#to severing your connection to it all in a hail mary to do what you think is best horror-action-angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashmenofmarvel · 4 years ago

Text

Branded - Chapter 45

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky will do whatever it takes to get her back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Anger, grief, thoughts of violence, angst

AO3

Bucky paced like a wild animal, back and forth, tail lashing with each circuit he made. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t functioned much at all in the past few days, and he was always a heartbeat away from snapping like a wire pulled too taut.

He couldn’t go through the door he was pacing in front of, the demonic wards holding him at bay. It was just as well. Without them, he would have marched straight inside and ripped Helmut Zemo’s spine out his throat.

It wouldn’t have solved any of Bucky’s currents problems, but it would have improved his mood. And it might have distracted him for a few moments from the black hole currently residing within him. A negative space where the bond had been. Every moment that void was there, he wanted to tear out his own heart.

Maybe he’d still get the opportunity if they couldn’t find a way to bring her back. He’d end his own life for a fast one-way ticket to the demon realm if he had to, and there Bucky would stay until he found her.

And then… what? They’d be trapped there forever? Why didn’t that scare Bucky as much as the thought of being separated, with her being all alone in that place? He knew she was resourceful. She’d proven it by the fact they’d captured Zemo at all.

When the gun had gone off, Bucky had felt like he’d been the one shot, only it hurt so much worse because he actually knew what a bullet to the gut felt like. He’d barely made it in time to catch her as she fell, and he’d been in no state of mind to deal with Zemo after that. Steve had barely been conscious by the time Strange and the others had found them, so it wasn’t him who had caught the bastard.

No, it had been the Alp itself that had stopped Zemo. Before the man had even gotten a chance to order his demon to teleport him away, it had used its paralysis aerosol on Zemo and knocked him into a peaceful sleep. And then it had vanished in a puff of sulfurous smoke, leaving its master there to be collected by the sorcerers.

The thought made Bucky shake his head. Somehow, Bucky’s girl had managed to make a demon turn on its own master. Not once, but twice, if Bucky was including himself.

Leave it to her to befriend a demon and turn it to her side.

Leave it to her to give everything for Bucky, including her own life. And what had he done in the time since then except vacillate between rage and grief? Between shouting at Strange and standing by Steve’s healing bed like a mourner at a funeral, waiting for them to come up with a rescue mission.

The sorcerers had made little progress, and Bucky feared their only hope lie in the man that had murdered her.

Bucky would have gotten the answers out of Zemo himself, if only for the fact he couldn’t get his hands on him. The demons wards weren’t to keep Bucky out, they were to keep Zemo from calling his demon slave to teleport him away. No matter how had they’d tried, the sorcerers couldn’t break the demon bond. And no matter how much the Alp might not want to, it wouldn’t be able to resist the call of its master, no matter how far away it was. Bucky had learned that lesson the hard way with his own escape attempts from HYDRA.

So now they were at an impasse. Zemo imprisoned but refusing to cooperate, and the sorcerers unable to get anything useful out of him but having no choice but to keep him locked up. Bucky hadn’t be surprised the sorcerers had failed to take away Zemo’s last Hail Mary. If they were capable of breaking demons bonds, they wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.

The door opened, and Strange had to wave him off before Bucky accosted him with questions.

“Well?” Bucky asked, impatient. “What did he say?”

“Still nothing helpful.” Strange glanced at Wong as he too strode toward the door. It shut with a heavy thud behind them, no doubt locked by all sorts of arcane spells. “It’s clear that Zemo doesn’t know how to work the demon gate with any expert knowledge and relied solely on the red book to achieve his goals.”

The circular stone archway they’d found in the basement of the Siberian compound, which Strange had named the “demon gate,” had remained inert no matter how the sorcerers tried to manipulate and power it. How Zemo had managed to summon the Alp through it, but it wouldn’t respond to the sorcerers, left Bucky short-tempered and frustrated.

It was nothing compared to the guilt. The shame at being controlled, manipulated into almost killing Steve. He was still being tended to by the healers, and the only reason he wasn’t in a hospital was because Strange had insisted they take him to the Sanctum.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, then Bucky’d nearly killed her. His worst nightmare being played out before his eyes, or it almost had. Through their tenuous bond she’d somehow broken through to him, and Bucky had managed to stay his hand when he’d never been able to do so before.

It had been… freeing. Liberating to disobey a direct command. To be ordered to hurt someone he loved and having the strength to resist.

And then Bucky had failed to save her anyway. She’d died, right there in his arms, her heart going silent the loudest thing he’d ever heard. As if that hadn’t shattered his world enough, she’d turned to ashes in his hands, the stink of sulfur and brimstone stinging his eyes as she slipped through his fingers.

In that moment, Bucky’s bond to Zemo had been severed. One of the apparent benefits of a demon having a human slave. She’d gone to Hell so Bucky could be free.

And all he’d managed to do with that freedom was absolutely fuck-all.

Bucky’s fist flew, the jagged knuckles of his armored hand knocking a sizable chunk out of the stone wall.

Strange merely lifted his eyebrows. Wong frowned in disapproval. Bucky didn’t give a shit. They should have woken him as soon as she’d gone missing, but instead, he’d woken on his own, bursting through the cryo-chamber and shattering its door to pieces. He’d been so confused and enraged that the sorcerers had had to bind him with glowing ropes and wards until Bucky calmed down enough to explain she was being tortured, and he could lead them to exactly where.

So, yes. As far as Bucky was concerned, this was as much Strange’s fault as it was his, and the only reason he was even still tolerating the sorcerers is because they were her only chance of rescue.

If they could get the fucking gate to work, anyway. A big fucking if. Apparently, sorcerers could make portals on Earth without a problem, but crossing into other dimensions was even beyond Strange’s capability.

And yet, she had been able to do it as a ten year old child. Bucky had hoped, maybe, somehow, she would be able to summon that power within her once again and come back to him, but there had been no sign of any mysterious blue portals popping up on Earth.

So as pissed as he was, Bucky had to remain patient, and right now, he had to pay attention.

“I have an idea on how to power the gate,” Strange said, wearily eyeing the damaged wall before turning to Bucky. “We have more of HYDRA’s research that Zemo ever did, and I have no doubt we will be able to create a stable connection soon.”

“Soon isn’t good enough,” Bucky snapped, struggling not to snarl at the sorcerer. “Every minute here is hours over there. Each day wasted is weeks she has to endure, alone, in a place humans were never meant to survive. We can’t—“

The lump in his throat forced him to silence. Bucky couldn’t say what he’d been thinking, and from Strange’s sympathetic expression, it didn’t need to be said.

They might already be too late.

Bucky still wanted to punch Strange in the face. If he cared so damned much, why hadn’t he kept a closer eye on her? Zemo may have been smart, hell, he was probably a genius to figure out how demon magic worked, but how had he managed to outsmart a whole sect of sorcerers?

“We will move as quickly as we can,” Strange said, indicating Bucky should follow him. “I don’t wish to waste any more time than you do.”

Bucky somehow doubted that, but he still followed after the head sorcerer. His tail twitched as they made their way deeper into the Sanctum, to the place Bucky had spent every waking moment when he hadn’t been by Steve’s side.

“I am aware of the time dilation in the demon realm,” Strange said as they walked down a spiraling set of stone steps, “but it might not be uniform or even linear. Your experience may differ from hers.”

If Strange thought that would be comforting news, he was wrong. Bucky didn’t need an overactive imagination to come up with whatever horrors she might be facing now. He certainly didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of… of finally making it to the demon realm and realizing hundreds of years had passed.

Bucky couldn’t… he couldn’t think about it. He would lose his mind. Bucky would only let despair swallow him after he was a hundred percent sure that… that there was nothing left to hope for. That she was truly gone and wouldn’t be coming back.

That he would never get to see her again. To watch as her eyes brightened and that familiar mischievous grin tugged at her lips. To hold her in his arms while he buried his nose in her hair, filling his nostrils with her scent and—

Bucky shook his head and grit his teeth. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, not when they were closer to their goal, so he forced himself to focus on Strange’s words. Something about a power source needed to fuel the thing, and that Zemo must have hidden it away from the base because the sorcerers couldn’t sense it. Bucky honestly didn’t understand most of it, only that it would take an unnatural power source to get the gate running.

The underground lair, as he called it, left Bucky as awed as the first time he’d stepped food inside. The room was essentially a giant dome constructed of very large stones, but the most interesting aspect of the room was the glowing glyphs carved into the stones. The power thrummed under his skin and set his arm plates rigid as his tail flickered.

And there, in the middle of the room, lay the instrument that had been the focus of his frustration and anger over the past few days. A stone gateway, teleported here by great effort from the sorcerers. It was ancient, possibly constructed during the days of the Holy Roman Empire, or so Strange had rambled. Bucky was too fucking stressed to appreciate the mythical history lesson.

When the sorcerers working on the gateway turned to Strange and confirmed it couldn’t be powered by anything in their vaults, Bucky turned away, fists tightening, mentally preparing himself for what he had to do. But before he could take even a single step, Strange laid his hand on his shoulder.

“Just a moment, Sergeant.” Strange’s voice was gentle, and it was the only reason Bucky didn’t grab the hand on his shoulder and break it. “There’s one thing left to try. It’s not without danger and risk, but—“

“I’ll do it,” Bucky said immediately. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“I suspected you might say that.”

Strange’s smile was sad but accepting as he patted Bucky, and then let his hand drop. Bucky’s desire to strangle the man went down a few notches, and if this worked and he got her back, Bucky might even forgive him.

Might.

Strange straightened his posture and faced the stone archway, held his hands in front of his chest in a manner that meant he was about to cast a spell, and he said, “Though I must warn you, tapping into the power of the Infinity Stones can be quite dangerous.”

With an intricate pull of his fingers, glowing patterns in the air emerged, and that’s when Bucky finally noticed the green light shining from Strange’s amulet. He’d vaguely wondered around the thing always around the sorcerer’s neck, and now Bucky had an answer as to what it was. Something otherworldly, deadly, and strong enough to compare with the power of the blue cube HYDRA had once wielded.

A deep thrumming filled the room, vibrating through the air and up the stones, the potential of something building made Bucky’s wings flair behind his back.

Then the glyphs along the demon gate began to glow, first green like the stone and then to a bright blue that made Bucky’s heart clench with fear. Strange blue lights often accompanied the demonic rituals HYDRA had conducted on him, but he swallowed down the panic and didn’t blink.

The charge in the air built higher and higher, until with a crackle of electricity, the empty space between the archway suddenly filled with light. It pulled outward to the edges, a border of blue around a watery image that sharpened into something Bucky recognized.

The demon realm.

“I can’t hold it forever!” Strange yelled, his hands still in the same position as he somehow, impossibly, held the gateway open using the green stone around his neck. “Get moving, Sergeant!”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice.

With none of the hesitancy he’d shown the first time being confronted by a blue portal, Bucky flared his wings as he raced forward and gave one hard flap, lifting off and darting through the gateway like a missile launched from its tube.

The dry wind buffeted him from the other side and Bucky nearly nosedived into the red sand, but he managed to right himself and soar up into the air. The human side of him balked at the alien surroundings, but it was the demon part of him that Bucky needed now.

Orienting himself to the familiar magnetic fields of the planet, because in a sick way he’d been alive longer here than on Earth, and he knew this place as intimately as his home.

Turning in the direction of his territory, Bucky pushed his body as far as it would take him and flew faster than he ever had before.

Hold on, sweetheart, he prayed to her, hoping he was heard. I’m coming.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

146 notes · View notes

a-queer-seminarian · 4 years ago

Text

Jesus flipping tables: a more accurate & respectful reading

This post shares a large chunk of chapter two of Amy-Jill Levine’s book Entering the Passion of Jesus. (Read the whole chapter as a PDF here.) Levine is a Jewish woman who is also a Professor of New Testament Studies.

Levine combats traditional readings of the text with their antisemitic layers by evincing how Jesus’s anger reflects the anger of his predecessors Jeremiah and Zechariah — an anger focused not on the simple fact that sacrificial animals were sold in the Temples’ outer courts, but on the way the Temple (like many of our worship spaces today) had become a safe place for corrupt oppressors, who behaved as if their daily atrocities would be overlooked by God if they paid for a sacrifice every now and again.

TL;DR: to sum up Levine’s points, she evinces how:

Jesus’s whole table flipping, whip-wielding stunt is more symbolic than practical (echoing similar stunts pulled by his people’s prophets).

Some have argued Jesus is mad about gentiles not being allowed to worship in the temple, but they very much were welcome. (There were places and rituals off limits to them, just as there are certain things non-members can’t do in our own worship spaces, like take communion or be on a committee).

Jesus wasn’t pissed about animals being sold in the temple’s outer courts; that was normal and logical. There’s also no evidence of exploitation or unjust prices, so he’s not angry about the poor being cheated here either.

Jesus did not reject the Temple, or its laws & rituals! He followed them himself and helped restore people to them. (He even has “zeal for his father’s house.”)

Jesus also isn’t condemning the high priest or other priests with his actions here. That’s just not in the text; plus Caiaphas’s worry about Jesus’s actions inciting political violence that could harm his people were reasonable.

What Jesus is communicating with his table flipping and whip-wielding: he’s upset that the Temple is as “a den of thieves,” a place where people who sin and oppress in their everyday life feel perfectly comfortable, instead of feeling called to repent and reform. His words hearken back to previous prophets with similar concerns.

And finally, in the version of this story told in John’s Gospel, Jesus seems to be looking forward to a time when the Temple is no longer needed, for all places will be sacred and God will speak directly to everyone of every nation -- once again, Jesus is hearkening back to previous prophets who looked forward to the same thing. This is also a concept that the Pharisees were into, so stop depicting the Pharisees as “evil” or “backwards” or completely at odds with Jesus! (One key difference between Jesus’s vision and the Pharisees’ if of course that Jesus identifies a “new temple,” his own body.)

One last thing: if you’re unfamiliar with the various Gospel versions of the “temple cleansing” -- Matthew 21:12-17, Mark 11:11-17, Luke 19:45-46, and John 2:13-17 -- or want to reference them as you read this post, visit this webpage to read them all.

Without further ado -- the excerpt from Levine.

________________

The incident known as the ‘Cleansing of the Temple’ is described in all four Gospels. Most people have the idea--probably from Hollywood--that this is a huge disruption. When we see this scene depicted in movies, we find Jesus fuming with anger, and we inevitably see gold coins falling down in slow motion. Everything in the Temple comes to a standstill. ...But we are not watching a movie: we are studying the Gospels.

Here's what we know about the actual setting. We begin by noting that the Temple complex was enormous. It was the size of twelve soccer fields put end to end. So, if Jesus turns over a table or two in one part of the complex, it's not going to make much of a difference given the size of the place.

The action therefore did not stop all business; it is symbolic rather than practical. Our responsibility is to determine what was symbolized.

For that, we need to know how the Temple functioned.

The Jerusalem Temple, which King Herod the Great began to rebuild and which was still under construction at the time of Jesus, had several courts. The inner sanctum, known as the "Holy of Holies," is where the high priest entered, only on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, to ask for forgiveness for himself and for the people. Outside of that was the Court of the Priests, then the Court of Israel, the Court of the Women, and then the Court of the Gentiles, who were welcome to worship in the Temple.

The outer court, the Court of the Gentiles, is where the vendors sold their goods. The Temple at the time of Jesus was many things: it was a house of prayer for all nations; it was the site for the three pilgrimage festivals of Passover, Shavuot/Pentecost, and Sukkot/Booths; it was a symbol of Jewish tradition (we might think of it as comparable, for the Jewish people of the time, to how Americans might view the Statue of Liberty); it was the national bank, and it was the only place in the Jewish world where sacrifices could be offered. Therefore, there needed to be vendors on site.

Pilgrims who sought to offer doves (such as Mary and Joseph do, following the birth of Jesus, according to Luke 2:24) or a sheep for the Passover meal would not bring the animals with them from Galilee or Egypt or Damascus. They would not risk the animal becoming injured and so unfit for sacrifice. The animal might fly or wander away, be stolen, or die. And, as one of my students several years ago remarked, "The pilgrims might get hungry on the way." One bought one's offering from the vendors.

And, despite Hollywood, and sermon after sermon, there is no indication that the vendors were overcharging or exploiting the population. The people would not have allowed that to happen. Thus, Jesus is not engaging in protest of cheating the poor.

Next, we need to think of the Temple as something other than what we think of churches. A church, usually, is a place of quiet and decorum. ...The Temple was something much different: It was a tourist attraction, especially during the pilgrimage festivals. It was very crowded, and it was noisy. The noise was loud and boisterous, and because it was Passover, people were happy because they were celebrating the Feast of Freedom. ...We might think of the setting as a type of vacation for the pilgrims: a chance to leave their homes, to catch up with friends and relatives, to see the "big city," and to feel a special connection with their fellow Jews and with God. It is into this setting that Jesus comes.

______________

Driving out the Vendors

...It seems to me that Jesus, in the Temple, was angry. But what so angered him? I hear from a number of people, whether my students in class or congregations who have invited me to speak with them, that the Temple must have been a dreadful institution; that it exploited the poor; that it was in cahoots with Rome; that Caiaphas, the High Priest in charge of the Temple, was a terrible person; that it banned Gentiles from worship and so displayed hatred of foreigners; and so forth. ...Some tell me that the Temple imposed oppressive purity laws that forbade people from entering, and so Jesus, who rejected those laws, rejected the temple as well. No wonder Jesus wants to destroy the institution.

But none of those views fits what we know about either Jesus or history.

First, Jesus did not hate the Temple, and he did not reject it. If he did, then it makes no sense that his followers continued to worship there. Jesus himself calls the Temple "my Father's house" (Luke 7:49: John 2:16). ...

Second, Jesus is not opposed to purity laws. To the contrary, he restores people to states of ritual purity. Even more, he tells a man whom he has cured of leprosy, "Go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them" (Mark 1:44; see also Matthew 8:4; Luke 5:14).

Third, Jesus says nothing about the Temple exploiting the population. As we'll see in the next chapter, when we talk about the widow who makes an offering of her two coins, Jesus is concerned not with what the Temple charges, but with the generosity of the worshipers.

Fourth, we've already seen that the Temple has an outer court, where Gentiles are welcome to worship. They were similarly welcome in the synagogues of antiquity, and today. They do not have the same rights and responsibilities as do Jews, and that makes sense as well. When I [a Jewish woman] visit a church, there are certain things I may not do. We might also think of how nations function: Canadians, for example, cannot do certain things in the USA, such as vote for president; nor can citizens of the USA vote in Canadian elections.

