alex’s hair and listening.

“Wow,” Dallas brought in the tray he was holding. It looked like he and Isobel had put together tea, cookies, some sandwiches, and painkillers. He set it on the nightstand. “You really are in love. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you were always obvious about it, but—”

“He’s obsessed with him,” Isobel said irritably, swatting at Michael’s hip until he let Alex sit up. “Here, Alex, I made you my famous cucumber and cream cheese.”

“Thanks, Isobel,” Alex smiled indulgently, but kept a hand in Michael’s shirt, keeping him close. As if Michael would ever go anywhere else.

Michael rested his chin on Alex’s shoulder as he ate slowly, breathing him in. Alex’s stomach couldn’t handle much after days of just being fed a handful of berries that Tezca would throw at him in caves. Michael had insisted on knowing everything, even as every word had cut deeper into him.

He hugged Alex’s waist and kissed his shoulder. No one would ever lay a finger on him again.

“Stop staring at him for two seconds!” Isobel demanded. “He can’t eat with you watching him!”

Michael smirked up at Alex, who met his gaze with a wink and an amused smile. “But he’s so beautiful,” he murmured. Alex’s expression softened and he pecked Michael’s lips.

“That all you like about him?” Dallas teased as he sat down next to Isobel on the edge of the bed, and patted Alex’s arm kindly. “’Cause I think he’s pretty badass, putting up with that psycho as long as he did.”

“Badass,” Michael agreed. “Smart, kind. So, so good . . . his heart and in bed.”

Alex sputtered on his sandwich and Dallas quickly poured him some tea. Michael grinned and kissed his neck. “And beautiful.”

“You’re such an ass,” Isobel sighed. “Let’s add patient to his list of attributes, shall we?”

“That, too,” Michael said.

“Please stop.”

“Are we all meeting in here?” Liz popped her head in. Max and Kyle followed, and Kyle, to Michael’s annoyance, ruffled Alex’s hair and told him he’d missed him. The bedroom was officially too crowded, but if it made Alex only curl in deeper against Michael, then he was all for it. He put an arm around Alex’s shoulders as Alex settled again. At his next question, Michael understood why he was desperate to get so close.

“What happened to Tezca?”

“She’s stable,” Liz sighed. “We’ve kept her sedated with the yellow pollen. Bonnie’s with Eduardo at Deep Sky, trying to find Clyde.”

“I don’t think he had anything to do with this,” Alex murmured, brows pinched like they did when he was thinking hard. “There was a point . . . when I thought he was going to find me . . . but Tezca cut him off halfway. I couldn’t talk, let alone scream . . . but I heard her say something about how he and . . . the other one—”

“Bonnie,” Liz supplied.

“Yeah. She said he and Bonnie were too sensitive. That they’d wreck everything if they found me. He probably never even knew what she was really planning.”

“We had the same suspicion,” Max nodded.

Michael pulled Alex in tighter. “He better hope he didn’t know anything,” he said darkly, keeping a firm hold on Alex to keep himself from exploding again.

Alex put a hand on his stomach, his thumb brushing his bellybutton, a subtle and quiet way to calm him.

Isobel seemed to sense the tension because she looked from one face to the other, lingered on Kyle, and blurted, “So! Anyone hear about me and Dr. Cheekbones shacking up?”

Silence. Kyle covered his face with his hands and groaned. Max and Liz looked to each other, then they looked to Michael and Alex as if to ask if they knew.

“Just drinking my tea here,” Dallas murmured into his cup. “Minding my own business and drinking my tea.”

Then Michael gaped, “Valenti?!”

“Aww Kyle!” Liz grinned. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Really,” Kyle shook his head, “we don’t need to make a big deal out of—”

“So how long have you two been sleeping together exactly?” Max asked awkwardly, as if knowing he should say something, but not knowing what.

“A few days,” Isobel said. “Makes me wish we’d been doing it for years though.”

“Is!”

“Okay,” Max shut his eyes. “That question was a mistake.”

“Gotta love chamomile,” Dallas muttered.

“You know what I want?” Alex finally said on a sigh. He smiled wearily at Isobel. “A double date. The four of us. After I can walk around again.”

Isobel grinned, grateful, and leaned in to kiss Alex’s cheek. She wiped away the lipstick mark with her thumb. “You got it, Captain Sexy.”

“Hey,” Michael swatted her hand away, “hands off, he’s mine.”

And just like that, the tension in the room was gone. Kyle sat down on Alex’s other side, nudging his shoulder with his own and ignoring Michael’s possessive glares. Alex rested his head on Michael’s shoulder amidst the chatter of the rest of the group.

“Thanks for bringing me home,” Alex whispered.

Michael swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. There was so much he wanted to say back, so much he had to say. Thanks for coming back. Thanks for being my home. Thanks for loving me.

But somehow, he had a feeling Alex already knew all of that. So instead, he just held him tighter, kissed the crown of his head, and whispered back, “Always.”

***

Some of you might’ve noticed that I’ve turned off my ask box and that’s because I want to finish with all my prompts before I open it again.

Also if you like a fic please reblog/comment/share. It always makes the world of a difference.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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starlitangels · 2 years ago

Text

Lord and Lady - Part 3

Not quite a long time coming, but it’s been a bit and I had this one ready. 3.5k words (almost exactly!) (Part 1)(Part 2)

—

Baaabe

I stared with a slightly slack jaw at Asher as he emerged from his suite’s bedroom in the suit Everly Tanner had provided for him. It was dark grey with a deep red tie that made the amber of his eyes darken. He adjusted the coat and did up the two buttons. “You’re staring,” he stated.

“Sorry.” I tore my eyes away.

“Do I look that bad?” he asked.

“The contrary, actually,” I said. “It, uh… suits you. Pun not intended.”

Asher raised a single brow, like he didn’t quite believe me, but he didn’t push it. “You look nice too.”

I’d never owned anything as expensive as the outfit that Lady Tanner had provided for me. Most unempowered people never had reason to. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but I couldn’t knock the lady’s taste. She’d chosen colors to go with my complexion and had gone for a formal but simplistic style.

Xavier knocked on the door to Asher’s suite. “If you two are quite finished getting ready, we need to get going,” he called.

Asher fidgeted with the tie again—but in a move that surprised me, offered me his arm. I reached out for it, paused and drew my hand back, before deciding screw it and taking his elbow.

He escorted me to the door and pulled it open.

“Well. Don’t you two just look the picture of a peachy couple,” Xavier said sarcastically. “Let’s go.” He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against and headed down the hallway. Asher set his other hand on top of mine on his elbow like he was searching for strength from me before we both moved to follow Xavier to the elevators and then down to the parking garage, where the car was waiting.

—

Angel

“Wow. Man’s got taste,” I said as the gates to the mansion opened and revealed the grounds and the building itself. The grounds were sprawling—but not wasted. Several gardners worked in vegetable gardens and fruit tree orchards as Dallas drove me down the long drive toward the mansion.

Which was really more of a castle. I counted five towers and the fountains seemed to be made to look like a moat. The building was pale stone. Not quite marble. The mansion was at least five floors, if the rows of windows were anything to go by. It wasn’t a wide building, but it was tall and I imagined it stretched backward farther to give it more space. Wings extended on either side of the mansion from the front entrance. I guessed the one on the right was the ballroom, and the one on the left a formal dining room for hosting large amounts of people.

A banner hung from a balcony just over the double front doors, but it was Morgan Kyne’s crest, not the broken link symbol of the Imperium. Good for him, I thought.

“You’ve visited Lord Kyne’s residence before, haven’t you?” Dallas asked.

“Not this one,” I answered. “He moved here not long after I first met him.” Damien and I had been teenagers, then. Sofia had still been the Queen-Imperial. Morgan Kyne was six or seven years older than us and came into power young. His parents had been mildly influential in the Imperium, but he’d revealed his powers as a Seer when he was eighteen and rocketed up the ranks in a short span of time.

Dallas nodded in understanding as he pulled up to the front doors. “Here we are,” he said.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. Morgan Kyne and Everly Tanner had fierce reputations. I wouldn’t lie to myself about being apprehensive.

“Good luck, Your Grace,” Dallas said.

“Thanks Dallas,” I replied.

He got out of the car and circled it to open my door for me. I climbed out, slinging my backpack onto my shoulder. Dallas closed the door behind me and moved to the trunk to get my suitcase.

The front doors burst open to reveal three people.

Morgan Kyne and Everly Tanner I recognized, but the man standing behind them I did not. He had piercing pale blue eyes and thick, overlong dark hair that faded to silver at the ends. The Imperium symbol was pinned to his shirt next to the Kyne house crest. He stood at easy attention as Everly rushed toward me.

“You made it!” she exclaimed, beaming broadly. She was barefoot in a deep wine-purple dress that fell to barely above her knees. That long white hair of hers hung loose and flowing as ever as she pulled to a stop in front of me, holding her arms out. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Your Grace.”

I threw myself into her embrace, letting her arms wrap tightly around me. I buried my face in her bare shoulder. Warm, soft, close contact like I hadn’t felt from another human since…

“How are you?” I asked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”

“We’ve been well, both of us. Y’know, just doin’ our thing.” She smiled. It had been several years since I’d seen Everly. Her reputation as Morgan’s ruthless lieutenant had grown in that time, but the kindness in her eyes—so dark blue they were violet—seemed to remain. The last time I saw her, she and Morgan had come down to Dahlia to attend Queen Sofia’s birthday ball. We’d met sparingly over the years since she and Morgan had joined forces, but she’d always been warm and bright to me. A gifted Illusory, I was told. “How are you?”

“I’ve… been better,” I said. “But I’m alright.”

She pulled back from the hug enough to peer deep into my eyes. Piercing into my soul like she could see every little piece that made me who I was. A few lines appeared in her forehead as her eyebrows tilted and concern painted her features. “What has he done to you?” she whispered.

“I don’t know what you mean—” I began.

Her sharp, skeptical look shut me up immediately. “The hell you don’t,” she said. “Look at that ugly robe thing. You look so stiff and formal. Take it off.” She tugged at the ties on the red silk robe Damien usually had me wear to denote my status. I let her untie the top one and undid the second one myself, letting the garment fall off. She snatched it and handed it to the guard with the two pins on his shirt. “That’s better,” she assessed, eyes sweeping the business-casual outfit I’d worn beneath.

“Thanks?” I said.

“Come inside,” she insisted. “Dinner’s almost ready. I hope you don’t mind, we have some other guests joining tonight. One of them is unempowered. Both from Dahlia, actually.”

More people from home. One of them like me. “I don’t mind.”

“Didn’t think you would.” She smiled and led me toward the interior of the mansion. “Xavier, would you take our suzerain’s bags to their room, please?”

The guard with the frosty eyes nodded with a, “Yes, my lady,” and took my backpack and suitcase and disappeared down the corridor.

“Your Grace,” Morgan greeted, opening his arms for an embrace. “A pleasure to have you in our home.” I wrapped my arms around him. He looked much the same as he had the last time I saw him. Short hair so black it was blue in the lower lighting, waxed out of the way. Ocean blue eyes so bottomless it was easy to forget I was looking at them if I stared too long. Pristine suit with a red tie. His house crest adorned the gold tie bar.

“Thanks for getting me out of Dahlia,” I replied. His hug wasn’t as warm or familiar as Everly’s, but I still drank up the intimate contact like a parched person downed water. He released the hug and gave me a smile.

“It’s an honor to convince His Majesty to allow you to visit,” he said.

Everly leaned against his arm, her hair falling over his black suit. “I imagine you’re tired,” she said. “Go wash up and change into whatever suits you for dinner. I’ll send a staff member to your rooms to guide you down to the dining room whenever you’re ready.”

I glanced around the interior of the mansion. The entrance hall alone was practically the size of a ballroom with a pair of sweeping stairs arching back and away toward a second-story mezzanine that led to two hallways on either side. “Yeah, I’m going to need some guidance to get around this place.”

“Don’t worry. It’s every bit as big as you think it is, but we don’t use most of it unless we’re hosting a party,” Everly said. “You’ll get the lay of it pretty quick with how much is actually in use.” She turned and called over her shoulder, “Wexler!”

A 5’6” blond young man appeared—seemingly from nowhere—and scrambled over to us. “Yes, my lady?”

“Take our guest to their room, would you?”

“O-of course, Lady Tanner.” Wexler bowed to me. “Your Grace. A pleasure to have you here. If you could follow me, please.”

—

Asher

He couldn’t help himself. He and this funny, kind, passionate unempowered human had grown close over the last few weeks. He couldn’t help but stare at them in the fetching outfit Lady Tanner had given them. The two of them were sitting in a fancy parlor with Lord Kyne and Lady Tanner, waiting on the king’s consort to finish changing for dinner. Lady Tanner had changed from the short wine-purple dress she’d worn earlier to a floor-length, deep violet evening gown covered in swirls of even darker violet sequins with a plunging neckline. As usual, she was perched on the arm of Lord Kyne’s chair. He looked the same as he had earlier in the day.

