#weather is really bad where i am & i have terrible storm anxiety | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aye-write · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: This is a mammoth chapter (over 5k!) but it wouldn't have felt right ending it at any other point. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! I am hoping to keep up a bimonthly update schedule to give me plenty of time to focus on work and my other novels, so I'm aiming for February 7th as my next update date! Anyway, here we go with chapter one!

*****

Chapter One

Isla Reid stared down at the churning ocean and wondered what would happen if she fell overboard.

It could happen, she reasoned. The railings felt flimsy and only came up to her waist. With no ferry staff nearby and only a handful of other passengers too preoccupied with puffing on cigarettes, or watching their Pokemon, would anyone even notice if she did fall? Someone’s Snubbull careened past and Isla could have sworn she heard it cackle. That was another thought. A collision with a Snubbull could easily launch a full-grown person six or seven feet. At least. More than enough to send her over the railings and down into the roiling ocean below. It wouldn’t be pretty, no, but she would have taken anything over what was coming next.

Over my dead body, her mother declared when Isla gave her the news, will my daughter be going halfway around the world alone. As if she’d conveniently forgotten the past four years Isla had spent working and living independently the moment that inter-regional travel was more than a fragile possibility. Before she knew it, her mother had taken over, sitting at the telephone with the air of a military general and a dog-eared phonebook that hadn’t seen the light of day since Isla was a child. Banging the phone down ten minutes later, her mother announced that if she really must go all the way to Kildo (but you really should reconsider, darling, it’s ever so dangerous!), she would be collected from the ferry by her cousins. Cousins they’d had no contact with in years. Cousins that, if she was being honest, Isla had forgotten even existed.

Isla fixed her gaze forward. The ocean unspooled in every direction, slate-grey water in a haze of mist. The ferry ploughed on, swaying like the rocking of a newborn baby, kicking up fans of white foam. A man hanging over the railings made a funny burping noise as they cleared a large wave. Soba mewled and pushed her head into Isla’s clenched hands until she relaxed them enough to pet her. They were getting closer. And she definitely wasn’t in Johto anymore.

A stir of movement behind her and she was pulled back from her percolating thoughts. A group of men shifted through a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke towards the seats. The youngest, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, had a Pidgey perched on his shoulder and a frown deepening his face.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?” he prompted the older men, glancing up at the leaded sky. “It looks like it’s going to rain. I saw on the news that another storm is coming.”

“Don’t be daft!” a man with a wiry beard laughed. His accent was thick, heavy on the vowels, and took Isla a moment to understand. “We’ll be docked well before any bad weather hits.”

“You hope,” the younger boy muttered, but it was drowned out by laughter. “Dad, I’m serious! Remember I was telling you about ADoomWithAView – that streamer? He said that all these storms and stuff are because the Vitalities are angry with— Dad? Dad! Dad, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Son, you would do well to stop listening to that brainwashing drivel.”

“It’s not brainwashing! I’m serious! Humanity’s dependence on technology is what—”

The rest of the boy’s protests were drowned out by a prolonged blast of the ship’s horn. In the distance, something loomed out of the thinning mist. Land. They were approaching land. Soba squeaked as a ding-dong-ding rang out and a voice, in that same thick accent, crackled over the speakers.

“Good afternoon, passengers, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded that all personal belongings and luggage must be removed from the baggage area, communal spaces, and all outer decks before disembarking. For those disembarking via the gangplank, a reminder that all Pokemon – with the exception of service Pokemon – must be safely stowed in Pokeballs and not released until you are safely onto the harbour. To repeat, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded—”

Isla’s heart tightened in her chest. This was it. They were here.

She let her Furret bump against her hands, Soba’s soft fur instantly soothing. “I guess it’s time to face the unknown, eh?”

“Fur!” Soba squeaked.

Isla waited until nearly everyone else had disappeared down the gangplank before braving it herself. She’d travelled as light as possible, much to her mother’s disdain, but the backpack still felt she like she was hauling around a bag of rocks instead of a few changes of clothes and a laptop. Anxiety prickled over her skin – or was it just the cold? – as she faced her first tentative steps into Kildo.

She was almost disappointed when she looked out onto a perfectly ordinary little port town. Tucked into an alcove of beach, Port Glen’s harbour was filled with people and the dreamy hues of blue and green. The town lay ahead in a generous curve, bordered by a strip of sea that already looked darker, almost black, under the deepening sky. A thin wind roused the hair on the back of her neck.

Her mother had given her a reference photograph of Rhona, the cousin who was supposed to be meeting her. Related by marriage through some obscure aunt, Isla struggled to notice even one iota of family resemblance between them. The woman in the photograph had pale skin and a shock of red curls, but not much else in the way of distinguishing features.

At the bottom of the gangplank, Isla swept her gaze around, desperate for a sign of her chaperone. But there was no-one waiting. And as the last few passengers sidestepped her, heading towards the town, Isla suddenly felt very small and very alone. While she hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of staying, even temporarily, with strangers, being alone in a new place hundreds of miles from home was an entirely different brand of anxiety.

Panicky thoughts looped through Isla’s head. Where was Rhona? Why wasn’t she here? Had she forgotten? Had she somehow missed her? Or maybe she just hadn’t seen her yet. But who was still here? She could see a sailor tying ropes, a child wailing at a dropped ice cream, a woman arguing with a… what even was that?

The Pokemon looked like an ordinary Wingull at first, so much so that she nearly skipped over it, but the longer she looked, the more she saw that was wrong with it. This Pokemon was much rounder, a body like it’d swallowed a bowling ball, and its wings were shorter and rimmed with black, rather than the traditional blue. Isla delved for her battered old Pokedex and lined it up with this new Pokemon.

“Wingull, the Seagull Pokemon. Facing competition from Chibber for natural resources, Wingull have resorted to stealing food from witless tourists instead. As such, it has gained weight over time, as well as a more deceiving nature.”

So it was a Kildonian Wingull! That made sense. Isla was the first to admit that her knowledge of native Kildo Pokemon was lacking – a poor decision in hindsight – but she really should have been able to work out it was a regional variant. A flush deepened her cheeks as she imagined her professor’s scowl.

With no guardian in sight, Isla watched the scene unfolding in front of her. The Kildonian Wingull screeched as it dove at the offending woman at the end of the docks, the sound rippling over the wind. There was something in the woman’s hands, something that the Wingull seemed intent on, certainly enough not to be deterred at the attempts to fend it off. Isla let her bag fall and released Soba from her Pokeball.

“Soba, go and help! Use Quick Attack to chase that Pokemon away!”

Soba bulleted towards the struggling woman, squashing herself flat against the ground like a snake, rising into a fierce, full-body strike when the unsuspecting Wingull’s back was turned. With another ear-splitting screech, the Wingull went down like a sack of potatoes.

By the time Isla caught up, the Wingull was gone, dropping into the water of the harbour with an indignant squawk. The woman it had accosted looked harassed as she tried to piece together a ripped plastic bag brimming with wrapped sandwiches.

“Are you alright?” Isla asked, patting her thigh to call Soba back to her side.

“Oh, I’m fine, chick, but I can’t say the same about my lunch! Those Wingull are a terrible nuisance. These tourists think it’s funny to feed them and then it’s us locals that have to live with them. Oh shoot,” she cursed as one of the sandwiches slipped out of her grasp.

Isla ducked down to retrieve it. “Here, let me help you.”

“Oh, thank you, chick,” the woman said. “I have a spare bag here. Gosh, I can’t thank you enough for stopping to help. Usually when a Wingull gets its sights on your food, it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“They definitely seem a lot more, uh, food-oriented than the ones we have back home!” Isla laughed as she helped drop the sandwiches into the new bag.

“Back home?” the woman’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I thought your accent wasn’t local. You’re Isla, right? I can’t believe I didn’t realise it straight away. You’re the spit of your mum, so you are.”

Isla tried very hard not to mind being compared to her mother, but she took a small comfort in the fact that her waif of a mother would be far more scandalised. Was this woman really her cousin? Rhona, if this was her, was pleasantly round, much bigger than she was in the photograph. And while she was still small compared to Isla, it felt like a comfort to finally see another woman in their family that looked like her. And Rhona was pretty, her red curls pulled into a modest bun and her plump skin pebbledashed with freckles. She met Rhona’s eyes and they filled with warmth. Instantly, Isla felt soothed.

“Yes!” she said, barely able to hide her relief. “I’m Isla. And you’re Mrs—”

“Now, chick, you’ll call me Rhona. We’re family after all.”

“Rhona,” Isla corrected herself shyly. “Thanks ever so for letting me stay.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, dear. Always happy to have visitors! I’m just sorry I’m a bit late, I’d stopped to pick up lunch and that blasted Wingull got a sniff of it. Chased me all the way down from the road end! If it hadn’t been for you and your lovely, uh… what Pokemon is this, dear?”

“This is Soba,” Isla stroked Furret and she purred appreciatively. “She’s a Furret. I’m not sure if you have them here. We’ve been partners for years.”

“She’s gorgeous!” Rhona said. “Don’t leave her alone with my daughter, though, she’s obsessed with all things Pokemon. She might try and adopt her!”

“You have a daughter?” Isla asked, frantically wracking her brain to try and remember if her mother had ever mentioned that.

“Yes, my Skye. She’s thirteen and Pokemon daft. And there’s my son, Blair. He’s the same age as you, give or take. They’re both very much looking forward to meeting you.”

Isla felt like something had just severed her at the chest. Why hadn’t her mother mentioned Rhona had children? Living with one stranger had been a scary enough prospect, now there were two more cousins to contend with?

“Come on, chick, shall we head off?”

As the harbour decking melted into gravel path, Rhona’s questioning amplified – How’s your mum? How has she been getting on? Does she still see Great Aunt Florence? Does she enjoy working for herself? – as if she were trying to make up for ten years of missed conversation. Even though Isla could only give short answers, Rhona still nodded and responded as if she’d just given her the secrets of the universe.

“So, what about you, Isla?” Rhona eventually asked as they turned away from the streets and approached a dirt road, littered with pebbles. “Your Mum said you needed a place to stay for a while, but she was a bit hazy with the details. What brings you all the way to Kildo?”

By the time Isla finished explaining her final year thesis proposal, Rhona oohing and ahhing the whole way through, they were coming up on the Whispering Pines Croft. A weather-beaten cottage sat beneath the shade of a looming forest and sloping hills. Fencing laced through the land like thread through fabric, bordering off sections of patchwork ground in brown and green and the occasional flash of vibrant purple. If Isla squinted hard enough, she could make out a field full of Miltank grazing in the distance. Another field to its left was occupied with the puffy, cotton-wool silhouettes of Wooloo. The whole place smelled of earth and mud, with a tinge of salt, wafting in by the ocean-bound breeze.

Rhona paused to catch her breath. “The Whispering Pines Croft has been in our family for generations. Every generation, we seem to find something new to build.” Indeed, the cottage looked like a mishmash, a Frankenstein’s monster of building expansions. “We do all sorts here. Livestock, farming, everything. The soil isn’t as forgiving as it is in other regions, it’s full of salt from the ocean, but we manage.”

Rhona didn’t take her shoes off when they clomped inside, but Isla slipped hers off, conscious of the mud clinging to the bottom of her soles. She put Soba in her Pokeball for the same reason. Rhona led her through to a kitchen with a low ceiling, steamy with condensation, and thick with the smell of baked apples. Like the house itself, the kitchen had a hodgepodge feel, a cosy mismatch. A proper family place, a life centred around a kitchen table.

“You can throw your stuff anywhere,” Rhona said, but Isla, totally out of her depth and wishing very much she could shrink to half her size to accommodate herself in this tiny, bustling place, just slotted her backpack in the gap by the fridge.

“Can I help you with anything?” Isla asked, the pressure of standing there like a stubbed toe eclipsing every other feeling.

“No, chick, you sit yourself down. You must be tired,” Rhona said as she laid the sandwiches down on the table. “Here, you take first choice, but be warned, if there isn’t an egg and cress left for my mother, she’ll fall out with you.”

Isla’s hand froze. “Your mum lives with you?”

“Yes. She went with my Dad to assisted living for a while, but when he passed, well, it was easier on everyone to have her here. Does her the world of good to be around people and have a little independence,” Rhona said over the clatter of plates. “She’s got more hobbies than I do, in fact! She teaches classes in the old Kildonian language on the weekends too. Keeps her out of mischief.”

“Really?” Isla’s heart leapt to her throat. “The Kildonian language is something I wanted to look into for my report!”

“Well, that’s a happy coincidence then. I’m sure she’ll be happy to go over some of it with you. Oh, hang on a moment,” she said, reaching up to pull a Pokeball from an apron hanging on the kitchen door. “I’m just going to call everyone to the table.”

Isla’s mouthful of cheese salad sandwich almost ended up splattering the table as Rhona tossed the Pokeball to the ground, and the kitchen was invaded by a flurry of grey and red feathers. The Pokemon – whatever it was – came up to Rhona’s hip, had a squat body, long muscular legs, and powerful wings that it beat to great effect as it noticed the stranger. Isla yelped as the Pokemon cocked its head, its movements quick and jerky, like the ticking of a clock.

“Ruchter, calm your feathers,” Rhona said, tapping the Pokemon on its haunches. It clucked and crowed, shaking its head fiercely. “This is Isla. She’ll be staying with us for a bit.”

The Pokemon relaxed, but still fixed Isla with a withering glare. Isla consulted her Pokedex.

“Ruchter, the Farmer Pokemon. The evolved form of Chickter. Able to precisely work tough soil with their talons, Ruchter can cover a small field in minutes. Despite looking old and frail, they are tireless, and can work for hours without a break.”

Rhona ruffled the Pokemon’s tail feathers. “Ruchter, please go and fetch Blair and Skye from the fields.”

The Pokemon was off before Rhona could even finish her sentence, barrelling out the door with all the grace of a drunk Tauros.

Rhona poured tea into a flowery mug and arranged one of the sandwiches on a matching plate. “Isla, I’m just going to pop up with this for my Mum. I’ll be right back. There’s lemonades and sodas in the fridge, so help yourself.” Rhona was halfway up the stairs when she called back, “And if my two come in tracking mud everywhere, make sure they wash their hands before sitting down!”

The tightness in Isla’s chest squeezed harder. Any moment now she was going to be dropped into a meeting with two new mystery cousins. What would they be like? Would they like her? Would they think she was weird, as most people did? The memories of barbed stares resurfaced like a Sharpedo’s fin breaking the water. Strangers, her peers, her friends, even her own family, all of them silently judging her, as she tried to navigate life being both big and invisible.

No, she needed to calm down. Spiralling wouldn’t help. She repeated it like a mantra inside her head. She hadn’t even met them, and she’d already decided they wouldn’t like her. She had to get better at this.

All the same, her stomach stayed knotted and eating felt like the last thing she wanted to do. Though maybe she should wait until her cousins came in anyway, do the polite thing. She paused and went to the fridge instead, opening and draining half a can of fizzy lemonade. The bubbles pulsed through her twisty stomach, prickling like pins and needles.

She heard the voices before she saw their owners, one deep and droning, the other light and lilting. Then the door swung open, Ruchter scrambling inside in a skittering of talons on wooden floor, two people bringing up the rear.

“Skye, take off your shoes! Mam will go mad if you track mud in.”

He hadn’t seen her. Neither of them had. She didn’t know if that felt better or worse. As the two of them tromped towards the sink, she cleared her throat.

The oldest – a young man with long red hair tied in a ponytail – stopped in his tracks. “Oh, hey! You must be Isla? Nice to meet you,” he extended a hand covered in mud only to retract it when he saw Isla staring. “Maybe later, eh? Skye, make room at the sink please.”

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Isla said over the sound of running water. “Blair and Skye, right?”

“That’s us!” Blair shook his hands off at the sink. “Nice to have you here, cousin. It’s quite something having family coming from all the way in Johto, isn’t it, Skye?”

Skye moved like a ghost, silently staring under a canopy of brown fringe. “Do you have Johto Pokemon?”

Isla blinked. “Ah, yes. Just one though.”

“I want to see.”

“Oh,” Isla looked at Blair and then to Ruchter. “Is that okay?”

“Go ahead!” Blair took a savage bite out of a cheese and pickle sandwich. “Let me just put Ruchter out so the two don’t end up in a scrap.”

After Ruchter went haring out to the garden in pursuit of scattered pellets, Isla let Soba bounce out of her Pokeball. Her younger cousin’s eyes lit up.

“She’s so pretty! What is she?”

“She’s a Furret. They evolve from something called a Sentret. They’re kind of common around where I live, I’m afraid,” she added with a nervous chuckle, then wondered why on earth she was apologising.

“What type is she?”

“Normal.”

“Is she strong?”

“She’s not super strong, but we’ve been together for seven years. She knows how to handle herself.”

“What moves does she know?”

“Quick Attack, Fury Swipes, Rest, things like that.”

“What’s her nature?”

“The lady at the Pokemon Centre thinks she’s Bashful, if I remember right.”

“Does she have any TM moves?” And before Isla could answer, Skye kept going. “What’s her favourite Rock flavour? Where did you get her from? Does she—”

“Hey, easy up, Miss Missy,” Blair nudged his sister. “Come on, let Isla relax and eat her lunch. You need to get something in you too. Keep your strength up for the big day.”

Skye rolled her eyes but did as she was told.

“Big day?” Isla asked, desperate for something to fill the silence.

“Skye is going to Aberdrip City in a few days to get her very first Pokemon,” Blair said proudly.