As for Caiaphas...Caiaphas is basically between a rock and a hard place. He is the nominal head of Judea, and he is supposed to keep the peace. Judea is occupied by Rome, and Roman soldiers are stationed there. Caiaphas needs to make sure that these soldiers do not go on the attack. He needs to placate Pilate, and he needs to placate Rome.

At the same time, as the High Priest, he has a responsibility to the Jewish tradition. Rome wanted the Jews to offer sacrifices to the emperor...but Caiaphas and the other Jews refused to participate in this type of offering because they would not worship the emperor. The most they were willing to do was offer sacrifices on behalf of the emperor and the empire.

When Jesus comes into the city in the Triumphal Entry, when people are hailing him as son of David, Caiaphas recognizes the political danger. The Gospel of John tells us that the people wanted to make Jesus king (John 6:15). Caiaphas has to watch out for the mob. Caiaphas also has to watch out for all these Jewish pilgrims coming from all over the empire celebrating the Feast of Freedom, the end of slavery. When he sees Roman troops surrounding the Temple Mount, Caiaphas has to keep the peace. And Jesus is a threat to that peace. But none of this has to do directly with Jesus' actions in the Temple. He is not at this point protesting Caiaphas's role.

Sometimes I hear people say that Jesus drove the "money lenders” out of the Temple. That's wrong, too. Money-lending was a business into which the medieval church forced Jews, because the church concluded that charging interest was unnatural (money should not beget money). Yet people needed, then and now, to take out loans. The issue for the Gospel is not money lending but money changing. These money changers exchanged the various currencies of the Roman Empire into Tyrian shekels, the type of silver coin that the Temple accepted. We experience the same process when we visit a foreign country and have to exchange our money for the local currency.

So, if Jesus is not condemning the Temple itself, or financial exploitation, or purity practices, what is he condemning? Let's look at what the Gospels actually say.

According to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, ...the concern is not the Temple, but the attitude of the people who are coming to it.

In Mark's account Jesus begins by saying, "Is it not written, 'My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations?" (11:17). Indeed, it is so written. Jesus is here condensing and then quoting Isaiah 56:6-7... Jesus' rhetorical question should be answered with a resounding “Yes!"--for the Temple already was a house of prayer for all people. More, he is standing in the Court of the Gentiles when he makes his pronouncement. ...Thus, the problem is not that the Temple excludes Gentiles.

Already we find the challenge, and the risk. Are churches Today houses of prayer for all people, or are they just for people who look like us, walk like us, and talk like us?

How do we make other people feel welcome? Is the stranger greeted upon walking into the church? Is the first thing a stranger hears in the sanctuary, "You're in my seat"? When we pray or sing hymns, do we think of what those words would sound like in a stranger's ears? ...

Matthew and Luke drop out "For all nations," and appropriately so, for they knew it already was a house of prayer for all nations. Matthew and Luke thus change the focus to one of prayer. And prayer gets us closer to what is going on in the Synoptic tradition.

___________

Den of Thieves

Jesus continues, ‘But you are making it a den of robbers’ (Matthew 21:13). Here he is quoting Jeremiah 7:11: “Has this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your sight?”

A "den of robbers" (sometimes translated a "den of thieves") is not where robbers rob. "Den” really means "cave," and a cave of robbers is where robbers go after they have taken what does not belong to them, and count up their loot. The context of Jeremiah's quotation -- and remember, it always helps to look up the context of citations to the Old Testament -- tells us this.

Jeremiah 7:9-10 depicts the ancient prophet as condemning the people of his own time, the time right before Babylonians destroyed Solomon's Temple over five hundred years earlier: “Will you steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, make offerings to Baal, and go after other gods that you have not known, and then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, ‘We are safe!’ -- only to go on doing all these abominations?"

Some people in Jeremiah's time, and at the time of Jesus, and today, take divine mercy for granted and see worship as an opportunity to show off new clothes rather than recommit to clothing the naked. The present-day comparison to what Jeremiah, and Jesus, condemned is easy to make: The church member sins during the workweek, either by doing what is wrong or by failing to do what is right. Then on Sunday morning this same individual, perhaps convinced of personal righteousness, heartily sings the hymns, happily shakes the hands of others, and generously puts a fifty-collar bill in the collection plate. That makes the church a den of robbers -- a cave of sinners. It becomes a safe place for those who are not truly repentant and who do not truly follow what Jesus asks. The church becomes a place of showboating, not of fishing for people.

Jeremiah and Jesus indicted people then, and now. The ancient Temple, and the present-day church, should be places where people not only find community, welcome the stranger, and repent of their sins. They should be places where people promise to live a godly life, and then keep their promises. ...

___________

Stop Making My Father's House a Marketplace

John's Gospel says nothing about the house of prayer or den of robbers. In John's Gospel, Jesus starts not simply by overturning the tables, but also by using a “whip of cords" (since weapons were not permitted in the Temple, he may have fashioned the whip from straw at hand), and driving out the vendors. Jesus when says to the dove sellers, "Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father's house a marketplace!" (John 2:16). He is alluding to Zechariah 14:21, the last verse from this prophet, "and every cooking pot in Jerusalem and Judah shall be sacred to the Lord of hosts, so that all who sacrifice may come and use them to boil the flesh of the sacrifice. And there shall no longer be traders in the house of the Lord of hosts on that day."

In John's version of the Temple incident, Jesus anticipates the time when there will no longer be a need for vendors, for every house not only in Jerusalem but in all of Judea shall be like the Temple itself. The sacred nature of the Temple will spread through all the people. He sounds somewhat like the Pharisees here, since the Pharisees were interested in extending the holiness of the Temple to every household.

The message is a profound one: Can our homes be as sanctified, as filled with Worship, as the local church?

Do we “do our best" on Sunday From 11 a.m. to 12 noon, but just engage in business is usual during the workweek? Do we pray only in church, or is prayer part of our daily practice? Do we celebrate the gifts of God only when it is time to do so in the worship service, or do we celebrate these gifts morning to night? Is the church just a building, or is the church the community who gathers in Jesus' name, who acts as Jesus taught, who lives the good news?

Jesus' words, citing Zechariah, do even more. They anticipate a time when all peoples, all nations, can worship in peace, and in love. There is no separation between home and house of worship, because the entire land lives in a sanctified state. Perhaps we can even hear a hint of Jeremiah's teaching of the "new covenant," when "no longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, 'Know the LORD,’ For they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the LORD; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more" (Jeremiah 31:34). Can we envision this? Can we work toward it? ...

#amy jill levine #flipping tables #the cleansing of the temple #lent #bible study #reading and studying the bible #spring 2021 #lent 2021 #gospels #long post #readings #countering antisemitism

60 notes · View notes

johannas-motivational-insults · 4 years ago

Text

Jo’s Top 10 of 2020

I see lots of artists doing that thing where they post a piece from each month of the year... unfortunately my content creation isn’t necessarily consistent and it’s hard to track what month individual fic chapters were posted in, but I figured I’d do something similar and post my Top 10 pieces of content I created in 2020, what they’re about and why I love them. I actually did get a fair amount done this year thanks to the lockdown, but I’ve narrowed it down to these ten that I’d like to reflect on. (To be fair, I’m probably forgetting something huge. Feel free to leave comments if you think I passed over something important lol.)

10. Friendship in the Horde (meta): This is something I’d wanted to write for a while but finally got around to finishing in February. It’s basically a sociology paper lmao, an analysis of the social hierarchies and systems of the Horde. It was also a convenient excuse for me to gush about Catralonnie, an underrated (friend)ship. But honestly this was an important piece for me because I have always identified with the Horde characters way more than any of the rebels (other than Adora, who grew up in the Horde) and part of why is how they are in an unsafe environment and end up forming relationships that are helpful for survival but hinder them psychologically. And I think to understand the Horde characters and really evaluate their motives and choices you need to understand this first.

9. The Sting in My Eyes: On the surface this is just a run of the mill hurt/comfort oneshot, but it was a really important post-canon processing fic for me. I had a lot of feelings about Catra’s relationships with Shadow Weaver and Melog in season 5, particularly about how Catra must have felt really conflicted after Shadow Weaver told her what she wanted to hear all those years but in a way that felt unearned and out of the blue. It was really cathartic for me to write a scene where she struggles with those mixed feelings but has Adora and Melog to help her process them. And I had long associated the song the title is from with Catra and Shadow Weaver’s relationship, and the way she died trying to redeem herself really solidified that connection.

8. Hail Mary, chapter 6: This was supposed to be a short chapter mostly about the backstory between Catra and Scorpia in this au, with some Catradora yearning thrown in. It evolved into a massive, sprawling thing that is very atmospheric in terms of how the setting and vibes are described and how in the moment it feels. Hail Mary is like that sometimes but that type of narration is usually about football games rather than parties, so this chapter was a fun change of pace in many ways. It was really nostaglic for me to write too, the nerves of being a teenager at a party with your crush and how intense everything feels. And the Scorptra stuff really is delicious, it was nice seeing them have that conversation they never got to have in canon and truly make up, and the tiny sliver I added of Catra’s earlier history was heartbreaking in the best way. So this was not what I intended to write, but it turned out way better for it.

7. A Better Son or Daughter (AMV): I’ve done other Adora AMVs, but this one is really my iconic piece. The song is perfect for Adora, so perfect it’s on Noelle’s Adora playlist. The vid itself is a character study about Adora’s mental health struggles and the way she represses them, as well as a tribute to her resiliency and her eventual triumph of getting to a better place in her life. This is a song that gives me a lot of feelings and once I was making it about Adora it gave me even more, so this was a very satisfying piece to complete. I wish Noelle had gotten a chance to see it but oh well, maybe down the line.

6. Hail Mary, chapter 12: This is the chapter that much of the fic had been building to, Catra and Adora in conflict because Catra finally got the chance to be Adora’s hero and Adora shot her down. It’s painfully analogous to canon, both in terms of how (I suspect) Catra felt in Thaymor and Adora’s tendency to victim blame because she’s so pragmatic. There’s definitely some tones of Taking Control in there but Lonnie does a much better job of examining Catra’s psychology and needs than Glimmer did in canon (a writing error imo, Glimmer should have had more insight). Adora just wants to help but sometimes in her quest to do so she disenfranchises others, and this was a much needed look at that aspect of her character. It’s also an excellent illustration of what it’s like to play a peacekeeping role in an abusive household and how stressful it is trying to protect others while also protecting yourself.

5. Unstoppable (AMV): This is not my favorite Catra AMV I’ve ever done, but it might be the cleverest. The soundtrack is a song about mental illness masquerading as a song about being a bad bitch, which is basically Catra in a nutshell. The lyrics are incredibly fitting for her and her arc as it develops over seasons 1-4. The vid itself takes a hard turn in the interpretation of the lyrics, going from talking about how no one can stop Catra to how she can’t stop herself because she’s in such a terrible sunk cost fallacy spiral, and I think I got several death threats over that twist lmao. As someone who primarily deals in angst, there’s hardly a better compliment to be paid.

4. Demons, chapter 31: This one got real dark on me. The concept of this chapter was originally an examination of how comparing abuse can get really dicey but you also have to respect that other people have had different experiences from you and you have to be careful not to equate things or make it sound like you’re talking over someone else. I guess it’s also a bit of a look at how autistic people (like myself) will often explain why they can empathize so others know they understand rather than saying empty platitudes, but that can come off as insensitive or like they’re making things about them. I mean, in this case Adora kinda was making things about her, but she was provoked into it by a parade of comments insinuating she didn’t suffer at all, which was also unfair. Anyway it’s one of the more important Catradora fights in Demons and something I’d written bits of over a year prior, it was that important to the plot, but it also took a turn I was not originally planning. I finished the chapter when I was in a really bad depressive and self-loathing spiral and that bled onto the page, but it worked perfectly for Catra in this scenario... that push and pull of feeling like the world has hurt and victimized you mixed with knowing you’ve done some bad things yourself and feeling like you don’t have a leg to stand on when mourning the ways you’ve been hurt. It’s intense as all fuck but it’s excellent.

3. Hail Mary, chapter 11: Speaking of dark Catra content, this chapter... whew. It was really something else, to read and to write. I have written flashbacks in Demons that are more detailed and even include explicit violence but because those scenes are always in flashback form I never really got the chance to sit in the head of an abuse victim waiting for the other shoe to drop for an entire chapter like I did here. It’s quite different from the rest of Hail Mary stylistically and is both highly sensory and extremely internalized. It took me back to some terrifying moments in my own life so it was difficult but also extremely cathartic to write. It’s important too because it really sets up where Catra was at mentally heading into her big fight with Adora, and that chapter is in Adora POV. This chapter is ranked so high simply because it’s... polished, as @malachi-walker put it. It almost is its own story within the story and really noteworthy as a piece all its own.

2. Demons, chapter 26: This chapter is very similar thematically to Hail Mary 12, just based in the canonverse. It deals with one of the core (but highly neglected by fandom) conflicts between Catra and Adora, where they both need to feel like they can take care of and protect the other but also detest feeling weak or vulnerable themselves. It leads to Adora’s ego making Catra feel disrespected and Catra’s behavior confusing Adora and making her think she’s an ungrateful brat rather than someone who needs so badly to be needed, just like her. There’s definitely some power struggles in this chapter but finally they’re able to get to the heart of it and seeing them talk it out is so satisfying. Getting this chapter published was also important to me on a personal level because, like I said, this aspect of their conflict and relationship is rarely acknowleged for how important it is when really it’s one of the deepest conflicts between them in the series. It’s a scene I started writing pretty much as soon I knew I was extending the fic into something longer because I just needed them to have this conversation, so finishing it was so satisfying.

1. Satisfaction, chapter 3: This chapter took me a really long time to write, both in terms of time to get it published and time I actually spent working on it. It’s the crown jewel of a fic that’s really important to me and I had to get it just right, so I spent more time agonizing over every detail and rewriting things to get them absolutely perfect than I usually do (I’m a perfectionist anyway, but this took it to a whole other level). But in the end it was worth it, because this chapter is damn fine. It’s really hot, as you’d expect from a smut fic, but it’s also an excellent character study of how both Catra and Adora were affected by their abuse and trauma and the issues it raises for them in terms of sex and intimacy. Also, come on, we need more BDSM fics out there that focus on the actual point of it all (the trust involved) and promote communication and do the character work to explain why they might be into it in the first place.

BONUS (from December 31, 2019): One of my favorite pieces of 2020 technically came out in 2019, but I posted it on New Years Eve so most people first saw it in 2020. It’s an absolute banger of an AMV called I’m Not Jesus that’s all about Catra and Adora’s anger towards Shadow Weaver and their refusal to forgive their abuser. Funny enough this came out before Adora’s iconic “I will never forgive you” line, and Shadow Weaver definitely made things more complicated with how she went out, but I think the sentiment still applies.

#2020 recap #happy new year #writing #vidding #fanfic #spop #catradora #demons #hail mary #satisfaction #the sting in my eyes #a better son/daughter #unstoppable #i’m not jesus

69 notes · View notes

dweemeister · 4 years ago

Photo

The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953)

Theodore Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss, remains best-known for his children’s books. The Cat in the Hat; Green Eggs and Ham; and Oh, the Places You’ll Go! are household names in English-language literature. Seuss’ bibliography overshadows his work in films, beginning with the adapted screenplay of his own book, The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins (1943) – directed by George Pal as part of the Puppetoons series. During WWII, Seuss was heavily involved in propaganda films and the Private Snafu (1943-1946) military training films. After the war’s end, Seuss returned to writing children’s books, but also continued to write for movies. The Academy Award-winning animated short film Gerald McBoing-Boing (1950) benefitted from Seuss’ story work, and Seuss’ success there inspired him to write a screenplay for a live-action fantasy film. That screenplay – the unwieldy rough draft coming in at over 1,200 pages – was The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T. The eventual movie, produced by Stanley Kramer (1960’s Inherit the Wind, 1961’s Judgment at Nuremberg) and directed by Roy Rowland (1945’s Our Vines Have Tender Grapes, 1956’s Meet Me in Las Vegas) for Columbia Pictures, would be Seuss’ only involvement in a non-documentary feature film.

Like many who speak English as their first language, Dr. Seuss’ books graced my early childhood. So integral to numerous children’s youth is Seuss that his whimsy, wordplay, and authorial stamps are easily recognizable. In that spirit, the cinematic record of live-action Seuss adaptations consists of the scatological Jim Carrey in How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000) and the visual nightmare that is Mike Myers as The Cat in the Hat (2003). Compared to the original works, both films are ungainly, casually cruel, and overcomplicated. Not promising company for Dr. T. But even taking into account the three animated feature adaptations of Seuss – Horton Hears a Who! (2008), The Lorax (2012), and The Grinch (2018) – and the fact that Columbia forced wholesale deletions from the rough draft script of Dr. T to achieve a feasible runtime, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is arguably the most faithful feature adaptation to Dr. Seuss’ authorial intent and signature aesthetic.

In other words, this is one of the strangest films you may ever encounter. No synopsis I could write in one paragraph will ever capture the film’s bizarreries.

Little Bart Collins (Tommy Rettig) is asleep during piano practice and his teacher, Dr. Terwilliker (Hans Conried), is furious. His overworked, widowed mother Heloise (Mary Healey) intuits Terwilliker’s unrealistic expectations (Terwilliker wants to teach the next Paderewski) towards Bart’s piano skills and inability to concentrate. Heloise also appears to be quietly eyeing the plumber August Zabladowski (Peter Lind Hayes) and his wrench. With the lesson done for the day, Bart falls asleep again. This time, he dreams that Terwilliker is now the leader of the Terwilliker Institute, a pianist supremacy mini-state which is built upon five hundred young pianist slave boys (hence, 5,000 fingers) forcibly playing Terwilliker’s latest compositions. His mother is Terwilliker’s unwilling, hypnotized assistant and plumber August Zabladowski (Hayes is essentially playing the same character, but in a different world) is Bart’s only ally around. Together, Bart and Mr. Zabladowski must evade the Institute’s guards as they attempt to undermine Terwilliker’s plans for his next concert.