Yet, despite the beauty of these two high-ranking Seers, all Asher could focus on was the single unempowered human in the room, who was holding a champagne flute like they all were, but not drinking it. Smiling and shining softly in the low lights. They were making friendly conversation with Lady Tanner, who seemed much less conniving and wicked in this closer, more intimate space. She laughed more genuinely.

The unempowered human kept Asher from focusing too much on the Seers. The formal clothing looked good on them. On some level, Asher had found them attractive the moment he caught sight of them after Milo and Christian ran them down outside the Imperial Academy of Dahlia. At the time, he’d barely had a moment to notice.

But as the weeks had gone by, he’d taken the time to see them for who they were. Gabe Shaw had said—when Asher was just a boy—that unempowereds weren’t so different from empowereds. People are people, Ash, Gabe had told him once, not long after he’d first learned how to shift when his powers manifested. Looking at the unempowered human sitting on an armchair near him, watching them laugh and smile wide, those words came back to him.

I’m in love with you, he thought. Our world would never approve of us being together, but I can’t bring myself to care. I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted… damn near anything in my life. And—

The door opened. “Oh. Am I late?” a voice asked.

Asher’s attention snapped to the door. A blond young man was ushering another person through the door. The blond was a Freelancer—Asher recognized the aura. The other newcomer…

His blood drained out of his face, leaving his ears and nose cold.

They gasped upon seeing him as well. “Asher?!” they demanded.

Lady Tanner raised a fine white brow. “You two have met?” she asked.

—

Angel

My mind reeled. I barely processed Everly’s question. Asher. When young Nate Wexler had told me that the other guest from Dahlia that wasn’t unempowered was a shifter alpha, I never would have guessed that alpha was Asher. I hadn’t seen him in a long time. Not since his pack had resigned from their security commission with the palace. I’d neither seen nor heard from the Shaw pack since…

My throat tightened and I felt like I could barely breathe.

David’s green eyes. A warm smile like rays of sunlight shining down on me. The attitude that I’d spent months chipping away at finally melting, revealing the care he kept hidden from the world. A pair of strong, callused, but gentle hands cupping my face, promising me he’d keep me safe, no matter what. Furtive glances at each other from across rooms, quickly looking away. Damien never seemed to notice. Whispers in dark meeting places. “You’re an angel sent to save me,” he’d said, barely louder than a breath.

The night the pack resigned their commission—Damien almost caught us. Tank—David’s packmate—thinking fast to cover for us and draw Damien’s attention elsewhere. The entire Imperial palace would have burned to the ground that night if Damien had seen.

Nothing had ever really happened between me and David. Just a friendship that I’d always longed to deepen. Strengthen the connection I hadn’t shared with Damien in ages. David had kissed my hand once. I still dreamt of the feeling of his lips on my skin. Still fantasized about what they might have felt like pressed to my own mouth.

Seeing Asher again sent memories of David and our stolen, secret moments crashing into my head like storm waves against the side of a ship barely staying afloat.

“Y-yes,” I managed to choke out.

“My pack used to do security work for the palace,” Asher supplied to Everly. “We met briefly.”

Asher was a bit different from how I remembered him. His eyes were harder. The light that used to glimmer in them had dimmed—but not gone out completely. He had more visible scars on his hands and face and he’d put on some muscle. That curly black hair of his was longer and shaggy, but still cared for. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said his jawline had gotten more square and pronounced as well.

He seemed to be unwilling to look away from me, like seeing me was bringing back his own memories of David. The unempowered person—I assumed—he was sitting near reached out and set a hand on his knee with a gentle, “Asher?”

He broke eye contact with me, and it was like a spell was broken. I was no longer frozen in place, paralyzed by the past.

I met Everly’s concerned gaze. “G… give me a minute,” I said.

Turning on my heel, I bolted from the room.

—

Everly

I kicked off my high heels, pulled up my skirt, and ran after the king’s consort, calling after them. I knew without even needing to peek into their future that blindly running out of the room like that would get them lost in the house. They still didn’t know that I was a Seer, rather than an Illusory, so I threw up an illusory wall in the hallway around the corridor to get them to slow down.

By the time I rounded the corner after them, they were on their knees on the carpet, face in their hands.

I knelt beside them, putting my hand on their shoulder. “What’s wrong?” I asked gently.

They shook their head. “S… Seeing Asher again—” They choked on a sob. “It brought back memories.”

“I didn’t realize you knew Asher that well.”

“Not memories of Asher. Memories of his pack’s alpha before him. David.”

“David Shaw,” I said. They nodded. I knew the name by reputation, even this far north. He’d become alpha young after the unexpected passing of his father and had quickly made a name for himself and his pack. One of the most powerful shifters in the country, if not the most powerful. “You knew David?”

They met my eyes through their tears. They said nothing.

“You loved David,” I said as realization hit me. “Does Damien know?”

“I don’t think so. The last time I saw David, Damien almost caught us together. But one of David’s packmates distracted him. The pack resigned their commission with the palace that night. A few months later, I got the news that David and that packmate were both killed fighting a trio of vampires.”

I wrapped my arms around the consort’s shoulders, holding them as they shook, and dropped the illusory wall. They didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry. If I’d known—”

They shook their head again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does. It does to me. I want my guests to be comfortable in my home. Not plagued by the memories of those they’ve lost.”

“We all lose someone to the Imperium,” they said, voice thick with tears.

“I know.” I adjusted my position so I was sitting, rather than kneeling. “Did I tell you how I lost my mother?”

They met my eyes. “No.”

I took a deep breath. They needed to hear this. “I’m not an Illusory, Your Grace. Like Morgan, I’m a Seer. A Seer Obscura, actually. But I’ve pretended to be an Illusory since my powers manifested. I lost my mother because of my Sight and I vowed it would never happen again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used my Sight to… improve my rank in the Imperium, pretending to be an Illusory, while I was still a teenager. Made enemies. One of those enemies tried to get revenge on me. I can’t See my own future. The actions of others that get close to me also get hazy to predict the closer they are. I couldn’t see the revenge coming for me. The assassin.

“They attacked my mother when she tried to defend me. She died of her injuries.”

“What about now? Don’t you still use your Sight to maintain your rank while pretending to be an Illusory?”

“Yes. But now the only people I care about can’t be hurt by the enemies I’ve made,” I said. “My mother died and I closed myself off. I became cruel on the outside to protect what little care I had left on the inside. My mother was the only immediate family I had left. I never knew my father and never had siblings. We all lose people to the Imperium, but I’m never going to ever again.”

The king’s consort stared at me again, eyes full of pain. “I’m sorry.”

“I am too.” I held out a hand. “Would you like to come to dinner, or would you rather take a meal in your room?”

They shook their head and got to their feet. I pushed myself to my own. “I’ll come to dinner. After the initial shock, I think it would be nice to speak to Asher again.”

“Whatever makes you more comfortable, my suzerain,” I said.

They shot me a look. “Don’t call me that. I hate the titles.”

“Very well… troublemaker.”

They smiled. “That’s more like it.”

—

Angel

“How long were you planning on me staying?” I asked Morgan and Everly as dinner was served.

“However long you wish,” Everly replied. “You’re welcome to stay here for months, if that’s the break you need from the Imperial palace.” She smiled, and I could swear her teeth were somehow whiter than her snowy hair.

“Why?”

Morgan gave me the wicked smirk that always meant he was up to something. “Oh, because the thought of Damien seething and unable to do anything to get you back is deliciously entertaining for the both of us,” he said flippantly.

“But also because you deserve the break,” Everly put in. “You should be allowed to be who you are. Under no pressure or scrutiny from anyone else—least of all that hothead who thinks he can control everything.” She had a similar smirk tug on her face as Morgan’s.

“I’m not stupid, Morgan. You’re both playing some sort of angle. What is it?”

Everly glanced to Asher and the unempowered human seated beside him. “Would you care to tell them?” she asked.

“Tell me what?”

The other unempowered human in the room leaned forward. “This world is hanging on by a thread. We may not survive to the end of the decade.”

I listened with shock painted on my face as the human and Asher explained what was happening to the Meridian.

“You staying here is helping us put pressure on Damien,” Everly finally admitted. “You are, of course, our welcome guest and free to leave whenever you’d like. But you being here makes Damien more inclined to listen to us when we start talking him into putting sanctions on where and how magic can be used. We have to slow down how much is being ripped from the magical plane or our entire plane of existence will dissolve as the magical plane merges into ours.”

I met the eyes of everyone around the table slowly. Taking in iris color and sincerity in each gaze.

I rested on Morgan’s last. “I’ll stay,” I said.

There was that smirk again. “Splendid.”

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Imperium #Redacted Morgan #Redacted Asher #Redacted Babe #Redacted Angel #Starlit Fic

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projectmyspace · 3 years ago

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Anthony goes to jail chapter 1: the courthouse tank

Posted : 2007-10-06 12:42:00 AM Created : 2007-10-06 12:45:00 AM Visible to : Public

I wrote this blog post in 2007 and at the time had every intention of finishing it. I may have or I may have not. I haven’t found the continuation in my blog search as of this posting. I will think about possibly continuing the story, although I don’t quite remember all the details….

Wait… actually I Ido remember quite a few moments worth sharing, and I vividly remember the people I had the pleasure of connecting with. It will be for those people, one in particular that is no longer with us, that I think I will write a continuation…. So, for now you can start right here…..

Happy Saturday readers!

Writing this blog is a bigger deal to me than just about any other written this year. I just want you all to know that as much humor and light heartedness you will find in it, understand that the end result is nothing for me to take lightly, and I know this…I just feel that the best way to tackle this is through humor. With that said… Here goes nothing:

The day began for me around 7 am, with a nice bus ride, a breakfast taco at El Rey in downtown, and an appearance in front of Judge Harmon in the courthouse on San Jacinto. Blah blah this happened, blah blah that happened, and long story short…I began my two day experience as a prisoner in the Harris County Jail.

In true Paris Hilton form, I was taken by the bailiff to the courthouse holding tank dressed like a diva…Black polo shirt, blacok shiny shoes, black slacks, and black leather organizer (which was later taken to inventory by the bailiff). I did what everyone told me to do, and I wore white under things, because county jail orange attire is kind of scratchy feeling for people who choose to go commando. Now, the bailiff sat me down on a bench in holding, which was right next to the window looking in to the holding tank for inmates already processed and waiting for their court appearance, and handcuffed me to the spot. I remember my nerves calming down a little when this cute and adorable looking young thug knocked on the glass, flashed me the cutest smile, and gestured to me with his shoulders as if to say, "WHAT'D YOU GET?". I held up my free hand with two fingers and mouthed the words "TWO DAYS". Then I was put into a small single person holding cell on the other side of the room, where I spent a good 90 minutes making sailboats and flowers out of the roll of toilet paper in the room. I know I fell asleep for a bit in here, and it was here that my focus on the time of day began to fade away.

…(Now, for those of you who have never been in this situation, I just want to say that as you read this, you will notice that the passage of time spans for a good 21 hours, but the official process an inmate goes through should technically only take 45 minutes…its hard to explain, but hopefully you'll catch on)…

Eventually, the bailiff comes and leads me through a steel door, where I am put in line with the other people who are all wearing orange except me. One of the guys asks him if we will get something to eat, and he said that it was 12:30, and lunch time was over. We get in an elevator, and I am put into the first of five holding tanks throughout my journey. These are cement rooms…with silver toilets and cement benches against the wall.

Now, in here, I spent the day observing all the people brought in from the courthouse throughout the day…all of us were in street clothes, and one was dressed in a white suit, who I later found out came here from Dallas to reset his court date and got arrested. There was a buck toothed self proclaimed crack fiend among us, who fixed race cars and apparently was locked up for water pollution charges…yes, that's what he said…He kept us entertained with stories of hookers, crack, oil in the soil and what we should expect when we get processed. Another guy was thrown in with us for getting caught fudging a drug test. He was adorable, and apparently he got busted because his catheter bag strapped to his pee pee had a leak and ran out on the floor in the test facility lobby. Another man was the sort of gramps of us all…he was 63, and he apparently had some old warrants…he was cool to listen to, as he had spent 15 years in his youth in Huntsville, and he had some crazy stories to share.

By the time we left this first tank, it was 5 pm in the evening. We were all escorted underground to the booking area of county jail, and here is where I am leaving it for now…Trust me though, there's much more craziness ahead to talk about.

As you will all find out with each entry in the blog, jail is not fun, and overall, the hardest part was honestly the waiting, and waiting, and waiting…by the final blog entry this weekend, you will also see that after all that I went through, I officially never made it into an official jail cell…its hard to explain, but you'll soon see how horrible the county jail system is set up. For now, though, I am tired…so tonight I'll talk about booking, the strip search, and life in tank two of processing…happy weekend, campers!!

Stay cool!

Look hot!

Read it like a rock star!!

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

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Steele Resolve

Over 300 billion years into the future.

"Get out," Dallas told Darkwing.

He eyed her suspiciously, then she shoved him—captain of this ship—out of his very own cabin. Punching the control button by the door, the panel slid shut in between them in a flash, shutting out both him and the glaring light from the corridor.