Isla smiled encouragingly but the fact that her younger cousin was a year late in getting her first Pokemon didn’t escape her attention. She decided not to ask as Skye chattered on about Aberdrip City and how she still hadn’t decided which starter she wanted. By the time Rhona came back downstairs, Isla felt fuller and warmer than she had in days.

“I see you guys are getting acquainted,” Rhona smiled, collapsing into the chair next to her daughter and dropping a kiss on her head. “Here, what did you leave me? Ugh, cream cheese and cucumber. I don’t know why they keep it in the multibuy deal, no-one likes it.” She took a bite anyway. “How are you, Isla?”

“I’m good,” Isla said, and she meant it. “Thanks again for having me. It’s a real help.”

“So, what are your plans for Kildo?” Blair asked, nibbling on a crust. “Seeing anywhere nice?”

“I’m here for a research trip,” Isla said. “I’m doing a project on the legend of the Chessmen Pokemon, so really, what I want to do is visit the places that the Chessmen were rumoured to live, and then finish up with the exhibition in Hydrogate City.”

“Hydrogate is a long way to travel,” Blair said seriously. “Especially with all the… complications.”

Rhona shot Blair a fierce look. “Now, Blair, don’t go terrifying the poor lass! There’s nothing wrong, chick. Just a bit of funny weather.”

“And the rest, Mam! There was a landslip near Auchtermelty the other day. They reckon it could take days to clear. It’s totally stopped trade and deliveries; they have to go the long way around. Wee Arthur – that’s Auchtermelty’s Gym Leader, Isla – has been trying to dig it out single handed with his Pokemon but even he had to stop because it was too dangerous.”

“Arabella’s mother says it’s because the Vitalities are unhappy,” Skye interjected.

“Arabella’s mother needs to take a long walk off a short pier,” Blair said, and Skye let out a snort of laughter.

“Blair, watch your mouth,” Rhona said, without looking up.

“Well how stupid can you get?” Blair said. “The Vitalities aren’t to blame for this.”

“Wait, what’s all this about?” Isla asked, confused.

“Just an old legend, chick.” Rhona said. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them, considering you’re interested in the Chessmen tale.”

“Of course she hasn’t,” a voice rasped from the doorway and Isla nearly dropped her can of lemonade. Standing in the door’s alcove was an elderly woman, skin deeply lined, and grey hair styled into a candyfloss-like perm. She was tiny – maybe a whole foot smaller than Blair – but her voice was sharp and crisp like every word held a pointed edge. “Incomers don’t make a habit of learning our secrets,” the woman said, fixing her gaze on Isla. “Then they wouldn’t be secrets, would they?”

“Mum!” Rhona said, her voice tight. “What are you doing up?”

“You think I wouldn’t get up to greet our guest? Especially one who has such a vetted interest in our local legends?”

“Oh, here we go,” Blair stood up. “I think I’m going to get the Miltank in. Looks like a storm on the horizon. Skye, are you coming?”

Isla glanced out the window. The sky had turned granite-grey, swirled with black. When Skye and Blair left, a thin wind send the temperature plummeting. Rhona fiddled with the thermostat and the heating clanged into life, but it didn’t make a difference. Icy fingers had worked their way up Isla’s spine the minute the old woman had spoken.

“Isla, this is my mum, Morag. You can call her Nana Morag though, as my two do.” Rhona said. “Mum, why don’t you tell Isla about the Vitalities while I wash up?”

“Why not?” Nana Morag said, settling herself into the chair that Skye left empty. “The Vitalities legend dates to round about the same time as the Chessmen. Think of the two as intertwined, rather than separate. The Vitalities, made up of Voltean, Burnach, Creakrone, and Liathsong, were said to be able to give – and take – all forms of energy from the world around them. Legend has it that the earliest settlers, who came here centuries ago, were given gifts from the Vitalities that allowed them to heat their homes, harness the ocean, work on the harsh land, and even have some form of electricity hundreds of years before it became common use. Now, the Chessmen, they were different. They were said to control—”

“I know this,” Isla couldn’t help herself. “They’re known as the Progression, Expression, and Protection Pokemon. They gave early Kildonians the means to develop industry, arts, and security.”

The old woman nodded approvingly. “You know your stuff. Very good for an incomer.”

“Mother,” Rhona said warningly.

“You know how the legend ends, yes?” Nana Morag checked. “The Chessmen, enraged with how humans squandered their gifts, tore the region apart and set humanity back hundreds of years. The Chessmen became dormant and the Vitalities were banished, leaving the humans to rebuild alone. Many people believe the Vitalities are responsible for all the natural disasters—”

“They’re not disasters, Mother.”

“—because they’re still furious about being banished all those years ago.”

“Fascinating,” Isla breathed out. “Is there anything else you can tell me about them?”

“I think, for now, we’ll get you sorted in your room, shall we?” Rhona interjected hastily.

“Oh, of course. Thank you,” Isla said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

As she manoeuvred her backpack out of the gap by the fridge, Nana Morag caught her by the elbow, her thin, bony hand proving a surprisingly strong grip. “I have some books that you might find interesting. I’ll drop them off for you later.”

And then Isla was climbing the creaky old stairs, ready to try and slot herself into this strange new home with these strange new people.

The rest of the day passed slowly, like petals of a flower unfurling in the sun. She met Kenneth, Rhona’s husband, who split his time between the farm and the market in town. He was frighteningly tall, too tall for the cottages’ low ceilings, and he walked with a noticeable hump even when there was enough space. Rhona was a mean cook, serving up a vast pot of bubbling stew, and Isla had to banish all thoughts of whether the meat too was “home-grown” from her head in order to enjoy it.

Tiredness swept in the moment she laid her knife and fork down. The night came in so much faster in Kildo than Johto, and it felt somehow thicker and darker, like she was swaddled in a large black cloak. She was glad when Rhona took one look at her when the family was doing the final storm checks on the farm and sent her straight up to bed.

Maybe it was the fresh air, maybe it was the excitement, maybe it was the long journey, but the second her head hit the pillow, Isla was dead asleep.

Hours slipped by, or maybe it was minutes, until her world was split apart by a huge bang! She sat bolt upright, cocooned in slippery blankets, and it was all she could do not to topple headfirst out of the bed. As the world phased in around her, freezing cold air gusted into the tiny room, causing goosepimples to erupt on her bare skin. The window, left on the latch before she fell asleep, had blown open. The storm had hit.

Slamming the light on, she untangled herself and grappled with the slippery latch. Eventually she shut out the wind. Outside, everything was pitch black like the swirl of spilled ink, and the rain lashed against the house, sounding like bullets. Isla pressed her face to the window, her breath misting the glass. Something bobbed in the distance, a single pin of light, moving through the velvety dark. It looked too small to be Blair or Kenneth. But who else would be out there during a storm?

The light moved closer. Isla scrubbed impatiently at the fogged glass, terrified that if she took her eyes away, even for a moment, it would disappear. It grew, doubling first, then tripling in size, then a crack of lightning split the sky. Isla let out a gasp as her entire room plunged into darkness. The power was out.

The light in the garden was growing brighter.

Or was it really a light? It looked almost solid now. Like a real living thing. Or maybe not a something. Maybe a someone. Something behind the light looked like the silhouette of a child.

It intensified, burning so bright that it seared Isla’s eyes and for a moment, all she saw was white. Then it faded and was gone. The lamp on her bedside table flickered back into life. The winds seemed to calm. The rain simpered to a stop. And Isla was alone, aside from the impression of a pair of wide, childlike eyes burned into the back of her head.

As we have a full Pokedex (130+ Fakemon), we decided to provide more details about each new Pokemon as it's introduced, especially as we may not always be able to give full details for each one. These aren't necessary to enjoy the story but it's here for anyone who is interested. So, here are the dex entries for Kildonian Wingull and Ruchter!

Kildonian Wingull Number: 041 Type: Water/Flying Evolution: Kleptern at Lv25 Abilities: Keen Eye/Pickpocket. HA: Rain Dish Stats: 50/55/30/30/30/75 Dex Description: Facing severe competition from Chibber for natural resources, Wingull have resorted to stealing food from witless tourists instead. As such, it has gained weight over time, but has also gained a more deceiving nature.

Ruchter Number: 090 Type: Flying/Ground Evolution: Evolved from Chickter (Happiness, Male-only) Abilities: Early Bird/Tough Claws. HA: Vital Spirit Stats: 100/125/55/50/55/90 Dex Description: Ruchter, the Farmer Pokemon. The evolved form of Chickter. Able to precisely work tough soil with their talons, Ruchter can cover a small field in minutes. Despite looking old and frail, they are tireless, and can work for hours without a break.”

#Checkmate #Pokemon #Pokemon fanfic #Pokemon fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

thronesofshadows · 5 years ago

Text

Storms May Collide || Alain & Evelyn

Takes place just before the fish rain ended. Alain finally comes to the Artesian, and he and Evelyn get talking.

This was, in nearly two decades, the first time Alain would be in a room full of people who were much richer than him, and even if he had spent the whole drive to the Artesian telling himself that Evelyn would never allow that he spends a bad evening, and that the worst thing that could happen was people looking at him, he was still rather stressed as he opened the door and realized that this was not somewhere you could just walk in. There was a reception. Of course. He rubbed his hands nervously against his trousers as he approached the woman standing there, indicating his full name, too unsure of whether Evelyn would have booked him as Alain or Mr. Babineaux. His lips pinched together, he forced himself not to look too much as what was going around him yet, and was relieved when she told him he could walk to the bar counter now. “Thank you,” the place looked a lot like he imagined it to be. He left his umbrella by the entrance, with the other ones. With the fish storm out there, it was more than necessary. The bar reminded him of the room where his father used to talk with other hunters from who knows what aristocratic family except that this one didn’t smell like cigars and wasn’t filled with laughter. People were chatting rather quietly, although as he had expected, his presence was already granting him some eye glances. Surprisingly enough, he doubted that this was about his outfit. If he was not wearing five grand on his shoulders, and carried himself quite well, thanks to his parents, people recognized him for who he was, an outsider.

It was quite an understatement to say that he was happy to reach the counter and to see there a familiar silhouette with her back still turned toward him.

She was glad he’d agreed to come by her work. Evelyn had, for whatever number of reasons, decided against a suit tonight. So on went a nice dress instead. Still formal, nothing too flashy, but nice. Because if someone who she’d come to consider a friend and that deserved more than Super Formal Evelyn. For now at least, to maybe make him feel more comfortable because she wasn’t quite sure that he’d really and truly wanted to come. But he had agreed, and so she’d made herself present behind the bar - and lucky for her, Sterling Hudson was there, in all his absolutely aggravating glory. She’d avoided him mostly, offering a few smiles at him, pushing Joseph to make all of his drinks. Throwing a glare at him when he made a comment about her dress. “I can wear dresses too, you know.” Luckily, for the last twenty minutes or so he’d left her alone. So she’d been turned around, organizing and carefully fixing some of the bottles behind the bar. After not too long, she heard a small noise behind her, but no words or request followed. Evelyn turned around and felt a small smile covering her lips. “Bonsoir, Alain. How can I help you this evening?”

“Bonsoir Evelyn,” he smiled back politely but also genuinely. It had been a while since Alain last saw her, but they had been speaking so often that he barely had time to miss her company. “Well, what would you suggest for someone who does not want to end up bankrupt over a glass of alcohol.” He knew too well that he could probably afford a glass or two of wine but he was also aware that good whiskey could get insanely expensive and while he could splurge a little as he was usually reasonable with his spendings, he still had loans to pay at the end of the month. Although with the amount of broken windshields and cars since the year began (thanks to the fish and lobsters), the end of the month was more comfortable than usual, although exhausting. It was one of the reasons he had called her for a reservation too. He could have used a break. “Work on your car is moving slowly I’m afraid,” he added.

It was nice to see him in person, she had realized that for whatever reason, she found him to be a nice friend. Evelyn was not always so used to that whole thing - becoming friends with someone, because it was not something that she was used to. It had never been her normal when she was a child. She placed her elbows on the top of the bar and placed her chin in both hands. “Hm?” Her lips quirked to the side. “I have a new whiskey, if you would like that?” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “besides, I think, given all you are doing for me, I can swing a friend discount?” Another thing that she rarely did. If ever. “What are you most in the mood for?” She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Oh, it is not a worry, I hope you are having a nice time working on it, and that I have not troubled you too much with all the extra work I placed upon you.” She stood back up and adjusted her ponytail. “I am so deeply appreciative.”

"A friend discount," Alain repeated in a lower voice, mirroring her movements and resting his head on one of his hands. "Well that sounds delightful. I should have trespassed much sooner," he laughed, leaning back in his seat. "Do you think you could get me an Old fashioned," he glanced up at her although his glance drifted toward a man at the counter who seemed to be looking at them with a disapproving look on his face. "A friend of yours too?" Alain raised an eyebrow. He remembered Evelyn ranting about some of her customers and apparently she had reasons to feel this way. "It's fine. Considering how terrible the weather has been the whole month, with the fish, I needed a hobby that happened underneath a roof." He paused, "I should be thanking you, really." Whatever anxiety he had walking into the bar had already vanished, although he hadn't noticed it yet.

“Mhm.” She murmured. “I did promise you that, and I am not one to go back on my promises.” Evelyn bit her lip at his comment, giving a shrug. “Yes, you are rather delayed in all of that, I have been there nearly four years, now.” She nodded at his request. “That is easy, Alain. One old fashioned, coming right up.” She turned around and made up the drink, her hands working quickly and deftly. She brought it back over to him, sliding it across the bar. “Oh, him?” She rolled her eyes. “That would be the ever-lovely Sterling I told you so much about.” She lowered her voice, her lightly-painted red lips curving into a smile as she leaned towards Alain. “Not so much friend as an utter, well, words I would prefer not to use. They are not so very polite.” She stood back up again, her ponytail swinging behind her. “Yes, that is an advisable thing to do, the fish turned out to be far more damaging than one might have expected.” She tapped her fingers against the top of the bar, red polish shining in the light. “No need to thank me, I am excited to see how it all turns out.” A pause. “Speaking of, how is the drink? Did I do it well?”

"Four years," he raised an eyebrow. That seemed like so little time and yet, it was more than enough time to notice things about this town. He wondered how she felt about this place. Alain didn't doubt for a moment that she liked it here, as she had decided to settle down here, it was the oddness of the town he cared about. "I'm sorry, I hope you can forgive me for being so late," he shook his head as he smiled. His smile didn't falter as she turned her back on him, and was rather joined with a softness in his eyes, one he did not quite understand yet. "Merci," he took the glass in his hand and followed her glance at Sterling, who strangely enough was now looking anywhere but in their direction. "Oh, you mean the Sterling you're so fond of." He paused, taking a good look at that man. "I can see why. I'd do him too if I were you," holding back a smile, he took a sip of his drink and looked at her from over the rim of his glass with amusement. Putting the glass down, he idly played with the spoon. "It's going to be fantastic. I just finished painting the parts on the first one. It's looking great already," he spoke with passion, and while he wanted to tell her more about it, show her the pictures, he also wanted it all to be a nice surprise. "Heh, it's okay. Wish you had used William Peel instead of that fancy whiskey though," he teased.

“It will be four years on my birthday.” She replied, grinning. “I think I can find it in my heart of ice to forgive you. After all, you have reignited my interest in the stars, so I think that is only fair.” Evelyn brushed a single stray strand of hair behind her ear. “De rien,” she responded. Watched as Alain looked over at Sterling. “Alain.” Her voice was firm, posture straightened. “I have no desire to do him, as you so artfully described. He wishes, though.” Still hushed whispers, murmurs coming from her lips that she knew Sterling couldn’t hear. “But yes, that is him. I think he might not like I am paying you so much attention.” Another smile, softer this time, crept over her lips. “Well, you are an expert, so I am certain it looks brilliant.” As she had always been someone filled with passion about topics she loved, and she found herself enjoying seeing it in someone else. “Well hey, it is not my usual, but perhaps you can come by my place sometime and I can do that for you.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

"You know, I don't think I asked you when your birthday was the other day," he pursed his lips. He remembered telling her that he didn't celebrate his birthday and being a bit taken aback by her age as she often sounded older than that. "A heart of ice? Sounds like something a fairy tale character would be cursed with," he observed, glancing away from her to stare blankly at the round piece of ice in his glass. "How did you like the book, by the way? It's pretty thick... It's fine if you didn't get the time to look at it," he mumbled the last bit, pulling on the collar of his sweater, feeling warmer he supposed from the heat in this place, compared to the freezing outdoors, and not from any other reason. "Really? A gentleman of this class?" He smiled. "I'm glad you appreciate my talent for poetry, thank you." He had never been shy, not really, and sometimes he could be a bit too abrasive in his choice of words. Now and here were maybe not the place and time but she didn't seem to mind too much. "If he's going to be jealous of me, then he must be really obsessed with you." It struck Alain at this moment that just like him, Evelyn may have had a habit of not letting people close. "It is brilliant," he commented before he sighed heavily. " And it's a real shame that's all I can tell you about it," he was not even trying to be annoying. He wanted to talk to her about it. "Well you must really be fond of my company if you wanna drink that with me." This brand of whiskey was still quite good for getting drunk however and he wondered what kind of drunk she would be as he brought his glass back to his lips again. Probably a happy drunk.

