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zombocomme · 5 months ago

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[Midnight Special Theme plays:]

Zombocomme: Well, well, well, we are back on the air and we thank our audience for their patience. Mental health vacations should be taken by everyone, and loving yourself is so important, no? As this episode airs we have a little bet going on behind the scenes. You see, this story was originally selected from the BTL Lore vault and it's central characters and true ending have since been left on the cutting room floor, in favor of lending it's spirit to this collaboration project. Half our crew believes the original ending for the AU should make a debut, (ending A.), whereas the other half believe that leaving the episode resolution a mystery is perfect as is (ending B.) I've seen both of course, but I find that every rendition of the story means something new. I could go on forever re writing it, but the spirit of the tale is the same. And yes. It is time to move on from this Collab project to our next exciting slot, even if we do wish we saw a different end. I'll hope our audience enjoys this theatrical cut... And once again, this program is brought to you by contributions and collaborations from audience members like you, thank you.

And Now, Ministry 📺TV presents.

Featuring @frjimdefroque and @ask-miasma-ghoul in

RBRG/ FRJD and AMG:

✨️🐦‍🔥Combiverse🦋✨️

Spin off Episode: part 4 (ending B.)

Between The Lines, Episode 7 PART 4 of 4: “So help you god…you're set free”

Enjoy

NFW: MDNI : Rated-R: (Mature themes) *mentions death and dead bodies, bugs, gore and frontier diseases and violence, guns, religious interpretation of trauma, consumption of body and blood, allusions to murder/self and description macabre, and ghosts of the espooky kind.

“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” KJV- Mathew 25:37-40

🌌🗻🍂🐑🐾💀❄️🫲🙂‍↕️🫱❄️💀🐾🕊🍃🗻🌄

[Midnight Special Theme continues to play:]

God… The temptation made Miasma shiver and his stomach pool a hot coil tightening from within…Jim shivered, but for a completely different reason…

Jim’s eyes clouded milky white. As he stood at the edge of the sunken sacred earth, it became more and more like a pit at the bottom of a gentle slope. They had dug into the brick and when they had looked up, the world around them seemed like a whiteout. Nothing. Only the distant row of the trees, the line circling them like a black fingered noose, that while it lay in wait, seemed somehow to tighten all around them all at once.

Jim stood up and threw the shovel, “The Captain wrote it, all but confessed it, ‘The Game had moved on’, he said! There were no ‘bucks’,” Jim seethed, desperately aching, “Only desperate people.”

Miasma tilted his head away as if in mild disgust beholding the long since charred remains. Remnants of their time, discovered in the horrifying aftermath of ‘The end’, preserved like a stony fossil, cold and forever dead, until it hardened and became known… became the truth…concrete, and indifferent.

“They must have been starving” Miasma said, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, voice barely above a whisper.

“Like the Donner Party. They burned everything they could. But left the main place standing, the places most damnable. All this evidence left behind… like someone wanted this to be found” Jim said through his trance like state, rocking on his heels, vulnerable and icy. “Whoever wrote that Diary probably.” Jim swallowed, feeling like a blue ice cube had been swallowed, frosting through a hole in his stomach. He felt sick. Brittle old bones and a few scraps of rotted cloth, trinkets and tokens that had somehow in the heat, collapsed the kilns, trapping the mass grave of bones with saw marks and serrations.

Miasma’s face hardened, his nose catching whiffs of torn tender flesh, festered like that of a blackening fruit, zinging in the putrid of the juice, flies buzzing daintily, “My god… They really dead eat each other, didn't they. and that line, 'to the brick with their kin', hell it condemns the captain as well. Seems it is true...Mankind cannot help themselves can they, when it comes to their baser desires," he swallowed, "I suppose all mortals face this in the end… the judgement day of their wretchedness.

It’s, almost as if no matter what, under the eyes of god, it is true, all mankind is created equal.. That is…” Miasma paused, “...that is because, all men must die… funny… that a God who demands everlasting faith, is also a God that creates its faithful out of such perishable vessels... It’s a shame really” Miasma said, feeling his stomach clamp shut, trapping his insides. Jim eyes were white, his voice echoing almost as if he was speaking aloud where he stood loudly, but softly in a more intimate voice, as if moist in his ears, Miasma heard Jim speak to him.

“And if people are in a kiln, it is because they are dead, or fated to die. Grace means nothing, when the moment comes when the living envy the dead. The true crash of the human psyche, the end of humanity, the end of one’s self, “If the living envy the dead, it’s because the living have something they wish they were dead over, but didn’t die for. If such people willingly went to the fire.”

Was it what they deserved?

Was such a hellish scene of people walking into the fire meant to be the door to their hell, or their purifying baptism in that lake of fire, to get their ticket punched for heaven?

[Don Abandons Alice plays:]

Miasma dropped his shovel letting it clatter on the icy ground. “A willing Lamb for slaughter.” he whispered. He watched as despair for the wretchedness of the world sank Jim to his knees crying milky white tears, that glowed white like the snow around them, “If only they could have saved them from themselves.” Jim wept.

Miasma watched as his vision swayed and all sound hollowed to a numbness like he felt on his body from the unusual coldness of the world. “I am nothing special to god, am I...” Miasma said softly.

Jim shook his head, rubbing at his stinging tears, “Intercessor, hear our prayer”. Jim Wept.

And as Miasma watched on, Jim began to sob, saying the prayers of Last Rites, and the Apostles creed.

…As the dead around them at last began to rise…

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee,

Dust curled around them “ashes, ashes, we all fall, up?” Miasma sang softly to himself, a lilt, as the rising debris began to slope up, taking shape, bone and soot, ice and charred things that began to warm and fowl under the sudden humidity and heat that melted away the snow. the immediate Area encircled with Fire.

and I detest all my sins because of thy just punishments,

Miasma’s breath sucked into his chest, it was like being in the pits, all over again!

"No, no, no, no!" Miasma panicked, pacing like a wild thing, looking for escape.

but most of all because they offend Thee, my God,

who art all good and deserving of all my love.

“Father! Father Jim!” Miasma began shouting, his voice raggedly higher in his panicking call, trying to climb over the brick as a corpse groped for his blackened boots, the others approaching, rising, clawing, teeth gnashing. One even tore his crucifix off.