In its final form, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is a muddled mess of a story. The analogues between Bart’s reality and his dreams are inconsistent, several would-be subplots never resolve (or at the very least develop beyond a basic idea), and the film’s initial lightness is subject to rapid mood swings that make this picture feel disjointed. Indeed, Seuss’ sprawling social commentary in his first draft – including allegories and themes of post-WWII totalitarianism, anti-communism, and atomic annihilation – is in tatters in this final product. The viewer will witness brief fragments of those ideas, remaining in this movie as the barest of hints of the contents of the original screenplay’s rough draft. Even now, Dr. T inspires psychiatric analyses and accusations that Bart’s relationship with his mother reveals signs of an Oedipal complex (to yours truly, the latter is too much of a reach). The grim nature of Terwilliker Institute renders Dr. T unsuitable for the youngest children. For older children and adults, try going into this movie without expectations of narrative logic and embrace the grotesque aspects that only Seuss could imagine.

If my attempts to describe this movie’s preposterousness through its narrative and screenwriting approach have failed, perhaps I can capture that for you by writing on its technical features.

youtube

For its sheer narrative inventiveness – inconsistencies, abrupt tonal shifts, nonsense, and Rowland’s uninspired direction aside – The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is nevertheless an ambitious film, and Columbia bequeathed a hefty budget to match that ambition. Much of that budget went to the film’s visuals. This is an extravagantly-staged motion picture, as nothing could do Dr. Seuss’ illustrations justice without fully committing to his geometric impossibilities: skyward ladders and improbable connections between rooms, an eschewal of right angles and straight lines, and architecture bound to raise the ire of physics teachers. One could compare this to German Expressionism, but Dr. T’s sets tend not to dictate the film’s mood nor are they subject to high-contrast lighting. Seuss went uncredited as the concept artist on Dr. T, and it was up to Clem Beauchamp (1935’s The Lives of a Bengal Lancer, 1952’s High Noon) and the uncredited matte artists to commit those visuals to the real world. Outside of animated film, Beauchamp and the matte artists succeed in creating twisted sets that seem to leap off the pages of Seuss’ most artistically interesting books. Some of the sets appear too stagebound, but the production design accomplishes its need to resemble a world borne from a fever dream (or, at least, a young pianist’s nightmare).

This movie’s outrageous costume design (other than Jean Louis’ gowns for Mary Healey, the costume designer/s for this film are uncredited) comprises absurd uniforms and two of the most ludicrous hats – the “happy fingers” cap (see photo at the top of this write-up) and whatever the hell Terwilliker dons in the film’s climax – one might ever see in a film. Most of the costumes are laughably impractical and ridiculous to even those without fashion sense. In what might be the tamest example, while working under Terwilliker, Bart’s mother wears a suit that is all business formal on the left-hand side and bare-shouldered, sleeveless, and nightclub-y on the right. The delineation of real life – which barely features in the film’s eighty-nine minutes – and this world of Bart’s dreams could not be any more unambiguous thanks to the combination of the production and costume design work.

The disappointing musical score by Fredrich Hollaender (1930’s The Blue Angel, 1948’s A Foreign Affair) and song lyrics by Seuss rarely connects to the larger narrative unfolding. Seven songs make the final print, with nine (yikes!) Hollaender-Seuss songs ending up on the cutting room floor. Seuss’ wordplay is evident, as are Hollaender’s melodic flourishes. Columbia, a studio not known for its musicals, assembled a 98-piece orchestra – the largest musical ensemble to work on a Columbia film at the time – for The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T alone. That lush sound is apparent throughout for the numerous nonsense songs that color the score in addition to the incidental score. It is unusual to listen to a collection of novelty songs orchestrated so fully. Listen to “Dressing Song: Do-Mi-Do Duds” and its complicated, seeming unsingable lines:

Come on and dress me, dress me, dress me In my peek-a-boo blouse With the lovely inner lining made of Chesapeake mouse! I want my polka-dotted dickie with the crinoline fringe For I'm going doe-me-doe-ing on a doe-me-doe binge!

The rich orchestration seems to hail from a more lavish film. But too many of these songs are scene-specific, and rarely does Hollaender utilize musical quotations from these songs into his score. “Get Together Weather” is delightful, but it seems so isolated from the rest of the film; elsewhere, “The Dungeon Song” exemplifies a macabre side to Seuss seldom appearing in his books. Nevertheless, Hollaender is able to demonstrate his playfulness across the entire film, none moreso during any scene with the bearded, roller-skating twins and the “Dungeon Ballet”, in which the music complements stunning choreography and fascinating props that recall the jingtinglers, floofloovers, tartookas, whohoopers, slooslunkas, and whowonkas from the Christmas television special How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966). Yet, Hollaender’s film score and the soundtrack with Seuss seems to demand something – anything – to tie the entire compositional effort together. Perhaps a song or some cue like that was cut from the film, which is ultimately to its detriment.

Hans Conried (who starred as Captain Hook in Disney’s Peter Pan several months prior to Dr. T’s release) stands out from a decidedly average Peter Lind Hayes and Mary Healey – Hayes and Healey, in a sort of in-joke, were married. Conried’s performance as the sadistic, torture- and imprisonment-happy music teacher can be considered camp, but this is anything but “bad” camp. He throws himself completely into this cartoonish role, sans shame, complete with mid-Atlantic accent, and topped off with exaggerated facial and physical acting that fits this fantasy. As Bart, child actor Tommy Rettig (best known as Jeff Miller on the CBS television series Lassie) seems more assured in his performance than most child performers his age during the 1950s. His fourth wall-breaking asides seem more appropriate in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, but Rettig makes it work, and inhabits Bart’s flaws wonderfully.

Columbia demanded numerous reworkings of Seuss’ script, leading to several reshoots – most notably the opening scene (Seuss opposed the conceit of Bart’s dream framing the film) – and a ballooning budget. Upon its release in the summer of 1953, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T bombed at the box office and was assailed by critics. A crestfallen Seuss, who could not stand the production difficulties that beset the film from the start of shooting, would never work in feature films again. He would dedicate himself almost entirely to writing and illustrating children’s books, with many of his most popular titles (including The Cat in the Hat, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, and Green Eggs and Ham) published within a decade of Dr. T’s critical and commercial failure. His hesitance to participate in filmmaking informed his reluctance to allow Chuck Jones to adapt How the Grinch Stole Christmas! thirteen years later. Animation suited his books, Seuss thought, and he would never again pay any consideration to live-action filmmaking.

The reevaluation of The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T has seen a rehabilitation of the film’s image in recent decades. Home media releases and television showings have introduced the film to viewers not influenced by the hyperbolic negativity of the film critics working in 1953. This is not a sterling example of Old Hollywood fantasy filmmaking, due to a heavily gutted screenplay, scattershot thematic development, and incongruent musical score. Yet, the movie’s surrealistic charms and Seussian chaos know no peers, even in the present day.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T #The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T.#Dr. Seuss #Roy Rowland #Peter Lind Hayes #Mary Healy #Hans Conried #Tommy Rettig #Allan Scott #Stanley Kramer #Frederick Hollander #Rudolph Sternad #Cary Odell #William Kiernan #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

14 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

Hi!!!!!!!!!! I just saw your playlist for the indruck rockstar au so naturally I had to go and reread the whole entire thing in one go this morning and I just wanted to say how much I Love it and the way you write that whole scenario, especially with the way you incorporated the music lyrics??? (Especially since you wrote a bunch of those????) chefs kiss. I was wondering if you had ever written or planned out any of the sternclay that happened before this story took place because the way you described what we got of how they got together sounded so amazing and I would Die to hear their point of view. Hope you have a wonderful weekend!!!!!!!!!

Thank you so much! I’m really proud of that fic, and it seems to have been one a lot of folks really enjoyed. And well, when you asked this, it got me thinking. So here’s a brief history of how Stern and Barclay got together in this universe. Heads up: it is NSFW

That didn’t go as planned.

Joseph only meant to alert The Cryptids to the fact their manager was clearly skimming off the top and downplaying offers for further connections in the business before turning every ounce of charm he could muster on Barclay. He came to fuck bigfoot, not change careers.

Now he’s packing up the second of his two suitcases, conversation with his parents still ringing in his ears. They’re not taking the fact that he’s dropping out of college to manage an up and coming, horror rock, very gay band particularly well and have tried twice to talk him out of it. Which is why he’s glad he went through all the bureaucratic steps before calling them.

He’s never been more terrified or excited in his life. He’s sure he can do this, he’s already booked them four more gigs in a logical tour path, found a better system for making their merch, and is tracking down a promising P.R lead. It’s the close quarters that scare him the most; he’s certain he could charm Barclay for an evening, could get the others to like him enough to hang around back stage once or twice. But for months on end? What if they think he’s prissy, or too perfectionistic, or too normal?

What if Barclay hates him?

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

“I must admit, I’d have thought you would have made a move on Joseph by now.” Indrid says before pulling a sweater on over his head. It gets caught on his glasses, and he flails until Barclay helps it the rest of the way down. They’re somewhere south of Madison, the van cutting a lonely path down the dark road; it’s so late, and they’re on one of those vast, distinctly midwestern stretches where there’s nothing but night sky and fields. Jake drives, tapping the wheel in time with the radio while Joseph sleeps in the passenger seat and Vincent sprawls on the far back one.

“Kinda weird to hit on your manager, right?” Barclay peers warily around the passenger seat to be double sure the manager in question isn’t listening. He isn’t, lips parted slightly and dark hair falling in his face as his sleeping body is tilted this way and that by the motion of the car.

“Not when the manager looks like that and has already broadcasted his eagerness to fuck you.”

Barclay can’t really argue that first point; Joseph walked into that sorry excuse for a dressing room looking like centerfold come to life. There’s a certain kind of fan of theirs who spends their daily life buttoned up and following the rules, and Joseph struck him as exactly that kind of self-repressing, well groomed gym bunny. They’re always the most fun fans to fuck, in his experience. Couple that with the fact Joseph was (is) hot and willing, Barclay would have happily called dibs on the van for an hour to fuck him senseless that first night. But now…

“I dunno, he hasn’t really flirted with me since we met. And even then he didn’t flirt much.”

“The lecture on Haye’s deficits did start about two seconds after he entered the room.”

“Yeah” Barclay sighs fondly at the memory, “maybe he’s just not interested now that he’s seen me offstage.”

“Or maybe you’re both acting from the same vein of professionalism. Which is not terribly punk rock.”

“I’m being myself” Barclay grumbles “that’s-”

“The most punk rock thing you can be.” Indrid finishes, nodding sagely. Then he smirks, “but that doesn’t change the fact Joseph wants to get into those leather pants of yours. Why do you think he keeps recommending the stage outfits that involve them?”

“Hey, I like that look too. It’s my idea as much as it’s his.”

“Mmmmhmm.” Indrid yawns, rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder. Then he sings in his ear “Baby you got the clothes, baby he’s got the romance, you’ve got the moves so while you’ve got the chance, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna-”

Barclay elbows him sideways onto the seat, making them both giggle like they’re ten and wrestling on the trampoline in his backyard.

“Enough with the prophecies, Mothman.”

“That was hardly a prophecy.” Indrid sticks his legs into Barclays laugh, “but very well. I will leave you to pine for as long as you please.”

Barclay spares another glance towards the front of the car.

“I’m not pining. I just want him to like me.”

A snore in reply, Indrid out with his arms sprawled in different directions. Barclay chuckles softly, roots around for one of their two pillows, and settles his head against the window. He doesn’t shut his eyes right away; instead he watches the lights of distant houses and stars race past, melding into the reflection of Joseph’s sleeping face.

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

“I bought us ten more minutes, I cannot believe they didn’t warn us this was a double appearance. I’ll-” Joseph finishes shutting the van door and promptly grips it so hard it leaves an indent in his palm.

The band is in various states of rapid undress, trying to get back into their first set of outfits, and smack in the center of the tableau is Barclay, naked from the waist down.

“-I’ll be more thorough going, um, going forward. See you all backstage.”

He can’t scramble out of the vehicle fast enough, finds one of the two functioning bathrooms in the place and locks himself in without a second thought. Leans against the graffiti coated door and shoves his hand down pants, a little embarrassed at how turned on he is just from one peek at Barclay’s dick. That doesn’t stop him from picturing it as he shoves two fingers into himself and jacks off like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. The smell of two kinds of smoke, the half dead bulb, the din of the crowd gathering in the building all make him harder; he’s so desperately horny for his bassist he’ll make himself cum in a shitty dive bathroom. The thought has him moaning, and he covers his mouth with his free hand as he cums.

With a much clearer head, he washes his hands and leaves to round up his band. It’s better this way, better for him to get off alone than put Barclay in a weird position by his manager coming onto him. That’d be weird for everyone; this way is much easier.

Ten minutes later, standing in the shadowy steps and watching The Cryptids perform, Barclay growling and sweat-soaked, giving Indrid a messy, open-mouthed kiss when the singer initiates it, he knows it won’t be easy at all.

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

They’ve done it; Joseph helped the others successfully sign with Amnesty Records, securing them a re-release of their first album at higher quality and with wider distribution, a massive U.S tour, and more money up front than any of them have ever seen. Amnesty sees promise in them, and Barclay knows they can deliver. They celebrated for two nights solid, and now reality sets in; Indrid is locked in a hotel room, writing like he’s possessed by the ghost of several rockstars at once, Vincent and Jake are trying to find places to live now that they’re based in Atlanta, and Barclay…

Barclay is standing in a half-furnished apartment that doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to Joseph, currently hopping on and off the phone while Barclay waits for dinner to arrive. In a perfect world he would have just cooked, but given how Joseph’s been the last few weeks, he’s worried that gesture of intimacy might freak him out. The manager was in meetings all day and is still in his suit, a forty dollar one they bought in a strip mall at the edge of town. On him it looks like it cost a thousand dollars just for the slacks. The slacks Barclay is failing very hard at not staring at. Joseph isn’t even twenty-one, but he’s been working deals like a pro, and it is the hottest fucking thing Barclay has ever seen.

He tries distracting himself from his unhelpful gay thoughts via distressing images. All he comes up with is having to steal Indrid’s phone from him after the singer called his family for the first time in almost three years. Whether that was to deliver a final fuck you or toss a hail Mary of reconciliation their way, Barclay isn’t sure. All he knows is he watched Indrid’s face take a turn, old hurts smothering the spark in his eyes, and he took the phone away while someone yelled on the other end of it.

“How are your parents taking it?” Joseph looks up from the laptop on the kitchen table where he’s entering dates into a calendar.

Barclay smiles, “Good. Pretty sure they’ve told everyone in the family the good news. Alice can get a chain email out like nobody’s business. They say they love me and are proud of me and that I have to promise to still come home for Christmas every now and then.”

Joseph smiles back, open for a moment before a guard slips back up. Barclay tucks his hands in his pockets, psyching himself up. He has to do this. He has to know.

“Have I, like, made you angry or something? You’ve just been standoffish lately.”

“Working out everything for the contract has been so stressful I’m not sure anyone but the execs have seen much of me.” The answer is well-rehearsed.

“Oh.” Barclay nods, hands still in his pockets and shoulders slouched.

“And, um, and they haven’t gone away. My feelings for you.” This answer is far quieter, the other man looking up from the screen with fearful eyes.

“That’s a...bad thing? But I, uh, I, like you too. I like so fucking much.”

A little puff of laughter, “I can tell. Believe me, I can. It’s just that being your manager is different than being a random fan looking for a hook-up; I might want something you’re not ready to give, or vice versa, and if we rush into things it could fuck up everything you guys worked for. Everything we worked for.”

Barclay cautiously steps forward, “What if we took things slow? Like, really slow.”

Hope sneaks into the corners of Joseph’s eyes, “What would that look like?”

“Like we go step by step, with first dates and like, hand holding and shit. We can take as long as we want; I mean, unless you’re planning on ditching the next big thing in the music world, think we’re gonna have plenty of time to spend together.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Barclay circles the table as Joseph stands. He cups his cheek, running his thumb up his cheekbone.

“Hey.”

“Hi” Joseph’s eyes have taken on a distinctly Bambi-ish shape.

“You wanna go get dinner tomorrow?”

The other man loops his arms around his shoulders, “Absolutely.”

Their first kiss comes less than twenty four hours; they may be taking it slow, but there’s only so much two men who’ve been pining in the confines of a van for months can take. It’s soft and popcorn scented and Joseph holds his hand the entire time.

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

Joseph waits in the dressing room, ears ringing from the sound system and the screaming crowd. It’s the first time The Cryptids have played any sort of true arena, and they sold out the show a week in advance.

Barclay clomps into the room in his combat boots, grinning as soon as he sees him. He’s dripping with sweat, his eyeliner is a little smudged, and even though he isn’t the lead vocalist, he has enough backing vocals that his voice is a touch raw when he speaks.

“Fuck that was fun.”

“You all did so well. I, this is going to sound corny, but I’m so proud of you.”

“Should be proud of yourself too, babe. Without you, we’d probably still be playing no-name bars in Des Moines or Fresno.”

“Managing is easy when the talent’s this good.” He runs his hands up Barclays’ fishnet-clad chest.

“Take the compliment, blue eyes.”

High on pride and the knowledge that at least a third of the crowd would commit a felony to take his place, Joseph pinches Barclay’s left nipple, “No.”

Barclay growls, grabbing his lapels and yanking him into a salty, toothy kiss. He moans in reply, drops his hands down to undo Barclay’s fly so he can grind against him, feel him getting hard through his dress pants.

“You really wanna do that here, babe? Don’t wanna make our first time all soft sheets and candlelight?” Barclay rubs the top button of Joseph’s shirt between his thumb and finger.

“Yes, I want you and I want you now”

Barclay lunges, shoving him back until his ass hits the dressing room table.

“Fine” he grunts, getting his cock out while Joseph kicks one leg free of his pants, “can’t take a compliment, gonna take something else.”

“OHmylord, fuck, fucking finally.” He thunks his head back against the mirror as Barclay sets a ferocious tempo.

“Shit, you feel even better than I thought you would, and I’ve been, fuck, thinking about it for a long fucking time. Ever since you walked into that shitty dressing room in those tight shorts and shirt with my name on it.”

“Nnhng” He spreads his legs wider at the memory.

“Oh you fucking like that, don’t you babe? That why you wanted to do this here? So I could treat you like the horny fucking fanboy you really are?”

“Yes, ohmylord, yes, yes.” He can’t feel anything but the points where they connect, can’t hear anything beyond Barclay’s growls in his ear and the slap of skin on skin.

“Fuck” Barclay pulls his hair with one hand, shoves his knee further up with the other, “shoulda known, even with that fancy suit all you wanna be is my fucking toy.” It’s a snarl, the hottest sound he’s ever heard and he drags Barclay into another kiss, amazed that he feels close to cumming already.

Knockknock.

Barclay turns his head towards the door, Joseph muffling his panting breath in his shoulder.

“Uh, who is it?”

“Mothman. The winners of that drawing are back here to meet us.”