“You did not. It is in April - the eighteenth.” She nodded. “I always liked watching the flowers bloom right around then, or sometimes before. Depending on the weather.” She glanced down at her hands. “Not to talk about the weather. I know we established that talking about the weather is not especially a good sort of thing. Shows a lack of creativity or something.” She rolled back her shoulders for a moment. “Yes, well, I am almost a princess, so it fits. Not really a princess, obviously, but once you get to American they hear “English Elite” and equate it to being related to the Royal Family.” She reached out to grab his free hand with one of her own. “I have plenty of time, Alain, and it was a book that meant a lot to you, so of course I read it. I loved it.” Evelyn raised both her eyebrows at him. “Yes, really. His class if anything lends itself to the remarks he might feel a need to make, or to imply.” She made a face at his next comment. “Obsessed, or just a creep with a lot of money, take your pick… I had plenty of people obsessed with me back home. Something about being publicly there, but also not. If that makes sense? I was at parties, I attended events, but I was not as much in the real world as some.” She was so rarely this open, so rarely allowed others into this side of who she was. Because it was easy to make vague remarks, to comment without being specific on her childhood, or to shove the fact that she’d been a model years ago into everyone’s face. But not so much this. Though perhaps this was because she had a feeling that somehow, perhaps, Alain could appreciate this side of her too. “Yes, we have established that we mutually enjoy one another’s company.” She pressed her forefinger against her mouth, “but shhh, that is a secret. Right?”

“April, the 18th,” Alain repeated to himself, as he took out his phone to write that down in the calendar. “Alright, it’s noted,” he put his phone away before she could comment on the fact that he had a physical keyboard on it which, he was aware, was not really in fashion these days. “Well, when talking about when flowers are going to bloom, we do have to mention the weather. I’m afraid I’ll have to mention the weather if we’re going to be stargazing together again,” he raised his eyebrows and nodded as if to say: I know, that’s terrible, but it has to be done, Evelyn. Leaning his back against his chair, he glanced up at her as she spoke of her social background and how people associated it with the Royal family. He was about to comment on it when she went ahead and grabbed his hand. Okay. This is fine. He had never been too fond of being touched by other people, and he felt his stomach clench as she did that, although it wasn’t exactly for the same reasons as usual. He did not remove his hand from her hold, and kept his eyes on her as she was talking about something that mattered to him. “That makes me really happy,” his smile reached his eyes. When they first met, he had promised her that when he would come to the Artesian, he would bring along some astronomy books. Things had changed now, and it was empty handed that he arrived tonight. “If you want to read more, do tell,” he raised his eyebrows and made a face as she mentioned the creepiness of people such as that man at the counter. Sharks, people who took everything they could without ever being condemned for their selfishness or their cruelty. This was a description that could have worked perfectly for many people in his family. Had he been born from the right mother, he probably would have been just like that man at the counter, wouldn’t he? Probably. “I imagine. My parents had plans for my sisters too,” oh God no. Had he gotten this comfortable around her? Was it the fact that she was sharing with such honesty all of this with him, that made him feel that way? Well now he had to change the subject, as he really didn’t want to discuss growing up rich and having the shittiest family around town. “Of course, my lips are sealed. No one has to know that the mechanic likes to spend time with princesses and vice-versa,” he finished his drink and sighed.

“Yes, precisely that.” She watched him take out his phone and put in her birthday. Despite the actual keyboard on his phone, she found herself fighting away a smile. It was nice to have someone who cared enough to genuinely try and remember details like that about her. Though, Evelyn supposed, many people had known of her birthday, but it was different when someone was a friend. Which Alain had become, somehow. Perhaps it was because they had just enough of a mixture of extreme differences mixed with similarities. A nice balance, even if he was human. Her mother’s fondness for humans too ingrained into her blood. “I suppose for you, I can suffer discussions about the weather. It is rather necessary in order for us to discuss stargazing. I would not wish to go out while it was a terrible rainstorm, or too snowy, or even simply too cloudy.” He didn’t say anything about her hand being around his own, and she fought away the urge to bite her lip. She wasn’t usually this touchy-feely, though she did acknowledge that for most, simply touching someone else’s hand was not considered overly so. “I am glad. I would like to read more, if it pleases you.” But she dropped his hand, suddenly and once again acutely aware of that they were in a public space and maybe she ought to not be doing things like that, unless she wanted people like Sterling to remark on it next time they had her alone. “They did?” She said, her voice soft, gentle. He had not really ever spoken about his family, and she didn’t want to have him stop on account of her jumping into conversation about that too quickly. “Such is the way, sometimes.” He moved beyond the conversation, then. “Well, I appreciate it. I mean -” She scrunched up her nose, “I like spending time with you, but I do not think either of us are especially known for that. I just would not wish to ruin your reputation, is all. Even if you are one of my favorite people in town.” She coughed, suddenly. “So, would you like a refresher on your drink, Mr. Babineaux?”

“You won’t be watching a lot of things if we go out there on a stormy or a snowy night,” which was weather, he supposed, people like her weren’t really used to suffering from. Ever since the snow had started falling months ago, Alain had not stopped going out nearly every night, even if it was freezing out there, and it was the same schedule for him whether it was raining or not. Of course he didn’t like it, but liking it had never been really part of his job or education. It had to be done. He moved his hand away from where it used to be when she removed her hand from his. Still, the thoughts he had had just seconds ago on the subject still remained, and the feeling lingered in his stomach still. “I’ll see if I find you some copies of books I have in English,” he glanced down at his glass with a thin smile. “I would like to keep some of my library intact, if you don’t mind,” and besides, most of his books were on the more complicated side, and even someone with a good level in French would struggle with the vocabulary. It was probably best this way. He crossed his arms on the counter and fell silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts.Evelyn was probably one of the most genuinely kind people he had spoken to in a while, and he felt like her mind was just as polished as her looks. He could tell that she did not exactly have a dream childhood and that her life today was far from being spotless, and yet, she radiated with optimism and kindness. This should have repulsed him as he’d always been the kind to see the glass half empty, but she must have found a way to make her feelings contagious because he had yet to feel like he had nothing to do here while he was around her. She had even managed to make him feel at ease while he was trespassing on her property. Evelyn really was good with people, and so he didn’t really believe that she didn’t have a lot of people she hung out with. Although he didn’t put her word in doubt but rather smiled and replied : “Only one of your favourites? And here I thought I was already your new best friend, as the kids say,” he paused, “ruining the reputation of a friend would be very friendly yes,” he nodded as she offered to make him another drink.

“That is true. If we hang out on nights like those, it should be inside, with hot beverages and perhaps rewatching an old movie - like Rear Window or another one of your French films.” Evelyn remarked, watching him carefully. She hoped that she was not being overly enthusiastic. Though her tone had not changed, she wondered if she was being too eager. If being starved for true friends had left her overly willing to grab onto anyone who wanted to genuinely spend time with her, outside of a formal obligation through status or parties. “I will give you your books back, if you wish. I promise.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “But yes, English would be nice, even though I do like any chance to practice my French.” He became quieter then, and she did find herself biting her lower lip, wishing that her abilities let her understand how someone’s mind worked more, wished that she could sometimes tell what someone was thinking. Because she wanted to understand him more, she found, she wanted to figure him out. She had always been desperately curious, even before she found out that her purportedly weird tendencies and physiological abnormalities had an explanation beyond a “rare genetic mutation”, and after that it had only increased tenfold. He let her be herself, let her be both venomous in some of her remarks but also made her smile, made her laugh more than most people were able to. “Sorry, but it is perhaps promising that you may achieve that some day.” She brushed her fingers against her nose. “Another old fashioned?” She asked. “Would you like to share a drink with me? I think it is only a basic courtesy to do that while engaging in such delightful conversation, after all.”

“Sure, why not.” He looked at her with his chin resting on his hand which was his attempt at hiding at least a part of his smiles from her. “That sounds delightful,” he added. There were quite a few movies on his mind that he knew she would enjoy, but at the same time, he didn’t want her to end up bored to death even if most of the things that they had planned to do were very different. Still he couldn’t help but think that there was no way she could be friends with someone like him. Even without the hunter part, they were still so very different and from the looks he was still getting from the rest of the clients, he was not the only one thinking it. “That’s not what I meant. The first book is still a gift,” shaking his head slowly he replied to her next comment in French : “I’m sure there will be plenty of other chances for you to improve your French if you plan on doing all those things on the list with me,” the few times he saw her write in his language, he didn’t notice any grammar errors, and he doubted that she would have a lot of room for improvement but he wouldn’t refuse an opportunity to speak in French. Evelyn was easy to talk to and he appreciated their conversations, as they almost made him forget for a moment that he was this close to have what looked like a normal life. Life felt just normal then. He felt the same way around Erin and Cassie these days too, and that was nice. "I'll have a drink with you, of course. Surprise me." It was already established that he enjoyed whiskey and he didn't recall ever trying one as nice as the one she just had used. Now he was curious as to what she would pick for him.

“It does. I have a nice television and an excellent couch, and I will admit I have halfway memorized some of these films.” She scrunched up her nose. Evelyn ignored the looks that the two of them were getting - now not only from Sterling, but from a few others who had made their way over to the bar. She knew that even if they didn’t say anything now (though who knows, they could start making remarks at any moment), she’d get an earful of comments the next time they came by the bar when only she was there. “Well, it is a gift I treasure.” It was true, she had always loved receiving books, no matter how fond she was of all her many material items, too. “I do plan on it, and now I have even written them down so who knows? Perhaps it is some sort of binding contract. We now have to hang out, spend time together, speak French or English and attend to the many different items there.” At his request for her to surprise him she bit her lip, snapping her fingers together in a quick motion before she turned around again, back to him. A mint julep, she decided. Bitter enough, but also a little bit sweet. She went about crushing the ice, mixing everything together. It was a terribly American drink, but perhaps that was alright. She grabbed the juleps and turned around, her face lit up with a smile. “Let me know how it tastes.”

“Now you really sound like you have too much free time,” his shoulders shot up with repressed laughter. Alain shook his head. While he didn’t know movies by heart, he always made sure that he was busy as it kept him from doing too much introspection, or thinking about hunting, his family, or losing his sanity over too many disappointments : Alain couldn’t count the amount of times his relationships had followed the same two patterns. Either people found out that he was a hunter and left, either they found out he was a hunter, and being hunters themselves, they stuck around and wound up dead. He had for a while tried to stay away from people, but it only made things worse. “A binding contract,” he bit his lip, doubting that such a contract would resist to time and revelations. Maybe he didn’t have to tell her. Why did he feel the need to be honest. It felt as if liars were much more successful in life anyway. “Sounds to me like it’s another one of those things you love who are half enticing, half frightening,” his eyes lingered on her silhouette as she turned around. For the first time since he walked in, he had a look at the rest of the place. If keeping his eyes on her made him feel safer in this shark tank, a glance at said sharks comforted him in his idea that he didn’t miss much by no longer being part of this masquerade. This was at least one good decision he had made. His eyebrow raised as he turned to find what looked like a mojito in front of him, and he gave her a confused look. He had expected something more european coming from her and hadn’t expected for her to actually listen to him and surprise him in every sense of the term. “Alright…” He had a puzzled look on his face as he put his glass back down. “Alright.” He paused. “It is a surprise,” if he had an aversion for Mojitos and all those popular drinks who he found to be too sugary, this one felt a lot more balanced. “Good job, Evelyn,” he raised his glass at her, “to an unlikely friendship and a never-ending to-do list.”

“I mean,” she shrugged, making a small face, “my bar is only open three nights and two days a week, so you are not incorrect. I do have a great deal of free time.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Plus I had free time as a child, and I have always been drawn to those movies more than the romances.” Perhaps in part because I was never really shown what nice romance was as a child, and perhaps just due to my nature. “Well, you see, when you say it like that it sounds like I am doing something terrible.” As his next words came, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I suppose it is one of those sorts of things.” She ran her tongue against her teeth again as she grew quiet. Once she’d made the drink and handed it to him, her heart rate increased just so - not normal, but she didn’t want to mess up the drink she had made him - part of her wondered if she should have done something else with just plain whiskey, make a joke about being half Scottish and be done with it. But he took a sip and her fingers clenched around her side of the bar, nails halfway digging into the wooden counter. But he seemed to like it, or at least was kind enough to pretend - though she didn’t see him as someone to put on false niceties, at least not in a situation like this one. She grabbed her glass and clinked it against his. “To a lovely friendship, if a bit unexpected, and a to-do list that we shall never be free of.” She took a sip of her own drink and grinned at him. “So, not so bad here after all, hm? We did not even have to retreat back to my office.”

“Dear God,” this sounded like an awful lot of free time to have, and it said a lot about how well her business was doing. He, on the other hand, was open 6 days a week, early in the morning and late enough in the evening which was a completely different schedule. “I’m not sure what it is I prefer in the movies,” he looked up at the lights above the bar, as he thought about it. He certainly had a taste for David Lynch and Terry Gilliam, which weren’t for everyone’s taste, but it was mainly about the emotions it made him feel, and romance was part of that. It wasn’t his favourite, but he could enjoy something well made, like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which was one of his favourites. Evelyn probably could appreciate something like that. “You’re a bit twisted,” he remarked. It was not a reproach, but rather something he had noticed about the woman, who as polished as she liked to appear, had, he believed, some rough edges to her. Alain wondered how rough those edges truly were. Nibbling on the back of his thumb, which was something he did quite idly whenever he felt anxious, he looked back at Evelyn. This couldn’t last forever, could it ? This relationship they had, the laughter and the good times. Still his glass was raised with hers. “You’ll tell me how they felt about having a commoner in their favourite bar, alright?” He might have not belonged here, but it would feel nice while it would last.

#wickedswriting #c alain #chatzy #storms may collide #// amélie and i only wrote 7.5 pages this time

8 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

intents wicked or charitable (trixya) 5/10 - beanierose

AN: validation station, I am so grateful every day for your never-ending support and guidance. and stutter, this would not exist without you. i don’t have the words to thank you enough.

(read on ao3) | (find me at katiehoughton)

[one.] [two.] [three.] [four.]

a practical magic au for the spooky season. there’s a curse on any man who dares love you? love a woman, instead. | 5,295 words

“Alright. No. Certainly not,” Katya says when she opens the front door. It stops Trixie in her tracks and she opens her mouth to respond, but Katya is already stepping out of her own door.

She grabs for both of Trixie’s hands to pull her into the house. Katya doesn’t like when Trixie tries to lean into the doorway and kiss her cheek hello, won’t ever reach for Trixie across that space. The only time Trixie ever asked she hurriedly explained it away with something about bad luck and house spirits that reside in the threshold.

Dolly barrels her way inside and disappears towards the kitchen in search of water. Katya leaves the dish out for her all the time now, and she always goes to look for it right away.

“What? What’s your problem?”

Katya rakes her eyes up and down Trixie for a second time and clicks her tongue, folds her arms over her chest. “This is untenable. You can’t go like this.”

Before she got in the truck to come over to Katya’s house, Trixie spent almost an hour deciding on her outfit. It’s been the kind of beautiful, crisp day that makes her so glad she doesn’t live in Los Angeles anymore. She walked Dolly in the woods this morning and stomped on the leaves just to hear them crunch beneath her boots. Now that the sun has gone down it’s gotten colder. She’s wearing a new sweater she got from the L.L.Bean Catalog when she realised she doesn’t have any cold weather clothes. It’s a pink chunky knit thing that makes her feel tiny and precious, makes her feel snuggly. She has two thermal layers underneath it, and a white bobble hat, because she doesn’t want to be so miserably cold that she can’t enjoy Katya’s company.

“You don’t think I’m cute?”

Katya sighs and doesn’t even dignify that with a response. She’s wearing black jeans and a black turtleneck and a crimson plaid coat. A small part of Trixie is preoccupied with the thought of fisting both hands in the lapels of that coat and dragging Katya against her, persuading her that this is a really bad idea and they should just stay here instead.

She doesn’t get her chance, because Katya has already disappeared inside of the coat closet to rummage around. She emerges, triumphant, with a grey coat and a scarf that looks very much like she knitted it herself. Trixie takes the coat from her and struggles into it, feels balloon-limbed and lumbering like the Michelin Man.

Katya wraps the scarf around Trixie’s neck for her. Her hair gets trapped underneath and Katya eases it out so gently, her cold fingers brushing the back of Trixie’s neck. She is always so gentle, so mindful of where she’s putting her hands. Nothing is accidental. Trixie lets the breath get stuck in her chest. Katya’s hands are still touching her bare skin, her fingertips tracing tiny circles.

Every day they are working their way towards something and they both know it, but neither of them has been courageous enough to put words to it. For the first time in her life, Trixie is being careful. She wants to treat Katya tenderly, wants to make sure she’s totally okay with each step they take towards the inevitable.

Katya slides her hands down until she’s holding on to both ends of the scarf and she leans in, kisses Trixie’s cheek. She lingers long enough that Trixie can feel the warmth of her and smell her perfume. She doesn’t wear it often, and Trixie likes the idea of Katya putting it on especially for her, wanting to impress. When she steps back she’s blushing, but her chin is set in defiance.

“I can’t believe you didn’t bring a coat. Thought you were supposed to be a hick. You should know how to dress for weather, Tallulah.”

“We were too poor for coats.”

Trixie lets more of her accent slip out than she usually does, hits the vowels hard to make Katya scream a laugh. It’s not untrue, but she doesn’t need to get into that right now. Not when Katya is grinning up at her as she pulls on her black galoshes. She looks sleek and streamlined and so good that Trixie can’t stop staring, but they do that now.