Jim whirled and saw the hellish scene, his eyes watering, in a voice not his own, but that of the captain of that camp mourned, “Oh what have we done, what has the world done to us!”, lamenting and wailing.

Jim could feel it, like empathic fire searing his veins as he felt the dead in their personal hell that was this goddamned oven, boiling over with a cacophony of cries for absolution. Seeing Miasma on the ground as he tried to scurry away from the dead thing lurching forward, chasing after him, Jim grit his teeth.

He grabbed a shovel and swung, a nauseating squelching noise as the blade of the shovel bisected a purple and grey corpse… “Miasma, Miasma I’m coming!” Ice chipped, bones snapped and shattered, ashes swiftly swept away, charred remains crumbling, there were too many closing in, every single one of them blocking all hope of leaving this circle of hell alive.

As Jim swung the blade, he could see the exact moment each person had died, like a snap of an old timey photograph flashing in his mind, how they had died, the white smoke around him distorting his vision, seeing human faces in place of the skeletal, every stage of decay and remains, portraying the humanity of their souls; The human experience all share at that moment where life ends and death begins, the fading light, and not every time had the eyes gone dark. before their breaths drew their last .

Miasma saw it too, and said what Jim couldn’t say, or else it would mess up the narrative, Oh yes. not only cannibals... but *MURDERERS*

I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace

to sin no more

and to avoid the near occasion of sin.

Amen.”

[The Walking Dead Theme plays:]

Jim grunted, kicking back another clawing corpse that kept re-rising, like everything else. The suffering just would not die. And the living wished it was over, but their night had only just barely just begun…

Miasma felt like he was unable, incapable, inconceivably broken, that Jim had to come to his rescue, him? A Ghoul born from the fiery scapes of hell, why was it so hard to move, to run, or rush to defend. He felt like he was a helpless thing, marooned on an island surrounded by the sulfuric seas, boiling and acidic, toxic air stinging his every pore, bleeding from every hair”

“Jim help me, please!" He cried, seeing these beings the way humanity surely saw him, a murderer, a consumer, a black wolf preying on the living. "I can’t I can't go back! Please Jimmy! Help- I” Miasma began to cry. He knew, if they were dragged under by the suffering souls fondling the earth to rear up and claw their way back down with the living, sinking more and more souls with them, they would surely be lost.

Jim gripped Miasma by the shoulders, “Shut the fuck up! I’m getting us out of here!”

“Jim if we get caught and we die-”, “Then suddenly this is not our problem anymore” Jim said, brows knitted in pain from the feeling he had, the empathy of feeling the suffering and fear of his friend.

[The Last of Us plays:]

“Miasma, We came to fight, even though we didn’t ask to. We came to find a way to set things right, and we came to find that peace. Please,” He said standing, panting. The dead were closing in as well as the greenish hellfire that was now all around them, as if they were trapped in a circle at the heart of the darkness where the deepest pain and regret could go. “Take my hand Miasma” Jim said softly, as if the dance macabre all around them were but nothing.

Green flames looked like blades of green grass soft in the sun like silk through the fingers.

“Though I walk through the valley….” Miasma thought as he looked up.

“Miasma, please. What is higher power than what we are inspired to follow as a light in times of darkness.” Jim said, his tone soft and yet gracious, begging his friend to heed his words.

“Pray with me Miasma” Jim said, lifting Miasma up. “This is the lord’s fight…and we are on a mission from God” he said, a defiant tone as he faced the crowding undead. He held Miasmas hand in his, turning to dig his heels, a shovel in hand, ready to cut down whatever stood in their path.

“I never thought I'd fight beside a hell-spawn against hell.” Jim chuckled as they circled back to back, eying the massing wall of bodies, the weight of their work, heavy. Miasma looked down and saw his shovel, ready, calling out to him like one crying from the dust, ‘get to work’.

“What about dying beside a friend?” Miasma said, feeling a renewed strength in him as he brandished the broken shovel where blood was already painting it like a splattered crown.

Jim chuckled, “Well hell, guess I'd call a man pretty lucky if’n you can count him amongst your friends."

As shovel blades thwacked and spun, slicing as they ducked to move away from the grapples of the corpses haunting their every footstep, as they danced around, trying to clear a path with the force of their wills, but finding the action wasted, the dead were rising as soon as they were brought down, unending. Unyielding. and all around them...

"You'd call me your friend?" Miasma huffed, dodging around a small group.

"Friend, follower, whatever the fuck you call someone like you!" Jim shouted with a crooked grin, taking a large bloated corps down at the knees, trying to avoid its grasp as it crawled towards him.

"SINNER! how 'bout that!" Miasma said angrily, roaring as he cut a corpse down, black blood spewing from it's gut and flying to fleck his face. He bared his fangs as he faced off another skeleton, this one more agile than the last.

Jim frowned, "You act like ain't no sinner has a chance at seeing heaven's light! Don't be a doubting Thomas when you are so close!"

"Close?! Hah!" Miasma swung, bashing the skull into pieces and watching it mend over, but for being momentarily disabled, he moved to his next target, trying to force his way out of their circle of suffering.

"You know what I mean, I'll tell you every story under the sun if it will help you see the light! Even if I have to drag you over them pearly gates myself!" Jim winced, a shattered rotten ulna cutting him deep as he pivoted to break free of another hands grasp. "If'n we make it out alive! But I'll keep fighting till I'm dead!" He almost laughed.

“Yeah well, what the fuck about Judas then! If I’m gonna fucking die, I want to hear you preach to me about that story!” Miasma shouted as he was hauled backwards towards the ground. Jim bounded over to the offending body, bringing the blade to sever the head from the neck, the corpse clattering to the ground, the icicles of it’s skin shattering, peppering the white and black snow with meaty shards of putrid chunks.

“Ya know, if that ain't THE most perfect story for this” Jim said, an idea touching his brain like the light of god, burning in a bushel behind his eyes. “Miasma, corale them!” “The fuck you mean coral them”

“Just shut up and gather your flock, look at them, going after you like you’re going to give them what they want, round them up!” “Like a fucking sheep dog?!” “Exactly!” Jim said, a gleam in his eye, as he made his way towards the dilapidated chimney, the flames closing in. “Use the time you have, and it ain't much, look!” Jim pointed as he scrambled on the dirt, ripping up icy clods that stung his fingers with the freezing cold bricks.