“Shit” Joseph hisses, starting to sit up only for strong hands to trap him in place.

“Cool. Uh, gimme like” Barclay looks down to where his cock is buried into Joseph, “three minutes?”

The smile in Indrid’s voice is unmistakable, “Of course. I still need to find Vincent. See you soon.”

“Three minutes seems optimisticAH, ohgod” He holds on for dear life as Barclay fucks him with sharp, deep thrusts. A calloused hand finds his dick and Joseph bites down on a broad shoulder to keep from alerting everyone in the vicinity to his impending orgasm.

“That’s it babe, cum for me, cum on my cock in a backroom like the horny, needy thing you are.” Barclay stills his hips, hand working with slick, messy movements until Joseph cums. He doesn’t wait for him to finish all the way before slamming into him for ten of the best seconds of Stern’s life and cumming with a deep moan.

“Fucking-A that was good.”

“Good is an understatement.”

“I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.”

A kiss on the head as Barclay helps him onto the ground, a flurry of putting their clothes into a rough approximation of order. Then Barclay kisses him again as Joseph strokes his hair.

“Offer of soft sheets and candlelight still stands.”

Joseph holds him tighter, smiling against his neck, “I guess we know what we’re doing tomorrow night.”

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

It’s the last day of recording the tracks for “Blood on the Mirror” and the mood is bittersweet. After this, there’s one more tour and then The Cryptids go their separate ways. It was time, everyone but Indrid and Jake ready to move on to other projects, and Joseph is already on board to manage Indrid’s solo career (“I’d trust it to no one else, Joseph. I mean it”). All the same, when the final track is deemed done, everyone applauds and embraces like they’re going off to war.

He heads down to his office to finish reading over venue contracts while the band packs up, but he only gets through one before Barclay appears.

“Hey, blue eyes.”

“Hi, Bigfoot.” Joseph stands and comes to the door to kiss him, “are you already set to go home.”

“More or less” Barclay rubs his arm, his most consistent anxiety tell, “uh, there’s just one thing I gotta ask before we leave.”

Hushed voices down the hall, but no one there when Joseph looks behind him to check. When he turns back, his hands fly up to cover his mouth. Barclay is down on one knee.

“I, uh, I know this might not be the most, uh, traditional spot to do this but it feels right. I’ve just been thinking about how a huge chapter of my life is coming to a close and there’s this whole new, exciting, terrifying blank page where I have to write the next one. And I, I realized that I want you to be in that chapter with me, and the next one, and the one after that. So, uh, what I want to know is: Joseph Stern, will you marry me?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to come out with intelligible words.

“Oh thank god.” Barclay springs up, cupping his face and spinning him in a kiss. Joseph laughs as whooping cheers echo towards them. Indrid, Jake, and Vincent, are peering around the nearest corner, beaming.

“Indrid is for sure going to say I told you so the second he gets me alone” Barclay chuckles, “I was so afraid you’d say no because things will be kind of up in the air for the next few years.”

Joseph turns his face back towards him, “You’re right, they will. But I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend them with.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #rockstar au #TAZ amnesty

20 notes · View notes

thecuriousblitz · 5 years ago

Text

Hopes for RWBY Vol. 8: A commitment from RT to do better by their queer mlm fans

I waited until the end of Vol. 7 to put this out there, in case there was a Hail Mary fix-it that, while not able to erase how Fairgame was handled, would at least shed some light on certain narrative decisions.

And so when RT started peddling paired Qrow/Clover pins and a ‘Born Unlucky’ Qrow drinking cup after weeks of radio silence, I said to myself - calmly - well fuck.

Having worked as both a writer and marketer for a games company and several creative agencies, I know it takes gallons of blood, sweat and tears to make a show like RWBY shine. For that, CRWBY has my utmost respect. I also know that the directors, writing, animation and marketing departments of a commercially significant project are typically very connected and cross-communicative - for many reasons, but mainly to avoid preventable shitshows.

That’s why the idea that no one important knew about and therefore can’t be held responsible for the prolonged queerteasing engaged in by several animators and marketing staff is friggin’ bizarre.

In criminal law, the severity of the punishment often hinges on the presence of mens rea, or a ‘guilty mind’. For example, if it’s proven you both intended to and did kill someone, you go down for murder. If you’re drunk and run over someone, it’s manslaughter - a lesser crime, but a crime nonetheless because harm was caused through recklessness or negligence. ie. You should have fucking known.

I don’t think there’s enough to prove intent to harm, but holy shit if it was your run-of-the-mill agency, there would have been someone tripping over their balls to shut down the weeks of ‘we gave you bumbleby, now how bouts some Fairgame wink wink’ marketing and your ‘I ship Qrover hardcore/CLOVER IS A TOP’ animators, knowing where the narrative was going. Either RT operates on some alien plane of existence where common sense/corporate liability isn’t a thing, or some serious soul-searching and a company-wide policy change needs to happen. At the very least, please have the fucking talk with your marketing and animation teams, for their sake and that of your company’s.

Additionally, anytime we were working on something that could even remotely touch on minority or sensitive issues (eg. those concerning people with disabilities, indigenous peoples, LGBTQI, potential trauma triggers), we would hire external subject matter experts to extensively comb through anything that might cause problems. The writing, character design, animation, VOs, marketing, every fucking end-to-end detail.

Once, our design team had to completely re-do the hairstyles of several minor NPCs in a game for kids because they were too ‘phallic-like’. I lead with that example because it’s my favorite ‘wtf’ workplace moment (you really had to squint to see it), but in all seriousness, there have been many times where the input of qualified experts saved our collective blind asses. When it comes to representation, details matter - even if you personally don’t see a problem.

Note the use of ‘external’ experts. We never relied on having minority members on our team to pass muster. One, that puts way too much fucking pressure on the crew member who happens to be part of that minority group to speak up. Two, and this might be shocking for some, not all members of a minority group think and feel the same way about everything.

If you can manage to sweat the details, hire experts, and have (what I thought were normal) cross-department communications, you avoid situations where individuals who are part of an underrepresented group are forced to defend the validity of their pain.

By virtue of queer/mlm being a minority, the majority of the fandom won’t see a problem. Hell, not all queer/mlm will see a problem, and that’s totally fine.

The problem is this: Once your product is out there, and your rogue animators/marketing team have at it with the baiting, you’ve just provided the perfect storm for a barrage of censorious attacks against a vulnerable group, all of varying degrees of fallaciousness, and all of which were completely preventable: ‘You’re just overreacting’, ‘You just hate that your headcanon didn’t work out’, ‘It’s sad, but no one’s to blame’, ‘I’m gay and I thought it was fine’, ‘The show has queer wlw rep, how can you criticize’, ‘I know what queerbaiting is and that wasn’t it’, ‘It’s just a fictional character/SOME BLOODY PINS, get over it’, ‘CRWBY didn’t encourage this ship’ (most people will not make the effort to dig into super shady tweets, comments and fandom interactions from months ago), etc. etc.

And by the immutable laws of internet fuckery, what should have been a beautiful opportunity for representation - whether it would have ended happily or not - gets turned into a convoluted shitstorm where argument from ignorance wins the day.

In short, RT, please, please do better. You have every right to freely create, but with freedom comes responsibility. You have a really good thing going - as a fan, it would be the ultimate tragedy if nothing is acknowledged or changes after all this.

#fairgame #fair game #clover ebi #rwby #qrow branwen #last words on this

425 notes · View notes

namjhyun · 4 years ago

Text

Hospital Playlist | Winter Garden

*SEASON 01 SPOILERS ALERT*

Remember you can find all the Hospital Playlist reviews/analysis filed in “hospital playlist reviews” tag at the end of the post.

It would be very difficult to talk about Jung-won without mentioning Gyeo-wool and vice versa. Their respective journeys have been intertwined from the very beginning and in ways we didn’t even know until the end of the first season of Hospital Playlist. Theirs turned out to be a symbiotic relationship. So, I decided to dedicate a full review to them.

Jung-won’s life was one of the first mysteries in Hospital Playlist. The drama introduced his character little by little and almost always thorough other characters to give us an idea of the kind of person he is. So, when it was revealed that he is the youngest son of the CEO of Yulje Foundation and Hospital, we already got the general idea that he was a dedicated and hardworking doctor, with a very particular (and hilarious) family situation that put him in the spot to take over his father’s place. And that he didn’t want that position at all.

Still, it’s pretty obvious Jung-won has a head for business. You can tell by the proposal he presented to Chairman Ju in the first episode when he transferred his family’s hospital stocks to him. In exchange he got lofty jobs for his friends and himself, and even complete control over the money coming from the VIP ward in the hospital. This is a man that clearly thinks several steps ahead. A man that goes the distance. A marathoner.

Right after his father’s funeral (in March) and finally free of the pressure of having to run his family’s foundation, Jung-won put that determination into achieving his childhood dream of becoming a priest.

Enter Jang Gyeo-wool.

When we were first introduced to Gyeo-wool, I remember thinking she was the opposite of Jung-won. While she was presented as blunt and aloof, he was tactful and a bleeding heart. Because of this I always believed the two actually made a good team and that they could learn from each other.

Now that the first season is over, I think that was Writer Lee and PD Shin’s purpose all along: to make the viewers connect the two, at least in a professional light at first, so that we would eventually start picking up subtle hints that something else might be going on between them.

Of course, Hospital Playlist exceeded my expectations because things started to be not so subtle pretty fast. For me it really was when Jung-won said that Gyeo-wool wasn’t his “cup of tea” that I started to think about them in terms of a possible loveline. But it was the scene of the maggots that really solidify it and I told everyone “He likes her”. Not for one minute I thought Jung-won was going to go through with his priesthood plans after that.

Soon, Jung-won’s good deed of helping his friends get better jobs backfired on him spectacularly: Lee Ik-jun, MD and Certified Cupid, was trying to find ways to win Jang Gyeo-wool’s favor in order to get her assistance in the OR. And since Hospital Playlist spent the entire first season letting us know that Ik-jun always knows what’s up, naturally he realized Gyeo-wool had feelings for Jung-won. And that they might not be unrequited.

The journey was slow paced and frustrating at times. With each episode it was more and more clear that Jung-won was going out of his way to keep Gyeo-wool at arm’s length. He was resolute to keep on track with his decision to become a priest and I commend him for it... but this is when his smoking became a sign that things wouldn’t be going his way. For someone who wants to be pure and closer to the Lord, that’s a pretty nasty habit. One that to me was always a sign of doubt. Bottomline, it’s a sign of his humanity. Another sign? His headaches. He was suddenly overthinking things and questioning himself.

I’m not saying Jung-won wasn’t sincere about becoming a priest but if he had wanted to do it, a man with his kind of determination, would have got up and leave. Instead, when he talked with the priest helping him with his journey to Italy, Jung-won kept pushing the date of his departure over and over again. Always prioritizing his patients. This is when I knew that priesthood was a dream idealized from childhood and I believe that in some place of his subconscious he was choosing this path in order to runaway from the pain of not being able to help all the people he wants to help. Fact is that at some point in his life he had fallen in love with his profession as pediatrics surgeon but his soft personality put him through much pain, specially with the most difficult cases. He had given up on hobbies like photography because he couldn’t stand to see the photos of patients he lost, and almost never took time off to do any of the sports he loves so much. When he did it was to support a cause like breast cancer.

My point is that I understand why Jung-won wanted to quit: he is overworked, stressed and tired of having to carry on his shoulders an understaffed pediatrics department. Add to all that he was also running the Daddy Long Legs program by himself, getting calls from hospitals all over the country, and that he was in a passive aggressive fight with his Mother that didn’t want him to become a priest. The only down time he was getting was when he played the drums with the band and went out with his friends. But even then we saw him get up and help the people running the restaurant. Yeah, he clearly couldn’t go on like that. Something needed to change.

His first move was to delegate the Daddy Long Legs program to Song-hwa. A wonderful idea and the first hint that he was up to something. Like I mentioned before: Jung-won thinks several steps ahead. And this was also around the time he had his heart to heart talk with Ik-jun. At this point of the story, it was clear to Jung-won that his feelings for Gyeo-wool were not going dispel and that spending time with her, watching her work through her hardships and getting to understand her, were only making him fall deeper in love with her.

In return, Gyeo-wool spent that time growing as a doctor, learning from Ik-jun and Jung-won on how to talk to patients and their guardians. Something none of the other doctors bother to teach her before because they all considered her competent enough due to her OR technique. She shed off some of her shyness and started to show her warmth, became bolder and more proactive to try to find ways to connect with people around her. She went from eating alone to always share a meal with other residents and/or Dr. Bong. She sassed Min-ha on her make up, kinda told off Jun-wan and behaved like a cutie pie around her honorary big brother Ik-jun. Gyeo-wool remained steadfast and composed through every professional and personal hardship, and her bluntness was no longer a weakness but a strength. I honestly believe that by watching Gyeo-wool in action, Jung-won learned a thing or two about perseverance and not running away but facing your troubles.

I also think Ik-jun didn’t tell Gyeo-wool about Jung-won’s feelings for her because he didn’t believe it was his place. Sure, he had his fun trying to get reactions out Jung-won and giving his support to Gyeo-wool but, at the end of the day, he knew it was Jung-won and Gyeo-wool the ones that needed to take matters into their hands and have a proper talk about their feelings.

When Mama Rosa witnessed that sweet, sweet, moment all the shippers were waiting for between Jung-won and Gyeo-wool, she saw her last hope. A last-minute Hail Mary. And while I think Mama Rosa put Gyeo-wool in a terrible position by asking her to stop Jung-won from becoming a priest, this was the first time Gyeo-wool got any indication that maybe her love could be successful. That her heart and instincts were in the right place. And despite the uncertainty that followed her through the entire first season, she went for it. Like the complementary sprinter she is to Jung-won’s marathoner. Watch out Usain Bolt.

What none of us knew by the time episode 12 started is that Jung-won had already made the decision to stay after the family of a patient thanked him for going the extra mile for their daughter. The past months of being able to have the 99ers as a support system at Yulje and having Gyeo-wool around to help him with his work, made him felt happiness and a new sense of fulfillment. For the first time in years, he was feeling the weight on his shoulders was lighter and his good friend Song-hwa could see it in his face. She knew all along he was in a crossroads about his profession. That scene in Song-hwa’s office was significant because it was the first time he voiced out his feelings and to his surprise, just like Ik-jun, Song-hwa knew all about his Lady Winter.

So, when Christmas arrived and Gyeo-wool finally musters up the strength to go to his office, everything comes together. Even though she thinks Mama Rosa is wrong about him having feelings for her or that she knows it’s not her place to interfere with his decision of becoming a priest, she still can’t let go of him. Meanwhile, he had decided weeks ago to stay at Yulje, in no small part because of her, and remained silent. He held back. Again! And fret over how, when or what to say - just like he did in front of the ER’s door- because he didn’t know how to start the conversation. Why? Because the fool himself put them in a strictly professional relationship by refusing to have any kind of interaction outside the cases they shared or the hospital.

But in that final scene at his office, Jung-won sees a vulnerable Gyeo-wool. Suddenly her emotional resilience is nowhere to be found and she is wide open for him to witness how much he has put her through over the past nine months. Even worse he realizes that she knew all along about his plans and said nothing. Gyeo-wool’s bravery makes him see himself for the coward he has been for the past three weeks. For the first time in the whole season, he stops overthinking, FINALLY does as his heart is telling him and jumps into action. Jung-won answers Gyeo-wool’s confession and request with tender affection, longing looks -that communicate he too has been struggling-, kisses and a hug. He didn’t need to say anything. Like Gyeo-wool taught him: actions speak louder than words.

#hospital playlist review #kdrama #hospital playlist #yoo yeon seok #shin hyun bin #winter garden couple #winter garden #wintergarden #ahn jung won #jang gyeo wool #lee ik jun

139 notes · View notes

100hearteyes · 5 years ago

Photo

Lexa travels back in time to prevent her girlfriend’s death, for which she was responsible, from happening.

TW: past character death, grief.

(thank you @butmakeitgayblog for the moodboard and beta’ing.)

–

Three moments.

Three key moments, however inconsequential they may seem, triggered a chain of events which culminated in Clarke and Lexa meeting for the first time.

For Lexa, it was instant attraction. For Clarke, although they would only find out many years later, it was the promise of doom.

“You can’t just erase me from your existence, you know? I’ll still be there.”

I might still die, is what Clarke doesn’t say. Lexa hears it anyway.

Nowadays, Clarke is but a ghost. Literally. Lexa has no idea how or even why it happened, but it had been an exact year since her girlfriend died when her non-corporeal form first showed up.

It was… gut-wrenching. Lexa has no words for how painful it was to see the love of her life in otherworldly tones of grey and not be able to touch her. It’s become easier with time, but she suspects this hollow ache that pulsates every time Clarke appears to her will ever go away.

“You’re the one who told me there was a way. You said it would work.”

This Clarke is Clarke, or rather the continuation of her; but she’s also not exactly the woman Lexa knew, regardless of the shape she has taken. This Clarke is rude and unsympathetic and has little to no regard for boundaries.

She’s an unpleasant version of the love of Lexa’s life.

Still, it’s hard to dissociate them. Lexa must do it, though, for the sake of her own sanity.

“I said you could avoid being the reason why I die,” Clarke states. “I meant it. You can.”

This journey has taken Lexa to remote places and from each she took tokens of different cultures and outlooks on life. She’s learned about grief and guilt. She’s learned to accept what she cannot control and respect what she doesn’t know. Above all, she’s come to a realization: if this doesn’t work, she can take the final steps to let go. This isn’t the final step towards the precipice.

Two years ago, Lexa would’ve lost herself looking for Clarke. Now, she’s finding herself again, parsing through the grief and plucking the parts of her she’d lost after everything that happened. And the puzzle is coming together, piece by piece and day by day, creating a new version of her which may not be whole anymore and may not be exactly who she was before — but it’s her, and it’s imperfect and it’s beautiful.

Lexa has learned to love herself again.

So this isn’t a desperate Hail Mary, her one last resort, the final step into madness. If anything, wherever it may lead her, this is closure.

The first door she opened was in Cape Town, South Africa, where Clarke was born before her family moved back to the States.

It was a cold December morning. On her side of the door, Lexa was thirty and falling apart. On the other side, Clarke was five and building a tower with Lego blocks.

Lexa felt herself staring long into an abyss.

All she had to do was relocate a single object and leave through the same door she’d come from. Days later, when she returned to her home country, she found out Jake was still alive. His daughter was not, though.

The second door she opened almost three months later. February 25th, Lexa’s home city. All she did was drop Anya’s phone into a lake.