She stifled a laugh as the hypersteel barrier muffled his yapping—something about being a living god, among other things, rattling on as he audibly turned and wandered away, babbling all the way to the Avian's cockpit.

Dallas waited till he was far enough away, then listened at the door even longer. Ensuring she heard no signs of the cat, the psychotic robot, that disgusting engineer, or—most importantly—the girl.

The ship's star-drive churned, causing all surfaces to subtly vibrate while it steadily propelled the combat vessel through space. It meshed with the rushing of blood in her ears. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the cabin, generated only by arrays of glowing buttons, some of them steady, others blinking.

Half a minute felt long enough.

She slid into the swiveling chair that was bolted down onto the floor in front of a quantum entanglement communicator terminal.

The assassin tilted her head back and forth and her neck cracked both times.

With the routine of a spy, she slung out her trusty old ballistic revolver, flicked a concealed switch with her thumb, and slapped the archaic weapon against an open palm.

Then—again. And a third time.

A scrambler chip clicked out of the gun's grip.

She slipped it out and quickly inserted it into one of the terminal's slots. Tapped the power buttons and fired up the device.

The soft blue glow of the screen in front of her illuminated the entire dark chamber she sat alone in. A sigh of impatience escaped her as she awaited the loading bars of the chip's overrides to reach completion on-screen and guarantee her the use of a secure channel.

Meanwhile, a window popped up, listing all recent encrypted text messages she had received from her contacts over the course of the past time units. One of the message subjects read, "DIE BITCH", sent by a certain "Dragon." Many others reflected the bridges she had recently burned and flattered her with other colorful threats and creative insults. Fueled by professional pride, and mixed with a newfound sense of liberty, she smiled to herself and dismissed the entire window with a languid swipe.

Clickety-clackety-clickety-clackety—

Her fingers hacked away at the keyboard with an uncanny speed and precision. Hit the key to transmit with excessive force, a sound of polymers and metal snapping together that cut through the quiet, stale air of the captain's cabin.

Her heart began to race as she awaited response. The ensuing seconds dragged on like molasses, even if they were only few.

A screen, cropped out within the screen, flicked open and displayed a sea of static. The silhouette of her handler turned visible, emerging from within the visual noise, but never fully surfacing in full definition. Masked behind a helmet that emitted an ominous cross-shaped red glow, cast in shadows by a hood.

An agent of the Holy Lahasan Empire.

"Steele? You now also owe me some explanations," said her handler on the other end of the connection, that shadowy silhouette speaking to her from far across the galaxy, distorted by the distance and dampened by the mask.

Dallas leaned back into the chair, unknowingly sinking into it like the many times that the captain had done before, sinking into a spell of deeper contemplation.

She clicked her tongue and finally replied, "Things did not go quite as planned. There were some—complications."

"According to my intel, Agent Reeve was disintegrated in a blast caused by archaic explosives."

Dallas' mien darkened, turning into a frown. "All due respect, but Rourke was an asshole, and—"

"With all due respect, your personal opinions need to leave, exiting through the nearest airlock right now. Not only are you living on borrowed time for your treason against the Empress, but you have a jarring track record of valuable agents dropping dead around you."

"That sounds like your problem, not mine."

The handler's voice dropped in volume, slowed down to a grim crawl. "You remember the cortex bomb I had implanted in your spine, right?"

She scowled at the screen, unable to find any eye contact, instead focusing on the red glow of the cross.

"Come on, I'm too valuable to you. You wanted the best tracker in the universe, which is why you pulled me out of cryo-prison."

"And I am constantly re-evaluating that decision."

Dallas held her tongue. Her chin jutted out and she fidgeted in her seat until her fingers encountered the calming cool of the stainless-steel surface of the old lighter, hidden in her pocket.

"Moving on. Report your progress on retrieving subject K70001-34966."

Dallas decided to play it cool.

She had to play her cards right.

"What a mouthful. We are talking about some girl. Don't you wanna abbreviate that name a bit?"

"No."

Hesitating to answer, she patted her jacket down until she retrieved a palm-sized silvered case from another pocket. She pressed a button on it, and it clicked—also analog and mechanical—triggering its finely-engraved lid to swing open.

Removing a thin cigar from the other three inside it, she lit it up, puffed a few times, and then blew a mouthful of smoke towards the QEC's monitor. The agent awaited her response, but she regained some confidence just in the thought that constantly tested his patience to the point of annoying him.

He had to put up with her.

Threats aside, she was, in fact, the best woman for the job.

"I've gotten pretty damn close. I think it's a matter of weeks, or even days now."

"Be more precise," growled the handler.

"Look, I found out how she's getting around, alright? By stowing away on other people's ships. I'm closely on her trail now. We almost had her too! Sadly, for Rourke, he got killed in that explosion by some idiot that had nothing to do with the job. There was a shootout at this place on—"

"Most of that was in the report. Share more pertinent details, or get to the point," he ordered.

"It's just a matter of time till I can bring her in."

Now he remained silent, processing her meager report. It must have been better than nothing.

"You had best not disappoint. You know we—"

"Yes, yes. Borrowed time."

He said nothing.

Dallas' nostrils flared, blowing smoke out of them.

She squinted and smirked, then asked, "I offed Youssell for you like you requested, right? That wasn't exactly on the books, was it?"

This time, the agent failed to respond.

"Right, and now you're having me track down and retrieve some kid that you lost in the first place."

Though the hood, and helmet, and eerie mask with its cross-shaped glow fully concealed his face, she could practically hear him gritting his teeth as he replied, "Because of your meddling, Steele."

"Well, you have to agree that it's a bit—uh, how to put this—a bit outside of my usual expertise to find people and get them back alive. So, you'll have to kindly stick a thumb up your ass while you wait and give me some time to improvise and succeed. I mean, you do want the kid alive, right?"

More silence followed. Dallas blew more smoke at the monitor, wishing she could be blowing it into his face.

"So, my word—you're getting her alive—or you'll find me as a corpse floating through open space. That is a promise. But if you want this to work out, you'll have to trust me." Saying that, her smirk widened as she feigned every ounce of confidence she could put on display.

With an abrupt flash, the screen within the screen winked out of existence, and the static noise from the scrambled transmission went dead. The handler had ended the communication without giving Dallas any further notice.

"Oh, my. Lovely. Fuck you too, Prince Charming."

She basked in the cold blue glow of the terminal's screen and puffed some more from her slender cigar. She tried to focus on thoughts about how to proceed—of where to go from here. But instead of finding clear ideas and reaching decisive plans of action—something she was usually adept at—pesky memories kept welling up instead.

Thoughts also regularly circled back to the cortex bomb implanted in her spine, but the older memories eventually overshadowed them.

* * *

"I will not ask you again," said the inquisitor.

His hand crept towards a button on the wall outside the cell.

The girl trapped inside, identified on the monitor next to the white energy barrier as "Delinquent K70001-34966", drooled and writhed on the cold metal floor of that cell. She did not respond to the inquisitor's threat.

He pushed the button once more, causing the girl on the floor of the cell to convulse under waves upon waves of searing pain that washed over her, illuminated by bright yellow, crackling energy. Each surge of electrical discharges caused her to spasm until she threw up. Then she collapsed again, one cheek resting in the tiny pool of vomit. Covered in sweat, she lay there, curled up in a pathetic and helpless heap.

This was the umpteenth time that he had used the interrogation interface to torment the young woman trapped within.

The shock trooper standing guard by the inquisitor looked on in disbelief. Her gaze bounced back and forth in between the inquisitor standing outside the cell, coldly and callously operating this abominable torture device; and the helpless young woman who groaned pitifully as she twitched on the floor of her cell, not once having answered his questions, and not once having begged for mercy.

"I missed the memo on the M.O. of how you handle these things. But it's far from palatable," the guard said to the inquisitor.

The masked inquisitor turned to confront the assassin posing as a guard.

"Memo? Palatable? What the devil are you blathering on about?"

VLA-VLAM!

The barrel of the energy rifle in the hands of the false guard glowed.

She had shot the inquisitor twice in quick succession.

One to the chest to send him reeling, the other to the head to take him out.

To her chagrin, his masked helmet with the glowing red cross emblazoned on its front had absorbed some of the shock from the energy weapon, and he stumbled backwards, reeling—but still quite alive.

Damned energy weapons, Dallas Steele thought to herself, encased in the hijacked power armor of the guard. And this was why you can only count on ballistics, she thought next, even though time had slowed to a crawl.

He was too slow on the uptake though, too slow to raise his weapon and retaliate in time. She jacked up her weapon's cadence with a flick of her wrist, unloading a full salvo into his center mass.

VA-VA-VA-VA-VLAM!

The inquisitor collapsed into a lifeless body in the narrow corridor outside the holding cell, the metal of his armor clanked against the hard floor.

She approached him, poked him with the muzzle of her rifle, and confirmed on her helmet's HUD that his vital signs were bottoming out.

Next, she punched the cell barrier controls. The white force field between her and the girl flickered, then it dissipated entirely.

Hunching down over the young woman inside the cell and holding out an armored hand in offering to help her get back up on her feet, she simply commanded, "Get up."

K70001-34966 took her hand, trembling, feeble, and weakened. The false agent helped the young woman limp along through the narrow corridors, using the powered armor's strength enhancements to effortlessly brace the girl's entire weight as she stumbled alongside her.

A voice crackled, coming in over the false guard's armor-integrated headset, "Agent Heinlein, report in. We registered a weapons discharge in the holding area, and Inquisitor Valstrum is not responding. His vital signs are tanking. What the hell is going on back there?"

"Uh, it was some sort of, uhm, equipment malfunction," Not-Agent-Heinlein lied through her helm's intercom. "Investigating it right now."

"We registered seven discharges and you are moving from your post. What kind of—"

"Factory code zero-zero-zero," she quickly talked over the operator, cutting the communication off with a hard reset of her intercom, and shutting him out.

She dragged the girl along as she picked up the pace.

K70001-34966 was pretty out of it. Drooling, bare heels sliding with squeaks over sleek metal floors.

The dozen or more shocks must have rendered her groggy. No matter—she had nothing to do with the mission anyway. Dallas just had to take a moment to silence that pesky consciousness that was knocking on the mental door, begging to be let in from the prison inside the back of her head.

Once they had reached an emergency escape pod, Dallas shoved the girl inside, causing her to tumble forward and fall back down onto the floor, not unlike she had been in the holding cell. Leaving her no time to recover, the false guard shuttered the docking mechanism and ejected the pod. For a brief few seconds, she saw the girl looking back at her helmet-clad face, going wide-eyed with surprise. A jet of steam shot in between them, obscuring that glimpse.

The next moment, the angular pod jettisoned off at breakneck speed as its boosters activated and it shot off into space, hurtling towards a thriving terrestrial planet pockmarked with a brightly lit complex of clustered urban zones. And all around it, the Sea of Stars.

The intercom in the hallway crackled, whined, and then the operator shouted at her over it, "There will be a court martial—"

VA-VA-VA-VLAM!

Four shots had ripped through the corridor and caused the exposed intercom console to explode into a shower of sparks and fizzing.

The false guard ripped her helmet off in annoyance. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat.

This job was a bust. She would have to cover her tracks. She would have to kill every single person left on this ship.

As two scout troopers rounded the corner, Dalla popped out of cover to greet them with bursts of hyper-charged plasma shots, cleanly removing the head of one of them in the first burst, and ripping the other apart, cleaving his upper body from the rest of him.

One of them had reflexively shot back with a salvo of his own. The powered armor could only absorb so much impact and energy.

Her leg and ribs throbbed, she coughed and grinned and mostly gritted her teeth to ignore the waves of pain, surging from those uncomfortably hot spots, wondering for a moment if it was worse than what the girl had gone through.

Dallas limped away through the claustrophobic corridors. Her breathing had turned raspy. A maniacal laugh emerged from her throat, ending in a hacking cough.

She had never fucked up a job this badly. She was a killer, sure—but she had some rules. Some principles.

No kids.

That was her only condition.

Why did they have to be torturing a kid aboard of this damned transporter? She wanted to kill the guy who had fixed her up with this "milk run".

Her vision blurred. Next, she coughed, blood splattered on the panel by the door. She punched the controls, it slid shut in a flash. She limped away, towards the droning and deafening noises emitted by the engine core.

Tried to make sense of the engineering console and all its blinking lights and inane strings of letters and numbers that said rather little to a woman of her trade.

The outlines of the blast door glowed brightly as someone tried to force the doorway open, using a fusion cutter, from the other side. Trying desperately to get inside to stop their murderous stowaway from sabotaging their star-drive.

Dallas gave up in her failed effort at trying to override the engine's security protocols.

She aimed the plasma rifle at a set of power couplings, closed her eyes and turned her head away. Pulled the trigger.

VA-VA-VA-VA-VA-VA-VA-VA-VA-VLAM!

Sparks and metal pieces flew all over the place, causing her to flinch.

The weapon not only glowed, but steam also rose from its barrel now.

"Critical system failure," a monotonous computer voice announced over the ship's intercom speakers. It continued to repeat the warning, over and over again. The bright white lights went out, replaced by red lights rhythmically rotating and casting everything in an eerie state of emergency.