[Earth plays:]

Miasma managed to peek behind his shoulder, shovel up in two hands as he used it to try and push the herd of corpses back, his tail flicking back and forth to avoid being singed by the hellfire.

No. he didn’t envy the dead. That wasn’t his purpose. It wasn't what his dreams and yearnings meant. It was a hunger for something more, something beyond the toxic sludge of desecrated flesh. His consumption wasn't of bodies, or people, he wasn't trying to quench something in him over humanity and its hopes and dreams. No…. He craved what came of something higher, that which is granted from above...

*purpose*.

And now, now he had it. It didn’t matter how. What mattered was that it was. And with a great heavy groan, he pushed the group back, inch by inch as the fire closed in, circling them, getting them to move in hopeless circles, for their own good, he knew. You can only break curses when you set the offending souls to rest. They rest only when they can be reached. be understood. finding peace in compassion.

Jim climbed the highest mound he could, he could feel the green flames surrounding them like a sphere closing in. and it was his purpose to fight, by pushing back.

Holding out his arms to the green light at the end of what would be his mortal life, his voice rang out, catching the ears of all who could hear, and the eyes of those who got turned around by the likes of Miasma to see. Beginning his sermon on the mound of detritus and dust of self destruction. Feet wedged in the brick, rooted unmoving, and yet bowing in and around as the dead tried to drag him down but failed in their graspings, he began to preach...

“SINNERS!” Jim shouted above the chaos, “Even Ye are worthy of redemption, an absolution…an end to SUFFERING! I call on you to listen! Suffering is but a means to a grateful end. And for what considerations do ye call yourselves devils!” he said, the wretched word pulled like toxic ooze from his mouth, tongue lolling out as the black bile in his stomach rose, and vomited out of his stomach. It felt like it was tearing at everything on its way up, but there was a relief in the regurgitation, of finally letting the words he should have said before, at last coming out to reach the sinners in his current care. Truly, Jim really was speaking to those that called themselves damned for their actions.

“If ye believe in God, as whatever you call divine, that grants swift justice that now gnashes your teeth, then you must also believe that as exists justice, so too does there exist MERCY beyond!"

Miasma shouldered several corpses causing them to crumble and hiss, but as Jim’s voice rang out clear and true, his conviction became theirs, and spellbound like rats to the piper, they slowly turned, and gathered around him. Heeding his words.

One by one, brainless, heartless, things turned toward the voice that was preaching about the possibility of redemption. And Even Miasma was listening...

As the ghoul swiped and prodded the masses of corpses stumbling to face Jim , they swayed and stuttered in their cries, as if halted in their footsteps… looking almost human, in the clarity behind their once cloudy eyes. Blinking even. The dead and things forming from the earth, wove in and around the ones who listened, and their features began to change. Taut leathery skin slacked and sagged but lay more supple upon their gaunt features.

Shattered bones and cracked fissures separating one bone from another healed and came together, bones and flesh began to mend, and even as Miasma still had to fight hard, ever on his toes, there was a rhythm to the movements he made. He found a sure footedness he could confidently maintain. And the unexpected shove and grappling attempts made, he would handle one foe at a time.

Funny how in the moment he realized the noble way of fighting for himself, was what nobly fought for the people stumbling around, lashing out and being turned to words of comfort, and repentance.

*you can't pour from an empty cup*

Miasma thought.

Jim continued, “If you believe in miracles, in the divine, then believe in me when I say, if god so rests on the seventh day, then surely, in god’s image, you must also have your end, and at an end is there not rest?!”

Miasma could feel the shifting crowd as he continued his circling, trying to keep the group's edges from fraying. The hell fire was still closing around them but it was slowing, as if it too, was listening.

“I beseech you, right here, right now, look beyond the guilt, the blame, Your God knows of them and has clearly made you suffer for it. But there is more to God than just, justice. There is also MERCY. Deliverance, Salvation. Forgiveness. Absolution.

[Bonnie Choses to Stay plays:]

Jim felt the white smoke and mist around him settle, as one by one the faces as he saw them at the time of their deaths began to appear. And he recognized each one, and because someone had the talent to preserve it, knew them by name.

And as Jim recited the words of psalms from memory, every syllable uttered gained in power and conviction. As he spoke, a great tree sprung from the earth behind the congregation, and Miasma jumped, the hellfire that had been around them shoot past and into the tree, whirling and and brimming with the green light that no longer burned around them with heat infernal, but rather swayed and danced like the leaves of summer tresses, a weeping willow sighing in the breeze...

“If you would find your God now, would his cleansing fire scorch you, or warm you of the coldness settled in your hearts.” He could see the fullness of their faces, where in their eyes a prayer of hope had remained in each one.

Jim’s voice that had been booming now took on a softer tone, gesturing to the ground he stood on, “Can a monument to the cruelties of time not also be the ebenezer raised, the miracle that comes at the end of all suffering?

The animated remains yearned for hope. To Miasma and his sight, all he saw were hellish beings, poor devils, in rapt attention to the sound of Jim’s voice, hanging onto every word.

While Miasma was breathless, a sense of pride and accomplishment at being an author of such a bizarre and touching scene, made him almost chuckle. As Jim preached, the words he had heard so often said at the rituals and from the pulpit, came swimming to him, floating, haunting his thoughts as time moved onwards, and yet seemed to also stand still.

“The memory of your suffering will not define you, but the hope and promise of renewal, FAITH, is your salvation…Even the likes of Judas can find their way to heaven... You are but on the long road to Damascus, and struck blind to see... for without suffering how can one know peace. I call on you, for it is time now, to know of that peace...”

Miasma stood his ground, panting, his purpose, stood before him, the herd of corpses corralled around Jim, who spoke to them with such grace and compassion, reaching a hand out for their humanity to reach back.

1 LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory in the heavens.

*From the pinnacle to the pit*

2 Through the praise of children and infants you have established a stronghold against your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger.