When she came back, all her problems were gone.

It sent her reeling.

Lexa began to wonder; was she doing this for Clarke, or for herself?

She was meant to open the third and final door just a week later, but spent the 3rd of March holed up in her apartment, curled into a ball on the couch. She had jumped into this without a second thought, out of a selfish desire to relieve herself of the guilt of Clarke’s death.

Someone else had paid the consequences. Someone else was making her mistakes now and paying for them. Someone else was going to have a loved one ripped from their life.

What right did Lexa have to unload her burden onto someone else’s shoulders?

It took her months to get back on her feet. If the past year and a half had been an amalgam of denial, anger, and, with her selfish undertaking, bargaining, her second voyage in time had triggered the stage of depression, reflection, and loneliness.

It was then that she finally came to terms with ghost Clarke’s presence in her life. The afterlife form of her girlfriend gave her the tough love she needed to push herself off the ground. Clarke punched Lexa into motion and through it, Lexa found acceptance.

Lexa loves herself, now. She loves herself like she never did before, even when Clarke’s love made her feel invincible. Now, she sees the cracks and hard edges, the places where the cloth of her doesn’t reach far enough to breach the gaps, and she’s made peace with it.

Her shortcomings are no longer defined by her limits, but rather what she lets herself be limited by.

Lexa flexes her fingers. “What happens if I open this door?”

“I turn right instead of left. We never cross paths on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

This door has been locked for two years. Lexa never opened it, afraid of the crushing feelings that may lurk behind it. Behind it is Clarke’s studio, where she spent hours painting, the outside world all but forgotten. Lexa would sit in the corner, laptop perched on crossed legs, pretending to work but really watching Clarke print her talent on canvas.

Lexa feels ready to open it, now, even if what she finds behind it is a row of paintings leaning on purple walls, rather than gray skies and the wooden planks of the Brooklyn Bridge.

She has two conditions, though. Her fingers tighten on the handle.

“Do you live?”

“Lexa, you know I can’t–” Clarke stops short at Lexa’s stern glare and sighs. “Yes.”

But that’s not enough. Lexa won’t be selfish again — she doesn’t just want Clarke to survive; she wants her to live.

“Will you be happy?”

Clarke averts her eyes, then swallows. However, when her eyes meet Lexa’s after she’s taken a fortifying breath, there is nothing but honesty in them. “Yes.”

“Were you?”

Lexa’s heart constricts as Clarke’s eyes well with tears. What does it take to make a ghost cry?

Clarke nods, tries to get hold of her emotions. Her lips tremble and Lexa wants desperately to take her in her arms. If only she could.

“More than I can ever put into words.”

–

March 3rd, the day everything changed.

Twice.

The day Lexa found Clarke and the day she lost her.

Lexa opens the door and finds herself once again on that day, seven years ago, when she was trying to balance three cardboard boxes while speed walking down the Brooklyn Bridge, trying not to crash into any people — or worse, topple over the railings and fall to a wet death.

It was fruitless, of course. Just about to cry mission accomplished, she collided with something solid and everything in her hands went flying.

Not this time.

This time, Lexa changes the course of events and Clarke never crosses that bridge.

She watches from afar as her past self makes it to the other end of the bridge unscathed and a whole new life rolls out in front of her.

“You did well.”

Clarke appears at her side, colorless though still beautiful. There is a nostalgia to her expression, a knife that slashes at the relief that blankets it.

As she studies Clarke’s face and her mind fills the grays with color, drawing memories along the light edges dark lines, Lexa finds herself unwilling to let go. She moves to take Clarke’s hand, but catches herself at the last moment, remembering the colors she’s seeing are a figment of her memories and there is nothing she can touch.

Clarke notices, though, and regards her with such sympathy and compassion Lexa wants to run away with her and never open the door again.

“Come with me.”

They stroll down the bridge, side by side, their tranquility offsetting the electric current stringing everyone around them; the runners and the hurried, the young and the old, together. They find a bench to sit on and stay there for a while, watching the river run its course and the sun arch over the city and the people fall into slumber as the hours go by.

Can she stay here? Can she live a life in a world not her own, in a time asynchronous to hers, under the guise of having Clarke at her side?

She knows the answer to those questions. She’s long since learned that what she wants isn’t always what she needs — and vice versa.

“I’m proud of you.” Lexa meets Clarke’s gaze. Human or ghost, and despite the absence of color, Clarke’s eyes are beautiful. Lexa has always found solace in them, a rock to hold on to in times of need. She hopes she’s been able to provide even a fragment of that same comfort. “How are you feeling?”

It takes Lexa a few moments to sift through the throng of thoughts and feelings which this day has brought forth. Even now, she has doubts. But greater than anything, and the driving force behind her actions, is the desire to make things right.

She finds a feeling amongst the rubble and makes it hers. Peace. She feels…

She feels at peace.

However, after spending two years with the grumpy ghost of the woman of her life, Lexa is also feeling nostalgia as well as the pain over her upcoming loss.

Ghost Clarke was a way to remain connected to the past. Now, Lexa has to let go of that too.

“I hope I was able to make a difference,” she finally replies, eyes still locked with Clarke’s. “It’s not even about my guilt anymore. It doesn’t matter if we meet, either. I have made my peace with what happened. I just… I wanted to give you a chance.”

A chance to live; not just survive.

“You did it, Lexa.”

Lexa has made her peace with her role in Clarke’s death as well as the tragedy itself. The wound will always marr her skin, but it will no longer hurt when she touches it.

All she cares about now is for Clarke to be alive and most of all happy, even if it’s not with Lexa.

Several hours later, Lexa’s hand is once again resting on the doorknob, this time waiting to go back to her world — or whatever of it is left.

Clarke is staring at her, bottom lip trapped between her teeth. At Lexa’s questioning look, once-pink lips pull up into a rueful smile.

“Everything will be different.”

Clarke will be alive, her life will follow threads unknown to her till now. Lexa knows things will change. She also knows she will never see Clarke again in whatever shape or form.

Each time she remembers that, the ground beneath her quakes. She holds tighter onto the doorknob, determined to stay on her feet.

When she meets Clarke’s eyes again, they’re shining with unshed tears. Lexa nods, solemn.

Words would taint the moment.

“It was never about me, you know? I just wanted,” Clarke moves as to reach out, but catches herself. She clears her throat. “It was never about what would happen to me. I just- I wanted to lift the weight of guilt off your shoulders, give you closure. I-,” she chuckles humorlessly, eyes flitting to the ground for a moment before meeting Lexa’s again. “I need you to know, I’m still me. There was never… I never would’ve been able to help you if I didn’t put some distance between us. That’s why I behaved differently. But I was always still me.”

And Lexa knows this, knows what she’s saying. She always has.

“Your happiness is all that matters to me, Lexa.” Lexa opens her mouth, but a shake of Clarke’s head stops her. “Please don’t. Otherwise I’ll say something to make you stay.”

Lexa aches to touch her, kiss her, though she knows she can do neither, and her hands shake with the urge to close the space between them.

Instead, she turns the handle and opens the door. Before she can go, though, she turns to face Clarke one more time, needing to commit every single detail to memory, as though every line of Clarke’s face, every nuance, every emotion, isn’t already burned into her mind’s eye forever.

So she knows the broken words before Clarke speaks them.

“I love you, Lex. And I’ll always be with you.”

It’s with those soft words cradling her heart that Lexa crosses the threshold.

–

One of the first things Clarke told her, when they started, was that Lexa would remember everything, both her own memories and her new version’s, but the original ones — the timeline where Clarke died — would fade with time.

Clarke also told her things would change.

So Lexa was expecting to step into a different world and to be surprised at how much had changed around her.

She just wasn’t expecting her life to be quite so different.

Clarke’s friends are no longer her friends. She expected that, but the reality of it is overwhelming at first. She realizes, now, she often took them and the support they gave her for granted. Suddenly, having none of them to lean on, she feels crippled.

On the other hand, she has a different, better job. And as it turns out, her new self has left behind the concrete stuffiness of New York and embraced the free-spirited intellectualism of San Francisco, which isn’t just a different city — it’s on the other side of the country. Any latent hopes she might have had of somehow finding Clarke have vanished.

It takes her a while to adapt to all the changes, but a year later she’s back on her feet and the life she had before is now but a distant memory. She still dreams about Clarke, though the dreams are fewer and further between. Selfishly, she thanks the universe for the small reprieve.

Her old problems don’t haunt her anymore and, if not for the absence of Clarke, this would be a perfect life.

At least she’s doing her best to make it so.

She’s also learning to treat herself better than she did in her past life. Embracing the practice of being kinder to herself is refreshing. Freeing.

It’s the pursuit of one such self-indulgence that she finds a small coffee shop downtown, which she starts going to every day before work.

Today is no exception.

As she waits in line, Lexa distracts herself, noting down her to-do list for the day ahead. As she’s debating whether to go to the grocery store before or after her late afternoon run, she doesn’t notice her pen sliding down the page and falling to an early demise, until she feels a tap on her shoulder.

“Excuse me, you dropped this.”

Lexa turns around to thank her good Samaritan, a gratitude sat ready on the tip of her tongue, only for her breath to catch at the sight.

Because she’s as stunning as ever…

Clarke.

#clexa #clexa fic #clexa au #my fics #mine

138 notes · View notes

copias-thrall · 5 years ago

Note

Can we get an NSFW head cannon with the papa’s+cardinal about which love potions they give their fav sister of sin?

Hi, anon! What a saucy ask! Here we go …

*dubcon*

Papa Nihil: [Ed. I’m going to deviate a little here] He once discovered a potion to bring back lost love from a traveling priestess of Hecate. He was dubious at first, but she gave him a vial with just enough for one dose, which he then surreptitiously put in Sister Imperator’s tea. It worked like—well—a charm. By late afternoon, Imperator was in his office, nothing under her habit but racy red lingerie with garters and a riding crop hidden up her sleeve. She’d made him prostrate himself and kiss her patent Mary Janes while asking for forgiveness. She then made him worship her by having him eat her out on his desk with strict orders he was not to touch himself. Once she was satisfied, she had him kneel at her feet in the nude. Then—as she counted out his Hail Satan’s full of ungrace—she whipped his hard cock with her crop as his penance until he begged her for release. She ordered him to get up and stand against the wall, where she gave him a quick and perfunctory hand job, making him lick his spend off her fingers.

That night, Nihil bought every last drop of potion from the priestess. The priestess left on the next full moon with the warning to use the potion only to coax the cold ashes of their love back into an ember—all of which went into one ear and out the other. Papa is not known for self reflection or a willingness to change his behavior, so he simply got used to putting a drop in her cup every morning. They had a swinging good reunion … until he stopped dosing her (surely she must love him again by now!). No longer under the thrall of the potion, she became suspicious, and when she found the vials …. She became spitting mad and flew at Nihil in a righteous rage, nearly slitting his throat with a wicked letter opener.

Three Ghouls had to pull her off him!

In addition to dumping out the contents of the bottles, she made Nihil her slave for the same duration to really hit home what he’d done. (He was smart enough not to tell her that it was actually quite enjoyable for him, especially when the crop made more appearances for correction.) Now, he likes to think they can look back and laugh about it, but everyone else seems to notice her eye twitch when he recounts the “escapade.”

Papa I: He just wants to feel that first blush of ardent, youthful love again. His potion is less about creating false feelings and more about amplifying what’s already there. He invites you to his chambers for a quiet meal, the wine goblets both laced with the draught. After the meal is eaten and the wine is drunk, Papa I leads you to his bedchambers, where he slowly undresses you, reverently. Despite his ostentatious, ceremonial vestments, Papa I isn’t a man obsessed with fine things, so under your habit you’re dressed in simple, cotton undergarments (you tried wearing mesh and lace once, but he only perfunctorily complimented you, then took them off). As he slips off your bra and panties, he makes sure to run a light touch over your nipples and your ass. It makes you shiver, your skin goosepimpling. As he bends to help you out of your panties, he places a chaste kiss on each ankle bone. Then your calves. Then the inside of your knee. Soon he’s kneeling, hands traveling up your haunches, so he can reach first the inside of your thighs before placing a kiss to the lips of your cunt. He’d probably even be happy to eat you out like that, but you pull him up by his vestments—eager to remove them—and the two of you share a deepening kiss before tumbling onto the bed.

He makes love to you slow and close, whispering praises into your skin—and then the feelings hit you like an explosion. He must feel them too, because all of a sudden you’re both gasping and clutching at each other for dear life. You feel such overwhelming love for this man! The sun rises and the moon set with him, and even if you got excommunicated from the Church, it would be ok as long as you had him by your side. Your climax is a soft, quiet thing even as his has him stuttering and moaning out. Soon, he’s covering your face in kisses, and you realize that he’s crying; so you make sure to kiss each and every teardrop away.

The next day you feel like a truck backed over you. Papa I is clearly in no better shape the way he’s curled in on himself next to you. The feeling from the night before seems just within reach—even if trying to capture it again is like trying to hold fistfuls of sand. Papa is shaking, and you realize it’s because he’s crying, so you roll him into you, letting him bury his tears into your shoulder.

Papa II: His chosen love potion isn’t about making you love him at all—it’s about making sure you don’t love anybody else. He’s going back on tour soon, and he can’t stand the idea that you may fall into another’s arms while he’s away. It’s the night before the before, and he has you strung up in cuffs, your toes just about touching the floor. His teasing is making your twist and turn about, but to no avail. A gloved swipes at your nipple.

“And what’s this?” he asks.

“Yours, sir!” you gasp.

“And this?” he asks again as he squeezes your ass.

Again you respond that it’s his. He repeats his question as he teases every inch of your body. He finally gets to your pussy, tracing a leather finger down each lip before plunging in between your folds.

“And who belongs here?” as asks, now close into your ear as he fingers you.

“Only you, sir!” you cry out.

For once you don’t try to get away as he fondles you close to orgasm. Close to orgasm. He removes his fingers from your clit and his body from yours just when you’re close to tipping over. You wine and try to twist toward him, but he’s just out of reach. There’s a crack on your behind, and then he’s asking you to stick out your tongue. He produces the bottle and puts two drops on your tongue before ordering you to swallow.

He leaves you then, only coming back intermittently to bring you close to climaxing, before leaving you again. You cry and beg for him, but he’s not swayed; he’s never swayed. The next time he comes back, it’s with a brother of sin—one you’ve openly expressed thirst for. The guy is pale, the whites of his eyes showing. Papa II pushes him toward you.

“Well, go on, boy. Seduce her.”

He gives one, last, nervous look at Papa, before he’s in your space. His hands hover before finally settling on manipulating your nipples. And it’s all wrong, it’s not him—not Papa. All you can feel is a strong revulsion toward this boy. You try to twist and squirm away from him—the look on his face pure misery—until Papa II calls out Enough. He dismisses the Brother you once found so appealing—who all but hightails it in a cloud of dust—and comes over to pet and coo at you. He praises you and calls you his good girl. He covers your cunt with his hand.

“Now, my pet—whose are you?”

“Yours! Only yours, Sir!”

His finger slips into you, rests there.

“And whose commands do you follow?”

“Yours, sir!”

His finger begins to move, just a little.

“And if I command you to let a Ghoul administer this potion to you every 48hrs? Will you do so without resistance or complaint?”

“YES, SIR.”

His other hand grips you by the jaw and forces you to meet his two-toned gaze.

“Yes. I think you will.”

After that, he brings you to a screaming climax before he lets you down and fucks your pliant body. He’s nothing if not a stickler, so—after some aftercare and nap—he has you sign an amendment to your contract. You could have told him that his measures were unnecessary, but some part of you is thrilled that his affection for you hasn’t waned.

Papa III: He is all about sexual pleasure. Love schmove! Lust is his sin, baby, and he doesn’t need to worry about someone beating their chest and rending their garments because of him. He just wants to make you feel good. He won’t say how he acquired it—and he uses it sparingly enough—but he has a love potion that can connect lovers intimately. He explains that you both have to take it and exchange … fluids … to connect, but when you inquire as to how it works, he just wiggles his fingers and singsongs, Magic. He places several drops on his tongue, and you stick out your tongue, but instead of putting some on your tongue, he draws you into a deep kiss. He practically sucks your tongue into his mouth as his twists and tangles against your soft palate.

When he pulls away, spit strings still connecting the two of you, he says, “What? Did you think I meant other kinds of fluids?”

You slap at him, and he pretends that you’ve wounded him terribly, causing you to giggle. The two of you begin to hastily undress each other, hindered only by both of you pausing to nip and suck at each other’s flesh as it becomes uncovered. Soon enough you’re both naked and tangled in the sheets and each other. Papa III is a generous lover on his worst days, but tonight the two of you are eager to feel each other through this supposed bond, so the foreplay is a little rushed.

Even so, you’re still wet and ready to go when Papa urges you on top of him. You brace your hands on the heated skin of his chest as you sink down on his hard cock. And that’s when you feel it—a sudden spike of pleasure that you’re positive is not your own (being filled by his cock is always nice, but it usually takes a little more stimulation to get you as amped up as you suddenly feel). Your surprised moan is almost drowned out by the guttural one Papa III punches from his gut. You meant to ride the fuck out of him, but the feeling of his pleasure has your back arching and your head lolling sloppily.

Papa is suddenly upright and in your space, sucking at the exposed line of your neck. Your nails dig into his arms as he bounces you on his cock, and you feel the echo of the pained pleasure of it. Papa moans at the echo of your pleasure at his, and it’s not long before the two of you are raw nerves. You thought you’d both be going at it like rabbits, but the pleasure loop is making it hard for either of you to do anything but grind at each other in slow, deliberate circles. You have no idea how you’re barely moving and yet still such a vibrating, live wire.

The echo is getting closer, louder. You don’t think you’re moving at all, but still your arousal ratchets up and fills you from your curling toes to your open, silent mouth. You thought you’d be able to tell the difference between your pleasure and his, but right now you just feel. You’re like a balloon, and your latex is beginning to stretch and strain. Eyes rolling back, all you can feel is the unrelenting pulse of pleasure as Papa pants and mewls into your skin.

The bubble bursting seems inevitable, but it’s still a surprise when you burst, and somehow this is the best and the worst part of the whole experience. It’s almost too much to feel, too much to comprehend, and you seize up as the white-hot, blinding light knocks all sense and thought from you. Someone’s screaming bloody murder—and at some point you realize it’s you—but fuck if you care. Who even knows what sound Papa III is making, but you’re dimly aware of him mouthing at your shoulder.