A revolving alarm sound began to bleat, piercing Dallas' already throbbing skull. The edges of her eyesight blurred, closing in quickly.

They got inside, but the next moments turned into a haze.

A rush of unfiltered instinct—killer instinct. A perfect storm of honed reflexes, augmentations, and pure skill. A ballet of carnage.

Three more bodies hit the floor, clanking, and clattering, and groaning. One of them even yelled for his mother before she snuffed him out with a sudden stomp from her armored boot.

She remembered leaving bloody handprints whenever she pushed herself off the walls of the corridor, methodically making her way back to the escape pods, locking each and every blast door behind her as she progressed, shutting out the sounds of pursuers, of troopers in powered armor chasing her through the transporter's winding hallways.

Just before she lost consciousness, she remembered seeing the ship shrink. Smaller and smaller, as the escape pod she had jettisoned herself with flew farther and farther away from the imperial transporter.

Only moments after the vessel transformed into bright explosions and space debris within the blink of an eye, her eyelids weighed a million tons and she blacked out.

The next thing she remembered, she was on some forsaken planet's surface with a breathable atmosphere, staring down the barrels of high-powered pulse rifles of MilSec soldiers, surrounded by Imperial attachés.

They already had her wrists wreathed in the purple glow of energy shackles, lifting her up and dragging her off, taking her into custody.

"Hello, boys," she said, groaning, then cackling until it was clipped off by her pained coughing.

Unbeknownst to her then, her future handler stood there, amid the attachés. The ominous red cross glowed from the front of his masked helmet as he watched the grunts do the heavy lifting, peeling her out of the damaged suit of armor and confirming that the emergency gel would prevent her from dying.

At this point in time, she did not know him yet, but he recognized her. Had seen her mugshot as a wanted criminal more than once.

Looking back, she knew. In that moment, he already formulated plans for her.

But first, she had to go into cryo. After that, installing the bomb in her spine would follow.

—Submitted by Wratts

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roguedallas · 4 years ago

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@roguegl1tch: ❝ show yourself. ❞

❝ target is in sight, will begin final pursuit on foot in about thirty minutes — or as soon as he realizes he’s fucked. ❞ lips pull back with a sneer, dark eyes scanning smoke-stained room for the hundredth time as he checks over and over again every possible escape route for paranoid prey. he knows you’re coming, but he doesn’t know that you’re already here. the motel is small, but not the smallest, and kinda shitty, but not the shittiest — decent pickings for someone so obviously on the run from a man no one wants to be running from. windows? locked. curtains? drawn. alleyway gate? conveniently blocked off by god knows whose car. only two routes left for when target inevitably attempts to flee — the interstate running east and west, or flat fields that expand for miles to the south. either way, he’s fucked.

twenty minutes until hacker’s assumed return to current abode. few pieces of furniture are rearranged to hunter’s advantage — nightstand and its furnishings have been moved to the bathroom, dresser and crt atop it are shoved up against door to the bathroom, lamp and chair provided for a measly reading nook are separated to opposite corners. no obstacles between you and your target now, nothing for him to knock over or hide behind.

ten minutes until the thorn in roco’s side finally gets pulled. the lights are off, and the scene is set. squeak of old leather breaks the deafening silence for just a moment as he takes a seat facing the doorway before carefully adjusting the winchester resting in his lap to face point of entry. sure, it’s not loaded, but your new friend doesn’t need to know that. the piece on your hip isn’t loaded either, but no one needs to know that. maybe after you ‘prove your loyalty to the company’ they’ll quit holding your fucking hand like some inept toddler. digits curl tightly ‘round cold steel, the movement almost imperceptible in a darkness that swallows the room whole save a sliver of light from a streetlamp peaking through the curtains, dividing the room into two halves. it’s nearly showtime.

there’s a noise at the door. form remains still as a soft ‘fuck’ is heard from just outside, shaky hands fumbling as they try to unlock the door. he’s tired, at his wit’s end, and he can barely manage to turn a key in a lock. tattooed fingers quietly flex and unflex, knuckles popping in the pitch black as he waits to finally make contact. there’s a voice saying to ‘stay calm’ that filters in from his earpiece but he doesn’t need to be told that, and he doesn’t need to validate that order with a response. they’re in his domain now, and even if they just pretend to understand what he is, then they’ll leave him alone until it’s time for extraction.

the doorknob turns, hinges whining in resistance as paranoid hacker quickly slips into the room — armed with an aluminum bat. there’s an urge to smile at this vain attempt to protect himself from the inevitable. silhouette freezes barely three feet from the still open entrance, head on a swivel as a mask is hastily pulled on. he knows something’s off, but that’s fine, it’ll just make this whole thing easier for you. a shrill, distorted sound of panic reverberates through empty space, and even in the dark dallas can see gl1tch’s knees start to shake. tracker lets out a soft sigh from his corner, and the foreign noise sends prey spinning around to face him, weapon outstretched in dallas’ direction.

❝ show yourself. ❞

❝ well that’s a little rude, hm? did you forget your manners? no pleasantries for little ol’ me? ❞ he’s mocking him, but it’s so easy to fall into old habits — to just start talking as a distraction. there’s no response from the other, but that’s fine, it’ll just make this whole thing easier for you. movements are slow — calculated, as he sets the rifle down next to him, ❝ now hold yer’ horses, don’t start swingin’ just yet, ❞ hands are raised palm out, ❝ i’m unarmed, kiddo, ❞ somehow, he’s almost telling the truth. shadowy figure rises smoothly, taking small steps forward until meager streetlight illuminates him in a band across his face.

❝ speechless? yeah, i’d be too if i were you, ❞ teeth bare in a predatory grin, heartrate jumping as hacker takes a single step back, ❝ ohhhhh be careful now, if you hit me with that bat you’ll make me real fuckin’ mad, and you don’t want that, so i’ve got another idea, ❞ gaze strays to open doorway before moving back, tongue poking out to wet his lips as he pauses to take a breath before offering a smile and one last word, ❝ run. ❞

#roguegl1tch #✪ → ⌈𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐔𝐍⌋ ic / ask.#✪ → ⌈𝐈 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐌⌋ v / roco.#early roco dallas is a hot fucking mess but he's still damn good at his job lol #god spencer if you see me writing 800+ words for you dw about it KDFJGHDFG #sometimes.... i Do have the braincell....

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superman86to99 · 5 years ago

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Adventures of Superman #505 (October 1993)

REIGN OF THE SUPERMAN! The Reign is over, and Superman does what we’d all do after being dead for several weeks and coming back to life: no, not visiting your parents, making out with Lois Lane.

Or more than making out, since the next page starts with a caption that says “Later...” and lets us know that they both had to take a shower. (NOTE: Check Don Sparrow’s section below for artist Tom Grummett’s definitive take on what happened in that scene.)

Their post-resurrection bliss comes to a stop when they remember a little detail: Clark Kent is still presumed dead. How are they gonna explain his return without making the extremely smart residents of Metropolis suspect that Superman and the guy who looks like Superman but with glasses are actually the same person? Superman’s mind immediately goes into “wacky bullshit excuse” mode and he starts spitballing ideas, like claiming Clark lost his memory, or was carried by underwater currents, or was abducted by aliens. Honestly, I’m pretty sure that last one would work, since there have been THREE major alien invasions in the past few years, but Lois thinks no one would be dumb enough to fall for that sort of thing. Really, Lois? No one?

At this point, Superman picks up some supervillain activity with his super hearing, so he gets dressed and goes there (though it would have been pretty intimidating for the criminals if she’d shown up in that shower rug). A bank uptown has been taken over by Loophole, a S.T.A.R. Labs accountant who stole a gizmo that allows him to phase through walls. When Superman shows up to arrest him and his henchmen (are they all villainous accountants?), Loophole literally puts his first through Superman’s chest, instantly killing him. RIP Superman, again.

Nah, Supes just swats Loophole away and breaks the gizmo, causing him to get his crotch area stuck inside a vault door. Now he has to change his supervillain name to “DickVault”.

(I freaking love Maggie Sawyer, btw.)

After that, Superman goes to one of the areas trashed by his fight with Doomsday and helps clean up the junk that’s still laying around there. It’s then that he finally reunites with his best friend and most valued ally: Bibbo Bibbowski. (Jimmy Olsen’s there, too, unfortunately.)

Bibbo also introduces Superman to the dog he named in honor of his home planet, Krypto -- and it’s Krypto who provides the most significant moment in this issue. The little mutt starts barking at some debris from a destroyed building, leading Superman to examine it with his X-Ray vision and find some kids underneath.

Turns out the kids had been trapped there since the Doomsday fight, leading some random passerby (fine, Jimmy) to wonder if Clark could be stuck in a similar situation. Superman and Lois look at each other... giving Superman an idea and providing the premise for next week’s issue.

Character-Watch:

First appearance of Loophole (real name Deke Dickinson, C.P.A.), who would become a running joke in Karl Kesel’s Superman and Superboy comics. While his phasing powers are tech based, he also has the metahuman ability to somehow convince attractive women to be his girlfriends/henchwomen despite being a balding little dweeb. In this issue he’s dating a blonde named Sheila (who wears a mask, so maybe she’s actually hideous), but I’m pretty sure he had other girlfriends in future issues.

Plotline-Watch:

As I said... holy shit, five years ago: no one draws Supes coming back to Lois after an extended absence like Tom Grummett. This scene is almost a remake of the one from that issue when Superman comes back from his time traveling jaunt. There’s also a callback to Man of Steel #25, when Lois hears a tap on her window and thinks it’s Superman, but it’s just some dumb bird. This time she gets it the other way around:

Don Sparrow says: “There’s a cute visual callback to the last time Superman returned after a long absence on page 18, when Superman is reunited with Jimmy. It’s a near identical pose to Action #643, where Superman returned from exile in space (and in that moment, infected Jimmy with Eradicator-based space sickness, womp womp).” I think he’s instinctively throwing Jimmy up in the air, hoping the cold of space will kill him. Unfortunately, both murder attempts were unsuccessful.

As seen above, Maggie Sawyer wasn’t too convinced that “Fabio” here was Superman at first. That changes when he calls her “Captain” even though she was recently promoted to Inspector, and she’s like “only a dead man wouldn’t know all the precise ranks for the local authorities!”

The surviving non-Supermen are seen arriving at S.T.A.R. Labs for medical care after the Engine City showdown. Don again: “There are some mild continuity issues stemming from Superman #82, which perhaps wasn’t completely finished being drawn while Tom Grummett worked on this one, as Steel’s costume is almost entirely intact, when we last saw it a week ago, it was in tatters. Ditto the Eradicator, who was a wizened husk, and now is apparently a scorched Ivan Drago.” Let’s assume Supergirl worked her clothes-shifting magic on Steel’s armor and the Eradicator’s, uh, hair.

There’s a short scene where Superboy is visited by his reporter pal Tana Moon, who tells him she quit WGBS and is leaving Metropolis. Awww. Goodbye, Tana. Or should I say... aloha?

Meanwhile, Lex Luthor Jr. has a scene with Dr. Happersen where he says he intends to control or destroy anyone who wears the “S” symbol. Basically, if he can’t date them, they should be dead. He also instructs Happersen to help Cadmus’ Director Westfield get in contact with disgraced genetician Dabney Donovan. Get ready for a whole lot of clone-related shenanigans in the near future.

And now, more Don Sparrow-related shenanigans after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

This issue is another favourite of mine, but I suppose all these issues around the Death and Return are faves when I really think about it. My copy of this issue had the holographic fireworks cover, and it’s a good one. I like that Superman and the Daily Planet are in natural colour, rather than holograms. The cover credit goes Karl Kesel, Tom Grummett and Doug Hazlewood, so I’m not sure what the breakdown was (or if that’s just a handwritten cover credit, just in case?

The story opens with one of my favourite sequences ever, with Lois waking up on her couch, having fallen asleep following the events in Coast City. I love the detail as she opens the curtain, we see her engagement ring, indicating she knows her real fiancée has returned. This sequence is followed up by two pages of splashes of the passionate reunion of the best couple in comics. All beautifully rendered as they float, locked in a passionate, sunrise kiss. Just lovely (so lovely that I am willing to overlook a small colouring error, as Lois has black hair instead of reddish brown for one panel). [Max: I can confirm that they fixed that in the collections.]

What follows is a very cute scene, and one of some debate among Superman fans. There’s no overt evidence of what happened, all we get is a cryptic caption reading “later…”. Again, I give credit for the subtlety of the writers, as they depict this scene in a way that can be read either way: maybe Clark and Lois made love, and the “later” we are seeing is afterglow, or maybe Lois had a shower since she just woke up after sleeping in her clothes. Then, after calling his parents while Lois showered, Clark had a shower himself. I feel like today’s writers wouldn’t feel the need to be so subtle, and might lose the sweetness of this scene.