It’s been a couple of weeks since she slept in Katya’s bed, and they’ve seen each other almost every single day. They’ve been on hikes with Dolly, carved a pumpkin together for Katya’s porch. Katya helped to fix Trixie’s busted guttering and then insisted on staying all night to make sure the storm didn’t dislodge it again. They sat up in the reading room together, their knees bent and Katya’s slender feet nudged in between Trixie’s larger ones. The rain and the thunder had made the room seem smaller than it really is, and Trixie had ached to hold Katya against her chest instead.

When Katya started yawning Trixie had taken her hand and brought her to bed.

Friends can cuddle up together on the couch. Friends can fall asleep in each other’s arms and make each other breakfast the next morning. Trixie keeps telling herself that, and Kim too. Last week on the phone, Kim had patiently listened to Trixie tell a story about something Katya had done. She has endless anecdotes, is overflowing with them. Sometimes when she gets home from an afternoon at Verbena, Trixie finds herself telling the dog all about her day with Katya as if Dolly has any idea what she’s saying.

At the end of the phone call, Kim had very quietly asked Trixie, when are you going to tell her? She had brushed it off, done her best to distract Kim with questions about her own life, but she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. It’s still circling around and around in her head, restless and unavoidable. Katya is her best friend. Whenever anything happens, any small blip in the steady rhythm of her day, she wants to talk to Katya about it right away. She wants to be near her always, wants to touch her and be touched right back.

“Are you gonna be okay here, milaya devushka?” Katya’s got the dog’s long head cradled in her hands and she’s bent at the waist to love on her, leaving little red kiss prints all over her snout.

“She’ll be fine,” Trixie says. “It’s us I’m worried about. I don’t know if you’re aware, but it’s the one night of the year that it’s acceptable for the townsfolk to literally gather with pitchforks.”

Katya scoffs, and straightens to look at Trixie. This whole night was her idea. She wants it so much that Trixie couldn’t bear to say no to her, even though she has a terrible foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach. Katya keeps lifting up onto her toes in her galoshes, and she has her hands clasped and held against her chest now. It’s so endearing that Trixie can’t stop smiling at her.

“Is it too ooky spooky for you, Tracy? Are you afraid?” She drops her voice an octave and drawls it, leans in close to Trixie’s face. “I won’t let anybody snatch your soul, Barbara.”

“What if it’s you I’m afraid of? You ghoul. You fucking rotted corpse.”

Katya is spilling over with laughter, choking on it, and she clutches Trixie’s forearm in both hands to keep herself upright. She’s spluttering something about how mean Trixie is and Trixie is grinning so wide, nodding in agreement. When Katya has her breath back she lets go of Trixie and ushers her out the front door. She gives Dolly a last kiss and says something to her very softly in Russian.

“Why are you trying to indoctrinate my dog against me?”

“I only hang out with you so I get to hang out with her,” Katya says.

It makes Trixie laugh in spite of herself. Whenever any of her friends back in Los Angeles were at her place and Dolly showed them affection Trixie would have to fight back waves of ridiculous, juvenile jealousy. With Katya it doesn’t bother her at all. She’s glad that the two most important women in her life like each other so much.

It seems like the entire town is out tonight. It’s a fifteen minute walk from Katya’s house to the field where the bonfire has been set up, and Trixie sees more people than she has the whole time she’s lived here. Katya is at her elbow, chattering away, and Trixie can see her breath in little puffs at her peripheral. She wants so badly to be holding her hand, but that is absolutely out of the question tonight. Anxiety is alive in her stomach, sending gooseflesh down the backs of her thighs.

At the field people are standing in little clusters together, circling the bonfire. It hasn’t been lit for very long so it isn’t roaring quite yet. There are a lot of kids in costumes, and a few teenagers and adults as well, but most people are bundled up warm against the bitter night. Trixie is grateful for her borrowed coat, and grateful for the warmth of Katya right next to her.

Katya spots Betty approaching them before Trixie does. Her face blanches in the orange light of the fire and she takes an awkward step backwards, her shoulders coming forwards and up. “Trixie, Trixie,” she says helplessly.

“What is it? What’ve you seen? You know none of this stuff is real.”

She hears Betty’s voice before Katya can even get her mouth open to answer. Trixie turns around and shifts to the right a tiny bit, shielding Katya as much as she can without making it obvious. Betty isn’t looking at her anyway, she’s staring Trixie down. She’s shorter than Trixie is, but not by much, and spite gives her an extra couple of inches.

“Beatrice, how nice to see you engaging with the community.”

Trixie opens her mouth to respond, but Katya’s hand is fisted in the back of her coat and tugging. Now that she’s a real part of Katya’s life, Trixie knows that she catches the bus two towns over whenever she needs groceries because Betty won’t serve her at the produce market. She doesn’t like confrontation, doesn’t like harsh words. Instead of coming for Betty’s throat, Trixie closes her mouth.

“Be sure to stay away from scary things on Halloween. You know, like ghosts, and zombies, and murderous witches.” Her eyes dart away from Trixie to land on Katya for barely half a second, but it’s enough that Trixie takes an enormous breath and balls her fists.

Behind her, Katya makes a tiny, wounded noise. Trixie feels so fiercely protective of her that for a moment she really considers putting her teeth to Betty’s jugular. Instead, she fumbles blindly behind herself for Katya’s hand and squeezes her fingers when she finds them.

“You’re right. I should stay away from monsters.”

She takes great pleasure in shouldering Betty out of her way, Katya bobbing along at the end of her arm as the two of them move past. Trixie keeps them walking right around the circumference of the fire until they’re at the opposite side and out of Betty’s view.

Katya’s giggling, and it is teetering right on the edge of hysterical, but Trixie tucks both of their clasped hands in her deep pocket and lets her work through it. She doesn’t trust herself to speak just yet. Her tongue still has a flint taste and adrenaline is making her want to put her fist through something.

The bonfire is beginning to generate real heat now. Not as many people are around this side of the fire, because the stalls set up to sell hot cocoa and candy apples are at the other side. It makes Trixie feel safe to keep Katya’s hand in her pocket and stand close to her, duck her head and lean in close to talk.

“Does this happen every year?”

“I haven’t ever been before,” Katya says quietly. Trixie makes an affronted noise, but Katya doesn’t give her the chance to say anything more. “I haven’t had a nine foot tall lesbian to defend my honour, before.”

“Yeah, you still don’t,” Trixie laughs. “I am definitely not going to be defending your honour. You slut.”

Katya rolls her eyes into the back of her head and makes a breathy, high-pitched noise and it’s so overblown, so stupid. It really shouldn’t make Trixie suddenly aware of her hips and her thighs. She shoves on Katya’s shoulder and it breaks her out of her moaning and makes her laugh instead, loud and screeching.

People are beginning to bunch together close to them as more and more of the townsfolk come down to see the fire. Katya takes her hand back from Trixie’s pocket and she lets her, has to, because she can’t call attention to it. Whatever they’re doing, it goes unsaid. Katya puts a foot of careful distance between them. They stand together for a little while listening to the logs crackle and spit, the chatter of the people around them.

Katya is so beautiful in the firelight. The warmth of the bonfire has pinked her cheeks and her eyes are the darkest Trixie has ever seen them, shiny with joy. Thinking of her, able to see the bonfire from her house every year and aching to be here in front of it, is making Trixie’s heart feel too big for her chest. Katya is thrilled by everything, up on her tiptoes again as if to get a better view.

The urge to hold her is so strong that Trixie takes another step backwards, puts a little more distance between them so that she doesn’t reach out and wrap her arms around Katya’s shoulders from behind. She’d do it, here in front of all of these people. Let them look.

“I’m gonna go get us powdered donuts. Stay right here.”

Katya doesn’t give her the chance to protest. She’s already disappearing, weaving her way through the crowds. They part for her, most people taking a stumbling step or two back away from Katya when they see her approaching. She has her head ducked and she’s moving quickly. Trixie watches until she can’t see her anymore, and then a little bit longer after that.

She’s inadvertently put herself closer to one of the groups of people nearby, and now she can hear the snippets of their conversation more clearly. She knows immediately that they’re talking about Katya. It’s all anybody in this whole town seems to want to do.

“Isn’t she at her most powerful tonight?” one of the girls says, a thread of real alarm in her voice. They’re teenagers, Trixie can tell from how young and how incredibly stupid they sound. “Do you think she might hex someone?”

“It’s such a fucking waste, man.” That’s Peter, she’s pretty sure. Trixie breathes raggedly through her nose like a bull. “She’s a hot piece of ass, but that haunted pussy? No way.”

The other boys all jeer and crow with laughter, falling over themselves to be the next person to crack a joke, the next one to have the light of the group’s amusement on them. Trixie is trying not to make it obvious that she’s listening, hasn’t dared allow herself to move even an inch closer, but she hears them clear as if she were standing in the middle of their circle.

“She’d bite your head off like a black widow. Look at what happened to the only person who ever dared to fuck her. I bet she’s all dried up and dusty.”

The girls erupt in a chorus of disgusted ews, hamming it up in the hopes that one of these boys will want to fuck them. Trixie is so glad not to be a teenager anymore. She remembers the paralytic awkwardness, trying to flirt with the least threatening boy she could find but having no idea how. She’s grateful to be a self-assured adult, grateful to have somebody who makes flirting easy because she wants them so bad that she can’t help herself.

“Why can’t she just cast a spell for a new husband or something?” The vocal fry on these girls is making Trixie’s hands ball up into fists without her consent. They’d be irritating if they were talking about anything else. But they’re talking about Katya, and so instead of irritated Trixie is furious.

It is so laughable that they’d sooner believe Katya is a witch than accept they have a queer woman in their midst. Trixie bites the inside of her bottom lip, both to distract herself and to remind her to keep her mouth shut. She tastes iron and has to let up a little bit, probes at the sore spot with the tip of her tongue instead. In her curiosity she has wandered far enough from the bonfire that she’s cold now, and she clutches Katya’s coat tighter around herself.

“Do you think it has teeth?” Another of the boys is saying. “Do you think her husband threw himself in front of a truck because he couldn’t bear to fuck h- oh. Shit.”

Trixie turns to see then, because it sounds like the boy has two hands around his throat and squeezing. There’s six or seven of them standing in a pack, and just behind them is Katya. She’s got a candy apple in each fist, grotesquely shiny and red in the firelight, and her mouth is hanging open.

Peter nudges one of the others, presumably the last boy to speak if the pallor of his face is any indication. “You’re fucked, Jake. She’s gonna curse you now. Your dick’s gonna drop off.”

Trixie’s whole body floods with hot anger. Her temper and her mouth have always gotten her into trouble, since she was in elementary school. When she’s angry, when she’s hurting, her filter comes down and she says things that she regrets later. She almost, almost manages to keep her mouth shut, but Katya’s face is washed out with horror and she can’t bear to let these kids win.

“She doesn’t need to waste her energy making your dick drop off, since you’re never going to have a chance to use it, you gangly unfuckable little parasite.” The others standing around Jake explode in a riot of jesting noises and whoops. She’s not done. “You think anyone, ever is going to want to fuck you? They’re gonna be too distracted by their own reflection in your forehead.”

Katya is so far away, the whole crowd of teenagers between them, but her voice carries. “Trixie. Don’t.”

“You’d be lucky to get your dick bitten off. Do you know how fucking stupid you sound? She won’t fuck any of you so she must be a witch?” Katya flinches, but no one else is looking at her. The eyes of all of the teenagers and several other people are on Trixie. She’s shouting, she knows she is and she can’t seem to stop. “Guess what, dickweed? You can’t accuse every person on earth with the sense not to want to fuck you of witchcraft.”

“Trixie!” Katya says sharply. “Let’s go.”

She skirts the group of teens widely and stomps to Katya’s side, her cheeks pink with confrontation and with being chastised by Katya in front of all of these people. She has to hurry to keep up because Katya has immediately started heading for the edge of the field and she’s taking such long strides.

Once they hit the sidewalk she slows down a little to let Trixie catch up. Her eyes are shifting rapidly but never quite landing on Trixie, and she keeps clearing her throat but not speaking.

“Where’s my donut?” Trixie takes one of the candy apples from Katya, freeing up her hand so Trixie can thread their fingers together instead. She doesn’t care who might see. Back there, she laid herself out a lot more plainly than just holding Katya’s hand.

“Huh? Oh. Right. I, uh…you always criticize my eating habits, so I thought I’d be healthy.”

Trixie snorts and takes a huge bite of the apple. It gets stuck in her teeth immediately and she works her tongue around her mouth. She can feel Katya’s eyes on her so she hams it up to get a laugh. Anything that will distract Katya from hurting seems like a safe bet right now.

They’re mostly quiet on their walk back to Katya’s house. Trixie can’t really talk since every bite of the candy apple is glueing her teeth together. Katya isn’t eating hers, she’s holding it down next to her thigh and it’s getting covered in all of the fluff and detritus from her pants. It’s getting ruined, but Katya hardly seems to be aware of it still in her grip.

Inside, Trixie leaves Katya in the living room and lets Dolly out to use the bathroom, sets the kettle on the burner to start boiling. When Dolly is done she comes back in and heads straight for Katya, ignoring Trixie’s outstretched hand looking to love her. Trixie fixes tea for them both and finds Katya curled up in the corner of the couch with Dolly’s head in her lap, the dog’s body stretched out along the cushion. Her eyes are closed and her face is totally slack.

“Scooch, Doll-Doll.” Trixie sits down at the other end of the couch and the dog jumps down, affronted, and curls at Katya’s feet instead. “I made tea.”

Katya opens her eyes and accepts the mug from Trixie, holds it against her chest. The steam curls up around her and she breathes deep enough to make her bangs flutter against her forehead. After knowing her for a couple of months, Trixie has learned that Katya sometimes needs space to arrange her thoughts, but she does like to talk things out.

They sit in the silence together. Trixie drinks her tea slowly. She unlaces her boots and toes them off, scoots her sock feet closer to the dog so that Dolly can lay her head on them. Katya isn’t really drinking her own tea. Every now and then she seems to remember that she’s holding it and she takes a tiny sip, but she’s mostly just looking at a point a few inches left of Trixie’s shoulder.

When it gets unbearable, when Trixie feels split open and like all of her raw insides are about to come tumbling out, she takes Katya’s mostly full mug from her hands and sets it down on the floor with her own empty one. She clicks her tongue to warn Dolly away from investigating it with her snout.

“Come here, babe.” She holds out her arm and Katya tucks herself underneath it, her bent knees against Trixie’s thigh. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I hate it when you’re right. We shouldn’t have gone. We should have stayed home and watched a movie.”

Trixie’s hand is at Katya’s shoulder and she can feel the lift and collapse of her torso as she breathes. There’s so much she wants to do. She would like to kiss the crown of Katya’s head, or bring her all the way into her lap.

“Always being right is my cross to bear. But. I don’t think either of us could have anticipated that that would happen.”

“It doesn’t- I don’t want-” Katya’s voice is so small. Another wave of cold fury washes through Trixie. She knows that it’s bad, she learned that the very first day she knew Katya, but seeing it actually shake her for the first time is a different thing altogether.

“Just ask me.”

“What they said. It’s not going to change your opinion of me, right?”

Trixie closes her eyes and hides her face against the top of Katya’s head for a moment. Just to give herself the space to work through that grief. “No, babe. The only thing it changes is that it makes me think you’re even more brave and amazing than I already did.”

“Your sincerity is freaking me out,” Katya mutters.

It makes both of them laugh a little. On the floor, Dolly rolls onto her back and Trixie pets at her with her sock feet, rubbing them against the dog’s chest. “Sorry. I won’t be sincere ever again.”

“The thing is.” Katya flutters her hands uselessly in the air around herself. Trixie can’t see her very well, mostly just getting the crown of her head, but she can hear it in her voice. Her scrunched up nose and the hot, insistent press of tears. “It’s not like I don’t know. The people in this town don’t like me.”

Trixie still has her arm around Katya’s shoulders. She likes the warm weight of her head against her chest and the smell of her shampoo, but she really wishes she could see her face for this next part. Holding her like this, standing beside her tonight, all of it has made her want Katya so badly that she can’t stop it anymore. She is hopelessly buffeted by endless waves of need, keeps managing to get her face above water for just a second to take a gasping breath.

“Well I like you. A lot.”

“Oh, Trixie, I like you so much.” Katya straightens up, leaves a hand at Trixie’s thigh. Her cheeks are silvery and salt-raw, the tip of her nose pink. “I like you so, so much.”

The lamp beside the couch is throwing their two shadows up against the wall, every quiver mimicked and magnified. Trixie reaches for her before she knows she’s doing it. Her graceless hands land either side of Katya’s neck, thumbs at the hinge of her jaw. Her lips are parted and she’s staring at Trixie’s mouth.

All of Trixie’s insides feel pulled up towards her heart by a tight string. She’s certain that if she checked, she would have a puckered line right down her sternum. Katya is so still, not breathing, and her skin is warm.

“Is this okay?”

“I’m scared,” Katya murmurs without moving her mouth at all. She’s trembling in Trixie’s hands.

Trixie nods, and tries to swallow down her suddenly dry mouth. “Yeah. I’m scared too. Still, though.”

She leans in and kisses her before either of them can change their mind. Trixie keeps things slow and exploratory, focuses on the hot little puffs of Katya’s breaths against her cheek and the woodsmoke smell of her hair. Her lips are so soft and she kisses Trixie right back, her hand at Trixie’s thigh clutching tighter now. Time stretches out hot and elastic; Trixie kisses her, kisses her, kisses her.

When they break apart Trixie leans her forehead against Katya’s. She would like to kiss her again but they’re grinning too widely, both of them. Katya’s free hand slides into Trixie’s hair and she scratches her short nails over Trixie’s scalp, makes a shiver ripple through her.