*Her acts of cruelty and her lust for blood

Makes her one of us*

3 When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,

*You shine like the sun and the moon and the stars in the sky*

4 What is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?

*Holy Mother, you washeth the sin from our feet*

5 You have made them a little lower than the angels and crowned them with glory and honor.

*Under a monolith, her likeness

Marble white*

6 You made them rulers over the works of your hands; you put everything under their feet:

7 all flocks and herds, and the animals of the wild,

*An' piercing eyes emotionless

A heart so black and cold*

8 the birds in the sky, and the fish in the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas.

*Winds come on strong so help you, God

Come unleashed,*

9 LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!

*you're set free*

And suddenly Miasma realized why the number of the flock was off. Why there was a presence in and around every story told. There had been one last member of this flock that needed finding. That needed saving.

*Himself*

He prayed, pleading for the green fire in the tree to call out to the lost, and as he backed away from the congregation gathered at Jim's feet he heard the soft bleating sounds of the Lost. the one’s whose stories were never told…

Coming forward, drifting towards the tree line where Miasma was running was a spectre of a young woman. The opaque figure was heavy with child. Even as Jim held the attention of the crowd he too saw the visage in the shadows. The implications not lost on him.

[Farewell plays:]

He motioned, gently parting the sea of faces as he too made his way to where the woman went no further. Miasma looked at Jim. “We have no choice, if we want to break this curse, all the troubled souls must be put to rest. Even this one..." his tone almost tender, as he saw himself in her- eyes moistened.

*Jim always came back for him. Couldn't he do the same for her?*

Jim looked at his friend, a verse in his head that repeated over and over…

*Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me*

Jim nodded and gently clapped his hands together, snapping the white smoke and mist away, the congregation paused, no longer animated, still as statues. The mist swirled ahead as they watched the woman drift off into the trees the mist following her, like a guide-rope to her every step. While they followed her, they reverently pondered on her presence in these woods...

“Of course… her name would never be in the ledger, or the photograph. Most women weren't so acknowledged at the time, and certainly not a preacher's wife. It was seen as vain." Jim muttered, shaking his head. "Such a shame it is that such stories were often left so unknown, trapped in time. Stories want to be heard, and if it curses something to achieve it then so be it...even if the story was not a happy one, it deserves to see the light..." Jim turned, putting a hand on Miasma's shoulder, stopping a moment. Miasma laid his own on top. The two companions sharing a quiet look, one filled with understanding and compassion. It was a moment that even if lost to the known world in those woods, would forever stand the test of time, in the peace it gave to each of those beating hearts.

*She considered herself damned though at her death she was harboring the life in her belly… there was a restlessness in the tense air around them.. Stemming not only from that burden, but also, that they had never been known at all.*

“Were you the one who kept the ledger” Jim called out. He had noticed the crucifix on her visage as being the same as the one Miasma had worn and subsequently lost. The very same...

The woman sobbed softly in response, her mournful cries echoing around the trees unnerving and heartbreakingly hollow.

*... at its heart, that bloodstone…they had found it. They had found her. At last...*

Miasma thought aloud, “It makes sense doesn't it… Father Evight Vanhassel, and his wife, the civilizing influence together as they tended the flock of sinners that worked in these woods. When the camp lost them, they lost their reason to hold on to their humanity, The Captain, The Doctor, Father Evight, and the Missing, Lady Van Hassel...such a tragedy...such a loss...But if she, her remains, I mean, are not with the other bones then-”

“What happened to her?” Jim finished. They took a breath of the cold pre-dawn air, and strode to follow the spectre into the dark wood.

Braving the unknown, to seek the truth…

The specter led them on, floating, as if walking, stepping on stone long since worn smooth, over dips that no longer existed, through thick trees that had been thinner when she had once wandered the paths of these woods, her mournful cries and trembling voice bouncing all around them.

Their stomachs felt uneasy, like something sad and horrible awaited them. So very much like the dreams they had been having except this time, someone was leading them to the pit in which the lost had fallen…except, even the horror they knew they would face, was as valid and important to know. If it meant giving the young woman peace, who were they to deny her story to be known...

Yet, step by step, the eerie stillness surrounding them abated, giving way to the common sounds of a sleepy winter wood. The spectre appeared almost tangible now, and though the air was growing colder as she lead them farther into the wood, towards a deep fissure in the earth where a frozen creek lay still now, where the truth lay buried, and scattered, the companions felt an ease in the tension. A lift of their burdens, in carrying them together. The broken things inside them would mend, they knew. The pieces would fall into place. And soon, both Miasma and Jim stood at the edge of their triumph, facing a chasm where a ravine gaped at their approach.

The night was clear and the air rushed around them as time all at once stood still. They found themselves surrounded in the events that lead to the curse of that wretched blood stone… carefully they descended into the ravine and trotted together through it's shallow waters that and been lost to the passage of time, following the bend until they arrive to their destination...

The woman almost seemed to sigh in relief, as they approached her lovely bones, and learned of her demise. For at last her story would be told. And all that had been lost, every last sheep of that flock, would be found again... and non would ever be left behind again...

Daylight was breaking, and as they gazed upon a conspicuous spot where she had fallen so long ago, they had tears in their eyes. The sun was once again rising in that lonely valley, dappling through the trees over this spot where the scene almost felt Holy.

A sapling had sprouted so long ago in that very place, and as the mysterious passage of time faded from view and Jim's eyes lost their powerful sight, they stood before a magnificent Willow tree, miraculously untouched by the surrounding white snow, green spring grass under it's umbrella of care.

This is what they were meant to see. A corner of the world where goodness and love remained untouched by that which corrupts it. A Holy place in the heart where faith in those one loves, and in those whom one cares, lives on forever.

Jim pulled the crucifix from his pocket.

"I, thought it was lost" Miasma said softly, admiring how it shined in the dawn light.

"Oh ye of little faith" Jim chuckled softly, his voice thick with emotion, "Despise not the small things..."

He lay the cross at the foot of the tree and a gust of wind blew through, that sigh of relief washing over them like a warm blanket, enveloping them in a grateful embrace.

"Do you think we did it? Do you think we did the right thing?"