In previous posts, I’ve talked about my friendship with artist Tom Grummett, and how as a boy, I would wear him out with all my dumb fanboy questions. Once I got older, and our relationship became a little more collegial (just a little closer to collegial, since I in no way consider myself anywhere near his level of skill or success) I would really try not to geek out too much when we would visit. But the one question I had to ask was about this scene, and what their intention, or interpretation of it was, as I was always curious. Once I had explained to him which issue it was (the guy has drawn hundreds, so they might not all spring to mind immediately!) he admitted that his assumption was indeed that they had sex. So there you have it! [Max: Hot damn! Another Superman ‘86 to ‘99 exclusive, folks!]

However you wish to read this scene, the choreography, and facial expressions as they horse around is really sweet and fun, and such a nice, light tone compared to the do-or-die pace the books had been for the last two years or so. Their easy joking, and back and forth banter really do a great job of showing them as a real couple.

It’s a very nice pose on Supergirl as she lifts off, simultaneously spurning Superboy’s romantic complaints.

I quite like the design on Loophole, and his gang. Loophole himself kinda harkens back to the silver age villains of the Flash as Loophole has a unique hairline, is an older man, with a pretty average build, which was rare for villains in the 90s. His gimmick is pretty cool, too, though we immediately see its vulnerability.

The tearful reunion of the now-sober Bibbo and Superman is also a great moment—if anyone rose to the challenge of living up to Superman’s example in his absence, it was Bibbo. I discuss the scene in more detail in the observations later, but the image of Superman whipping away the debris on page 20 is a great visual, with the dust clouds creating great motion and urgency.

On the whole, a great first issue for the return to the never-ending battle, even if it brings us closer to Grummett’s last issue on this title (for a while).

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

Could Superman referring to the Death and Return storyline as a dream, while stepping out of the shower be a reference to Dallas, and their famous about-face after an unpopular season, where Bobby Ewing emerged from the shower, alive and well, dismissing a yearlong storyline as a dream?

A coy semi-reference to perhaps my favourite line in the first Reeve Superman film on page 8, where Supergirl says “Easy steel, we’ve got you, then later adding, “ok, you got me”.

A little more issue-to-issue dissonance with Superboy reversing himself from the end of Superman #82, where he said clearly that Kal-El was Superman, with Superboy pointing out that legally, he’s Superman and not Kal. [Max: I think he’s talking strictly in the legal sense, since he helps Superman deal with the legal problem on the next issue and all.]

For all the times that Superman has used his heat vision on guns (as he does on page 11), we’ve never seen rounds get burned off, firing on their own because of the heat. There might be an idea there.

An odd sorta-cameo by Erik Larsen’s Savage Dragon, who Superman apparently defeats in the waterfront district. An eagle-eyed reader asked Larsen about it in issue #6 of Dragon’s own book, and he nixed any proper crossover rumours, saying it was just a shout-out from Larsen’s buddy Karl Kesel. Eventually they’d meet in Superman/Savage Dragon: Chicago, a so-so crossover in 2002.

A slightly bawdy joke from one of the Loophole gang, on page 14, as the moll of Deke Dickson calls Loophole a “weiner”.

GODWATCH: A stirring moment when Superman detects the faintest of life-signs, thanks to would-be super-pup, Krypto, and responds “God willing” when someone asks if anyone is alive in that wreckage. The love and concern in Superman’s eyes when he says he’d “rather die” himself than let little ones perish is a tear-jerker moment for sure. Bonus points for the cuteness of Superman heaping praise on Krypto, with the line “if that dog could fly, I’d put a cape on him…”

Question: Does Jimmy know? He comes up with the solution to the Clark problem very conveniently. Maybe he’s smarter than we (and by we, I mean Max) give him credit for? [Max: It was all Krypto! Okay, I’ll concede that maybe Jimmy is as smart as a dog.]

#superman #karl kesel #tom grummett #doug hazlewood #superboy #steel #supergirl #S.T.A.R. Labs #eradicator #loophole #maggie sawyer #dan turpin #sydney happersen #tana moon #bibbo bibbowski #krypto #dickvault #the man whose dick is a vault

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xxisxxisxxis · 6 years ago

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Fourteen

Part Thirteen

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 5.2k

Warning(s): Language, mentions of drug abuse, minor sexual situations

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**Let me know if you want to be tagged**

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June 30, 1983 approached with the speed of a Ferrari. Our wedding day held the same nerve racking energy as skydiving: we knew that jumping was going to be a thrill, but we didn't know whether we had a body of water or pavement waiting for us, or if our parachutes even worked.

"Vivian, are you nervous?" Tansy's mother, Diane asks me as I sit with curlers in my hair, Tansy putting foundation on me and I look at her.

Diane was a Barbie. I'm almost certain that she and Vince actually slept together at some point. She was a former Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader from '62-'63 before she got pregnant with Tansy and moved back to Mississippi. There wasn't a time I ever saw Diane with a platinum blonde hair out of place. Public imperfection equaled social suicide in her eyes and she made sure Tansy understood it down to the science of it. But Diane never tried to stop Tansy's partying because no one else who actually mattered knew about it. Everybody in the public thought she was innocent aside from showing her body in a magazine...until Tansy "accidentally" forgot to cover the tracks on her arms with makeup at one of her photo shoots in 1987. Diane nearly had a stroke —not because her daughter was so deep in a hole she couldn't get out of by herself—but because the world had found out her kid was on heroin and she was embarrassed.

"Depends on what Nikki's response to that question was." I tell her and she laughs.

"I haven't seen him yet." She tells me and I nod, licking my lips.

"I had to get him a couple shots of Jack earlier." Tansy comments, and I look up as she dots concealer under my eyes and pats it in.

"I'd be concerned if he weren't drinking." I reply.

"As long as he's drinking, we're good?" Diane states and I nod, looking at her with a little smile.

"As long as he's drinking, we're good." I repeat. "...unless he gets sober." I add.

"If the good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise." Tansy pipes and I look at her.

"That is the most backwoods thing I have ever heard you say." I mumble to her with a little chuckle.

"Mississippi." She reminds me of where she's from.

"Oh, I forget you're from Mississippi." I reply.

"Because she's got a attitude from L.A." Her mother states matter-of-fact, a sour tone to her voice.

"I'm a nice person, Mama." She argues just as Vince and Tommy are opening the door of the bridal sweet. "Guys, tell my mom I'm sweet."

"As taffy." Vince states sarcastically, and Tansy cuts her eyes at him.

"How's Nikki?" I ask Vince and he chuckles.

"He's fine." He replies to me. "We left him with Mick for a second. I was hoping I'd come in here and see some skin." He plops in a chair.

"Vince, do you not think it's inappropriate to want to see your best friend's wife naked?" I ask him, glancing at him as Tansy powders my face before applying mascara.

"You're not married yet, Saint Viv." He retorts, raising his brows.

"No, but you are." Tansy tells him smartly. "Should I go get Beth to come tighten your leash?"

"I'll tighten your leash." His voice is overly sexualized, looking her up and down and she pretends to gag in disgust but he turns it on her. "You've always had the prettiest little gag."

"Dude, I know." Tommy adds, sharing a mutual grin with Vince.

"You morons are disgusting and, Vince, you're drunk." I shoot at them. "Go sober up. I don't need you being messy." I speak sternly, and Vince exhales and stands, stumbling a little before heading back to the door with Tommy to make sure he won't face plant.

The tiny church is hot and stuffy due to lack of air conditioning and while we wait to start, the only thing keeping me from passing out is Tommy fanning me with a paper back bible he snagged from the back of a pew in the sanctuary as Tansy puts my veil in my waved hair.

"You're so pretty." She coos, admiring her hard work on my hair and makeup.

"You are, too." I reply in the same tone, looking at her perfect blonde hair that's curled flawlessly, the very top of it pinned back out of her delicate face. Big blue eyes are a contrast against her flowing emerald green dress that reaches just above her knees.

I finally found my dress just in time for it to be altered and ready for pick up a couple of days ago.

It's slightly itchy, the off the shoulder fitted lace sleeves reaching down to my wrists are slightly uncomfortable, but other than that it's perfect. The skirt of it is a little poofy, but nothing compared to the mountain of tool the first dress I tried on, was.

"Alright, I'm gonna go out there." She tells me hesitantly once the piano starts up, grasping my hand in hers.

I told you she just knew things the way Mick just knew things, and she knew Nikki and I had no idea what we were getting ourselves in to, she just didn't have the heart to tell us.

"I'm fine, Tansy." I assure her when she silently refuses to let go of my hand incase I need her to hold it due to fear. She just gives me a little smile and lets go, patting Tommy on the cheek before stepping out in the sanctuary.

Tommy's grinning ear to ear, seemingly about to burst.

"I can't believe two of my best friends are really doing this." He exhales through his large smile, looking at down at me. His smile falters a smidge, and he licks his lips, clearing his throat. "You sure you're alright, Viv? No cold feet or anything? Because there's a window up by the ceiling in the bathroom and I'll give you a boost out if you don't wanna do this."

"I'm okay, Tommy." I chuckle and he lets out a breath of relief. "Has Vince gotten sobered up a little?"

"Yeah, I made him chug some water."

It's our turn to walk out now and I hook my arm through his, my right hand gripping at my bouquet of Purple lilies, and I'm practically panting to calm my nerves.

"If you trip and fall, I will, too, so you're not alone or anything." He assures me and I have to keep from laughing loudly.

The church ushers open the door for us, and we slowly make our way down the aisle.

There's people Nikki invited that I've either never met or have seen them hanging out with the guys from time to time.

Diane, Sparkie, and Tommy's girlfriend are seated together beside Beth, Vince and Mick, and even as I'm walking down the aisle, Beth and Roxie are solely focused on shooting Tansy death glares as if they have rabies and want to tear in to her. Tommy’s parents and Doc weren’t able to come, but I highly doubt Nikki’s holding it against them, so I’m not worried with it either.

I don't look at Nikki until we're merely feet away from the alter, then my grip on Tommy's arm tightens to steel and I'm scared to let go because I might just trip and fall.

We get to the alter and stop, the minister asking who's giving me to Nikki. My best friend tells him he is, before lifting my veil and kissing my cheek. I hand my flowers to Tansy and Tommy takes my hand that he's holding, about to pass me to Nikki.

He stops midway, though, to hug me tightly, and I swear his eyes are watering but I don't give it a second thought.

The hug only lasts a few seconds and he's giving Nikki my hand before stepping to his side as his best man.

I'm hit with the weight of all of this the second Nikki's skin touches mine, our grips on each other's hands tightening as we both give out nervous smiles, waiting for the minister to start.

"We have gathered here today to celebrate the joining of Nikki and Vivian in holy matrimony. I didn't have much time to prepare a message being that Miss Kinston contacted me only two weeks ago and asked if she could have her wedding here."A few people, including myself, chuckle as he continues. "But we'll make it work the best that we can." He smiles at me and Nikki, opening his bible. "Before I begin, is there anyone who finds any reason as to why these two should not be joined together as husband and wife? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace." No one says a thing, and he nods at the two of us slightly before starting.

"A marriage between any two people is a direct representation of Jesus' commitment to his church. You will make sacrifices for your wife the way Christ sacrificed himself for his church, while you will love your husband the way the church is suppose to love Christ."

Nikki rolls his eyes and I squeeze his hand, causing him to cut his eyes a little at me while I silently scold him.

"To know love is to know God because God is love. 1 Corinthians states that, 'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.'" He tells us. "A marriage is not meant to be two halves coming together to form a whole, but two complete people coming together to form a team and a partnership. Your triumphs will be your partner's triumphs to celebrate with you. Your struggles will be your partner's struggles to mourn with you. You two will go through the greatest highs together but also the most heartbreaking lows. You must never lose yourselves or each other in turmoil, however. Support each other, encourage each other, comfort each other, fight for each other. Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sin.” He explains and I let out a soft breath, feeling my nervousness start to fade. "Before we start the reciting of vows, I would like to precede with a passage from Ruth. ‘And Ruth said, Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall by my people, and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried. May the Lord do so to me and more also if anything but death parts me from you." By the time he’s finished reading, I’m nearly tearing up. “The rings, please," The minister motions to Tommy and Tansy. Tommy hands Nikki the small diamond ring for me and Tansy hands me the simple gold wedding band for Nikki. "Nikki, repeat after me, 'I, Nikki, take thee, Vivian, to be my lawfully wedded wife.'"

Nikki takes a deep breath and licks his lips before saying:

"I, Nikki, take thee, Vivian, to be my lawfully wedded wife."

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, or for worse."

"For rich, or for poor, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish,"

"Till death do us part."

"Vivian, do you accept these vows promised to you by Nikki?"

"I do." I nod, sniffling.

"Nikki, take Vivian's ring and place it on her finger."

He obeys, his hand shaking slightly as he slides the ring to rest beside the plain silver band he proposed to me with. "With this ring, I thee wed. With all I am, and all I have, I honor you."

"With this ring, I thee wed. With all I am, and all I have, I honor you." He repeats after him.

"Vivian, repeat after me. 'I, Vivian, take thee, Nikki, to be my lawfully wedded husband.'"

"I, Vivian, take thee, Nikki, to be my lawfully wedded husband."

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, or for worse."

"For rich, or for poor, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish,"

"Till death do us part."