“I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time,” Trixie whispers.

It makes Katya laugh wildly and rear back to look at Trixie. Her lipstick is smudged, probably smeared across Trixie’s face as well. She likes that thought a lot. Katya stops laughing and draws her legs up beneath herself on the couch so she can loom over Trixie.

“I know you have. You’ve never been subtle, Trixie. You told me you’re a bottom after I’d known you three days.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Trixie groans, and falls forwards to hide her face against Katya’s chest. Katya’s laughing; it’s shaking her beneath Trixie. Her hand comes up to the back of Trixie’s head, her thumb tracing the shell of Trixie’s ear.

Now that they’ve started, Trixie doesn’t want to stop kissing Katya. Maybe ever. She straightens up and captures Katya’s face in her palms, cradles her head as she kisses her long and slow and deep. Katya slides her knee over Trixie’s thighs and sinks down, lays the heel of her palm right over Trixie’s heart with her fingers against her clavicle.

Katya pulls back a bit, so that she can look at Trixie. She’s so cute like this, rumpled and blushing. Trixie steals another tiny kiss from her and feels Katya’s smile bloom against her mouth. The warm weight of her in Trixie’s lap is distracting, but she looks like she wants to say something so Trixie lets her hands rest at Katya’s thighs and gives her the space to collect herself.

“Trixie. This isn’t like…a pity thing? I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“I wanted you the second I first saw you.” Trixie doesn’t think about what she’s saying, the implications of that. It’s true, and she’s tired of skirting around the edge of what she means. “I haven’t stopped wanting you since. So no, it’s not a pity thing. You think I have enough compassion in my heart for that?”

Katya lets out a soft little huff of laughter. Her thumb is at Trixie’s bottom lip and she pulls down experimentally for just a second before she lets it spring back into place. Trixie turns her head to kiss the inside of Katya’s wrist and she lets herself linger, finally, feeling the jump of Katya’s pulse.

Dolly has gotten caught up in the excitement and she nudges Katya’s hip with her snout, her tail up in the air and swooshing back and forth. Katya reaches behind herself with her free hand to pat blindly at the dog’s head, but she doesn’t break Trixie’s gaze.

“I know all about the compassion you have in your heart, honey. You just don’t like to show it towards straight people.”

Trixie kisses her, half to wipe the teasing smirk right off her face and half because she can’t believe she’s actually allowed to now. This time Katya deepens things, and Trixie opens to the hesitant press of Katya’s tongue at the seam of her lips. Everything is slick and hot and lovely, and Trixie clutches tight at Katya’s hips.

When Katya breaks the kiss again Trixie whines low in her throat. It doesn’t occur to her to be embarrassed by it. She’s already told Katya how much she wants her. She’s been telling her for weeks, if she’s honest with herself.

“And, Trixie. Trixie. When you say that you…want me.” Trixie presses her thumbs into the creases at the tops of Katya’s thighs and she gasps, rocks her hips down sharply. “Does that mean just sex, or?”

“Do you think I usually spend weeks and weeks getting to know people that I just want to fuck?” Trixie slides her hands around to Katya’s ass and hauls her in close until their chests are flush. “You’re- oh my God, this is so embarrassing. You’re my best friend.”

Katya’s whole face breaks open and light comes spilling out. She cradles Trixie’s face between her palms and holds her in place as she kisses her. Dolly has given up trying to steal attention and skulked off to lie beside the unlit fireplace and eye them. They kiss for a long time, until Trixie’s fingertips start to go numb from oxygen deprivation.

“You’re my best friend too, Trixie.”

Trixie can’t stop smiling, her face is all scrunched up and goofy with it. It feels like the floor has righted itself after being just a little bit crooked the entire time she’s known Katya. She kisses her again, hands threaded into Katya’s hair so that she can feel the thrum of her pulse at the base of her skull. “Are you still scared?”

“Spookiest night of the year, mama.”

#rpdr fanfiction #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #trixya #magical realism #tenderness #isolation #slow burn kind of #iwoc #beanierose #lesbian au

19 notes · View notes

thenootshoot · 5 years ago

Text

Zink and Nevo - The Origins (2)

The weather outside was horrid. Rain poured down on the two ex cons as they drove down the road. Lightning crashed and thunder roared. It felt like life and death.

"You doing alright back there?!" Knockout yelled to his lover, trying not to use their comm links.

"Fine! Just keep going! There has to be a spot soon!" Breakdown replied. Even he was struggling to drive in this weather. And to make matters worse, the wind had picked up.

This was tiring the both of them out. The anxiety of being found abandoning the cons was already stressful enough. What if something terrible were to happen to them now too?

"Sharp right ahead! I see a place we can stay!" Knockout yelled and made a sharp turn toward a cave. It wasn't huge, just big enough for them to fit, but it would do for now.

Breakdown followed him, driving into the cave. Both of their lights came on when they entered the darker environment, showing that only some small critters lived within. It was a perfect temporary home. At least until they could contact the autobots.

Knockout soon stopped and transformed, Breakdown shortly after. Both went to look around. The cave wasn't all that bad, a bit creepy but nothing threatening. A good sign.

"I think we can relax for now. It shouldn't be long before we can contact Optimus and hos team." Knockout said to his lover. "You need to rest anyway. Until we find them we have to preserve the energon within us, and you're burning through it fast with those two still growing."

Breakdown nodded and sat down against the cave wall. A long sigh escaped him and a servo went to his middle, which had already started to round out. "You're right."

Knockout began to pace a little. "I just have to find the autobot frequency on my da..." His optics widened. "Scrap! I didn't bring the data pad!"

Breakdown grumbled. "Now what? We're in the middle of nowhere with no energon and two sparklings on the way."

"I don't know...Just...Stay here. I'll see if I can find anything." And before Breakdown could say anything, Knockout left the cave.

(A smaaaaaalllll time skip since author is lazy)

The Nemisis was chaotic. Megatron was beyond pissed. He hasn't seen his medics in over 6 months and no one could find them! Not even Soundwave.

"Search harder! The autobots cannot have taken them!" The con leader demanded, pure fury inside. "Starscream! Assemble your armada and FIND MY MEDICS!"

"Yes my lord." Screamer said in his typical 'I better do it or I'll get punished and therefore I am afraid' voice, quickly going to do as commanded.

Megatron then went back to storming around, hoping for some sort of signal for either of the two bots.

Meanwhile, in the cave, Knockout was tending to his lover. He had managed to find some energon and break it down to edible pieces rather than the freshly mined stuff. It wasn't the best but it was doing them good. And poor Breakdown. He was consuming twice as much as he usually would, the twins requiring more and more energon every day. It was putting a lot of pressure on him that he didn't really need. However, his lover was always beside him to help.

"How are they today?" Knockout asked the larger mech, going to sit beside him.

"Better today. They aren't kicking as much so I can finally relax." Breakdown replied.

"Good." He looked in the direction of the entrance of the cave. "I think I'm just going to drive until I find an Autobot. They're always on patrol I hear and I hope I can find one."

Breakdown nodded. "I hope so too. I really don't want to give birth in this cave."

They both chuckled at that. They had already joked about their children becoming cave bots and speaking gibberish. It was honestly something very humorous to them, even if they didn't want it to happen.

"I'll be gone for a little while, okay? Don't hurt yourself while I'm out." Knockout kissed Breakdowns forehelm. "I love you, and I will come back."

Breakdown nodded and got more comfortable. "I'll power down while I can."

The smaller of the two nodded before transforming and leaving the safety of the cave.

---------

'Starscream! Report!' Megatron demanded over the comm link.

'Still nothing but we haven't finished! We will find him sire!'

But that certainly couldn't be true. It had been hours since he had left with his fleet and not even a tiny bit of luck. No signal, no familiar alt modes. Nothing.

'You best not return empty handed.'

Scream could practically feel the anger his leader was feeling just from that sentence. He couldn't afford to mess this up.

Suddenly, he spotted something, a familiar truck. It wasn't Knockout or Breakdown of course but, he loved the idea of being the bot that terminated Optimus Prime. This was the perfect opportunity to do so.

"My armada! Attack!" He commanded, and laughed as the troops open fired on the Prime, who transformed and began to fight back.

And that's when Knockout saw them. Perfect! He'd fight off the troops with the Prime and prove he is loyal! It was the perfect plan!...Or was it? The moment the Prime caught a glimpse of Knockout driving his way, he began to shoot at him! Already the plan wasn't going according to.

"Optimus wait! Let me fight with you!" Knockout pleaded and tranformed, running toward the troops that had landed and beginning to slice and stab them.

Optimus was caught off guard by this. It distracted him long enough for Starscream to swoop down and pin him to the ground, transforming and aiming his blaster at the Prime's face.

"How I've longed for this day. The day I can say, I terminated Optimus Prime." He smirked.

But Scream was suddenly knocked off of him, and Knockout quickly held a servo to the Prime. "Hurry! Hurry!"

Optimus took the smaller bots servo and stood, beginning to fight again, focusing mainly on Starscream. And it was not long after that when a familiar groundbridge portal opened up and two bots came through.

"Gah! Retreat!" Screamer yelled, transforming and flying away.

Optimus, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee all began to shoot as what remained of the armada flew away. Knockout was on the ground nearby, wounded and growing weak. Energon leaked from his side. It wasn't a fatal wound, but it would still need medical aid.

"Why did you help me?" Optimus suddenly said to him.

Knockout looked up, his optics instantly tearing up. "Please let us join you! We can't stay with Megatron! He'll kill us and take our sparklings!" He pleaded. "We just want to raise them in a safe place!"

Bulkhead stepped closer. "Whoa whoa whoa. Who's we? I only see you."

"Breakdown...He is sparked with twins, due any day now. I just want him to be safe."

Optimus looked to the other bots for a moment before kneeling to the former con. "Where is he?"

"A cave south of here between a creek and pine trees."

The Prime nodded. "Bulkhead, Bumblebee, get Knockout to Ratchet. I will retrieve Breakdown and meet you back at base."

The two bots nodded and went to help Knockout onto his pedes. The former con was screaming in happiness on the inside. This was it. This was the life he and his sparkmate and his sparklings deserved!

They were free now.

18 notes · View notes

moonlightobrien · 5 years ago

Text

THE RED STORM.

AUTHOR: @moonlightobrien

CHARACTERS: Stiles Stilinski & Paige Blackwood.

WORDS: 3902

AUTHORS NOTE: ATTENTION!ATTENTION! I FINALLY FINISHED MY FIRST CHAPTER AAAAAH. duuuuuuude, 9 pages of writing... HOLY! But, i’m SO EXCITED to be FINALLY publishing this chapter, I hope you guys love it as much as I do. I’m SO sorry that it took so long to finish -- work just has been stressful, and editing is my top propriety since im editing this project for my best friend, and sometimes inspiration just isnt there ya know?! But, its here and ready. hope you all enjoy.

You know that feeling where you’re at a good place in your life — everything is just perfect, nothing went wrong, it’s just you and your family having a wonderful day, a wonderful summer in the culture of Chicago, where the weather is really hot like the sun was right above your head beaming on your skin on some days, and other days where it’s just a perfect chill, sunny day. Today, it was one of those days where the sky was picture perfect shade of light blue, and the white puffy clouds looking like cotton candy in the sky, how that crisp wind hits you right in the face making your skin crawl from the coolness, and the way your hair flows within the wind itself.

One of those days where it feels right to you, how it makes you happy to be alive, and breathing on this world, thinking that maybe the world that we live on isn’t that bad, yes you may have bad days — days where you want to throw everything on the ground and cry your eyes out. Yet, they are days like these makes the good ones more appreciative, and you’re happy with it.

Chicago is quite a small state, there isn’t that much happening in Chicago like you see in Las Vegas or even Hollywood in that matter which makes it more quieter, and more relaxing, but also dull too, you wish there was a little excitement in there, maybe there is in other parts, but sometimes we overlook the definition of what excitement truly is, excitement isn’t crazy or wild - some people think it is, and some don’t.

Excitement is a feeling where you feel happy and you have that adrenaline filling in your body and feeling it in your bones to the point where you don’t want that feeling to stop, that ‘alive’ feeling. Life is like a book, you don’t know what chapter you’re going to be on, or what page you see your name attached too — all you can do is see where you end up on what page, or what chapter you are assigned too. Same with time, time is a dangerous thing, you don’t know what is going to happen in a one hour or in one year, but with time, life is like a clock as well — time can just come and sneak up at you, and you wouldn’t even know what happened. Today was one of those days where time dominated everything.

Little six year old, Paige was sitting in her booster seat, licking her vanilla ice cream cone with some purple and pink sprinkles on top, as the radio was playing a summer song, and her father, and mother was smiling joyfully, and little paige was beaming with so much happiness in herself — it’s not that often where the Blackwood family had quality get togethers, Paige’s father was a businessman which means he comes home time, and time again, and there are times where he has to work on his weekends. But, when he does come home, Paige is the happiest little girl in the world — her mother also works in real estate which there are times where her job can overstress her making her not have time to spend time with Paige. Today, Paige couldn’t be more happier since she can finally spend time with her mommy and daddy on a nice sunny day.

“Did you have a good time today, Paige?” Her father asked, with a smile on his face seeing how happy her daughter is.

“Yeah,” Paige replied back with a little giggle.

“What do you want to do tomorrow, Paige?” Her mother asked. “Ummmm… I don’t know…” Both of her parents chuckled to her indecision choice. Paige’s chocolate covered orbs wandered looking out through the window playing scenarios in her head, imagining herself in those moments. The giggles and chuckles escaping her lips, being a kid, enjoying her life as a child and not have to worry about anything, just being this carefree spirited. Until, just like that. Little Paige’s world was turn upside down for the worst.

“We got three victims in critical condition, we need EMTs immediately!!” Paige’s vision was going in and out due to loss of blood, she couldn’t see what was happening, or even think in that moment, “Where’s my mommy and daddy?” Her voice sounded weak as she closed her eyes once more, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, everything is going to be okay.” As the EMTs carried her stretcher rolling it up in the back of the ambulance on their way to the emergency room.

“Did you have a good time today, Paige?” Her father asked, with a smile on his face seeing how happy her daughter is.

“Yeah,” Paige replied back with a little giggle.

Paige opens her eyes not knowing what happened, or what is going on right now. Her vision was still blurry, and she was in pain due to the injuries she has faced. She looks around seeing white walls surrounding her, white titled squares on the floor, as she notices that she has a needle sticking inside of her arm, and hearing this beeping sound on the monitor, realizing it was a heartbeat monitor. Her eyes peaked once she started to hear a creak coming through her hospital room door. “Hey, there, sweetheart. You feeling okay?” The nurse asked her. Paige can feel this throbbing pain in her head, her body feels so drained out.

“No, my head hurts — where’s my mommy and daddy? Are they okay? What happened to them?” Many questions was popping out of her mouth, her mind was racing with anxiety filling up in her lungs not knowing what happened to her parents. “Paige, honey. Your mother is fine, she’s going to be okay.”

“What about my daddy?” She asked, worrily.

“Paige, sweetie — um, your father.. he.. he didn’t make it, I’m so sorry, honey.” The devastation on Paige’s shoulders as she felt her heart shattered, tears flowing up into her eyelids, rolling down her pale cheeks. “No, no no no no.” The cries was so broken-hearted that she didn’t know what to think. “Where’s — Where’s my mommy? I want to see her…” Tears kept flowing down, as she accept the news that her father was gone. The nurse took her into her mother’s room, as the tears couldn’t stop flowing. The nurse opened the door of Paige’s mother hospital room as Paige ran up to her mother sobbing into her mother’s arm, as her mother cried as well finding out that her husband, and the father of her daughter was gone. “I’m so sorry once again for your loss, and please let me know how I can help by any means. Once again, I’m truly sorry.” The nurse starts to leave the room, while Paige and her mother letting out the pain they are feeling yet also knowing that they are going to have to find a way to get through this terrible death.

— ONE YEAR LATER.

One year later that Paige’s whole world was changed forever, the moment where she found out that her father is dead. Attending the funeral was so brutal seeing her father in a coffin, Paige instantly broke down, while in the timeframe, Paige started to change into a different person, getting more violent, and being unbehaviorable. Paige was sitting in class not really paying attention, or not really caring in the world. Middle school was so boring, school in general is just stupid — Paige hates it. “Miss, Blackwood?” Paige rolled her eyes, groaning from annoyance.

“Yess?” She replied back, sarcastically.

“Please pay attention, or you would be signed up for the office, is that clear?”

Paige chuckled, “Whatever, sir.”

“Office, now!” Paige gets up as her teacher hands her a pink slip while Paige walks out the door — down the hall towards the office, what a surprise that once again she is sent to the office. She walks into the office landing the pink slip into the pile of pink slips she received multiple times, entering the principal office once more.

“Paige, this is the millionth time you got sent to the principal’s office — what is it going to take for you to act right.. cause if you don’t, then unfortunately, we are going to have to expel you. Now, we don’t want that.. don’t we?”

Paige looked up facing the principal, “Oh, I’m sorry — I didn’t get anything you just said, all I’ve heard was expell and possibly leaving this dumb school forever, i’m totally fine with that — I mean, you guys haven’t really helped me with counseling, or anything in that matter so why would I stay here? I mean, to be honest, all you really do is care about your money that goes in your pockets, but not the actual students like myself who are going through something, and you think a thirty minute counseling session is going to help me, or any of the students suffering with what I am dealing with right now — no, you just to pretend that you care about me or these students, you want to convince and please your bosses to get more money in your pockets, so please by all means — expel me, I can see why many students left this so called, ‘wonderful school’ so, I’ll let myself out.” With that, Paige left the principal office, and out of the school building, walking to her house.