It’s hard to tell how long the feedback loop goes on for, but when you begin to regain your senses, you realize that you’re on your side and clasped tight into Papa’s chest. And that’s as far as you get before the exhaustion hits you, and it makes sense—you are feeling everything double after all.

Copia: The problem Copia has is that before Ghost, he wasn’t in such high demand. He was by no means celibate, but the sheer volume of offers just weren’t there. At first, he reveled in the attention—rolled around in it, and rubbed it all over himself—but the shine soon wore off when he began to realize some of his lovers only found his position with the clergy attractive. His wake up call was when—in the middle of heated foreplay—one of his conquests accidentally touched his pudge on the way down to his cock, and they recoiled in disgust. After that, Copia couldn’t stop seeing all the little tells when a lover wasn’t really into him.

Obviously, on tour it doesn’t matter—the groupies are only there for the night, and even the hopeful initiates only really require one taking. But back at the Abbey, it’s a different story. Copia is now hyper aware that any Sibling who shows interest could be faking it. Which is why he uses a love potion on you. You, who were all blushes and ducked heads at first, but are now heated glances and lascivious touches. He just needs to be sure, so he finds a love potion meant to amplify feelings.

Now, was that 2 drops or 3 …?

You show up at his quarters for a nightcap. It’s been a busy week, and the two of you have only had the briefest of interactions, so this is a welcome invitation. For some reason the drink goes straight to your head, and soon you’re looking at Copia like he’s a tall glass of water in the middle of the desert. You want him desperately, and you manhandle him into his bedroom. The desire to own him, to show him that he’s yours, overwhelms you. You order him onto the bed as you fish around in your drawer for your cock and a bottle of lube. He complies as you buckle your cock around your hips.

As you climb onto the bed, you press him down into the mattress. With lube-slick fingers you test his hole and prep him appropriately as he moans in pleasure. You drape yourself over his back to hiss into his ear, “You’re mine, Copia,” before you push your cock into him. He lets out a moan of ecstasy even as you push his face down into the pillow. Gripping his hips tight, you make sure your angle hits his sweet spot as you thrust into him. He’s scrabbling at the sheets, but you’re relentless in showing him how much you own his body with your cock. The closer he gets, the more grabby you get. Copia is panting and trembling—you can tell he’s close—so you turn on your vibration.

“You make me so fucking hot,” you growl.

With the help of your hand, he’s soon cumming hard—you following close on his heels. Even after your orgasm, the intense feelings of ownership don’t subside; you’re clutching Copia to you and rubbing your juices all over his skin. “Everyone should smell me on you,” you grumble as you try to meld into his skin while grabbing at his flesh. You end up falling asleep like that.

When you wake up, it’s to profound embarrassment—how could you act that way? Of course you don’t own Copia. Why did you do that? He’s still dead asleep, but when you try to leave the bed, he wakes enough to draw you back to him. Feeling guilty, you try and bring up the night before with him—but he just snuggles you closer and says that he could never be mad at someone whose affection for him was true.

#asks #the papas #cardinal copia #love potion #dubcon

91 notes · View notes

kat-hawke · 5 years ago

Text

Sk’uhn'agh shuul

(Immediately following [Uull lwhuk h'iwn], in conjunction with Alyssa’s perspective: [One Door Closes, Nothing Opens])

Gloved hands caught her landing as the pained scream scratched along her throat in it’s forced volume. The polyphonous cacophony of whispers quickening and booming, each syllable like an icy rake across the mind accompanied by the burning sensation spanning shoulder to shoulder. The maddening voices growing so loud they drowned out her own screens, dizzying her own thoughts.

Sitting back on the legs, hands gripped either side of the skull, squeezing as the scream continued to pour from her lungs. At her core it felt as if she was being pulled apart, split in half by the sinister force that continued it’s assault.

‘Iilth ma paf'qi'ag sk'halahs.’

Each word repeated in rounds for what felt like an eternity. The glow of the obelisks pulsating with each spoken word, in conjunction the scripture across her shoulders to burn in pain. Protective leather bracers continued to splinter and crack with the same sinister red hue, the dark entity exploiting the chink in the magical armor.

After an excruciating minute everything seemed to stop, a deafening silence leaving only the pounding of her heart in the eardrums. The space around the obsidian platform vanished as eyes peeled open, nothing but a swirling dark abyss all around, as if she was centered in the eye of the storm. The sound of a drawing sword quickly captured her attention, rushing to stand and spin around, only to come face to face with a dark and twisted illusion of herself; eyes deep with void, clad in dark blood stained leathers with an orange eye of the observer situated in the center of the chest.

She had been here before, none of this was real but a death here in her own warring mind would carry over into reality all the same.

Drawing steel herself the weapons collided instantly, strike after strike both seemed to parry in rhythm. Whispers crept along the edges of her thoughts again, red lines mixing in the swirling darkness. It made sense now, what Alyssa had warned about, what the warlock seemed worried about. The corruption clung and rode on her soul, on the protective barrier, awaiting for it’s moment of entry which had thus far been denied by the enchantment on the bracers.

The connection to Alyssa was still muted and dull, present but inaccessible, Kat hoped she was strong enough to keep this invasion at bay. The fleeting thought and worry for the companion she carried on the thigh detectable by the sinister mirror entity she fought upon the obsidian platform.

‘She betrays you, looks to steal the very power you seek. She will shatter those safeguards and usurp your body.’

Hearing her own voice, though deeper and more twisted, speak to her only sparked anger. Several consecutive heavy swings of the sword followed, only one finding it’s mark while the rest were dodged and parried.

“You lie! She would never.” Drawing a knife from the waist Kat caught the incoming swing between her blades, forcing the attack to a halt and throwing the entity to the side. “She’ll see through your false visions.”

‘Her eyes were closed, but now she’s seen the truth, the age that will be rushed across this world as it should be.’ This time the dark image managed to catch the Director’s attack, leaving an opening for a heavy kick, causing Kat to stagger and falter on the spot. ‘The promise of freedom, revenge for what you’ve done to her. Perhaps it is you who should be within that prison.’

Kat’s vision began to blur, she could feel the outskirts of her mind pulling apart like loose threads of a tapestry. The mirror image growing darker, the sinister leathers now seeping with void as the voice deepens further. ‘Now her eyes are open, she accepts the gift we offer.’

She doesn’t dignify the image with a response, refusing to believe it. Grip shifts on either blade as she lunges, legs weak in the push and failing to follow through. Her mirrored self easily swatted the attack away like a bothersome fly.

Pain surges through her core, the bracers splintering further as the magical wards begin to wane. The twisting storm of void turns a deeper red as the corruption spreads, the lighter part of her soul diminishing as the chill of darkness expands. Heaving every breath she stares up at the twisted visage of herself, an image appearing behind the figure; Alyssa standing within her soulscape, chains of fel latched onto the broken barrier of her soul.

For a moment she believed in what she’d been told, that maybe Alyssa had not changed and took the opportunity to be free and switch their places. It was hard to remain hopeful, to continue resisting the promises of the void. The dark image soon staggered to the side, a third contender entering the metaphorical ring, another mirror image representing the light part of her magic. Faded and weak, she had little time.

Letting the two fight for the moment, knowing the darkness would surely win, Kat’s attention turned to the vision of Alyssa, the doorway between them cracked open yet she hesitated to go, to let the woman see her like this before the fall. Still she moved closer, determined to not allow the warlock to suffer and share in this fate, to be condemned to the darkness or worse.

In a second a plan formed, a final hail-Mary with high risk but faith was placed in the warlock’s hands. To sever the soul, let Alyssa carry a piece and later find to restore her soul to full. There were unanswered variables with the woman’s current state but it was this or nothing.

Glancing back to the warring parts of her soul she knew it was only seconds she had to say goodbye, to say the one thing she’d refused to. Without hesitation she stepped through the doorway, a brief moment of relief to find Alyssa uncorrupted by the madness.

“Alyssa...” Weakly spoken Kat catches herself on the workbench that seems to be in the center of the warlock’s space, one of her legs giving out in her weakened state. “I’m so sorry.”

"What do you need me to do Kat. I need you to tell me?" Alyssa shouted back in frantic desperation as she bolstered the magically assault. The edges of the soulscape began to blur and fade away, clear enough that the woman was willing to sacrifice herself.

Both hands slammed into the workbench as pain rushed across the Director. “Stop!” She knew Alyssa was attempting to help but she was causing too much pain, nails biting into the wooden surface that supported her as she lurched in pain before collapsing against the workbench. She slid to the ground below, looking up to Alyssa with a tear stained gaze. "It's too late, Alyssa." Another grimace and wince of pain, a lower guttural scream as her body stiffened for a moment.

"It’s not! It's not too late damnit. If you die I'm stuck in here. That's not going to happen!" Continuing to pump magic into Kat’s soul Alyssa shouts. "You're just another illusion trying to stop me!”

Time was running out and she couldn’t fault Alyssa for thinking none of this was real. “I’m not!” Kat pleaded, weak with words mixing in a guttural roar of pain from the continued surge of power. "I wanted to go home, really I did. I tried and I- You were right." Words were broken up by labored breaths as one hand reached upward for Alyssa, weak and shaking as it tried to stay in the air. "I won't let it take you too."

"You...I...I don't know what to do..." Alyssa falters then, looking helpless as she glances between Kat and the growing corruption. "Maybe..."

The warlock turned back towards Kat’s soul, pulling the fel forged chains free only to send the outward again, landing between the cracks in the armor she pulled. Instantly Kat knew what she was trying to do and it sent what panic she could muster through her consciousness. To pull her soul into the dagger would only invite corruption.

"No! You'll just pull it in here with you!" Shouting as she pushed to her feet, staggering as the distance closed and reached out towards Alyssa, grabbing her wrists and pulling her away, so they'd stand face to face. The shock of the warlock’s expression when she realized it was all real, the tears falling soon after.

"This was my mistake, my consequence to bear." Kat pleads a final time, she could feel the darker part of herself winning and knew the final few seconds she had were at hand. Leaning forward her eyes shut and her head pressed against the other.

"What am I supposed to do Kat!" Alyssa steps in pulling hands free so she can wrap them around her lover. "Y'did all this talk about 'ow you needed me? Well I need you too, besides, if I let you go 'ere and now then what...I'm just in a dagger in the desert forever? That really any better?"

"Not all of you need to go down with me." It was spoken softly, she hoped Alyssa understood what she meant, the thread of silver the warlock mentioned before.

"I can pull that piece out...I think...if y'need." Alyssa’s gaze shifted over the shoulder, towards the collapsing soul of the Director.

"No such thing as forever, you should know that." The barrier around the soul cracks further, the sound echoing in the soulscape like breaking ice, seconds from giving way under the pressure. She had to say it, now or never. "I love you Alyssa and part of love is letting go."

"I love you too Kat..." Alyssa’s tears flow freely now. "I'm sorry I can't do more...I won't forget you."

"You did all you could. It's my turn now."

Alyssa leaned in to briefly touch lips in a fleet kiss, wanting to linger but turning away to focus her magic on the silver thread running through Kat's soul, choking out the words in demonic needed for the ritual as her deft magic begins to twist the silver strip out.

Watching as Alyssa turned away to focus on her magic Kat left with a single whisper before vanishing back into her own twisted space. "Find me."

The corruption spread rapidly through Kat’s mind, reflected by the masses of flesh and red hue that overran the obsidian platform. Both hands drew a blade as she interrupted the nearly finished fight between her two halves, stepping in the middle of what would have been the final blow to her light side. Deflecting the attack from the empowered darker image of herself, she spun to kick the lighter mirrored image, sending the weak half of herself through the doorway to Alyssa’s soulscape, silently praying the woman would not fail.

Consciousness was forced back into the physical world, the pain overwhelming and nearly sending the Director unconscious. The bracers at her wrists shattered, the energy of the enchantment exploding, shreds of leather falling to the ground. Fighting through the pain and flood of dark whispers Kat acted on the final part of the plan, to keep Alyssa safe from this fate.

Drawing the dagger from her thigh the other hand slipped into the leather case behind the hip, pulling a rolled piece of parchment from the small collection of provisions. Without hesitation she plunged the blade into the scroll, the single page a scroll of recall to the hearth in her cabin. In a flash the dagger vanished to safety, not a second too soon.

‘Za awtgsshu wgah uulg'ma ywaq zaix.’

Eyes rolled back as ungodly levels of pain stretched across the body head to toe, a final moment of regret and fear as whispers turned to coherent thoughts, the mind melting away. The obsidian platform beneath her feet had washed over in liquid void, the vast puddle like doorway to darkness dragging her under. Everything went dark and silent, like a soul lost beneath the black tides, not even the sound of her own heartbeat rang in her ears as the void twisted her body and mind.

[ @alyssa-ward ]

(Chapter I: Dark Secrets) (Chapter II: Descent) ( [pt.I] [pt.II] [pt.III] [pt.IV] [pt.V] [pt.VI] )

#ic #plotlines #Ascension #pt.VII

23 notes · View notes

crazyrandomfucker · 4 years ago

Text

Hero Apprentice Twins 4

Chapter 4: Hail Queen

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

"What was that?" asked Chat Noir rubbing his head.

"I'm not sure, but we have to stop them!"says Lordbug.

"Well, we have to catch them before they run away!" says Kitty Noire with a smug smile on her face.

"Let's have a little Chat and we'll take the wind out of their sails" replies Chat with a dorky smile as he begins to chase the akumas, but Ladybug stops him by grabing his tail.

"Those two were horrible kitty-cats" says Ladybug rolling her eyes . "But I have an idea, follow me!"

Ladybug begins to run quite fast as she approaches the walls of the buildings on the street and she jumps and keeps running on the walls. Instinctively, Chat follows her lead just a few seconds after her and jumps to the opposite walls, trying to run in paralel to Ladybug. Kitty and Lordbug react a bit later than Chat does, but they follow their example and Lordbug sprints to get to the side of Chat as Kitty reaches Ladyug and runs with her. Knowing that their momentum won't aloww them to run forever on the walls due to a lack of speed (thank gods Mari had managed to understand that part of physics), they accelerate and get close enough to the akumas to jump to them, spinning their weapons fast enough to let them glide through air a bit, changing their trajectory percisely to fall on top of Stormy Weather and Hail Queen. Or so it would have been if the akumatized girls in question hadn't heard them coming and turned around at the precise moment when the heroes were umping towards them.

"God, not AGAIN!" echo the akumas.

Both akumas open their umbrellas at unison and summon their wind, but when the gusts of wind combine themselves, the resultant wind becomes so strong that not only are the superheroes thrown across Paris, but it also throws several cars behind them. The heroes manage to land on their feet but have to think quickly to avoid getting smashed by the cars. Chat rolled to dodge some of the cars while Ladybug had to jump over and slid under some of the cars. Kitty Noir dogded a car just to quickly doge another one, trapping herself between the cars, which began to fall onto her but collided with each other and stop. However, Lordbug was also dodging cars when he saw that happening and tackled her to save her even if it wasn't necessary. They ended up again in the floor but this time Lordbug is the one pinning Kitty, which makes him turn as red as his costume. But then a bus comes flying towards the heroes and Lordbug can see it, so Kitty hugs Lordbug and extends her pole to push them out of the way, failing to notice how sweaty has lordbug become and how his blush hass reached an undiscovered color. Meanwhile, Ladybug hugs Chat and spins her yoyo at maximum speed above them, making a hole on the side of the bus, but when she stops spinning her yoyo and tries to pull it back to her hand, she doesn't takes Chat's height into account and hits his head with the yoyo completely by mistake.

"I'm beginning to think you have something with me today My Lord" jokes Kitty booping the bug's nose. "Didn't know you are so naughty with blonde catgirls".

"P-Please Kitty, this is awkardlyenough for me. Could you please stop hugging me so we can get to work" says Lordbug blushing.

"Aww, but that's no fun beetleboy. And here I thought you wouldn't resist my feline charms" teases Kitty unhugging him.

"I'm no beast ma Dame" says Lordbug getting up. "Now, where are our twins?"

"I'm goin to say they are inside the-" begins Kitty, but they hear a 'thump' and a circle of glass pops out of one of the bus windows.

"Meowvelous thinking Bugaboo. I'd never thought my claws were so sharp" says Chat jumping outside the bus.

"Don't call me bugaboo! But thanks, I wasn't sure if it was going to work" says Ladybug copying him.

"Well, there they are" points the cat heroine. "Guess you can't keep hugging with me" says with a wink.

"Hugging?" asks Ladybug glaring at Lordbug.

"It was accidental, Kittyhugged me to get us out of there before the bus smashed us" explains Lordbug nervously.

"Don't worry mon commerade, I believe you" says Chat patting the bug's back.

"Kitty, please stop teasing my idiotic brother, we have some akumas to deal with" says Ladybug determined.

-At a random rooftop-

The akumas land on the rooftop and grin as they notice how close are they to their objective. A shadowy butterfly-like mask apears on each of their faces, indicating that the akumas are being contacted by Hawk Moth, despite him having less control over them because of the difference of powers between the akumas (Hawk Moth has a better control of his akumas the more similar are their powers than when they have some or a lot of difference between their powers).

"Now, now my dear akumas, you'll show the whole world that my weather girls should have won the conquest, but now is the time to fullfill your agreement and I have a plan" says Haw Moth, plotting some scenarios to take the miraculous.

"Of course Hawk Moth" says Stormy Weather.

"It will be our pleasure" says Hail Queen.

Meanwhile, not so far from the akumas the Césaire twins are still trapped with Mina and Manon in the carrousel, trying to distract the little girls while the firemen work hard to try to cut the ice dome where they are trapped, but the axes they use don't do enough damage to the ice and some stalactites begin to form threatening to fall onto the prisoners. The reporters duo can't help but to worry and silently pray that their favourite superheroes manage to save the day before they get a cold death.

"No but seriously, what is wrong with them? I get they didn't win that stupid weather twins contest, but it's not something that bad to get akumatized over with. Is it?" asks Kitty as they run, searching for the akumas.

"I don't know, maybe they have anger managment issues" says Chat shrugging.

"I think that they are frustrated" says Ladybug.

"Frustrated? For losing an irrelevant contest?" ask the cats at unison.

"It wasn't irrelevant for them, they did work really hard to win. But the winners didn't put a lot of effort to win, I heard they only entered to overcome their shyness" says Lordbug with a serious tone.

"You shouldn't judge whether the contest was or wasn't irrelevant, it's not nice for those who give their best on the contest" reprimands Ladybug.