"Nikki, do you accept these vows promised to you by Vivian?" He asks after I am done with my vows.

"I sure as hell do." Nikki assures us and I squeeze my eyes closed and laugh with everyone else at his blatancy.

"Vivian, take Nikki's ring and place it on his finger."

I do so, my eyes meeting Nikki's and refusing to look away.

"With this ring, I thee wed. With all I am, and all I have, I honor you." The minister states for me to speak to Nikki.

"With this ring, I thee wed. With all I am, and all I have, I honor you." I restate.

"So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let no man separate."

I barely hear the cheers and hollering of our guests due to the unexpected urgency Nikki pulls me to him with, wrapping me tightly in his arms as his lips press to mine.

I'm a sobbing mess and I'm not exactly sure why, but I tell myself it's because I'm overwhelmed with happiness.

When he pulls away, he's wiping my tears with his thumbs.

"You taste like booze." I tell him, and he smiles and kisses me again chastely.

Our reception was at Tansy's mother's beach house in Malibu and I apologized to her in advance for the shenanigans that would inevitably take place under her roof.

"Alright, one, two, three." Diane counts off and the "click" of the camera softly sounds off.

"Next!" I motion for Mick and Vince to join Me, Nikki, Tansy and Tommy as we take our wedding party pictures in the formal living room.

"Sooner we get done with this the sooner we can get wasted." Nikki reminds everyone as Mick and Vince step to us.

Mick stands on the other side of Tommy and Tansy as Vince stands beside me and Nikki.

Another "click" initiates Nikki shooing everyone away so me and him can have our own picture.

Just as the camera captures the picture, Nikki's hands curve under my arms and grasp at my breasts, causing my eyes to widen as the flash hits us.

"Nikki!" I scold him, nearly hitting him with my bouquet.

He and the guys think it's hilarious while I'm swatting at him, trying to hold back my laughter.

We calm down so she can take another photo, and like the last time, he's got something slick up his sleeve.

Before I know it, he's lifting the back of my skirt and grabbing between my legs, opting me to squeal and laugh so hard my eyes are squeezing closed once the picture is taken.

He's kissing my cheek when he stands back up, fixing my dress to take an actual serious picture.

It's taken with ease, the last picture left to take is of me and Tansy and once we're done with that, every one of us are ready to go eat food and the guys are ready to get wrecked.

People are soon scattered throughout the house with plates of food, sitting and standing wherever they can get.

"Guys," Tansy mother's says to us, holding her video camera. "Say 'hi'."

Me, Nikki, Vince, Beth, Tommy, Roxie, Mick, Tansy, and Sparkie are all gathered around the coffee table, seated on the carpet.

We look in her direction, Tansy and I give actual smiles to the camera while the boys shout profanities and shoot birds.

"Nikki, are you excited to be a husband?" Diane asks him in a teasing tone and he looks at me and smirks.

"So excited that I just might conveniently accidentally croak of alcohol poisoning tonight." He states, taking a swig of his wine and I give an unamused look at the camera, feeling Nikki take my left hand in his right before I say:

"That's why he's not getting laid tonight." Just after I say it, Nikki's digging his teeth in to my wrist, causing me to snatch away from him as he chuckles.

Everyone's pretty tipsy, and I'm 99.9% sure Tansy, Tommy and Vince are a little coked out while Sparkie tries to sneakily down a couple Quaaludes with his whiskey.

When it's time to the cut the cake, Diane wants a million pictures and to capture it on tape like she did the rest of the wedding and majority of the reception.

"You do not know how to cut a cake." I tell Nikki as we both hold the large knife, trying to find a starting place.

"Hush or I'll cut you." He threatens me in a almost serious tone but I know he means it playfully.

"Shh, people can't know I'm in to kinky shit like that." I mumble.

"I'm gonna start putting a tally mark on my arm every time you cuss just to see if you ever do it more than five times a year." He pokes at me.

"I cuss all the time." I argue as he settles on a place to cut the cake.

"The only time you really do is when we're fucking and I won't count those times or I'll run out of room on my arm in a couple minutes." He replies with a smirk.

"I don't do it that much when we're fooling around."

"Viv, I forget whether my name's 'Nikki' or 'Oh, fuck' anytime we do anything." He states, the two of us cutting in to the thick icing.

Oblivious to our quiet conversation, everybody claps once we get the piece of cake on to the plate I'm holding in my other hand and Diana hands us both forks.

Just as we get the cake on our forks, the both of us are taking our fingers and are trying to swipe cake down each other's faces, laughing like idiots.

It's smeared around his mouth and on his cheek but he's painted the white icing and sponge from my forehead, down my nose and to my chin.

Before I can wipe it off of me, he's licking it off of me.

People whistle suggestively, while others laugh, and I look at Tommy just in time for him to get a Polaroid picture of me wearing my cake and my husband licking it off of me.

Nikki licks off what he can, before kissing me with a wide smile, then grabbing a napkin and wiping the rest off before he wipes it off of his face, too.

I reach up and kiss him again once we're finished actually eating our cake as people each get their own slice, and Tommy finishes his and clears his throat, standing up and clinking his fork against a bottle of Jack.

He's standing on the coffee table in the living room, in our view from where we are in the kitchen, and everyone goes quiet as he says, "Hey, I'd like to say a little something."

I brace myself for his words, no telling what is going to come out of him as he stares at me and Nikki.

"I have known Vivian for a majority of my life. She's super nice, most of the time, and really smart and talented," He says, smiling at me. "I don't know how many of you guys know her all that well but she's not exactly like any of my other friends. She'll go party with us but be the only one drinking water, stay out with us Saturday nights until five in the morning and then get up and go to church every Sunday. Her ideal guy was a preacher's son or some shit and Nikki humped anything. So I didn't expect it to get this far. I thought she would get tired of all our bullshit and leave all of us, or Nikki would get tired of her not being wild enough or something. But she loves Nikki and all of us exactly how we are and Nikki loves her enough to not care whether she's crazy like us or not because she's wild where it counts and doesn’t get on her knees to just pray." People "ooh" at his claim and I feel my face heat up a little bit as Nikki pats me on the head. "Sorry," Tommy reads my expression and gives me a nervous smile before continuing. "Seriously, though, she chose Nikki over her own parents." He adds, looking directly at me. "Which was something I wouldn't be able to do if I were her. Just like I wouldn't be able to do any of this music stuff by myself the way Nikki was doing when I first met him." He switches his attention to Nikki. "They're two of the coolest and strongest people I know and it's pretty awesome that they're married now. So," He holds his bottle up. "cheers to the motherfucking Sixx's."

Everyone says "cheers" and takes a sip of their drinks, including me and Nikki.

Within a few minutes, Nikki’s convincing me to let him try to take my garter off with his teeth so he can throw it to the men at the party to fight over it like animals.

I eventually agree, sitting down, my hands digging in to the fabric of my dress as I hold back nervous laughter because I'm ticklish and I know he'll milking the hell out of it. He's crouched in front of me, picking my right ankle up, looking at me deviously as he presses a kiss to the inside of my ankle.

I already know where's he's going with this and so does everyone else, his buddies egging him on as he continues pressing little kisses up the inside of my calf muscle, heading up the inside of thigh.

I don't know why I expect him to actually stop at the garter but he doesn't.

I bite my tongue to keep from squealing when he gets to the hem of my panties, squeezing my eyes closed and covering my face with my hands as he gives one little bite to my lace covered core before tugging my panties off with his teeth, taking the garter with him as he heads back down my thigh and gets them passed my heeled feet. All the guys are like piranhas as he ties the panties and garter together before throwing them in to the small crowd of men that's gathered.

They fly over the crowd, though, and land on the back couch cushion right by Mick, who's got his sunglasses on and nursing a bottle of Vodka.

There's no one else I'd rather give my panties to. Mick's a God.

When it's my turn to toss my bouquet, some girl and Roxie are nearly fist fighting over it, completely disregarding the flowers themselves as they bicker over who caught them.

Tommy takes advantage of the bouquet that's now on the floor and sneakily grabs it and hands it off to Tansy who runs up to her room in the house to hide them.

We never planned to have a first dance together, however, about another hour in to the reception, Tansy randomly shuts off the record player and puts in to sing a cover of Ben E. King's "Stand By Me", and begs a drunk Vince to accompany her a cappella. Nikki's nudging me out of his lap, from where we're seated on the couch, and sets his drink down.

Before I can ask, "what's wrong?", he's grasping at my hand and pulling me to him with a slight sway, smirking at me when I raise a brow, a little shocked that he's actually dancing with me without me having to beg him.

His right hand rests at my waist as his left holds at my right hand, my left hand resting on his arm.

Tans and Vince are easy to catch a rhythm to, despite the blonde singer's intoxication. Beth's livid at the fact he's interacting with Tansy, though, and Nikki's silently laughing at her pissed off expression.

We're surrounded by people but he's the only person I see right now.

He looks down at me and I feel immense déjà vu. I'm suddenly back at the Starwood, seeing him up close for the first time. We hated each other back then, and now we can't get enough of each other.

My lips and tongue meet his, my arm reaching to his back to pull him as close as possible to me and he does the same, pulling me to him by my waist.

Once we pull away, he's smiling at me, his eyes locking with mine.

I could stare in to his eyes for an eternity. His eyes were so beautiful. They always had this lively sparkle to them. I always thought he had poetic eyes that told a million stories to whoever paid attention. I would've stared in to those eyes longer, had I known that would've been one of the last times I saw that sparkle bursting with enthusiasm and life before they just turned cold, dead and void.

Later on, I'm with Tansy when Nikki comes up to me holding his keys, Tommy and Roxie trailing behind him.

"Are we leaving?" I ask him, about to stand up from where I'm sitting but he stops me.

"Um, me and Tommy were gonna head back and stop by a friends house for a couple hours." He tells me hesitantly as if he's a little and he's nervous of being told "no."

I know a "friends house" means a party and a "couple hours" means all night.

"Nikki, it's our wedding night." I state as if he forgot and he gives me a grin.

"I know, I won't be gone all night." It's a blatant lie and I know it, but he's convincing like he always is.

"Okay, just be careful, please. I'm serious." I say without a trace of leisure and he nods, his smile growing from ear to ear as he and Tommy glance at each other.

He kisses me one last time before turning to go, announcing to everyone he's "fuckin' outta here" and thanks them for coming.

Before Tommy can get out the door I'm snatching him by his sleeve and stopping him.

He snaps around in my direction with wide eyes and I don't give him time to speak.

"Don't be overzealously stupid. Don't let him be overzealously stupid." I threaten him.

"Yes ma'am." He assures me, giving me a shit eating grin.

"I'm serious, Tommy." I snap.

"Chill out, Viv. We'll be fine." He is waves me off before leaving and that nagging feeling I felt when Nikki told me where they were going isn't eased in the slightest.

By the time everyone leaves, including Mick, Vince and Beth—me, Diane, and Tansy are starting to finish cleaning up while Sparkie’s passed out.

“You can head home, Vivian. I don’t want Nikki to get there and you still be a couple hours away.” Tansy tells me and I shake my head.

“He’s at a party. He probably won’t be coming home until morning.” I tell her and she nods.

“Well, me and Sparkie are gonna crash here. You can, too, if you want to.” She offers.

“I probably will. I’m just ready to get out of this dress.” I mumble, glancing at the clock on the wall to see it’s already two o’clock in the morning.

Tansy lends me a T-shirt that practically swallows her whole, and a pair of pajama shorts.

By the time I’ve gotten my makeup off, taken a shower and crawled in to the bed of one of the spare bedrooms, I’m nearly half asleep.

Until the phone starts ringing.

I hear Diane answer it downstairs, her voice just as tired sounding as I feel, but she suddenly snaps out of her sleepy daze.

“She’s upstairs asleep.” I hear her say, and I furrow my brows and sit up. “I’ll go get her.”

Within a moment, she’s opening the door and looking at me with wide eyes and a pale face.

“Doc McGhee is on the line—”

I don’t let her finish before I’m darting past her and almost tripping over myself to get down the stairs to the phone.

“Hello?” I ask, a panic to my voice. I hear him take a deep breath before calmly stating:

“Vivian, you need to get back to town. Nikki’s wrapped his Porsche around a pole.”

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #mötley crüe #douglas booth #daniel webber #colson baker #the dirt #the dirt movie #douglas booth!nikki sixx

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blackasteriia · 5 years ago

Note

he hadn't expected that to happen. it should have been easy. he should've been on his way home right now, not six feet under feeling the life crushed out of him. should've been going home with his brother. ... should've been a lot of things, but paul took it from him. took a lot. ... even took his ability to tell his daughter he was sorry.

The truck cruised at an even 75 MPH down I-35, headed North into Dallas. Green grass contrasted with multi-colored cars flying by in the other lanes. Xion rested her feet up on the dashboard, a book in her lap. ‘Taker drove now. He pushed the legal upper boundaries of the speed limit and weaved through traffic. It was a day-long trip, and Xion’s shoulders ached with six hours of a car ride. It discomforted her that they’d have to do it again tomorrow.