Paige plugged her black earbuds into her ears shutting off the world — listening to Avril Lavigne, or Evanescence, since those two relate to her the most. As Losing Grip was playing, tears flow down her cheeks still holding on the pain from her dad, the nightmares got so worse, the days got more greyer, she didn’t want to go anywhere, just lay in bed and cry. She reaches her house, unlocking the front door stepping in — her mother wasn’t home at this time, she was at work of course. Paige goes up to her bedroom throwing her book bag on the floor near her bed frame, as she plops on her bed trying to ease her headache from crying all the way home.

She decided to take a quick nap to make it go away, or at least stop the pain from happening, she instantly fell asleep, hopefully where she can dream and not have a nightmare, constantly.

“Did you have a good time today, Paige?” Her father asked, with a smile on his face seeing how happy her daughter is.

“Yeah,” Paige replied back with a little giggle.

Paige can picture the car flipping up and down, in the same motion — her body jolted from the fear of that incident, twisting and turning from her bed trying to erase that memory, “Did you have a good time today, Paige?” Her father asked, with a smile on his face seeing how happy her daughter is.

“Yeah,” Paige replied back with a little giggle.

“Did you have a good time today, Paige?” Her father asked, with a smile on his face seeing how happy her daughter is.

“Yeah,” Paige replied back with a little giggle.

“Did you have a good time today, Paige?” Her father asked, with a smile on his face seeing how happy her daughter is.

“Yeah,” Paige replied back with a little giggle.

“Did you have a good time today, Paige?” Her father asked, with a smile on his face seeing how happy her daughter is.

“Yeah,” Paige replied back with a little giggle.

Paige woke up with sweat on her skin, her heart was beating out of her chest like she was having a panic attack, her oxygen levels were low closing her throat unable for her to breathe, she immediately grabbed her water, drinking it to make the panic attack to go away, but that didn’t work, so she tried another trick that she learned from overcoming panic attacks — counting backwards from ten to one. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,” She slowly started to take deep breaths making the panic attack died down, “Five, four, three, two, one,” Paige exhale one last breath, she was okay.

Until, she heard her mother’s footsteps coming towards her bedroom door, she quickly pretended to be sleeping, yet her mother knows her daughter really well — she pulls the trick all the time whenever she gets in trouble in school. “Paige Maria Blackwood, turn around.” At first, Paige didn’t budge, she hated talking about the same conversation over and over again, “Now!” Paige turned facing her mother’s deep ocean blue eyes, and Paige sat up crossing her arms in unison. “What happened again?” She asked, with a frustrated, and disappointed tone of voice.

“What do you want me to say…? I told you this over and over again that I don’t want to attend that stupid ass school.. okay? So, I don’t need the same leisure every single time I’m in trouble..” Paige snapped.

“Well.. that’s not an option for you, it’s either public school or homeschool since you clearly can’t get the act together at the school that you’re attending now,”

“Because, that school doesn’t do anything for me except tell me what to do and what assignments to complete yet not actually giving me a real reason on why I’m learning the subjects. How am I supposed to know a particular thing that something taught me if there is no reason, no meaning.. it’s basically nothing attached to life.” Paige replied back with a sassy intertone.

“That’s not true, but I’m not even going to argue with you anymore, cause nothing is going to change, so you’re going to do homeschool.”

“What?.. No!” Paige didn’t like this idea, but it’s better than attending that stupid, nothing, useless, school. At least, she can pretend to be learning while being at home.. two for the price of one. “The decision is final, you’re doing this whenever you like it or not — I can’t keep doing this anymore, when are you going to grow up and stop being so irritant, and negative all the time,” Paige’s emotions started to rise again with anger, and the emotional pain she feels every day.

“Sorry for being such a burden on you — I’m sorry that one of us can go on by their day and not feel anything about someone she loved that is no longer here, im sorry that I can’t stop being negative cause you know what, Mom.. some of us like myself are still feeling that pain from I don’t know her father that passed away so excuse me for being so irritant and negative, and emotional all the damn time,” Paige’s eyes welled up with tears as the wet salty droplets slid down her chocolate covered eyes that the sun can catch your reflection, she went passed her mother trying to keep her composure together, but her mother followed her behind, “Paige, where are you going?”

“None of your business, just leave me alone.” Paige yelled, she couldn’t take her mother’s hateful words — this has been happening since her father went away, Paige’s mother got more tougher, and her words to Paige were hateful and mean, she didn’t want this ‘mother’ she has now, she wants her old mother back. “Excuse me! Come back here right now!”

Paige walked up towards her mother, looking into her eyes, as her blood was boiling with so much anger, her nails were digging into her palms squeezing tightly, “No!” Paige stepped back walking towards the front door, exiting out as she can hear her mother’s cries through the door, Paige felt the pain too, but the anger was controlling her, Paige started to walk down the road to one of her favorite places in the world — the music shop. She plugs her earbuds back in her ears, listening to some of her favorite punk rock artists like Chase Atlantic, AC/DC, The 1975, GreenDay, and so much more as she starts hiking her way to the music shop.

THE BELL RINGS as Paige opens the door into the music shop seeing all of the old/new records, cds, and headphone machines that you can listen to music online— she loved the music shop, it felt like a second home to her— seeing all of the old music back in the days especially the rock records, the rock era back in the day was so much fun, wild and free, she wished she experienced that lifestyle. “Paige, how’s my favorite girl doing?!” Paige instantly smiled seeing her best friend, Daniel. “Hey, Danny, and to answer your question — same old. Just trying to take it in one step at a time, how’s the shop doing..? Making any good deals..?”

“We just sold ten records last week, and five this week.. how was school today…?” Paige looked at Daniel, and he knew what she meant. “I see, what happened this time?” He asked.

“Just, the typical. Teacher being a dipshit and sending me to the wonderful principal office,” Paige sarcastically said with a smirk.

Daniel stepped out behind the desk, and walked with Paige to see what kind of albums she wants to pick and buy since Paige is an undecided person, “I think you should give the school a chance,”

“In a million years,” Paige chuckled.

“Come on, Paige — I think you are smart enough to do it, you just have to put your motivation into it, because I know you’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met,” Daniel gave her a soft smile towards her, Paige looked back at his beautiful forest dark green eyes, “Thanks, Daniel.. that means a lot to me,” Paige started to get lost into his eyes, she turned away facing the records again. “Um, we.. I think I would buy this one.” She showed him one of the albums, “Good choice! As always,” Paige raised her eyebrow, and smiled. “Absolutely.”

“What time are you off..?” Paige asked.

“Six,”

“Want to listen to this album with me when you get off.. and go to our secret location?” Paige whispered, and Daniel thought that was the cutest thing in the world.

“Of course, we can. Just don’t tell anyone.” He whispers back giving her a wink.

“Yes, sir!” Paige giggled.

Daniel handed her the plastic bag with her album in it, and Paige replied back with a smile. “Thanks, Danny Phantom, see you at our “secret location,” at six.” Then, she left.

Six came around, and Paige was listening to her new album she brought at her secret location, she found this old abandoned train cablouse near the train tracks when she was walking around the town of Chicago, and ever since then, its been her place and no one else -- except for Daniel. She got a message from her mother. Paige glanced at the message, and ignored it. She got another message, not from her mother but from Daniel.

Daniel: Hey! Be there in five.

Paige smiled at the message, giving him a reply back.

Paige: Just use your ghost powers, Danny Phantom.

Daniel: Very funny.

Paige decided to turn down her music, and just step outside to get some fresh air -- seeing the sunset go down, and the lights far away from the distance. The wind catches her by surprise, she can feel the coolness against her soft pale cheeks, and through her blonde locks feeling somewhat happy, and free. The depression can make her days dark and just boring. She doesn’t have that many friends, except Daniel. Paige isn’t that social with anyone. She likes being alone, but being lonely is different. “Hey!” Daniel shouted.

“Hey again, Danny Phantom! You finally made it to defeat your villain.” Paige chuckled, she’s going to keep that nickname.

“Who’s my villain?” Daniel playfully, questioned.

“Me, rawwww!” Paige started to run while Daniel started to chase her around the train tracks. Giggles escaping both Paige and Daniel’s lips was cheerful, Paige felt happy whenever she is with Daniel, he has always been there for her, when she is having her panic attacks, when she needs to vent to someone, he was always there for her. “Ok, ok. That’s enough.” Paige went back to the cablouse while Daniel followed. She decided to turn the music up, Paige was jamming to the vibe, the energy to this song. “This is a solid album.” Daniel was getting into it too.

“Couldn’t agree more,”

Messages just kept blaring on Paige’s phone from her mother, “God, would she leave me alone?” She said, annoyingly.

“Paige, wny do you always have to be mean to your mother?”

“Because, you know how she is -- today, she called me irriant and negative just because I left the school that didn’t teach me anything,” Paige answered with a anger undertone in her voice, its hard living with a mother who doesn’t lift you up, always brings you down all the time. “You don’t understand, Daniel. I don’t have anyone except my mother, and you. I don’t have any friends, everything drifted apart, and it sucks.” Daniel felt her empathy, Paige felt lost in this world, she is sad all the time, she used to be happy yet all of that changed once her father passed away. Depression, anxiety, and panic attacks. Three things that sums up of what Paige is going through. Social awkwardness, no friends, and no social life sums up of what Paige deals with everyday life, “My life isnt exciting, its boring as hell. The only excitement I have is when im with you.” Daniel smiled to that complainant. “Thanks, you are too.”

Paige put her head on Daniel’s shoulder, as he puts his head against hers -- both heartbeats beat into one, Paige decided to put some soft music on -- she turns off her mini record player listening to Alec Olsen on her phone. “We should stay here like this forever,” Daniel chuckled, “Yeah, that would be nice.” Paige smiled, as she closes her eyes imaging things in her head -- she loves the idea of imagination ever since she was a little girl. She opens her eyes and Daniel was still by her side. “We should probably go, its getting dark.” Daniel said, softly.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Paige stood up, put her arms out and smiled at him. Daniel chuckled at her cuteness, walking up towards her wrapping his arms around her neck squeezing her body close to his. “Daniel..?”

“Yeah..?”

“Thank you for being an amazing best friend.” Paige smiled as tears started to well up again.

“You’re welcome.”

Both bodies pull away from each other, and Paige wiped the tears off of her face, “Bye, Danny Phantom.”

“Bye,” Daniel smiled to his new nickname. Paige gave him a smile starting to walk down the tracks on her way home. She finally made it home, and quietly opens her front door trying to wake her mother up. She tiptoed her way towards her bedroom door, closing the door behind her. What a day it has been for her, but being with Daniel makes Paige’s days less worse. Paige was so tired mentally, she decided to change into her pajamas and go to sleep.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a good/still depressed/good day. hopefully.

#the red storm #the red storm series #lili reinhart #dylan o'brien #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fanfiction #i cant wait to write my ship out #the banter between stiles and paige is going to be so cute #ajbfwXNRBGE #hope you all enjoy my series

4 notes · View notes

blooddrinkingbartender · 6 years ago

Text

Narrative: Old Bill’s Endeavour

Summary: Back in 1918, when Bill suspected foul play in his surrogate son’s death while he was returning home from the Western Front, he set forth on a roaring rampage of revenge, regaining his youth in the process.

Warning: I would definitely say this a mature fic not suitable for younger audiences. There are copious amounts of violence, bloodshed (and blood drinking), gore, and death. There is also homophobia (a man is murdered for kissing another man) which would have been considered typical for its time (not that that makes it right obviously) and word ‘queer’ is also used as a slur. It’s also very long, over 10,000 words long.

He had been waiting for the ship to make its return. He could only be glad it was during the night time. Most people knew him to be nocturnal, often blaming his old age for his messed up sleep cycle. If only they knew the truth.

Russell had sent him a letter, the last of the many he had sent while on the front, saying that he would be on his way home. He had been surprised but delighted to know that Russell had managed to prove his original prediction wrong. He had been debating to himself whether to share the news about his mother just yet. Of course, he knew what had really happened; he had decided her life was forfeit and drained her off her blood soon after Russell left, but he had figured out the cover story. He briefly wondered if Russell would end up noticing the years that were shaved off his appearance since then.

He had ultimately decided not to tell him. He would most likely want to take some time to relax after all the travelling and not be thinking about it if he had told him in a letter.

Bill’s heart sank as he watched everyone leave the ship and saw no sign of Russell anywhere on it. His eyes met with one particular individual. He was a man in his late twenties. His brown hair was closely shaved and his blue eyes were filled with anxiety as he approached. Another man was behind him. His own black hair was a little bit longer, his face was riddled with sorrow, and he kept his brown gaze over Bill’s shoulder.

“You must be Bill,” the first said, “Russell’s told us a lot about you, Sir. Me and Walter here. My name’s Elmer.”

He gestured to the younger man behind him before offering his hand to shake.

“Ah, nice to meet you both,” Bill replied. He accepted the gesture, “He’s told me a lot you both as well in his letters, along with everyone else in your little group, Lord rest their souls and Lord give Earnest a safe rest of his journey. I hate to sound rude to you nice young men, but where is Russell? He said he was coming back.”

He could smell the lie as soon as it came out. It was like concentrated ammonia.

“He fell off the ship, I’m afraid,” Elmer said, “And we couldn’t find him when he landed in the water. I can only assume that he just sank like a stone. The weather had been really bad that night, an awful storm.”

Bill couldn’t help but notice that Walter was constantly looking back over his shoulder to four particular men. He could smell a familiar scent in their blood; very similar to decay despite them being alive. A lot of humans he had met in his time carried that smell.

Did they have something to do with Russell’s disappearance?

“You don’t want to bother yourself with those guys any,” Elmer said, noticing that he was looking at them, “They’re not very nice people. I call them the Horsemen. Russell probably told you. We’re really sorry that we had to give you this news, Sir. I can only assume that God’s given him a warm welcome now.”

Russell had indeed told him about the Horsemen in some of his letters. One of them had tried to cut out of his tongue. Earnest had stopped that from happening though. He had to give the big man some credit for that.

“Perhaps,” Old Bill replied. He did his best to show a calm demeanour, despite the rage that bubbled in the pit of his stomach, “Don’t be sorry, my friend. The cosmos have a funny old way of seeing things through.”

As it went later into night-time, he told Freyde and Robert that he had a pilgrimage to go on.

“I probably won’t be coming back,” he had said, “I’ve got places to go, and things to do. You both have been absolutely wonderful neighbours to me, and stand-in parents to Russell when I couldn’t be, and I felt I owed it to you to say goodbye. Please tell anyone who comes around that my house is free to anyone who just needs it.”

“What will we tell them about you, Bill?” Freyde asked. Her cheeks were still running with tears from the news of Russell's death.

“Just tell them I died suddenly in my sleep, like Cassandra did, and you buried me. I even wrote a will to use. You’ll find it under my bed,” Bill said, “They’ll believe that. I’m old.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Robert said, “Can you at least tell us why?”

“As I said, I got some things I need to do,” Bill said, “And I know for a fact I won’t be able to come back once I’ve done them.”

“Bill Goodwin. Always the secret-keeper,” Robert said, “Aren’t you, Vampire?”

“That I am,” Bill replied, “Hunter.”

Elmer was staying in a tavern for the rest of the night. He wanted to get some rest before he started making his way back to Texas. All he could think about was seeing Dorothy and Rose again. He could already picture Dorothy running into his arms with a happy cry. He pictured Rose’s smile and his arms wrapped around her.

He then briefly thought to Russell. If he hadn’t told him to stand down against the Horsemen, he might not have lived to be able to see them again. His heart sank. He knew what Russell and Walter had been doing was a crime, and a sin against God, but they were still his friends, and that didn’t make what the Horsemen did right.

He pressed his hands together in a prayer.

“Dear Lord, please forgive Russell for his mistake. He’s only human. And humans make mistakes, don’t they? Even if he and Walter shouldn’t have been doing that, they’ve done a lot of good, and Russell doesn’t deserve damnation for it, or at least what the Horsemen did…”

He paused when there was a knock on the door. He was certain he hadn’t locked it. He shrugged. Maybe it was someone who had been on the ship with them and they wanted to talk.

“Come in,” he casually called out, as he moved to sit. His eyes widened when Old Bill opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him.

“Good evening, Elmer,” Old Bill only said. In what seemed like an instant, he was suddenly standing next to the bed. Elmer almost jumped onto his feet but Bill placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down, “I think you and I need to have a little chat, if we may. What really happened to Russell? And don’t lie. I can smell lies, like when someone rips ass in a train carriage.”

“I told you, Sir...” Elmer said, swallowing. How did Bill get here? “He fell off the ship.”

“Wrong!” Bill snapped. Both his hands were suddenly placed on either side of Elmer’s head. He drummed his fingers along Elmer’s scalp, as though to emphasise his point, “You will tell me the truth, my friend. You will tell me the truth, or I will reach into your head and claw it out myself. You’ll return to Texas as nothing more than a mindless husk, and then what will become of your wife and daughter?”

Elmer was paralysed with fear. Bill’s eyes had changed from that warm grey to a bright yellow and had sunken into their socket. The sclerae were bloodshot, and the pupils had become slit, like that of a cat’s. His veiny skin had taken on a deathly blueish tone. His canine teeth had grown significantly sharper and longer.

Elmer couldn’t help but think back to the stories his grandpa had told him in order to scare him into going to bed. He would talk of how corpses would rise from their graves as vampires to steal the blood of the living, especially if they had been bad.