Miasma asked, taking Jim's Hand, they stood back and watched the willow shiver and shake gently, swaying in the breeze like any other ol' tree.

Jim removed his shoes. Miasma did the same.

Feet on the hallowed earth they stood hand in hand.

"Yes," Jim replied, giving the ghoul's hand a squeeze. He turned to see his friend, face upturned to the sunlight, eyes closed, a soft smile playing on his features as he basked in the feeling all around them.

"Yes angel," Jim said once more, "I suppose we did."

"Hm." Miasma smiled, feeling as if in the glow of the morning, he had wings.

*... he was free...*

9 notes · View notes

luhvmria · 23 days ago

Text

Not Very Career Like (Silka x Maysilee)

Silka’s pov:

The forest smells like sweat and blood and wet bark, and I can hear Panache breathing like he’s just sprinted a mile. Which he hasn’t. He’s just a loud breather. Probably because his nose got broken on the second day, and he’s too vain to admit it still hurts. We’ve been walking all morning, and I’m pretty sure Carat’s only still alive because Loupe keeps sharing the protein bars.

District 1 solidarity, I guess.

I walk in the back of the pack, my axe dragging behind me. It’s not the smart thing to do—walking last. But it’s the easiest way to sneak off. I keep glancing behind me, pretending to check for threats. Really, I’m just looking for a flash of pink.

I see it.

A faint shimmer of soft hair through the trees. Moving fast. Alone.

I don’t think. I veer off the path.

“Where are you going?” Panache hisses, but I don’t answer. He won’t follow me. Not unless I tell him there’s sponsor gifts growing from the trees.

I move fast and quiet. My boots barely make a sound. Maysilee Donner is fast, but I’m faster. Especially when I have a mission.

And this is a mission. A very personal, very emotionally confusing mission.

I duck behind a tree and catch a full glimpse of her.

Maysilee Donner. District 12. The only girl in the entire Games who makes me feel like I’m losing a fight even when I’m winning.

God, she’s cute.

She’s also armed with a blowdart gun and full of righteous rage. Which is a problem, because I’m supposed to kill her. But it’s also kind of hot. Which is an even bigger problem.

I crouch low. Wait. Watch.

The first time I saw her—really saw her—was in the Tribute Interviews. I was wearing this ridiculous dress my stylist made: a green thing with a 15ft trail. The top was a corset that barely let me breathe, and the bottom was made of this stiff sculpted tulle that made my hips look like I was trying to cosplay as a pastry. And don’t get me started on the trail it went on forever.

And then Maysilee walked out onstage in that yellow dress, sweet and simple and so different from all of us, and looked directly at me like she could see into my soul and went:

“Some tributes are trying a little too hard to look expensive. But if I wanted to see a human disco snail, I’d go to a Capitol nightclub.”

The audience roared.

So did Panache. Carat literally spit her water out. I was halfway out of my chair before the Peacekeepers pushed me down. My fingers were curling into fists like it was a reflex. And not because I was mad. No. Because she noticed me. She talked about me. She thought about me enough to make fun of me.

I spent the whole rest of her interview trying not to smile like a lovesick idiot.

And don’t even get me started on the locker room incident.

The tribute parade had been bad enough. They put the four of us from District 1 in inflatable diamond suits. Literal balloons. They squeaked when we walked. We looked like disco chickens.

And of course Maysilee noticed.

“Hey, District 1,” she called when we walked into the prep room after. “What happens if I pop you? Do you go flying around the room?”

Panache wheezed with laughter. Even Barba Carat lauhged.

I saw red.

I lunged. Almost made it to her too. But the Peacekeepers tackled me like I was a rabid raccoon.

Maysilee just smirked.

“I guess I do pop balloons.”

I could’ve kissed her right then.

Which is concerning. But here we are.

She stops to tie her boot. Now’s my chance.

I sprint.

She hears me and spins around, pulling her slingshot up—but I tackle her before she can aim. We crash into the leaves, and I pin her shoulders to the ground, straddling her thighs.

Her eyes widen. Then narrow. Then widen again.

“What the hell, diamond girl?” she snaps.

“Hey, sunshine,” I say sweetly, panting a little. “Miss me?”

She tries to wriggle out from under me. I push her harder into the dirt.

“Oh no you don’t,” I say. “You made me look like an idiot on national television. You called me a balloon. You don’t get to run away now.”

“Pretty sure you tackled me in a forest. Not exactly a public stage.”

I grin. “I can make this a performance if you want.”

She rolls her eyes. “Gross.”

“You like it.”

“I’m literally trying to kill you.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, leaning closer so my nose is brushing hers, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

She freezes. I see her gulp. A slight, sharp breath leaves her nose.

Victory.

This is the most fun I’ve had in days.

“I should scream,” she mutters.

“You should,” I agree. “But then I’d have to gag you.”

Her cheeks go pink. Score.

“I thought District 1 tributes were supposed to be scary,” she says.

“I am scary,” I say. “I’m very scary. I’ve killed four and made Panache cry.”

“You also tripped over your own axe this morning.”

I glare. “That was one time.”

“It was today.”

God, she’s such a brat.

I kind of love it.

We just stay like that for a minute. Me on top of her. Her glaring at me. I could kill her right now. I should. But something about her mouth—her stupid, smug little mouth—makes me want to do something way dumber.

Like kiss her.

She tilts her head. “So. You gonna kill me or what?”

“Eventually,” I say.

“That doesn’t sound very Career of you.”

“I’m not like other Careers,” I say in a mock Capitol accent. “I’m deep.”

“Yeah, deep in the Capitol’s perfume budget,” she says.

“Are you trying to make me mad?”

“I don’t have to try.”

I sigh, dramatic and over-the-top. “You know, Maysilee Donner, I’ve been dreaming about this moment since I first saw your judgmental eyebrows onstage.”

She blinks. “Wait, what?”

I ignore her. “You, flat on your back. Me, fully armed. A dramatic backdrop of trees. It’s all very poetic.”

“I—are you seriously flirting with me while threatening to kill me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s messed up.”

“You started it.”

She groans. “This is so weird.”

“It’s our thing.”

“No, it’s your thing.”

“Whatever. I’m making it canon.”