They left home that morning, after 'Taker and Xion finished their chores. Xion drove them –trying to collect hours to earn her license– to San Antonio for lunch and sightseeing. 'Taker dragged Xion to the 'Alamo,’ a conspicuous historic building in the dead center of downtown. They ate at a restaurant on the San Antonio River. Xion had a salad with fried duck rolls and guacamole. 'Taker had a sandwich, which he said, 'wasn’t worth the price,’ he, 'paid for it.’ He ate the whole thing though so Xion assumed it was good enough. She drove them past Austin where they swapped spots at a small gas station while filling-up the truck.

Her phone vibrated. Xion flipped her book page and felt down into the center console to find the device. It was a text from Aeleus, responding to a picture she sent him earlier of some ducks. He responded with an image of Gallus perched-up on the china cabinet. He sent another message.

“Is that from Aeleus?” ‘Taker asked. His eyes focused on the road ahead of them, hidden by his dark sunglasses. “What’d he say?”

“He said to tell you, 'good luck,’ for your match,” Xion answered. She replied to the text and dropped the phone in the cupholder.

“Hardly need it,” 'Taker chuckled. He reached up to scratch at his forehead beneath his bandana. A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. He glanced at her, “Get your feet off the dashboard.”

Xion retracted her legs. “Where are we going again?”

“Glenwood Cemetery, just outta Dallas,” 'Taker said.

“Odd place to have a fight,” Xion commented. Her elbow leaned against the window as she looked over at him.

“I didn’t pick the location,” he pointed out. “Don’t worry, it won’t take long. Then we can clean-up this whole mess.”

Aeleus and 'Taker tried to keep their lives in clean circles but the overlap was inevitable. The intersection with 'Taker’s career in the ring had blurred in the past few months. Weird calls at odd times. People showing up at the house to bug Aeleus. Reporters asking her odd questions. Nothing more emblematic of the shift then that Kane wasn’t in the house anymore. It weighed on 'Taker, it made things personal and he wanted to put it to bed. Xion was eager to see some of it get taken off his mind.

'Taker pulled the truck off the interstate and changed over to the highway. They traveled East a couple miles, circling Dallas. The city loomed over the roofs of suburban neighborhoods. Sunlight halo'ed the skyscrapers. The monuments of steel and glass burned molten gold. 'Taker turned from a residential area onto an asphalt road lined by asper trees. The leaves cast soft, speckled shadow on the roadway. An iron wrought gate marked the edge of the cemetery. Written in metal over the arch was, “GLENWOOD CEMETARY.“ On the other side was a parking lot and trailer for the office, past that were the grave plots. 'Taker drove down the center lane of the cemetery.

Gray and brown tombs rose from the flat, rolling fields. Oak trees and wooden benches provided comfort. Colorful flowers decorated some of the graves and the faces of marble mausoleums. Time showed the further in they drove. Based on design, some of the graves were over a century old. Little lambs adorned tiny tombstones, marking the burial places of dead babies. Angels wept over long passed couples. The graves were smaller, less opulent, worn by time and faded by years of rain and ice. At the end of the lane 'Taker stopped the truck by an open, unused field. The keys rattled as he hooked them on his belt and then he clambered out of the car.

Xion followed him, sliding out of the front seat onto pavement. She stretched her hands over her head and popped her back a couple of times. 'Taker walked to the back of the truck and picked-out two shovels. He tossed one to her that she caught. Xion glanced down at the tool. This was beyond unusual. All the matches she’d been to were in rings and stadiums, not on lawns. Nor did she ever have to break ground before them. 'Taker passed around to join her on the other side and then started to walk out into the field. Xion followed him, hurrying to catch-up with his longer stride.

“What are we doing?” Xion asked.

About a hundred feet from the asphalt he impaled a spot in the ground with the shovel. He pulled his sunglasses off his eyes and pushed them back on behind his ears. He picked the shovel back-up again and began to dig, “Digging a grave.”

“For who?” Xion asked. Despite her curiosity, she began to cut into the dirt and add to 'Taker’s growing pile off to one side.

“Vince McMahon,” 'Taker answered. He leveraged out a hunk of rust colored clay and tossed it to the side. Absent minded, he leaned forward to pick out a large quartz rock that he chucked off into the field. “I told you, I’m taking care of him.”

Xion didn’t break her workflow, nor did she ask any more questions. The tolls of 'Taker’s side 'job, showed in his frame, Kane’s absence, and all the ways it overspilled. She’d never seen her father fray at the edges like this, slip a bit. Today in San Antonio was the first time in weeks she’d seen him loosen-up. Even an hour to shed his burden had put him in a better mood. Xion understood 'Taker’s position more than most. There was a breakpoint and they were close to it. He had to put his foot down or else lose more ground. Xion wouldn’t get in his way, she’d had enough too. All this pomp and circumstance seemed an odd way to do it, though.

They dug a grave six feet deep. After cutting the hole a couple feet down, Xion used some magic to deepen it. A trick she’d picked-up from Aeleus. She even cleaned the edges-up so they were even. Xion stood down in the bottom, kicked aside a rock. 'Taker knelt and offered his hand. She took hold of his wrist so he could haul her up and out of the hole. Once she was back on her feet, 'Taker drew her against his side. Xion leaned against him, arm winding around his waist and cheek resting on his chest. The sun had fallen behind the buildings and the horizon line, cooling off the air. A comfortable breeze ruffled his and her hair. She shifted so she could hear his pulse. The lights of the city chased away the stars, it wasn’t the same sky here as it was back home.

“You should wait by the truck,” 'Taker told her. “I don’t want you too close.”

“Okay,” Xion said as she pulled from his side. Xion reached to slide her arm around his neck and pull him down for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, tightening the embrace with a quick squeeze. “Be careful, daddy.”

'Taker chuckled, warm and light as she withdrew. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head then ruffled her hair. “Do me a favor and keep hold of this,” he shrugged out of his duster and handed it to her. “Make sure you ain’t cold.”

“It’s like, seventy degrees,” Xion muttered. She dropped the familiar argument this time though. She tucked the duster into her arms and carried it back with her as she returned to the truck.

Once back-up on the hill, Xion removed her book from inside the truck and then perched-up on the roof. She used a small orb of magic light to continue reading by. It was a fantasy novel that Loraine recommended but Xion found it dull. Too much bemoaning fate and not enough action. Also, the magic system was lame and made no sense. Xion looked-up though when she heard a car engine rumbling from the entrance of the cemetery. A fleet of cars began to pull in, dozens of vehicles that parked along the roadway, the parking lot, and in the field. Xion stopped counting heads after a hundred as people streamed-out into the field. 'Taker stood by the grave, hand on a shovel and waiting. A circle grew around him. He stood out in the center of it. Larger than life, unbreaking, unflinching, and unmoved by the throngs.

A black car pulled up and parked at the edge of the field. A tall man clambered out and slammed the door behind him. He scanned that gathered crowd and field, face contorted in a sneering expression. He strutted through the crowd, striding with too long steps. He lacked grace but lacking nothing for self-assurance. The people parted for him. A din of voices split between jeers, boo’s, and cheering. Xion was glad she wasn’t in their midsts, amongst the elbows and noise, as they exploded into an uproar.

'Taker and the man squared-up by the graveside. Vince was smaller than 'Taker by visible inches and lacked 'Taker’s power. A man in a black and white striped shirt mediated them, pushing between the two men for a brief second. It was all formality, a bit of show for the camera crew. It was a farce. These men were at war, there were no limits in battle. Xion rubbed her hand over her jaw, watching with analytical glare. She braced her elbows against her knees, feet resting on the truck bumper. She took note of everything, the movement of the crowd, the attitudes of the fighters, and the pull of the wind. Her tongue ran over her teeth, fingers tapping in quick patterns.

Wars are capricious. Xion knew because she fought in one. The tide of battle could turn in a split second, following the whim of cruel gods. There is no reassurance. 'Taker is bigger, stronger, more experienced, he was right, Xion shouldn’t worry. She wasn’t comforted though. Every fight, every battle could turn. 'Taker didn’t need good luck, but he also didn’t need bad luck. All it would take was one bad draw. That was the truth for all his, and hers, fights. It was a fact of their lives.

Vince swung first. 'Taker ducked the punch and drove his shoulder into Vince’s gut. He was fast, moving in with hard strikes and quick punches, driving his opponent back. The crowd was deafening, pushing-in, thronging, unbound by lines or rails. They were predators, sharks circling for the taste of blood and it streamed down Vince’s face. Spectators here for the thrill. They were sadists because they’d never known pain, so they, like a masochist, reveled in the pain of others. Xion’s jaw clenched and tightened, fingers digging into her own palm. Her gut twisted.

'Taker tossed a limp Vince into the grave and began to kick dirt onto him. He ripped a shovel from the ground and began to fill in the hole. Xion ducked her head, thumb running over her lips. Her mind settled, no longer flipping in complex mental gymnastics. Yet, the rest of her did not relax. Something churned, an awareness, a knock on the door she’d been ignoring. Xion answered, eyes lifting, through the field and crowd. A sea of faces parted, seamless and blurring away for her gaze to latch onto the expression of one.

He appeared like a specter. A twisted, funhouse mirror of a man Xion once met. Unmasked and unveiled, his heart and his magic contorted into an obscene shape. A distorted image of who he was. Streetlights, floodlights, the distant burned out glow of stars, struck the pale skin of his face and bare chest. He slipped through the crowd, an impossible maneuver of grace and elegance for a man his side. Xion’s breath caught in her throat and Kane stepped into the circle. 'Taker saw him and began to pivot, focus drawn to his brother.

A blast of fire magic accented Kane’s fist to 'Taker’s jaw. 'Taker smashed into the ground, rag dolling his body in an unnatural angle. Xion straightened, hands falling to her side, eyes widening. 'Taker sprawled across the ground, unmoving. She counted the seconds waiting to see if he jostled or stood, six, five, four, three, two, one. Way too long. Kane grabbed 'Taker’s leg and began to drag him towards the grave. A couple of Vince’s man lifted him out of the hole. Xion pushed off the front of the car. She cut through the field, walking fast, then jogging, and then she ran.

She met the hard wall of a crowd’s back. They packed like sardines, a solid mass of bodies akin to brick. Xion inserted an arm between two people and forced a hole for her to wiggle through. She applied select forces and elbows, shoving her way in. They refused to part, attention locked in the center of their mass. Xion ducked arms and began to slip through. She broke through the circle.

Two men filled in the graves with the shovels. Vince was off to the side being overseen by his cronies, but she couldn’t see 'Taker. Xion lunged forward only for an arm to catch her around the waist. Kane lifted her off her feet with ease and placed her back down. He edged his shoulder in her way and didn’t release her even as she squirmed.

“Kane, let me go!” Xion snapped. She tried to pull from his grip but he refused to budge. More dirt filled the grave, more weight, crushing, suffocating. If 'Taker was awake it was dark, disorientating. Struggling would aggravate his injuries. “They’re going to kill him!”

Xion looked-up then at Kane, pausing in her struggle to meet his eyes. Brown and blue, mismatched stared back down at her. He smirked, grinned, pleased, and knowing. This was not at all like him. Kane was gentle and patient and was always fond when he ruffled her hair. This was not the man who took turns at her bedside. Kane wasn’t this person that held onto her, preventing her from saving her father’s life. Kane wasn’t hiding behind his hair anymore. No, he shaved it off. There was a fluctuation in 'Taker’s magic, a weakening, and a wane. She was running out of time.

Xion ducked Kane’s arm but he caught her wrist when she tried to bolt. His grip was like iron, massive hand enclosing her forearm. Kane yanked her back. She drove the heel of her hand at his chest but he snatched it before she made contact. Xion��s boot heel dug into the soft, dew stricken grass as Kane leveraged his weight over her. He twisted her arm, pulling one hand to the small of her back, the other above her head. Stretched-out and pinned, it was an easy position to control her in as the men finished filling in the hole. Xion growled against the pressure pinching her shoulder, stumbling on her toes.

The crowd roared in her ears, matching the rush of her pulse and blood in her veins. Xion stomped Kane’s foot. He didn’t flinch but it gave her room to plant her feet. Xion relaxed through her twisted shoulder, dropping it so she could turn back out. They struggled, force-to-force, but Xion lifted her hands above her head. Kane resisted her but he lacked the strength to stop her. She jerked her hands out of his grip, and then down. She slipped his hold by the thumbs. Xion jumped and planted both of her feet into Kane’s chest.

The kick tossed Kane back into the crowd who crumpled beneath the weight and size of the huge man. They loved it, cheering and applauding her effort. Xion landed on her hip then flipped-onto her feet. Kane shoved himself back up and lunged for her. His hand closed around her throat. He lifted her, seizing the back of her shirt to steady her. Xion went for the face, smashing her palm into his nose. Blood coated her hands where she broke the cartilage but Kane slammed into the ground. The air left Xion, she gagged, an ache spreading in her ribs and back. Kane lifted his foot to stomp her down, knock her out, and finish this.