“You see it now, don’t you?” Bill said, smirking, “You can see what I really am. Not just some harmless old man sitting on his stoop anymore, am I? So… are you going to tell me the truth?”

“Yes!” Elmer said, “I will! I’ll tell you the truth! Please, don’t hurt me!”

“I won’t hurt you, unless you give me a reason,” Bill said.

Elmer told him almost everything; like how Russell had become a scapegoat to defend Walter and himself after an accusation of some kind of perceived crime, the torture that had been inflicted on him, and then the murder. He even included the states the Horsemen were planning to go back to; New York, Maine, Delaware, and Ohio after some prompting. There was one detail he refused to divulge; why they had attacked Russell. All he really knew was that it had something to do with Walter. Despite Bill most likely hearing his prayer, they both knew that he didn’t hear what Russell’s ‘mistake’ had been.

“It’s all a mess, ain’t it, Bill? I shouldn’t told you all those details, they’re just terrible,” Elmer said.

“I suppose they are,” Bill replied, “But I’m not too shocked. When you get to live as long as I have, you see many terrible things. Good things too of course, but a lot of terrible things.”

He sighed. His anger practically radiated from every pore in his body, despite his voice sounding calm and his face being like stone

“Typical. He threw himself to the dogs so you and Walter would be safe,” Bill continued, “But why? I know you said they look for an excuse, so what was theirs?”

“I’m sorry,” Elmer’s voice wavered with fear as he spoke, “I can’t tell you, Bill. It would be disrespectful to Russell. He was keeping it a secret himself.”

Bill held onto Elmer’s face for just a little while longer. He then slowly released his grip and brought his hands to his sides.

“All right. I suppose that’s fair...” he only said, “And I must give you some merit. You did try and help his chances of surviving, even if you couldn’t save him directly. Of course he would tell you to think of your wife and daughter first.”

“He was a kind man like that,” Elmer said.

“Yes, yes he was,” Bill agreed, “Well, I think I’ve heard enough. I think I’m going to have a little talk with Walter next.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Elmer said, “He was in a difficult situation as well, they were both really good friends.”

“I’m not going to hurt him. I’m just going to have a talk with him, tell me where he is, or do I need to reduce your brains to cheese?” Bill asked, as he made a motion to grab Elmer’s face again.

“No! No! He’s… he’s staying at a tavern on the other side of Boston, called The Swan,” Elmer yelped.

“That’s a good man,” Bill said, smiling, “See, isn’t it much better when you’re just honest? I never got that whole ‘say something but mean something else’ you mortals are into.”

Elmer was silent. Bill made a move as though to straighten up. But then he stopped.

“Oh, well. Of course, I can’t have you telling anyone about me...” Bill said. The fear came crawling back onto Elmer’s face. He tried to jump back. But he blinked and in an instant, his head had been taken in Bill’s hands again. Bill could already see his resistance draining as he focussed on forcing the commands to wrap around Elmer’s mind, “You blinked. Now, listen to me very closely. You are going to forget that I was ever here. When I let go of you, you are simply going to fall asleep. As far as you’re concerned, that’s all you did in this room tonight. Now sleep.”

He released his hold. Elmer’s eyes slid shut and his entire body relaxed. Bill chuckled.

“Just like a riding a velocipede, you never forget how to erase a few memories once you learn,” he said. He straightened Elmer so he was laying down and pulled the blanket over him. He then turned the lamp off, “Rest well, Armpit. Enjoy the rest of your life.”

Walter was sitting on the bed that he had gotten for the night. An empty bottle of scotch rested by it. He held his head in his hands, sobbing quietly.

“I should have just said the truth,” he said to himself, “We could have at least died together. We could have been together, wherever we were going, and I just threw him away. I should have confessed. He shouldn’t have gone through that for my...”

There was a knock on the door.

“Go away!” he called out, “I said no one was to bother me until tomorrow.”

The knock only repeated.

“I said piss off!” he snarled. It continued. He hissed in a breath through his teeth and staggered to the door. He yanked it open and got ready to give this intruder a piece of his mind.

“Walter, I must ask that you let me in,” Old Bill simply said. The instruction was simple and it seemed to wipe away the hostility that had previously been brewing inside of Walter’s head.

“Fine, Bill...” he only said. It seemed like he wasn’t about to question what he was even doing here in the first place, “Just for a short while though. I want to be alone.”

“Of course,” Old Bill replied. He stepped inside of the room. It seemed that Walter had been hit a lot harder by the ordeal on the boat, “I had a feeling you would be like this. Elmer told me everything.”

“Of course he did. Can you honestly blame me in that case?” Walter said, “Those fuckers murdered him and I should have gone with him too! Yet I didn’t. They said I’m going to have to live with that now, and they’re right. I’m just a coward who watched him die. I’m, I’m gonna do it, you know. I’m gonna go and follow him.”

“No you won’t,” Old Bill said, “That’ll just be a kick in the teeth for him, after saving your life, and you have a niece to go home to. Why make his sacrifice meaningless?”

“Life is meaningless without him in it,” Walter replied.

“Then you have to find another meaning to your life,” Old Bill replied.

“You say it like it��s easy,” Walter said.

“It’s not,” Old Bill said, “I’ve lived so long now that I’ve had to constantly find new purposes, new reasons to live. It isn’t easy, but it’s possible.”

He had been planning to find out more details about what had happened and perhaps get some more knowledge about the Horsemen, but he had gotten a clue from this display. He wasn’t going to push the young man any further.

“I would like to be alone now,” Walter said.

“Fair enough,” Bill replied, “Although I want to make the new road a little easier for you to find.”

He didn’t hesitate. He placed his hands on the sides of Walter’s head, like he had done with Elmer. Walter was drunk and that made his mind a little bit less resistant. He didn’t even bother to try and move away from him.

“Walter. You must listen to me closely,” Old Bill said, “Hold onto this for the rest of your life if you have to. You must live. You must move on from this. It’ll always hurt, yes it will. But that pain will lessen over time. If you live though, Russell will get to live on through you. You understand, my friend?”

Walter only nodded.

“Good. Now, go to your bed, and get some sleep. I was never here,” Old Bill waited until Walter was laying down before he quietly headed out of the door again.

The hunt was on.

Chester, also known as Famine, was relatively easy to find. He was still in Boston, possibly to enjoy it a little longer before heading back to his home. It seemed that none of the Horsemen had any interest in each other now that they had returned to the states. He would track down the other three later. He was certain he would get an idea of their whereabouts once he had drained the blood of the first.

Bill found Chester drinking in a bar a couple of nights after he left The Swan. He was bragging about how much blood he had shed while on the front. Typical. Despite the bartender politely listening, it was plain to see that he was trying to figure out how to escape the conversation. That was where he could come in.

He took the glass of whiskey he had bought and stood up, approaching them. He pretended to slip and stumble, letting the drink spill over Chester’s back.

Chester immediately spun around and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“Please, forgive me,” Bill feigned fear, “It was just an accident, my friend.”

“Yeah, and now, ‘by accident’, I’m gonna fuck you up, who do you think you are, swaggering around like some kind of idiot?” Chester said. The bartender turned and pretended that he had no idea what was going on. It seemed he was afraid of invoking the Horseman’s wrath on himself, “I can just tell them you crept up on me, a war veteran, and I acted accordingly.”

Bill let himself be dragged outside. He put on a show of struggling and begging for mercy, which Chester only seemed to enjoy. No one tried to stop Chester. Bill didn’t actually blame them.

Bill was slammed against a nearby wall once Chester had deemed them both far away from the bar. Chester got a large knife from the inside of his coat. But in an instant, Bill was suddenly gone. Chester’s eyes widened. Wasn’t he just...

A hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth and set of sharp teeth sank into his neck. He dropped the knife as a searing pain shot through the wounds. As much as Bill thought about drawing out Chester’s death or being creative, he knew it wouldn’t be wise in this area. He wasn’t too torn up about that. There were three others he could have a better time with.

Chester uselessly struggled and his screams were muffled as his blood was pulled of him and swallowed down at a rapid pace.

Eventually, his screams were silenced and he grew limp. Bill tore his teeth out and let Chester drop to the ground. His head was flooded with memories that weren’t his own. He gritted his teeth. But then his eyes widened with shock at some of the visions he saw. Chester had hung back with Lawrence and Floyd as Arthur stalked over to Walter and Russell without a sound.

They didn’t notice him; they were too lost in that kiss they were sharing. Bill’s heart sank as he heard the taunts, saying how Old Bill wouldn’t want to know that he had raised Russell ‘into this’, as Floyd described it. He saw Russell scratching out his names while his own gun was pressed to his cheek. He then heard Elmer’s protests. His heart ached as the Horsemen laughed at him and Russell before knocking him into the ocean to drown.

“So… that’s why Elmer didn’t tell me,” he only said, “Oh, Russell… I can’t hate you for something like that.”

He paused when he heard Chester’s final thoughts in his brain.

Well played I suppose. I guess it’s easy to get away with something like that when you look like a harmless old man. Won’t change what I did though, will it?

“No, it won’t, but you won’t hurt anyone else this way,” Bill replied. He ran a hand along one of his cheeks. It felt smoother. He then took Chester’s knife from the ground and shoved it into the Horseman’s neck.

He then hurried off into the night. He could already hear the footsteps of someone who had most likely heard Chester’s screams.

He found War four days later.

Lawrence was on a train, making the journey back to Ohio. He was just a third of the way through Pennsylvania now. He preferred travelling by night. Less people to deal with; less people to annoy him. Killing people wasn’t considered as ‘acceptable’ in this setting compared to the front. He knew that all too well. He reminded himself to get out at the next stop so he could transfer. That would be an hour yet.

He smirked, chuckling a little bit. It had been almost way too much fun dealing with the Cockroach. He hadn’t had that much of a thrill in ages. It was a shame it had been over so fast. He wished he could have gotten a picture of the heartbreak that flooded his face when that wooden medal was thrown over the edge of the boat. Or the tears in his eyes as he stared down at the ocean. The fear that crept into him as the knowledge of his fate slowly sank in was amazing.

It had been useful to remember that the younger man was afraid of the ocean. He had no idea they had been listening in while he had admitted that to his friends. It was certainly more satisfying than Arthur’s original plan to cut out his tongue. He found himself rather thankful that that big lug of a mute had stopped that from happening.

He let his eyes shut. He could nap for a little bit.

But then they sprung open and he found himself letting out a shocked yell when the violent screeching of metal and metal rang around him. The train came to a juddering stop.

“Oh for shit’s sake, really?” he muttered. Something must have gotten on the tracks. He huffed. Must have been an animal or something. He took his lighter out of his pocket and flipped it on. It was so stupidly dark in here, “Must be in a tunnel.”

“That was my thought as well,” a new voice said. Great. Of course someone took their chance to talk to him. Confusion about a situation did that, “Perhaps someone ought to go and investigate?”

It was too dark to make out any discernible features. He could only tell that a man was talking to him.

“Well, you go do it then,” Lawrence retorted, although an idea had come to mind. He had been restless since had gotten back. And no one was going to miss this old codger, right? Sure, he wouldn’t be as fun as Russell had been, but it was better than nothing.

“Actually, I was thinking…” in a blink, the man was standing in front of him. He rested a hand on top of Lawrence’s head and whispered in his ear. His tone became smooth and echoed inside his suddenly-emptied mind, “You could come with me.”

Lawrence awoke somewhere far away from the tracks. There was nothing but trees and dirt surrounding him. It took him a moment to realise that he was on the ground, and that his own long coat had been removed and used to tie his arms and legs together behind his back.

He had no idea how he got here. One moment, he was talking to that old man, and then…

He heard whistling. He turned his gaze upwards as the said man stepped into view. He was clearer under the light of the moon. His skin was very pale, almost blue, and his red hair was faded in colour, as was his beard. In fact, some of both was starting to go white.

He turned his eyes towards him, and Lawrence felt his breath catch in his throat when they saw that his irises were an unnatural gleaming yellow. The pupils didn’t look right either. They were bloodshot, and animalistic, like a snake or a fox.

“Does that remind you of anything?” Bill only asked, “Being tied up, helpless, and forced to look death in the face?”

“Can’t say it does,” Lawrence replied, shrugging, before he smirked, “Oh… I think I know who you are.”

“Do you?” Bill replied.

“Yeah, you’re Bill! You’re Old Bill! And now you’re mad because the guy you raised as a son is dead. And you know I had something to do with it. So, who squealed? Because I’ll need to go and gut him like a pig once I’m out of here,” Lawrence said, as he started to struggle, “I’ll get out of this and you’ll regret messing with me.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere,” Bill replied, “But I do suggest being careful about struggling there. You could...”

He trailed off and then smirked as Lawrence suddenly yelled in pain.

“Break a bone,” he then continued, “Oh dear, I suppose I should have you that straight away.”

“You absolute fucker. You old piece of shit!” Lawrence cried, “People will come looking for me! They’ll know!”

“I’ll be long gone before they find you, and there’s no one around to hear you for miles, the train left a few hours ago,” Bill replied, as he took a glance at his nails, “Although if you really have to scream more at any point, try not to do it too loudly. I have sensitive hearing.”

“Fine! I promised him I wouldn’t tell you this if he did what we said, but he was a queer! You raised a queer!” Lawrence said.

“Does it look like I care if he was that or not?” Old Bill replied, “Besides, I already knew. I got that out of Famine. He’s dead now. And soon you will be too.”

“You really wanted someone like him running around in this world?” Lawrence asked. Although his voice and face showed defiance, the smell of his fear was thick in the air, “A disgusting pervert like him?”

“Better him than people like you running around in this world, but we’re not here to talk about who deserves to live or who doesn’t,” Old Bill said. He then approached. He grinned, showing the tips of his fangs, “I just want to ask you a little question, my friend. It’s relevant to your situation. In or out?”

“What?” Lawrence asked.

“In or out?” Bill repeated.

“In or out?” Lawrence asked.

“Your bowels,” Bill said again, as the digits of his hands suddenly changed into clawed crimson fingers, “Would you like your bowels in or your bowels out?”

They came out, even though Lawrence had said he wanted them in. Bill smirked as he tore into Lawrence’s abdomen and ripped out his intestines. Bill took his time in making it as slow and as painful as possible. Lawrence had managed to dislocate his own shoulders when his movements became desperate, leaving him utterly helpless.

Bill looped them around Lawrence’s neck and throttled him with them until his lips turned blue and his struggles weakened. He then stopped when he thought the man was about to pass out and let them hang loosely around his shoulders like a warped shawl.

“Animals and birds will have a nice meal from you,” he said. Lawrence weakly coughed, a dribble of blood escaping from past his lips. He was still alive and conscious, but at this point, he was going to welcome death, “Oh dear. Does it hurt? Are you afraid now? Imagine how my boy felt when you killed him!”

“Just, kill me,” Lawrence said, he strained to talk and his voice was quiet, sore and hoarse from all the screaming he had done, “I’m sorry...”

“You’re only sorry because I caught you and made you pay,” Bill said, “But seeing as you’re going to die soon, and I really want some of that blood for myself, my pleasure!”

He clamped his mouth onto Lawrence’s neck and bit into the vein as hard as he could. Lawrence flopped around weakly like a fish that had washed onto shore, but then he went limp as the last of his blood was taken. Bill saw those memories again. He winced. He was going to have to go through them twice more, wasn’t he? He growled.

It hurts. It hurts so much. You’re right though. I’m not sorry about him. Maybe I’ll see him in Hell and we can do it all again.

“I doubt that, I doubt that very much,” Bill replied, before he shook his head, “Huh, that was oddly quick… perhaps I’m getting soft in my old age.”

He decided to use the man’s entrails to hang him from a tree branch by his neck. He eventually found a small stream to wash his hands and his mouth of the blood that coated them. He did so quickly. He then moved on, not bothering to take a proper look at himself. He had to find a place to rest before the sun came up.

It took another three days before he made it to New York. He could travel on foot for miles on end, but he always had to hide from the sun, and if anyone was watching, then his ability to move quickly was hindered.

That had ended up happening more times than he had cared for. However, he couldn’t deny that the people he met on the way were fairly decent.

He eventually made it though. Better late than never. With any luck, he’d make it to Maine in good time after he found and killed Death here.

When he managed to catch up to him, he could see that Floyd still lived up to the name even now. It had been coming to midnight. He was on high alert and his nose had picked up the trail of fresh blood.

Something had told him to follow it, and so he had.

It was way too late to have saved Floyd’s victim. The poor man’s head was practically nothing more than a red puddle of slush. His heart had stopped beating long ago, hopefully before he ended up in this state. Floyd no longer carried Russell’s rifle in his hands like in those memories, but he was using a heavy piece of pipe to beat the man’s corpse.

Bill moved an empty bottle with his foot. The scraping of glass on tarmac was enough. Floyd suddenly snapped his head up. He realised he was being watched. Their eyes met.

Floyd wasted no time. He rushed at him with the pipe in his hand without a single word. But then Floyd stopped when Bill suddenly seemed to disappear. He gazed around. He started to wonder if that middle-aged man had really been there.

He then felt a rumbling beneath his feet. He gazed down to see what looked like a circle made of pure darkness. Before he could step back, tendrils burst out of it. One set grabbed his upper body, and the other grabbed him by his thighs, lifting him high off the ground. An additional one stuffed itself into his mouth to muffle any screams.

It took about ten seconds of straining. Floyd squealed as the pain seemed to radiate through the rest of him. Bill concentrated, placing all his focus on his new task. He was finally rewarded by a satisfying snap of bone as Floyd’s spine was broken. He was then dropped to the ground in a heap. He couldn’t move his legs. His face had practically turned grey as he looked up at Bill. He felt as though his entire body was made from pure agony.