An electronic billboard near them lights up suddenly and catches the attention of the young heroes, who stop running and approach the billoard as they recognized one of the certain akumatized sisters, Hail Queen. They inmediately recognize the TV studio where the akumas where filming from, as there still is the KIDZ+ logo on a corner of the screen.

"Hello" says Stormy Weather, her face appearing on the screen just to slowly walk back to be with her sister. "Here's the latest forecast for this spooky week of Halloween!"

"And it looks like Mother Nature has had a little change of mind" says Hail Queen with an evilish grin.

"HALLOWEEN IS NOW OFFICIALLY CANCELED!" say the akumas at unison as a huge snowflake symbol covers France in the weather map. Then the connection goes off.

"Already? But I look so hot on my werecat costume" says Chat wiggling his eyebrows at Ladybug, who rolls her eyes.

"Not as much as I did on my devil nurse costume" replies Kitty with a wink, oblivious to a certain bug lord going bright red behind her.

Ladybug hits her brother with her elbow. "The cat costumes will work thanks".

"At least we know now where they are" says Lordbug caressing his poor stomach.

The heroes leap to the nearest building to take a shortcut to the TV station, jumping from roof to roof and ocasionally swinging or polevaulting themselves to get as fast as they can to their destination. As they run and jump over the rooftops of Paris, the sky slowly turns darken and darker as clouds begin to form and grow making the sky look more menacing each second passed, which only make the heroes worry more and try to be faster. Finally, they are able to get to the station, that has ice on several places of the building. The lights are off and as the heroes advance, seeing people frozen at each step they make, the voice of the akumas echoes in the background and all the screens lit up since they seem to have restarted their machiavelic broadcast.

"Prepare for the worst weather on history" says one of the akumas on te background as the heroes notice a life size model of the weather twins finalists.

"Hey, they still have those umbrellas even akumatized" points Chat.

"The akumas must be on those parasols!" says Lordbug.

"I'm sure those are umbrellas, they are too short and round for being parasols My Lord" says Kitty with a playful tone.

"This is not the moment, focus on the akumas" says Ladybug.

The heroes search through most of the studios they can, skiping those where a bunch of frozen people blocked the way. Hail Queen leaves the screens under the pretext of getting a very special surprise for those who hadn't had voted them on the contest and the young heroes feel the rush to stop them, clearing all of the floors except for the last two. Finally, they get to a studio that had lit screen next to the doors, indicating that there should be someone inside recording something. The heroes stop in front of the door and take a moment to look at the screen and also to their surroundings, making sure that Hail Queen isn't there or preparing a surprise attack.

"Here in Stormy Weather twins, winter. Is. Forever!" says the akuma giggling in a sinister way.

The boys position themselves in front of the door, readying themselves to knock it down in case the door is locked. Lordbug signals Chat and they charge against the door, but Ladybug and Kitty Noire rush past them and knock the door by themselves, which makes the boys loose balance momentarily, but not enough to fall. The studio is completely empty and the camera is filming an already recorded video, which makes Ladybug shudder from realitzation and she turns around, the others copying her just as Stormy Weathers enters the room. As the akumatized girl laughs, she shots two lightnings to the spotlights on the ceiling, making them fall to the superheroes, who manage to dodge it. But the, without a warning, the lights of the entire floor begin to shut down and the akuma runs away laughing with a certain purple butterfly-like mask on her face.

The cats are the first to stand up, Kitty helping Chat because she managed to roll and stand up. With their night vision they follow the akumas, observing how Hail Queen exits what they suppose is the maintenace room. They take a step forward, ready to run and pursue the akumas, but a very loud thump followed by some groans stop them. They turn around and see the bugs getting up and falling over the broken spotlights and even themselves. Without malice, Kitty begins to laughs and Chat joins her not much later, to which the bugs look at their general direction with a glare that makes the cats shut up.

"Are those the cries of two damsels in distress?" teases Kitty Noire.

"Not all of us have night vision Ma Damme" says Lordbug slightly offended.

"Oh, but we thought that your smile could enlighten the world. My Lady's for sure enlightens me" says Chat poking Ladybugs nose.

"That was smooth man" says Lordbug.

"Don't encourage him!" says Ladybug a bit annoyed, yet flustered.

"Well thanks M'Lord, I try very hard to woo this fair lady" says Chat grabbing Ladybug's hand and kissing it.

"Down Kit-cat" says Ladybug pushing him away without losing hold of his hand. "Guide me to the akuma, we need to stop them".

"Always so right, Buggaboo. I guess my sister will have to put up with guiding Lordbug, grabbing his hand and pulling him" says Chat teasingly with a smug smirk looking to the mentioned boy.

"Stop calling me Buggaboo!" says Ladybug.

"Shall we go then, M'Lord? Frosty and Sparky are getting away" says Kitty grabbing Lordbug's hand, making the boy jolt from surprise. "Aw, come on big boy, no need to bug out, it's just me~".

"Sorry for not being able to see anything in pitch black darkness" replies Lordbug as flustered as embarrassed.

"Just trust in me, bug" says Kitty. She nods at her brother and both began to run, guiding their parnters in the dark.

They manage to catch up to the akumas when they are to go into the emergency stairs, but the akumas somehow notice them and increase their running rate. Chat takes the head position and follows them into the stairs, just to be greeted by the two akumas grinning on the next floor with fire extinguishers on their hands.Stormy weather throws hers and Hail Queen waits for Chat to dodge to throw hers. Chat dodges the first extinguisher by a hair, but the second one hits him on the forehead just as the first one hits a blinded Ladybug. Both get knocked off, but Kitty and Lordbug enter andhelp them up while the akumas escape laughing at them. The heroes keep pursuing the akumas until they reach the roof, where the akumas begin to float above them while attacking them. Stormy Weather backs off a bit and starts preparing a hurricane while Hail Queen throws ice chunks and a freezing ray to the heroes to keep them busy. A hurricane forms on the clouds and begins to descend, swallowing the building entirely and Hail Queen frozes the door, trapping the heroes on the roof.

"You airheads!" says Stormy Weather laughing at the heroes.

"You fell right into our trap!" says Hail Queen with a devilish grin. A purple mask appears on the akumas faces.

"The time is now! Bring me the miraculos dear akumas!" says Hawk Moth.

"There's no way out!" shouts Hail Queen.

"Party is over fools. Give us your miraculous" says Stormy Weather with a cocky attitude.

The bugs take a step simultaneously. "We are just-" both of them stop when they notice the cats still holding them.

"Sorry m'Lady, I forgot to take a hold of myself" says Chat as he releases Ladybug's hand, who groans at the pun.

"Um, Kitty? You don't need to hold my hand anymore" says Lordbug trying to mantain composture, but flustering anyway.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise we were still holding hands" says Kitty blushing a bit. She recovers her composture and releases his hand just to boop his nose.

Lordbug recovers his composture and looks at the akumas. "We're just getting started!"

"Lucky Charm" chant the bugs and they summon a towel and a bottle of water.

"A back towel and a bottle of water? What are we supposed to do with this?" asks Ladybug observing the items.

"Great, so we're about to be obliterated, but at least we'll be dry and hydrated" says Lordbug sarcastically.

"Just hold your antennae Lordgrump" says Kitty engaging a fighting stance.

"Hail!" says the icy akuma and it starts hailing.

Chat Noir pushes everyone into a spot and extends his baton as he begins to spin it over their heads, acting as a shield against the hail and giving his buggy partners time to figure their Lucky Charms out. "Better think of a plan to get us all out of this! My arms won't take long to get crampy!"

The bugs begin to analize their surroundings to search for what they need. They know they need to coordinate their plans this time due to the pair of flying akumas with long range attacks, that could intervene to rescue the other in case of need unless they are also busy. Because of that,coming with a plan would certainly take longer than usual and knowing this, Kitty made Chat trip as she used her baton as a spinning shield instead of her brother. And then they see it, the spotted figures that lead them into a perfectly coordinated plan. Lordbug and Ladybug nod at each other and turn to their parnters, explaining their plan with a sinlge look into the cats' eyes, who nod agreeingly. Seconds later, as the hail stops, Ladybug signals Chat to run to one of the giant panels and Stormy Weather throws a bunch of lightning in the way, but Chat Noir grins as he changes his route towards the opposite pannel. Meanwhile Kitty and Lordbug had distracted Hail Queen throwing her her own hail, focusing her attention on them until the thunders roar behind her. Hail Queen turns to see Chat getting to the pannel and reading his Cataclism, Stormy focused on him, and just when she's about to attack, Lordbug throws her an ie chunk taht hits her head perfectly. The akuma turns again with cold fury shining on her eyes, which quickly turns into surprise as she sees that Kitty Noir had already climbed the nearest pannel to her and was free falling to her.

"Freeze right there!" says Hail Queen throwing Kitty a freezing ray.

"Just what we were waiting for~" sings Kitty with a smirk.

She cataclysms the bottle and it explodes as the freezing ray hits it, freezing the water that was getting all over the place and forming an ice plate taht got thicker due to the ray before the akuma could turn it off. Kitty Noire jumps on the ice patform and gets a firm grip of the pannel as the ice plate falls faster to the ice queen and knocks her down, stucking her to the floor. At the same time, Chat Noir had cataclysmed the other pannel's support, making it fall onto Stormy Weather, forcing her to use a lightning to make a hole for her to go through, not noticing Ladybug's yoyo tiead around her leg or how Ladybug slid under an air duct, jumped onto the ventilation system and extended the towel to propel herself to the skies until it was to late and she was being pulled down from her leg and a crane was knocking off her umbrella. Chat Noir jumps and grabs the umbrella and then passes it to Ladybug, who catches the umbrella and lands safely. Lordbug picks up Hail Queen's umbrella and with a quick glance at each other, the bugs break the akumatised umbrellas by smashing them against their knees. The hideous butterflies slither out of the umbrellas and try to fly away, but both bugs fling their yoyo's and catch the akumas to purify them. A moment later, two white butterflies ascend to the sky as the clouds wither away and the bugs summon their miraculous cure, evoking a clear blue sky with a shining sun that makes a smile appear on the young heroes' faces.

"What are we doing up here?" ask confused the now deakumatized twins

"Pound it!" say the heroes at unison doing their fistbump before leaving the scene, but then, they hear two sobs and turn around.

"Uh... Are they crying" asks Chat Noir in a moment of sheer intelligence.

"No Chat, they are breakdancing. Of course they are crying!" replies sassily Ladybug approaching the girls.

"Hey, what happens?" asks Kitty to the former akumas. "Everything is fine now, we are here with you so bad old Hawkie won't infect you twice. Come on, tell us what happens".

"We- We worked so hard to win!" says Aurore between sobs.

"A-A-And all we did is losing with a huge difference of votes. And t-th-they didn't even want to participate! They j-just wanted to b-b-be more confident" continues Aria.

"Even worse! Not only have we lost the contest, but we also lost our temper and became akumatized!" cries Aurore.

"Hey" says Lordbug placing a hand on the shoulder of both girls. "We know you two did your best and we don't blame you for being akumatized".

"It's not your fault that Hawk Moth uses negative feelings to tamper with yourselves. He is the only one evil and at fault for the akumatization, you two were just feeling bad like perfectly normal human beings, he messed with you and manipulated you" says Ladybug kneeling down.

"Exactly, you two aren't villainess or something like that. What you did was normal and we can relate to feeling down after not winning a competition. If it makes anything better, we voted for you" says Lordbug with a comforting smile.

"Thank you" say the girls and hug him, leaving everyone surprised.

Unexpectedly, the door of the stairs bangs open and Mirielle and Miriam appear. They look distressed and out of it as they search franctically, but then they see the heroes and their ex rivals and they visibly relax, letting go a deep sigh off their chests. They approach the heroes and the former akumas with a paper and they hug Aurore and Aria crying.

"We're so sorry. When you where akumatized we were afraid and guilty, because we know how hard you two had worked" says Miriam.

"We just did it on a whimp and it wasn't fair at all" cries Mirielle.

"B-But you discovered something while you were akumatized" says Miriam showing the paper.

"What is that?" asks Chat curious. "May I see it?"

"Y-Yes" says Miriam giving Chat the paper.

Kitty stands up and reads the paper with her brother. "What?! That profit driven cheater!" shouts Kitty.

"What happens?" asks concerned Ladybug.

"Their votes were even, there was no winner but they rigged it so they'd win more money" explains Chat holding back his anger.

"What!?" exclaims everyone.

"We don't want to be weathergirls, especially not after that" says Mirielle drying their eyes. "You deserve it more than us".

"What?! No! I- We refuse to work with that jerk!" say at unison Aria and Aurore.

"Well, I have an idea" says Lordbug.

"What is it my Lord?" asks Kitty.

"What that guy did was outrageous and we can't be left with no weather reports, so we're obviously going to go to the police so they aprehend that guy and he loses his job for that" explains Lordbug. "But since they were even and we don't have a winner, why don't you four take turns to present like we do to patrol? Let's say Aurore and Mirielle present one week, the next one is Aria and Mirielle, the next one is Aria and Miriam and the next one is Aurore and Miriam and repeat".

"I agree!" says Miriam blushing.

"Me too!" says Mirielle blushing as well.

"I-If you say so. We also agree" say the blonde girs blushing too. Then the heroes leave the building.

"Purrfect then. Since we have more time until we detransform, we'll take this to the police" says Chat. "But I must say M'Lord, you're quite the lady killer".

"Of course he is, he's handsome, tall and a hero. What a pity I already love someone else, we could make a great couple, couldn't we?" says Kitty. "But I do love someone else".

"How unfair my Damme, teasing a young boy like that. If I'm a lady killer you must be a serial killer, killing all the boys that see you" says Lordbug.

"Well, except for the one I like, but that's irrelevant, you've got to go" says Kitty pointing towards the earrings.

"We'll talk about this later, but I'm sure that even tha boy you like likes you back, who could deny your beatuy?" says Lordbug before they leave.

-At the park-

Marin and Marinette rush across the park, desesperatedly trying to get to Alen, Alya and the little girls to check up on them. Tikki and Tekke take their heads out of their hiding spots and the designer duo slows down to listen to their kwamis.

"Marinette, look, Adrienne and Adrien are there! You'd leave a good impression on Adrien if you check up on them after being so close to an akuma" says Tikki.

"It's also good to check on your boss too Marin, You might want to keep the job" says Tekke in a serious tone, making unclear whether he was joking or not.

"Our first priority should be the kids that have been entrusted to us" says Marin.

"You could go there and relax a bit. Alen and Alya are plenty capable of watching those two for a while" retorts Tekke.

"Plus, you two have defeated an akuma just now, you should be allowed to have a bit of fun as well" says Tikki.

Before none of the designers can reply, two girls shout excitedly getting near. "Marin! Marinette!"

"Sorry, they just run off when they saw you" says Alya approaching them as the Dupain-Cheng hug the little girls.

"Thanks for calling the firemen AND the buggy heroes" says Alen.

"We just run into them and asked them to get you all out of there. I'm glad they defeated those akuma" says Marinette.

"We know your secret" chants Manon.

"What secret are you talking about?" asks Marin sweating bullets.

"You two are best friends with Ladybug and Lordbug! That's why they came so fast!" says Mina.

"O-Of course!" says Marinette calming down.

"If you were, you could get us some interviews right?" says Alya softly elbowing Mari.

"We could, but what would be the fun in that?" teases Marinette.

"So, what were you going to do?" says Alen.

"We were thinking of checking up on the Agreste, let the girls do the shoot and take them home" explains Marin.

"What are we waiting for then?" says Alya already heading to the models.

They get there and Adrien notices them. "Hey guys, crazy afternoon right?"

"You tell me sunshine, we were trapped on a frozen carroussel cocoon" says Alya.

"H-How you a-are? I mean- Ho-ow a-a-are yo-you?" asks Marinette clumsily.

"We kind of lost our bodyguards, so we went hiding on a building. Thanks for asking" says Adrien with a smile that makes Marinette's heart explode.

"How were you two with all that crazy icing and lightning?" asks Adrienne. "I wouldn't want to lose my best employee because of him losing fingers to the cold or to a bolt" says teasingly.

"You know, Marinette and I were pretty safe" replies Marin. "We went to look for help and after getting the firemen and our local heroes we went straight for cover".

"Wait, you meet our heroes?" says Adrien half excited half unpleased.

"O-Only Ladybug and Lordbug though" says shyly Mari.

"We suspect they may know them well~" teases Alen.

"Surething dude, we're also the cats if you want us to be" says Mar sassily. "You know how kids are".

"Hey!" complain the little girls.

"Well-" tries to say Adrienne, but the photographer arrives and interrump them.

"Hey, we need to get those pictures as soon as possible!" says the man desesperately.

They restart the photoshoot, except this time the Agreste models were posing with Mina and Manon instead of solo. Vincent, the photograper, made them pose in various ways: Adrien and Adrienne holding high the little girls, everyone sitting on the fountain, the little girls hugging the models, the models carrying Mina and Manon on their shoulders, everyone jumping, playing hands and so. When it seemed to have finished, Adrienne bowed down and whispered something to the young girls, who inmediately nod and run to the photographer, tugging his jean softly to get his attention. Vincent kneels down to hear the little angels, but he goes back to his feet when he notices Adrienne coming, who picks up the little girls so the photographer doesn't have to bow down.

"We were wondering that, since this little girls have helped so much and Marin and Marinette had given us their permission to do this last part of the shoot, which as you can say it went perfectly smooth, would you mind to take a couple of pictures including those two? It won't go to my father of course, so there won't be any pressure to reach perfection and I'll pay for the photos" says Adrienne.

"Please mister photographer" beg at unison Mina and Manon, making their best puppy eyes.

"Uggh, fine. These two little angels have been a great help, it would be unfair for them" says Vincent giving in. "But, I'll only take four more photos and I won't be giving you instructions".

"Thank you Vincent! You're the best!" says Adrienne and gives him a kiss on the cheek, Mina and Manon copy her.

"Marinette! Marin!" call the little girls.

"What happens?" says Mar.

"Is the shoot over?" asks Mari.

"It is, but as a thanks for letting this girls help, I've asked Vincent to take a bunch of pics extra with you two and he accepted to do four more" says Adrienne.

"We're doing more photos?" asks Adrien coming close to see what is happening.

"We're doing more photos, yes. But we're doing them with two of our firends! Isn't it awesome?" says Adrienne excited.

"Of course! Mari is a great friend, I want a photo with her" says Adrien smiling as he mentally curses Marin.

"W-W-Wi-With m-m-me?" asks Marinette getting redder than a ladybug.

"Yes! I'd like to consider myself to be your friend and I want to have a photo with you. Is that wrong?" says Adrien getting a bit down.