We stare at each other again.

She’s still under me. Still not screaming. Still looking at me like she can’t quite figure out what I am. I don’t blame her.

I’m not sure either.

All I know is that I should be reaching for my axe.

But I’m not.

Because Maysilee Donner is beneath me, beautiful and bratty and alive, and I don’t want to ruin that just yet.

Besides.

This is the most fun I’ve ever had.

Maysilee’s pov:

Okay.

So I’m on the forest floor, flat on my back, with a girl from District 1 on top of me like I’m the main course at the Capitol’s all-you-can-murder buffet.

And not just any girl. Her.

Silka Sharp. Literal murder goddess. Diamond axe-wielding psycho. The same girl who almost bit my head off because I made a joke about her parade outfit. (Which, let’s be honest, was the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Inflatable diamonds? Who okayed that?!)

I thought she hated me. Like, truly hated me. But now she’s hovering above me, one hand on my shoulder, her stupidly pretty hair falling in waves like she’s in a shampoo commercial, and she’s smiling like she just won a prize.

Her voice drops to a murmur.

“Can I kiss you?”

My brain, which is usually decent at words, completely melts.

“What?” I manage.

“Can I kiss you?” she repeats, eyes sparkling like actual diamonds. “Just once. For research.”

“Research?” I echo, because I am suddenly very dumb and very warm.

“Yeah. I just need to know what kissing the girl who made me cry-laugh during the tribute interviews feels like.”

She’s joking. She has to be joking.

Right?

But then I look at her—really look at her—and I see the tiniest flicker of nerves behind all that confidence. Like she’s not sure I’ll say yes. Like maybe this matters more than she’s letting on.

And honestly?

I should push her off.

I should kick her in the ribs, grab my slingshot, and sprint in the opposite direction before she decides to stop flirting and start axing.

But I don’t.

Because the truth is? I’ve been thinking about her too.

Ever since that moment backstage when she nearly lunged at me after my balloon joke. Ever since she glared at me like I was the only person in the room worth fighting. Ever since she scowled and blushed at the same time.

God, that shouldn’t be cute. But it was.

So I say it.

“Okay. You can kiss me.”

She blinks. “Seriously?”

“Before I change my mind,” I mutter.

Her eyes gleam. “Oh, I’m not wasting this.”

And then she kisses me.

And it’s—

Wow.

Okay.

This is not a test kiss. This is not a “just once” kiss. This is a shut-up-and-feel-this kiss.

Her lips are warm and confident and a little bit cocky, just like her. She tilts her head, fitting perfectly against mine, and her hand slides up to cup my cheek. It’s gentle and rough at the same time, like she can’t decide whether she wants to worship me or ruin me.

And the worst part?

I kiss her back.

Hard.

Because I’ve been running for days. Hiding. Freezing. Pretending I’m fine. And now here’s Silka, dangerous and ridiculous and way too close, and she’s kissing me like I’m the last safe thing in the world.

So yeah. I kiss her like I mean it.

And she groans. A low, surprised sound that goes straight to my spine.

She shifts, pressing her body against mine, and suddenly my back is sinking deeper into the moss and her hands are in my hair and we are—

We are making out.

Like. Actually. Making out.

It’s messy. It’s intense. It’s possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I do not care.

She kisses like she fights. Fierce. Focused. Unapologetic.

Our mouths move together in sync, her lips parting mine, her tongue brushing gently, testing, then more confidently when I don’t pull away. I thread my fingers into her hair—because it’s there and it’s soft and smells like cedar and sweat and bad decisions—and she moans into my mouth like she likes that.

I feel like I’m burning. Or floating. Or both.

Her hands are everywhere. Cupping my jaw, ghosting down my neck, gripping my waist like she wants to pull me closer. I arch into her without thinking, my body moving on pure instinct. Her thigh presses between mine and I gasp, and she smirks against my mouth like she just won the Games.

We kiss for what feels like forever. There’s no time here. No arena. No death. Just lips and heat and breath.

At some point we pause, panting.

“You kiss like a Capitol girl,” I tease.

She raises an eyebrow. “Expensive and emotionally unavailable?”

“Exactly.”

She grins and dives back in, kissing me like I insulted her and she’s proving a point.

And okay. Maybe she’s winning.

I tug her closer. Her weight is comforting, even though it shouldn’t be. She’s my enemy. She’s Silka. But right now, she’s just this girl with trembling fingers and a kiss that tastes like adrenaline and secret feelings.

And I let her kiss me again. And again.

God, we kiss for so long. Like twenty minutes long. Like we forgot we’re in a televised murder dome long.

We only stop when we hear a voice behind us.

“Well, well, well,” someone drawls. “Looks like District 1’s getting friendly with the enemy.”

We jump apart like we’ve been hit with a taser.

Silka rolls off me, grabbing her axe in one smooth motion. I scramble up, flushing violently, wiping my mouth like that’ll hide the fact we were just eating each other’s faces like starving bears.

Panache stands a few feet away, leaning against a tree with the smuggest grin I’ve ever seen.

“I was coming to find you because Carat saw smoke,” he says casually, “but clearly you were busy finding something else.”

“Shut up,” Silka snaps, brushing dirt off her pants, her cheeks turning red for the first time in ever.

Panache’s eyes flick to me, then back to her. “So, uh. We making out with enemies now?”

“She’s not a enemy,” Silka mutters.

“Not yet,” I say, crossing my arms.

Panache raises both eyebrows. “Well damn. Okay. Didn’t expect to stumble on a Capitol soap opera in the murder woods today.”

“Panache,” Silka warns.

He puts his hands up. “Hey, no judgment. You know what I always say: if you can’t beat ‘em, make out with ‘em.”

“That is not what you say,” Silka huffs.

“Okay, but it should be.”

There’s a beat of silence. The tension shifts from shocked to something…weirder. Lighter. Almost like this is normal. Like we’re not all trained killers circling each other with weapons and one-liners.

Panache walks up, still grinning. “Welcome to the Career pack, Maysilee.”

I blink. “Wait, what?”

He shrugs. “Silka already claimed you, and we all saw it, so. Might as well make it official.”

“I did not claim her,” Silka says quickly, panicked.