Xion turned onto her left hip. One foot hooked behind his leg and her heel struck the top of his thigh. She tripped him and he pitched back. Kane took the fall with a tucked chin and rolled back onto his feet. Xion had already twisted-up and was starting to run. A flash of light and warmth caught her eye. Xion planted her back foot into the dirt. She pivoted, her hands extended as a magic shield caught the blast of fire. It licked off the shield, scorching the grass, a hot inferno. People screamed and the crowd began to break, they were getting the idea. This wasn’t a game anymore.

Xion shattered the shield and struck in. Kane was breathing heavier, a bruise spread across his ribs and sternum. All she did was piss him off. His magic whipped from his extended hand, fire and heat in burning force. Xion diverted the fire. The flames cut into her skin and seared her clothes. Xion slipped the spell, teleported past it. She appeared beside Kane. They traded quick blows, a back and forth, intermingled with magic. He caught her by the back of her shirt, cinching it up. Xion ripped static from the air, sparked lightning and brought it to Kane’s leg. The muscle seized, he yelped, knee collapsing. Xion scrambled away before he could grab her again.

Xion’s skidded in the soft dirt as she turned to face back at Kane. A sudden force spread across her shoulders, steel applied to her spine. Xion’s elbows scraped the ground as she crumpled. Her head rung, ears singing in a strange cacophony. A man with a shovel stood over her, face stricken. He lifted his weapon high. A blast of aero tossed him out of the way. Xion could feel all the hits building-up. All pressure but no pain. She’d underestimated Kane and it cost her time. She pushed up onto her elbows as he returned to his feet and circled back in front of the grave. Xion gasped for breath, ragged and growing frustrated. She had to get to 'Taker, they were seconds short on time.

“Get out of my way!” Xion growled. She rose to her feet.

Light, pure and gold burnished Xion’s hands, she gathered it close to her chest. Xion pointed at Kane, a split second of time. Kane remained unbreaking,unflinching, and unmoved. The spell released and then something slipped. A throb of her pulse, in tandem with a breakpoint. A vanishing of a through line up up to that moment. An omnipresent white noise, a constant presence on this world— diminished to silence. The air chilled to ice. Xion missed. The magic skimmed Kane by inches. A brilliant flash of white light, powerful and destructive, dissipated to darkness.

Xion’s lips parted in silent exclamation, eyes unfocused. Her hand dropped to her side, a limp fall of an unsupported limb. Kane began to smile. He pivoted back to look at the grave. Chaos strewn around them, the ground torn and burnt. The dead body of his older brother lodged six feet in the unforgiving dirt. A shiver shook Xion to the core. Xion stepped towards Kane. Her heart pounded, pulse rushed, and her eyes stung. Her gasp, small and weak, is high in her chest. Pain spread from her back, through her ribs and arms; Constant, throbbing. It wasn’t real, it was a nightmare– She wants to wake-up now.

They were supposed to be back tomorrow afternoon. There was no way Xion could return alone. No dictionary could give Xion the vocabulary to explain this to Aeleus. Kane caught her around the shoulders. A final barrier preventing the last step to 'Taker’s graveside. There was no good in the gesture on either part. It was too late. Time slipped her fingers like sand in the sieve. She couldn’t keep it, comfortable in her complacency. Hot, searing tears traced the curve of her cheek. Xion pulled-back from Kane and he let her go.

The dark corridor spilled open for her. Xion didn’t care who saw, not Kane, the spectators, nor the cameras. The shadows swallowed her, comfortable in their cruel and cold touch. Xion didn’t care where it spat her out. So long as she never had to go back. She sat at the base of some strangled oak in a forlorn, dust stricken land. Burns and bruises screamed pain, unmatched by the din in her head.

#deadmenanddemons #✰*✦ The face in the mirror⎧IC⎫#✰*✦ The Waking Hour⎧VERSE⎫#✰*✦ Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet!⎧Asks⎫#:D #3560 words

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dahliawolfe · 6 years ago

Text

In the Line of Duty

Pairings: Dean Wichester/ Dallas Rayne (OFC)

The woman’s scream bouncing off of the corrugated steel walls was nearly deafening. Dallas scowled and took a tighter grip on her Sig and picked up her pace. Her footfalls were nearly silent as she traversed the dark warehouse. She was well trained. The stench of filth fills her nose, almost gagging her. Squatters have definitely claimed this place.

“They’re probably all dead now,” she thinks bitterly.

She quickly reaches her left hand down to reassure herself that her throwing knife was on her thigh. She’ll need it for the Crocotta. Nasty son of a bitch. He’d been taking young women for months before they found him. He chose the vulnerable; the women who were looking for comfort. These women had lost someone dear to them. And the Crocotta preyed on that. He mimicked their voices, luring his victims in and slaughtering them. It honestly made Dallas sick. She’d lost more than most, and she knew that she still had the bleeding wounds on her heart to prove it.

She knows that Sam and Dean have her covered, but there’s always that small tendril of fear that sneaks up her spine and wraps around her heart. She’s going after a literal monster, after all. She finally comes into the loading bay of the warehouse and spots her target. His back is to her. Perfect. That’s exactly the position she needs him to be in. She silently unsnaps the button of her knife sheath and tucks her gun in her waistband. She slides the blade free and tests the weight in her palm. It’s familiar. Comforting almost. From the corner of her eye, she spots Sam emerging from the shadows. His gun is drawn, and he’s ready to do what needs to be done. Dallas has the best skills with knives, so it was decided that if it was at all possible, she’d throw the blade at the Crocotta, hopefully killing it immediately.

And all of that flies right out the window when the woman spots her. That’s when shit hits the fan.

“Please! Help me!” she shrieks, alerting her captor that they are not alone. The Crocotta hasn’t maintained its human form as well as Dallas is used to. Its sharp teeth are glinting in the lone light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Its jaw is unhinged, and its features have twisted themselves into more beast than human. He turns with supernatural speed, and Dallas loses her shot. It looks like she’ll just have to dive right in. She lunges, swiping at the creature. Sam is close behind.

Dallas throws the entirety of her body weight at the creature, knocking it back. Sam is quick to pull her to her feet and take aim. The gunshot won’t kill the creature, but it might by them some time. Time enough for Dean to get the woman out before it gets too bloody in there. Dean swoops in from behind, as if reading Dallas’s mind and yanks the woman to her feet, pulling her to the exit, sparing a backwards glance at Dallas before hurrying into the darkness.

“Dallas! Look out!” Sam shouts as he’s thrown across the room. But Dallas doesn’t have time to look out. Because before she can get her bearings, the creature is on her, clamping its vicious mouth around her arm.

“Fuck!” she hisses, slashing at the creature’s eyes with her blade. The creature immediately hisses and recoils. Blood all but spurts out of Dallas’s arm, but she doesn’t really have time to worry about that right now. She steels herself and strikes, her aim true. Her hips rotate with the entirety of her momentum behind the knife. It plunges into the creature’s spine, and he goes limp. He twitches a few times before falling completely to the floor. Dallas pulls her knife from his neck and runs to Sam’s side.

“Sam!” she exclaims, dropping to her knees next to him. He seems dazed, but overall, unhurt. He blinks up at her.

“You get him?” he asks groggily.

“Yeah. He’s dead.” Dallas stands to help Sam to his feet, and that’s when the wave of dizziness sweeps over her. “Oh, fuck,” she moans as her legs crumple under her and she hits the concrete.

“Fuck, Dallas!” Sam exclaims, stooping beside her.

He scoops her head up with one hand, studying her face. “Dallas, come on, wake up.” He gently pats her cheek.

“Dean!” he bellows. Dean is going to kill him. He’d let Dallas get hurt, and that was Dean’s number one rule; don’t let anything happen to Dallas. And he’d fucked that all up.

Dean is making his way back inside when he hears Sam shout for him. His gut twists, and he takes off at a full run. Something is wrong, and he has to get to Sammy and Dallas. He slides through the doorway, and his heart stops when he sees Sam leaning over Dallas.

“Sam?!” he demands, rushing over and dropping down by Dallas.

“She…It bit her, I think,” Sam rushes to say, applying pressure to Dallas’ wounds.

“Dammit, Sammy. Go get the car!”

Dean takes Dallas in his arms, hoisting her up before looking down at her.

“Don’t you fucking do it, Dallas. You stay the fuck awake, Baby.”

“D-dean?” Dallas mumbles, huddling closer to him.

“That’s right, Kid. It’s me. What the fuck were you thinking? Huh?! Rushing in there!” Dallas gives him a tired smile.

“All in the line of duty, Deano,” she cracks, before her head lolls back onto his arm.

“Dallas!”

…

They’ve stitched her up and cleaned her wounds the best they can. But she lost a lot of blood. And she’s still unconscious. And Dean is a wreck. He’d kicked Sam out of the room after they finished bandaging her, and now the older brother sat beside the sagging hotel mattress, holding the hand of the woman that he’s been in love with for damn near five years. Tears drip down his cheeks, unbidden, and he hangs his head. He’s lost too many people. He can’t bare to lose her too.

Dallas wakes up laying on a hard mattress covered in scratchy sheets. She stretches, and feels the pressure on her hand. Dean is sitting in the chair by her bed, his head resting on his arms, his hand wrapped around hers. He’s sleeping, and his breath gently makes his chest rise and fall. He was handsome. There was no denying that. His golden hair and skin and his apple green eyes made him seem almost otherworldly… At least to Dallas anyway. She’s been in love with him as long as she could remember. But he only sees her as a sister. And she knows that he’s ruined her for anybody else. He’s the ultimate gentlemen. He takes care of Dallas better than anybody else ever has. Dallas itches to touch his hair, but as she tries to lift her other arm to do so, it pulls painfully, and she grimaces. She must make a noise, because Dean sleepily raises his head.

“Dallas?” he asks tiredly.

“Hey, are you ok? What about Sam?” Dean gives her a grin.

“Don’t worry about us, Baby girl. How do you feel?”

“Tired. And sore.”

“He got you pretty good. But you got him worse.” Dean kisses her knuckles. “You scared me,” he admits quietly.

“I know. I’m sorry.” There’s a beat of silence before Dean speaks again.

“I couldn’t stand it if I’d lost you.” He strokes her hair back and looks into her eyes.

Feeling bolder than she ever has before, Dallas leans up, kissing Dean squarely on the lips. She expects him to pull away, but he leans in, deepening the kiss. When they eventually break apart, coming up for air, Dean beams down at her.

“Where the hell did that come from?” he asks, a smile tinting his tone.

“I…I’ve kinda wanted to do that since, well, since forever, pretty much.”

“Oh, yeah? And why did you make me wait so long?” he teases.

“You…Wait. You wanted to kiss me too?” she asks confused.

“For a long damn time,” he replies, sliding into bed beside her.

“Well, then you should have done it yourself, Doofus.”

“Hmm. Maybe I will,” he hums, leaning down to kiss her again.

…

1 month later

The door slams open with the force of two bodies bursting through it. Dean’s lips are attached to Dallas’ neck, and she is clawing at his shirt, trying to remove it. She’s burning up, desperately needing to feel more of his skin. Dean tosses her on the bed, throwing the door shut against its frame. He’s back on Dallas before she can catch her breath.

“Fuck…Off,” she breathes, pushing at his pants. Above her, he chuckles.

“Patience is a virtue, Ms. Rayne,” he teases, undoing his belt anyway.

“Fuck patience. Fuck me, Dean!” She tugs harshly at the button on her own jeans, raising her hips up in the hopes of getting what her body is craving. Dean obliges, grinding his own hips against her core as he removes his flannel and tee.

Clothes fly across the room. Dean dips down between Dallas’ legs, sucking on the skin of her thighs.

“Fuck, Baby. I’d love to taste you, but I’ve got to be in you,” he growls, taking up his position with her legs straddling his hips.

“Yes, Dean. Please,” she begs breathlessly. Dean slides in in one smooth motion, setting a steady rhythm.

Bracketing himself over her, Dean reads Dallas’ face, taking note of every expression. Every trace of pleasure that he’s giving her, almost as if it’s the last time he’ll see it.

He dips his head down, tasting the moans on her lips. He never wants the moment to end. His pace is graceful, and smooth, hitting just the right spots, and making Dallas writhe in pleasure.

“Look at me, Baby. Let me see those eyes,” he demands. Her eyes spring open, amber meeting emerald in an intensity that Dean has never experienced before. He knows before he does it that him playing with her clit is going to make her spring apart, but dammit, that’s what he wants. More than anything in the world right now. Is for her to come around him. To draw him in as far as he’ll go and get the release that her body is begging him for.

“Dean!” she shouts as she comes untethered. Her nails rake down his back as her own back bows off of the bed. He eases her through her orgasm before chasing his.

After he’s finished, Dean stays seated inside Dallas for a few moments. He strokes her hair back and kisses her forehead as he gazes at her. Her eyes are bright with ecstasy, and her body is loose and warm. Finally, he pulls himself from her body, raking his hair back and falling into bed beside her.

Dallas curls up in Dean’s arms, intertwining her fingers with his, and kissing his chest. For now, they’re both content.

But they both know that another hunt is always around the corner.

As long as they have each other, they’ll be fine.

word count: 1885

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