"N-N-No! It's perfect! You're perfect! I mean- It's a p-pe-perfect Id-d-dea!" says Marinette flustered.

"Great!" says Adrien with a pure and inocent smile that makes Marinette's heart skip a year woth of beats.

"And we'll also be in the photos!" says happily Manon.

"Because we also want a photo with Lordbug and Ladybug best friends!" says Mina.

"You are?" says Adrien very surprised.

"What? Of course not Agreste, these little angels just thought that because we met them and asked them to rescue Alen and Alya and the girls" says Marin quickly.

"Sure thing" says Adrien not very convinced.

"Let's do the photos! Ok?"says Adrienne quickly changing the topic.

"Let's go!" agrees Mari.

After some discussing, they did two photos of everyone together posing and one photo with each Dupain-Cheng, making a picture of Marin being kissed on the cheek by Adrienne and the little demons and one of Marinette being hugged by Adrien and the girls, but then Vincent, unsatisfied and excited to see the dynamics the models had with the designers, he asked them to make two mre photos, but with the opposites twins, resulting on a photo that screamed fluffyness and cuteness with Adrienne, Marinette, Mina and Manon hugg together smiling from the bottom of their hearts, which made everyone say a big "Awwwww". The other picture however, it showedpure competitiviness and healthy rivalry, with Marin holding Manon and Adrien holding Mina doing a horsemen war. Alen was laughing his ass off as the boys carried on with their horsemen war after Vincent took the picture, which lead to Marinette scolding Marin and Adrienne scolding Adrien, making the Cesáire burst into laughs.

"Well, I think it's time for us to leave" says Marinette, checking her watch.

"Before you go, do you have any plans for Halloween?" asks Adrienne.

"Not that I know, unless you want me to make something else for you, then I'll be working" says Marin.

"Oh, and here I thought that I could comision you another halloween costume, because the one you made is just for a formal event" teases Adrienne. "Anyway, how about you two?" says to the reporters.

"I don't think so, but probably we'll have to stay and look after our own little angels" says Alya.

"Well, if you can, we were thinking to convince Nino and Nina to go trick or treating" says Adrien.

"That would be awesome" says Marinette excitedly, but blushes instantly when she realizes that she has said it outloud.

"Well, if Mari is so eager to get more sweets I guess we'll have to make sure she doesn't ends up on a sugar rush" says Alya sassily.

"Hey!" says Marinette embarrassed.

"Great then! Marin, I'd like a costume different from the formal one my father ordered but I'm not sure of which and I don't want to trouble you more. Can we go and buy one this week?" says Adrienne.

"If you had an idea I'd simply sew it for you, but I guess it will be a nice experience" says Marin.

"Perfect! See you tomorrow?" asks the model.

"Yeah, I'll also have your hat ready" answers the designer.

"Is it a date or can I tagg along with my man" says Alen.

"Oh I don't know, bring Nina and we could have a double date" says Adrienne winking at the boy.

"You're on" replies Alen smirking.

"You all done flirting?" asks Alya. "The bodyguards are beginning to look impatient".

"Crap. Guess we'll have to go" says Adrien and the blondes leave.

"Ok, now... What was that girl?" says Alya turning to Marinette. "That was the longest phrase without stuttering you've said in front of him until now. Except for the first day, but that's something else".

"I was... Excited for the sweets?" tries Marinette.

"Yeah, right. And I'm Ladybug" teases Alya.

"You almost were" thinks Marinette.

"I just liked the idea of trick or treating ok?" says Mari quickly as she blushes.

"By the way, what are you two going to go as?" asks Alen sparing Marinette.

"I was thinking of going as Frankenstein" says Marin. "Althought I also thought of going as Mario the plumber".

"Man, if you go as Mario I'll go as Luigi" says Alen.

"Mario it is then" says Marin high fiving Alen.

"And you girl?" asks Alya.

"I'm not sure to be honest" says Mari. "Any ideas?"

"Girl, if you go as Chat Noir I'll be your Ladybug. Or a witch, so you're my cat familiar" says Alya.

"Which one, because I'd need different fabrics for each of them".

"Just do it as Chat girl, it would work the same for both options" points Alen.

"Okay... Then let's go shopping, I need an awful lot of leather and a clear photo of Chat" says Marinette.

"We've got you on that last one" says Alen holding his phone with a picture of Chat Noir standing.

"I'll handle the girls until Nadja comes, so go on sis" says Marin.

"Where is Marinette going?" asks Manon.

"She's going to buy some stuff to dress as Chat Noir, so tell her goodbye" says Marin kneeling down.

"Goodbye Marinette" echo the girls almost robotically.

"Goodbye girls, be good with Marin" says Marinette.

"I'll see you all in a bit" says Marin as he leaves holding hands with the little angels.

"If Nina was here she'd joke about the Angel holding the little angels" says Marinette and Alen bursts in laughs.

"Well girl, what are we waiting for? Let's go get those fabrics" says Alya pulling Mari away.

"Hey! Don't leave me here!" complains Alen chasing after the girls.

-At Marinette's room-

"Today has been a complete day" says Tikki as she rests on a pillow.

"It sure has been. School, taking care of little girls, akuma fighting, shopping and designing a replica of Chat's costume. Now that I think about it, why couldn't I simply make one like Kitty's?" says Mari letting herself fall to her bed.

"Because, and you know it, Alya ships LadyNoir. Well, she also ships LordNoire but that isn't relevant right now" says Tikki smiling.

"I know, but I don't get it. We're four teammates, why do we have to date between us? And why do they asume we're hetero? Yes, I know Marin is, but I'm bisexual, I could perfectly be with Kitty Noire" whines Mari.

"But you know you're good friends with Kitty" says Tikki. "But you do treat differently Chat".

"Because he's usually my partner!" says Marinette.

"Admit it, he is good looking" teases Tikki.

"Well... Yes! But he's horrible and his humour is loathable. He's also a flirt, it's his fault people ship us" says Marinette nervously.

"I've only heard him flirt with you thought" says Tikki.

"Whatever. He's a good partner, but I still haven't forgiven him for trash talking about Marin and denying Kitty's feelings" says Marinette.

"It has been two weks Marinette" says Tikki and they hear a knock on the window.

"I'll hide, if it's an akuma I'll get Marin" says Tikki phasing through the bed.

Mari goes to her window and takes a look outside opening her window. "Who's there?"

"I'm Kitty Noire" says Kitty getting closer so Mari can see her. "Can we talk a bit?"

"Um... Sure? What does one of the heroes of Paris want with me?" says Marinette nervously, wondering if Kitty had heard her talk with Tikki. "Come in please".

Kitty entters throught the window and sits on Marinette's bed. "What a nice room" says Kitty.

"Thanks... You wanted to talk right? What happens?" says Marinette nervous.

"Well, first of all, I want to apologise againfor what my brother and I did two weeks ago. It was out of place and we shouldn't have done it on your rooftop" says Kitty lowering her ears.

"I'm not mad for it... Not too much... Not on you definetly" says Marinette.

"Thanks for forgiving me. Second... I have this for you from my brother" says Kitty giving her a package.

"What is this?" asks Mari confused.

"Well, my brother was really shocked of what you said and felt very sad. He thought that he ha disappointed you and apparently he cares an awful lot about your opinion on him" explains Kitty calmly. "He even freaked out searching an apology gift for you and almost skipped his patrol to come to give you this".

"Wow... I didn't know he thought so much of me. I mean, I overheard Ladybug and Lordbug saying you two know us out of the mask, but I didn't realise I matter so much. Am I going to be surrounded on superherobussiness now?" says Marinette, unsure of what to think or say.

"Well, not on our end at least" says Kitty Noire. "We don't want to trouble you and we're kind of ashamed of our behviour".

"Oh please, I've seen Lordbug worse and I've fed their magical thingy, something like kwamees or kwamis, more than once now" says Marinette.

"You've seen their kwamis?" asks Kitty surprised.

"Yeah, small red flying thingies with a black spot. They are adorable and very nice" says Marinette mentally cursing her own stupidity.

"Wow, I wouldn't have expected it. But then again, you saw threw them like nothing, so I guess it's normal for them" says Kitty.

"I guess. Thought it was the kwamis who revealed themselves when we told them we knew about their superheroing stunts" says Mari improvising.

"Oh, that makes sense" says Kitty. "My brother's kwami and mine are two mischievous little trolls, I'm surprised that they hadn't 'accidentally' revealed themselves to someone else"

Marinette giggles. "Poor you. I guess they must be tough to deal with".

"Oh you know nothing, they break havoc a lot and eat this awfully smelling cheese that stinks most of our stuff" says Kitty, happy to hear Marinette giggling. They spend a couple of minutes in silence until it truns awkward.

"Well... Kitty, I'll be honest with you" says Mari getting up. "I'm still a bit annoyed with your brother, but since he seems to respect me so much, I'll also forgive him if he promises to listen to you and not asume everything. Also tell him thanks for the present. What is it?"

"Well, he casually heard you were making a Chat-like costume for Halloween and wanted to contribute a bit" says Kitty with a wink. "Now, I have to go, but stay safe Mari".

When Kitty has already left, Marinette opens the present and sees a blonde wig with fake cat ears attached, just like Chat ears, a copy of his baton and clawed leather gloves. Mari smiles. "That dork, looks like I'll have to forgive him".

"He thinks greatly of you" says Tikki.

"He respects me. Maybe he's even afraid, from what Kitty said" replies Mari, ignoring Tikki's questioning look and going to sleep. "Good Night Tikki".

"Good Night Mari" answers Tikki.

______________________________

First - Previous - Next

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous au #miraculous fanfic #Twins!Au #hero apprentices twins

1 note · View note

pandemicthestory · 5 years ago

Text

10: confused

Fake it til you make it.

In the middle of the City, fairly close to the Academy, there is a chrome-colored building that is taller than almost all of the rest. Night and Sugar stand in front of its doors, wondering how they’re going to get in.

The building is called “Mecca.” It’s filled with headquarters for top companies--mostly builders, but also fashion and interior designers, medical technicians, and game developers. Thousands of civilians report here for work 5 days a week. But since it’s Friday, as soon as it’s 5 o’clock, these workers will leave their desks and head to the top floor.

At the top floor of Mecca is LOUNGE, an exclusive night and day club where windows are always blacked out and the passing of time can’t be measured. A night club meets speakeasy meets casino, this is where the elites go to unwind. After a long week’s work of building, the business men and women of Mecca can swipe their membership card at the top floor and indulge themselves in the darker parts of life.

And this is exactly where Sugar intends on taking them.

“There’s no way we’re getting in.” Night mutters, hitting his forehead with his palm. This situation feels seriously illegal and seriously stupid. As he and Night stood at the front of this massive building, Night begins to wonder if he’s made a big mistake.

“Hold on now, don’t give up just yet, man. Listen, the separation medical facility is in this building.” Sugar explains.

“So..?”

“People think we’re Vacaters. So, we’ll tell security that we have appointments today, they’ll let us in, we’ll head to the facility and…”

“And what?”

“And figure it out from there? Let’s go dude!”

*buzz*

*buzz buzz buzz*

Suddenly, Night’s phone starts blowing up in his pocket. He can’t ignore it, because it just keeps going.

“Hold on a second, Sugar…”

Night reaches into his pocket and sees that he has several missed texts and calls. From Julian.

Oh god, what does he want from her so desperately? What could be so important that it can’t wait?

This is why he’d tapped Emma’s phone. It wasn’t because he’s creepy or trying to infringe on her privacy, though, he’ll admit, that’s exactly what it looks like. No, it’s because she’s unpredictable, and surrounded by people who don’t know what’s best for her. And because he really needs her to make it here.

JULIAN: where are u

JULIAN: stopped by your house and u weren’t there

JULIAN: ur mom said u were out for a walk, but i don’t think that’s true. Tell me what’s happening

(3 MISSED CALLS)

JULIAN: your friend zoe says that you’re out somewhere with her boyfriend. Care to explain? Wtf is going on...we’re leaving in a few days Emma

(2 MISSED CALLS)

JULIAN: we’re leaving tomorrow

Leaving?

Leaving where?

Night had known that Emma was planning something, just not what. Apparently Julian does.

Sugar taps his foot impatiently while Night composes a response to Julian. With the software he installed on his phone, it will be rerouted through Emma’s number. He’ll have no idea.

“EMMA”: Going where?

A pause, and then Julian is typing.

JULIAN: there you are. Fuck. don’t do that to me

“EMMA”: where are we going, julian?

JULIAN: what are you talking about? Are you trying to distract me from the fact that ur out chilling w Gabriel? The fuck?

Now Night is actually confused. Is this why she didn’t answer him? Because she was busy with Gabriel? And for that matter, who the hell is Gabriel?

What’s going on Emma? Everything you need was sent straight to your doorstep. Couldn’t have been easier. All you had to do was get the mail. So what went wrong?

Sugar yells to him, “DUDE, NOW.”

“Ok ok, I’m ready!” Night says, while composing and sending one last text.

“EMMA”: i’m not going anywhere with you julian. I’ve changed my mind. Don’t contact me again

Night runs after Sugar. He wonders to himself...what does such a smart girl see in such a profoundly stupid guy? Is she that starved of attention that she’ll settle for anyone who gives it to her? Note to self: that question will probably be offensive to her if he were to ask it. So he will not.

But hopefully he’ll at least have the chance. Soon.

Sugar storms ahead, and Night basically has no choice but to follow.

Sure enough, they head through metal detectors on their way in, and are then greeted by a squad of security guards. A guard steps in front of them. How many times is this going to happen today?

“Please swipe ID cards on the way in.”

This guard is nicer than the last one, he said please. He’s still in the way though. Sugar steps up.

“Hello sir, we don’t have ID cards because we don’t actually work here. We’re merely here for our appointments at the separation facility. We’re wearing our uniforms to indicate our status.” Sugar says, oozing with professionalism and aggressively overdoing it. Night fights a laugh under his breath (“merely..?”) and Sugar elbows him discreetly. The guard frowns.

“Is that so? We weren’t told of any separation appointments scheduled today...in fact, it’s rare that they’re ever scheduled on Fridays. What’s the reason you’re here for the service today instead of Monday?”

At this moment, both Sugar and Night are hoping that the other one has more knowledge of who the hell Vacaters actually are and what the hell the separation facility actually does. Unfortunately, neither of them do. Night realizes that he’ll have to throw another hail mary pass and hope for the best.

“Well it’s because, the...service...is going to be followed by a session with some other associates at LOUNGE.”

Now it was Sugar’s turn to try not to laugh. That was officially the dumbest ass response ever, which is why he is the resident debauchery mastermind and Night spends every night in front of a computer and a dead plant.

Night tries to remain confident. He couldn’t bank on these guys not understanding Vacaters, like the last pair of idiots, but he gambled that he could bank on them not knowing much about LOUNGE. From the look of it, these guys don’t seem like the type to be invited to an exclusive, glamorous party. They’re wearing jumpsuits.

“What? Really? That’s so...unusual.” One guard says. The other nods in agreement. They actually seem a bit...jealous? As in, why have these two bratty teenagers been invited to the top floor when we who have worked here for five years never will?

“Well yes, my father is a builder and it’s, uh, a sort of rite of passage for me to be vacated, er, separated, alongside him. In a celebratory way. After work.”

If Night got away with this, he’d owe the forces of the universe one.

The guards just nod in admiration while Sugar looks incredulous.

“Well then, good luck young man. We hope your last night will be a special one.”

The guards exchange nods with Night and Sugar, who head forward to the glass elevator.

“Separation facility is on 43!” Calls one of the security guards from behind, almost wistfully. Maybe one day he’ll get the chance to see what’s up there. But not likely.

Once inside the glass elevator, Sugar hugs Night around the shoulder.

“Ok honestly, I’m a bit shook that you’re a bad ass. Was pretty sure that you were just a virgin computer nerd.”

Night laughs to himself. That’s all that anyone has ever expected of him. But right now, seeing himself through Sugar’s eyes as a genius lawbreaker feels good. Intoxicating, even.

“What floor’d he say? 45, was it? Sugar asks.

“Why not go straight to the top?” Night asks, with a mischievous grin.

He hits the number “100” without waiting for an answer.

* * *

Emma crashes through the front door of her house, ready to have to explain herself to her parents and hoping to get through it painlessly.

But they don’t seem to be home. “Mom? Dad?”

They must be out looking for her. Now it all makes sense...her neurotic mother was blowing up her phone because she couldn’t even trust her daughter to take a walk around the damn block. Then her phone got destroyed in the parking lot. And now, since she hasn’t answered, they’re out looking for her. And when they eventually get back, she’ll probably be sent to prison. Cool.

Emma decides to take this time as a gift. Tune everything else out. This is her shot to save Isabel.

Emma runs upstairs to her room and tears the cardboard off the headset. She tosses the instructions aside because she has enough knowledge to put one of these together without them.

Does it need to be charged? It does not. It’s ready to go.

Now, to check on the download…

7 HOURS REMAINING

She groans. It’s speeding up, but not enough. She needs to plug in now, not in 7 god damn hours. She sees on her computer that there are a shit ton of unread G-chat messages from Zoe. Ugh, she’s probably dealing with some sort of jealousy moment right now and Emma just doesn’t have time to deal with it. So she doesn’t open them. Sorry Zo. You’ll forgive me.

Emma wracks her frazzled brain--there’s gotta be a way for her to get online and contact Emma.

Wait.

Emma runs across the hallway to Isabel’s room, carrying the headset and headphones. Isabel is still slumped over in her chair, alive, looking the same as before. Well at least she’s alive, which is cool. Emma examines the game on the computer--scanning the twisted map view of a city for any sign of her sister. None. Hm, guess it doesn’t work like that.

Emma looks at the game settings.

Ah, input/output. Yes. This is it.

If she can’t join from her own game, maybe she can join Isabel’s.

Emma sits down on a pile of clothes in the back of Isabel’s closet. She might as well get comfy, she could be here for a while. She puts on thick noise-canceling headphones and the headset, and everything goes dark and quiet.

Power on.

Emma wirelessly connects to Isabel’s computer, then sees the icon for the Universe game pop up in front of her eyes. With a nod, she selects it.

Black becomes blue.

Silence becomes ambient drone music.

Isabel’s done VR before, so she expects this. She still feels excitement. This technology never ceases to amaze her.

It’s when the feeling of the laundry beneath her fades away into a rush of cold air...

This, she does not expect.

#write #writer #writers on tumblr #writers #yanovel #yanovels #scifi story #my writing #hackergirl #gamergirl #virtualreality #scifi writing

2 notes · View notes