“You were on top of her.”

“That’s not claiming! That’s… strategic dominance.”

“Right,” he says, clearly not buying it. “Totally tactical. Very professional.”

Silka groans and hides her face in her hands.

I bite back a laugh. “So that’s it? I kiss one of you and now I’m in the club?”

“Pretty much,” Panache says. “You’re lucky. Usually we haze the newbies.”

“What’s the hazing?”

“You have to watch Carat try to flirt with Capitol stylists.”

I wince. “Yikes.”

“Exactly.”

Silka sighs, dragging a hand through her hair. “Can we not tell Carat and Loupe about this?”

Panache smirks. “Oh, I’m telling everyone.”

“Panache.”

“Come on, Silks. We’re in a deathmatch. You gotta take your fun where you can get it.”

She glares. “I will kill you.”

He winks. “Only if you don’t kiss me first.”

Silka picks up a rock and throws it at him. He ducks, laughing all the way back to the trees.

I glance at her, unsure what comes next.

She won’t look at me.

But her ears are red.

I nudge her with my elbow. “So…”

She peeks at me, eyes wary. “Yeah?”

“You gonna make out with everyone you threaten to kill?”

She grins.

“Only the cute ones.”

#sotr #sunrise on the reaping #the hunger games #silka sharp #district 1 #fanfic #district 12 #maysilee donner #wlw #gxg #lesbian #panache barker #oneshot #funny

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tarotoftheendless · 1 year ago

Text

Well, TomStu gurlies, I can't say I will be the first one to write Will Donner/Willie Pajamas Waiting for Forever fanfiction, but this is just a taste of what could have been out there all along. I have stuff in the works too that I hope y'all will love 😘

Thank you @dragon-kazansky, I love you 😘

Beautiful

Will Donner x Female Reader

SMUT!!

18+ content!!

This fic contains explicit sexual themes.

For my darling @tarotoftheendless 😘💕

♡♡♡

Willie looked at me through those long lashes of his. His lips were slightly parted. He looked nervous and all I could think to do was reassure him.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Willie licks his bottom lip and then nods his head. It seems he can't quite find his voice at the moment. I smile and reach out, brushing my hand against his. He lets me take it.

“You'll enjoy it. I promise.”

I take a step closer and look up at him. He watches me with those pretty blue eyes of his. God, I could lose myself in them. He's so pretty, and I don't think he realises it. I reach up on my toes and kiss him softly. He inhales sharply through his nose as soon my lips touch his. I smile slightly. Slowly, I reach up and caress his cheek. I run my thumb along his cheekbone.

He shivers.

“Do you like that?” I ask softly.

“Yes.”

I chuckle and do it again.

If Willie reacts like this to a simple touch, how will he react when I have my whole body pressed up against his?

How will he react if he lets me go all the way?

“I'm going to look after you, sweetheart. Okay?”

He nods and chases after my lips again. I chuckle softly. He wants kisses and he can have them.

This time, I wrap my arm around his shoulders and guide him back toward the bed. The moment the back of his knees meets the mattress, he goes down.

I chuckle and let him get comfortable before straddling his lap. I reach for his hat and toss it to the side carefully.

His hands settle on my waist. I smile and lean back in to kiss him. I let my hands settle on his shoulder and slowly bring them down his chest. He tilts his head down to see what I'm doing, so I reach up and tilt his chin up.

“Eyes on me, love.”

I go slow, giving him plenty of time to stop me if he wishes. I remove his vest, letting it fall on the bed behind him. I keep kissing him, distracting him a little as I work on the pyjama top, pushing it over his shoulders.

He lets out a shuddering breath.

There's only one layer left on top. I can see his cheeks turning slightly pink. He's bound to be bright red when I remove his pants.

I kiss along his jaw and down his neck, keeping him occupied with my lips. He's panting. I have to smile. He's getting so worked up and hasn't yet asked me to stop. He's enjoying this.

I want him to enjoy it.

My hands grab at the hem of his tee, and I tug at it. He gets the idea and lifts his arms up, allowing me to remove it fully.

There's a moment of utter stillness and silence as he takes in the fact that I can now see his body.

I smile.

“You're perfect.”

Willie smiles and leans forward again, claiming my lips for his own once more. I run my hand down along his bare chest and feel that shudder again. He's excited. Very excited judging by the tent in those pyjama pants.

I can't help smiling again.

His arms try sneaking around my waist, but I tell him off lightly. “Ah, ah. Now I have to take something off.”

“Let me,” he says quietly.

He grabs my own shirt and pulls it over my head. He lets it fall to the floor. I place my arms around his shoulders and pull myself closer to his body. His lips inches away from my own.

My breasts are pressed up against his chest with only my bra preventing further contact.

“It's going to have to go if you want to see everything,” I say, chuckling.

Willie exhales quietly, and I feel his hand trail up my back gently. His fingers are soft as they inch up toward the clasps. His other hand follows, and I rest my head against his as he pulls the claps apart. My bra becomes slack, and I pull away from his body so I can reach up and pull the straps down my shoulders.

I watch him as I toss the flimsy bra to the side. I reach for his hand and lift it up to my chest.

“You can touch.”

His fingers wrap around my breast, and he squeezes it gently. I chuckle.

“It's okay. You won't hurt me. Do whatever feels right to you, Willie.”

He kisses me again, giving him reason to hide his warm cheeks as his hands carefully cup my breasts. He's being so careful, as if unsure of himself. It's rather sweet.

I lean into the kiss some more, moving my body further up his lap. He gasps against my lips and a smile.

His hard cock was right under me now.

“Those pants have to go.”

I slide off his lap slowly, trailing my hands down his body until I reach the top of his trousers. I look up at him as I tug them gently. He knows he has to lift his hips up off the bed for me to remove them completely.

He takes a second. I can see him thinking it through in his head. I told him I'd stop if he asked, and I meant it.

Then he lifts his hips, and I smile at him. I tug his pants down, leaving his underwear on for now. I tug the pants off his legs and toss them down where my clothes lie.

I lean back up and kiss him again.

“I'm proud of you, Willie.”

“Yeah?” He voice is soft.

“You're doing so well for me, baby. We're taking it nice and slow, yeah?”

He nods. Willie reaches out with a bit more confidence to touch my body again. I smile at him.

I give him another kiss and stand up. He looks up at me, his hands settling on my hips. I smile and tug off my trousers, taking my underwear off with them. I want him to get comfortable with my body.

“Give me your hand.”

He lets me take his hand in mine, and I guide it down between my legs. His lips part as he looks up at me. I guide his hand to massage me.

Willie bites at his bottom lip as I press his hand harder against me. I guide his fingers across my clit, letting him get a good feel of me.

I let go of his hand slowly. Willie's breath seems to catch in his throat.

“You're fine, Willie. Go on.”

I feel his fingers twitch a little before he continues the motion I helped him with before. I gasp softly as he pushes a finger in. I nod at him, wanting him to carry on. Willie keeps his eyes locked on mine as he works his finger in and out gently.

“Go on,” I encourage again.

His other hand grabs at my hip, kneading the flesh there. I don't care if he leaves a mark, I want him to enjoy himself. His other hand keeps a steady rhythm in and out my pussy. Willie inserts a second finger, almost shyly, and I tilt my head back a bit as he fingers me. I moan and Willie breathes out sharply.

I return my gaze to him to find him looking at me with a glazed over look.

I reach over and place my hand on his chest. His heart beats wildly under my palm. I can still see his cock begging to be free from the only piece of clothing between us, so I let him finger me a little longer before I move his hand away. His fingers glisten and he looks at them curiously.

I want to remove his underwear, but I decide to wait. Grasping his wrist gently, I bring his hand to my lips and take one of his fingers into my mouth.

Willie looks surprised.

I slowly drag his finger out, licking it clean, but leaving it covered in my saliva.

I then bring his hand close to his face.

“Do you want a taste?”

His cheeks are beyond flushed.

He hesitates, but I can tell by the way he looks at his finger he wants to.

I push his hand closer to his lip, and I watch his tongue dart out to lick his finger. I smile softly. He's so cute.

I pull his hand away and kiss him.

“Alright, sweetheart, let me see you. You can't possibly be comfortable.”

I sit on the bed beside him and tuck a finger down the waistband of his underwear. He leans toward me, seeking any sort of contact. I kiss him once and free his cock to the air.

He inhales a little sharply, and I leave his underwear with the rest of our clothes.

He's glorious. The poor darling is clearly aching for release. I've worked him up so much.

“You're so beautiful,” I whisper in his ear.

He chuckles softly.

I signal for him to move further up the bed. He does so. His breathing pattern is uneven, and he grabs the sheets beneath him. I hover over his body and lean down, pressing my lips to his chest. I press kisses down his chest, down his belly, and all the way down to his waiting cock.

I kiss the tip lightly, and he makes a small whining sound.

It was perfect.

I kiss it again and watch as his fists tighten on the bed sheets.

Without much warning I take his cock into my mouth. The groan he makes is one of the sexiest sounds I've ever heard.

I go slow to start with. Willie's never experienced this before. He makes even more beautiful sounds as I take as much of his cock into my mouth as possible. I suck and lick him, getting my fill of him.

The moan he makes turns me on. There is plenty about Willie that I consider beautiful, and the sounds he's making right now top that list.

He makes little gasping sounds the closer he gets and I go just a little longer.

He starts whimpering my name and at that point I remove his cock from my mouth and look up at him.

His eyes are pleading with me. “Please,” he whispers.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll let you cum, just not like that. Okay?”

He nods his head, and I move myself to straddle him. His breathing is heavy as I lean over him. I press my lips to his forehead. He closes his eyes.

“I love you.”

He smiles. Another beautiful thing about him. I kiss his forehead once more and position myself over his cock. He's sensitive to my touch at this point, so I guide his cock in carefully. I love every little sound he makes while he waits.

I sink myself onto his cock, gasping as I take him in.

His head tilts back, and once again, his lips part, wider than before. I look down at him and smile. He's panting loudly. That's when I roll my hips, and he makes another gorgeous moan. No wonder I'm so fucking wet.

I start slow, finding a rhythm. Judging by the way he reaches out and claws at my thighs, it's far too slow for him. Proud doesn't even cover how I feel about him right now.

I start bouncing in his cock, leaving only the tip in before sinking back down on him again. He squirms under me, trying to thrust his hips with mone. He wants me. He needs me.

I place both my hands on his chest and focus on making him feel fucking amazing.

Willie deserves all the love I can give him.

I pick up the pace and find the exact speed he wants by his moaning alone. I can't get over how beautiful he looks and sounds.

I run my hands over his body. His heart is racing, and it's all because of me.

I can't even praise him because the only sounds I can make now are the moans that match his.

My name tumbles from his lips in a broken whine. He's looking up at him through those long lashes again. His eyes are watering, and I lean down desperately, kissing him.

He clings to me in desperation, and all I can do is wrap my arms around him.

I ride him like my life depends on it, and he clings to me like his does too.

He's so, so beautiful.

My darling Will.

I hear how strained his voice is becoming and press my lips against his ear.

“Cum for me, Willie. It's okay.”

He buries his head in my shoulder and I keep riding his cock until I feel him cum. I don't stop, riding it out. He holds onto me tight.

His breath is warm against my skin. I reach up and brush my fingers through his dark hair. His whole body is shaking. I kiss his head and continue to hold him until he's ready to move again.

“You were perfect,” I whisper.

I feel him kiss my shoulder softly. I smile and slowly tilt his head up. His blue eyes meet mine, and I lean forward, kissing him again.

Everything was perfect.

I let go of him slowly and climbed off his lap. He lies back on the bed and watches me. I simply bring myself to lay down on top of him, resting my head on his chest. His arms wrap around me, and we stay like that. I can hear his heart beating, and I smile once again.

Even when he eventually drifts off, I don't let go of him. I stay just as I am.

I'll still be there when he wakes again.

I'll give him all the love he deserves because he's far too precious for anything less than that.

#will donner x reader #will donner x female reader #waiting for forever #tom sturridge #will donner #smut #dragon writes #willie pajamas #waiting for forever will donner #tomsturridge #thomas sturridge #thomas sidney jerome sturridge

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