But then he gritted his teeth and spat on Bill’s shoes as he approached. Bill rolled him over with his foot before placing it onto his chest. He could feel some of his ribs bulging through his skin and threatening to burst through. He pressed down, causing Floyd to scream again.

“A pity. I was saving that one for Conquest, and I am trying to mix things up for all of you,” Bill said. He glanced around. No one was approaching yet. Good, “But I suppose I need to act quickly for someone as aggressive as Death himself.”

“What?!” Floyd was unable to stop himself from gasping and panting from the pain he was in.

“How does it feel?” Bill added, “To be on the receiving end of the pain you and your fellow riders commonly dealt to others? How does it feel to know that your life is over?”

He didn’t give Floyd a chance to answer. He grabbed him up from the ground and bit into his throat. He let the Horseman scream freely into the night before ripping his fangs out when he felt that he was empty. He endured the flood of memories, both distant and recent. There were those same images of the ship; just from a different point of view. As painful as they were, it was getting easier to go through them. He wiped his mouth with his hand.

It feels so cold. It feels so empty. You just swooped in and stole my life away like it was nothing, and you act like I’m a monster?

He didn’t dignify that with a response. He hurried off. There was going to be uproar when his body was found.

For the first time in his life, Arthur was afraid. Six days had passed since Floyd had been reported dead. He had seen all the newspapers. First Chester back in Boston, then Lawrence on his way back to Ohio, and then Floyd in New York.

Most people hadn’t made the connection. He was certain that some people knew. But did any of them really have the guts to attack them? He couldn’t put it past them now that they had separated.

What he knew was that whoever this was had specifically targeted the other Horsemen, and they had also drained them of their blood. Chester’s death had been a breeze compared to the other two. It seemed the murderer was getting more creative with each one. What were they going to do to him?

Maybe if he told the killer that he had a mute cousin and a sickly mother to look after, he could avoid such a fate. Sure, his uncle was still around since his father died and she became ill five years ago (how could a sickness last this long?), bringing in the money for them, and Earnest brought in extra with those wood sculptures he was always doing, but his assailant wouldn’t know that, right?

He almost chuckled. Earnest would hate being used as a pawn. They had kept that secret well-hidden. Earnest was ashamed to be related to him, and he didn’t readily tell his little group of friends that he had made on the front about their family connection.

He had done the same with the Horsemen; he didn’t want them thinking different of him. They weren’t close at all, but it was easy to gain sympathy from other people when he told them about his ‘poor handicapped cousin’. He had debated killing Earnest after the big man had broken his jaw in order to stop him cutting out the Cockroach’s tongue. Was it really his fault that that stammer was so damn annoying?

Perhaps he had let him live for this very purpose. That’s what he tried to tell himself. He didn’t want to admit that it was because Earnest would have easily snapped his neck before he even got the chance. Arthur was surprised he didn’t do it when he realised Russell hadn’t come back on the ship with them.

However, he had suspected foul play and hadn’t been afraid to say it. When they had arrived home after a train journey filled with silence, he retrieved the piece of slate he had attached to his clothes, along with a piece of chalk, and simply wrote:

“There are thousands of words in the English language and yet there’s no such way to combine them to describe what an absolute cunt you are. Despite everything else, I never thought you’d actually stoop that low.”

He then walked off, heading to the shed that he always did his whittling in. He had almost thought about taking one of his uncle’s guns and shooting him in the back. Maybe he would have if his mother hadn’t come to greet him.

He remembered that night vividly even now. Arthur wondered if he would tell their family members would have happened, if he hadn’t already. Would they believe him? What would his mother think? What about his uncle? That was what worried him the most.

He shook his head. He had to think about the murderer. He felt anger briefly steam through his nerves when he remembered what Earnest had written down in response to hearing about the other Horsemen:

“In the words of Kin Hubbard, ‘Men are not punished for their sins, but by them’.”

“Do you not care that I could be next?” Arthur had asked. Earnest only shrugged in response, “Do you not care that this killer could be after me? I’m the only one of the Horsemen left, you piece of shit. You’re my family. You should care.”

“I could write something meaningful down, but then I’d just have to explain it to you,” was what Earnest had written next.

Arthur gritted his teeth and rubbed at his temples, as though that would somehow stop the memories from distracting him. Night had fallen over the house and its gardens. He couldn’t relax though. He kept staring out of the window. It was coming to midnight. His mother was asleep. His uncle would be working late into the night with his paperwork, as usual.

Earnest was in his shed, whittling something new. Arthur could see the light of the oil lamp that he used whenever he chose to work late. He briefly pondered going down there and seeing if he could somehow implore Earnest into protecting him.

He shook his head. Earnest was just going to let this happen, if it was going to. Arthur had decided to get prepared. He crept through the halls of the house, arming himself with a carving knife, one of his uncle’s old muskets, a revolver, and a ball-bat that Earnest had made before the war.

Bill’s face was completely expressionless as he knocked on the door to the large house. He knew better than to press the doorbell. That would attract the attention of everyone. If he knocked, he would only cause Arthur’s uncle to come to the door. Arthur’s room was too far away for him to hear of his arrival.

He briefly wondered if he needed to go and check on whoever was on in the shed. He decided not to. He would handle them if they came in to investigate or try and stop him.

He was more surprised about the lack of security. Arthur’s uncle seemed to be a confident man, especially living in such an isolated area where no one was close enough to give them immediate help. He felt a smirk of his own creep across his lips at that thought.

He then let it fall away as he head the door being unlocked from the inside. He had to seem like he was serious.

Arthur’s Uncle Thomas seemed to be a very formal man. He had a curious frown on his face as he opened the door. He was already looking suspicious to see a stranger at this time of night. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bill got there first.

“I’m afraid you need to let me in, Sir. It’s about Arthur. I believe he’s your nephew,” Bill said. It had the effect he needed.

“Oh no, what has he done now?” Thomas replied. He then gestured with his hand, “I suppose you better come in. Honestly, only been back a couple of weeks and he’s already causing trouble…Alice deserves better than this.”

He shut the door and locked it behind them when Bill entered. He then went to his study without another word, beckoning for Bill to follow.

Once he was in the neat and tidy little room, he sat at his desk, indicating for Bill to do the same with the chair on the other side of it. Once Bill did, he opened his mouth, most likely to ask for details about Arthur’s apparent crime. Bill jumped up and placed his hands of both sides of his head.

“Sleep, Thomas. Sleep, and do not awaken until tomorrow,” Bill said. It was so much easier when they were caught off guard. Thomas slumped back in his chair as the commands wrapped around the inside of his mind, “Good man.”

Alice. Yes. He had smelled a woman who was unwell. Presumably Arthur’s mother. From the memories he had seen, Arthur lived with his uncle, his cousin, and his mother, who was Thomas’s sister by blood. His cousin must be the one in the shed. Their butler didn’t seem to be too near, but he was around. He would most likely run into him at some point.

He thought about paying a visit to Alice’s quarters as well, just to make sure she wouldn’t see or hear anything that he didn’t need her to.

He quietly stepped out of the study, closing the door behind him.

He was blessed not to need lights to get around. He was also fortunate that his movements hardly made hardly a sound.

But then his eyes widened when he realised he couldn’t move in his usual flash steps. He glanced back.

A woman had stepped into the corridor. This must have been Alice. She was the same age that he appeared, but she looked frail, like a breeze could blow her off of her feet. Her brown hair was patchy in places. A faint rash that was shaped like a butterfly had spread over her cheeks. She was using a crutch to help herself walk. Her gait was stiff. Sympathy riddled his face. He could already see that she wasn’t even going to make it to fifty.

“Alastair,” she called out softly, “Is that you? Why are you creeping around?”

He could only guess that Alastair was their butler. Now he had a name to use. It would be easier to address him and hopefully sway him if they ran into each other.

“Alastair?” she called out again. There was a hint of fear in her voice.

He could see that she was experiencing a severe headache. That was probably why she wasn’t asleep. He could fix that. It wasn’t the same as the actual treatment she was having to make her illness easier to manage, but it would do for the time being. It was only for one night.

She blinked and he took his chance to approach. Her eyes widened in alarm when he was suddenly right in front of her. She wanted to move back, but she knew she would fall if she did.

“Who are you? Get...”

“Be silent,” his voice was firm but not threatening, as he rested his hands on either side of her head. To his relief, he managed to stop her from revoking the invitation that her brother had given him. She found that she couldn’t speak at all anymore, “I am not going to hurt you. I promise.”

She tried to make her mouth work, but it only opened and closed repeatedly.

“Listen to me, Alice, listen to me carefully,” he said. He could see that her eyes were already growing glassy as she stared into his. Her fatigue made this easier, “You are going to back to your bedroom, and you will sleep. The pain will not plague you tonight. You will slumber peacefully until tomorrow.”

He released his grip and let his hands hang by his side. He watched as she turned and headed away. She then went back into the room she had emerged from.

“Back to work...” he told himself. He then moved on. Arthur’s scent was growing closer. The Horseman was scared. Good.

Arthur was gazing out of the window, as though that would somehow keep him alert. He was so tired. He had been too afraid to sleep properly since hearing about Floyd. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought to arm himself sooner against the coming threat.

“It’s just a man… just a man… there is no man out there that can withstand a bullet,” he said to himself. It did little to make him feel better, “None of the others had a gun on them. I have a musket and a revolver. This fucker is not getting me.”

He swallowed then. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the others he had hurt felt. He then shook his head.

“They were weak. I’m not weak. Not like they were,” he told himself. But then he felt his blood turn to ice as he noticed the knob on his door turning. Why hadn’t Thomas allowed him to put a lock on it?

The door opened and he ran to his assailant with a scream. He raised the ball-bat and brought it down onto his head.

The man crumpled to the ground in a heap. Arthur grinned, but then it fell off his face and his eyes widened in alarm.

“Oh shit! Alastair! I… I didn’t realise it was you! Come on! Say something!” Arthur said. He knelt down to the butler, shaking his shoulder He showed no sign of waking up. Arthur checked his pulse. Much to his relief, he was still alive, “Alastair! Wake up!”

A low whistle caught his attention. He snapped his head up.

“Impressive. A pretty good smack if I do say so myself,” Bill commented, as he walked down the corridor towards him. He was clapping a little bit, “I suppose it was me you were hoping to catch out with that, so I have to take away points for hitting the wrong target.”

Arthur didn’t waste any time. He dropped the bat and rushed back into his bedroom to grab the musket. He never remembered seeing this man on the front or on the ship. But he knew that he had to come to kill him, just like with the other Horsemen.

As soon as he saw the red-headed stranger come into view again, he pulled the trigger back. The gun went off with a massive bang and he felt himself pushed back by the recoil. The bullet left a hole in the wall behind where Bill had been standing. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Where the f...” a hand was suddenly clamped around Arthur’s throat. He was pinned to the wall, dropping the musket. He found himself staring into a pair of bloodshot yellow eyes with slit pupils.

“You blinked,” Bill said. Arthur uselessly squirmed.

“Don’t kill me! I have a sick mother,” he started to protest, “And a handicapped cousin. They need me!”

“I believe your uncle Thomas is doing a good job looking after them himself,” Bill replied, “And I’m sure he can keep taking care of them. Your mother isn’t long for this world in any case, sadly.”

“What did you do my mother?!” Arthur felt his voice rise to a shout when he heard that statement.

“Nothing. But that sickness of hers will be her end. It’s a miracle she’s even lived this long. I suppose when she’s had you to deal with...” Bill said. He decided to trail off and let the implication of that statement hang in the air.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Arthur protested. He struggled uselessly against Bill’s hand.

“You killed my boy,” Bill said. His voice was calm, but a rage burned behind his yellow gaze, “You tortured and murdered the boy I helped to raise since he was born. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so upset about a boy who’s not even of my blood, but I am. I really am.”

“Bill?! The Cockroach’s Bill?! I… I...I didn’t do anything!” Arthur said. The stink of the lie made Bill grit his teeth. A mix of disbelief and fear sank into Arthur’s eyes. This man couldn’t be Bill. He only looked the same age as his own mother. “The other Horsemen were all in it. I was just along for the ride.”

“You pulled them apart, you said those things about them, you told everyone to watch as you and the other Horsemen tortured him and called it a lesson. You laughed at his pain and as you tied him up,” Bill said, “You threatened a father with the same fate and then you threw him into the ocean to drown, and then you came up with the idea to make Walter live with the trauma. I saw it all! You were the ringleader!”

Arthur shook his head.

“You got it all...”

“I saw it all when I drained them of their blood, and I’ll have to see it all again when I drain you t...” it was Bill’s turn to stop talking when he felt a sudden pain in his abdomen. Arthur had retrieved the butcher knife from his coat and stabbed Bill in the stomach with it. His hand loosened, and Arthur took his chance to pry it off of him.

He then took off running, leaving the musket behind. He jumped over Alastair’s prone body. The poor butler showed no sign of waking up.

“When will they learn? You have to aim for the heart, or the head...” Bill said. He casually removed the knife from his abdomen. The damage would resolve itself soon enough, “Shame about my shirt though, I liked that one...”

He then followed.

“Thomas! Please! Wake up! Wake up!” Arthur begged as he shook his uncle’s shoulder. Thomas showed no sign of stirring at all, “Thomas! We’ve got a murderer in here! Did you just invite him in or something?! Wake the fuck up!”

“I’m afraid he’s in too deep to be doing any of that. To be honest, it looked like he needed a good night’s sleep for a change,” Bill said, “And he did invite me. I’m quite the charmer, you see. All I had to do was tell him it was about you. Seems you’ve been quite the naughty boy for him to have believed me.”

He darted forward. Arthur had failed to notice himself blinking. He screamed in pain when he felt the knife being stabbed into his shoulder. Bill then twisted it hard. Arthur’s arm hung uselessly by his side. He found that he couldn’t move it even when Bill took his hand away.

“Oh dear, nerve damage,” Bill said, “Well, I suppose that takes care of your weapon arm, doesn’t it?”

He felt something hard pressed against the side of his head.

“I have two arms, you piece of shit!” Arthur barked out at him. He blinked just as he pulled the trigger of the handgun back. Thomas didn’t so much as twitch as the bang erupted through the room. A glass ornament on one of the bookshelves shattered into pieces.

Arthur’s eyes widened when he realised that he had somehow missed, just like with the musket. It was like Bill had vanished again. He fled the room, firing behind him as he did.

Once he was gone, Bill peered out from behind the desk. He shook his head.

“And to think, he was so cocksure when he was being the aggressor,” he said to himself.

Arthur ran through the corridor. He occasionally kept looking back and firing the revolver behind him. He tried to be sparing with them, but he didn’t want to give that man any chance of catching up.

He found himself crashing into Alastair, who had finally seemed to have awoken from the violent attack. The side of his head was bruised and he seemed to have no idea of what had occurred. He let out a yelp of his own when Arthur came running into him in the dark.

“Master Brennan, what are you doing?” Alastair asked, “I wake up after some kind of fall and I hear you running around screaming and shouting.”

Arthur fired the gun behind him again.

“What is the meaning of this? Is that Master Kingston’s revolver?” Alastair’s voice sounded indignant, “Master Brennan, what has gotten into you? What happened to your arm?!”

“Someone’s come to kill me, Alastair,” Arthur’s tone was desperate as he spoke, “Someone’s come to kill me, just like he did with the others.”

“What others?” Alastair asked, although some alarm had crossed onto his face at the idea that someone had to kill one of the family members he served, “We should call for help.”

“You really think help is going to get here in time?” Arthur said, as he then frantically pointed towards his room, “Grab Thomas’s musket from my bedroom and then we can...”

The knife was suddenly yanked out of his arm, slicing through muscle and flesh as it was removed without any finesse. Blood dripped over himself, his clothes, and the floor. The limb was left hanging on by just a few threads of skin. Arthur screamed in pain as Bill casually licked the blood off of the blade.

“And to think, I was planning to keep the mess to a minimum,” he said. Arthur managed to stagger past Alastair, “Just as well you have wood floors. You can cover it up with a good rug.”

“Who are you?!” Alastair’s voice was filled with shock.

“Alastair, don’t let him kill me!” Arthur begged. He came to the awful realisation that he wouldn’t be able to hold the heavier gun. He would have to rely on the revolver, “Grab the musket.”

Alastair turned to follow Arthur. That had been his mistake. He was grabbed before he could do anything. One arm pinned both of his down and his back to the stranger’s chest.

“Arthur!” he called out desperately, struggling against Bill’s grip. The young man raised the revolver, but he found himself hesitating. Bill was using him as a shield. Alastair struggled, but he couldn’t break free. He tried to kick at Bill, but it didn’t seem to have much use.

“Alastair?” Arthur couldn’t hide the fear in his voice, “For fuck’s sake, man!”

“If you want any chance to stop me, you’re going to have to risk shooting him. A man who’s looked after your family. Are you that much of a monster?” Bill said.

Arthur frowned. Alastair hadn’t helped to protect him at all during this entire night. He should have been ready to jump in and guard him with his life.

“He’s useless,” he raised the gun.

“Arthur...” Alastair was unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

Arthur fired the very last bullet. Bill moved before it had any hope of hitting either of them. He heard shattering as it smashed yet another house decoration.

“No! No! How did I miss?!” he screamed.

“You blinked,” Bill said from behind him. Alastair still wore that mix of fear and betrayal on his face. Arthur turned and threw the gun, which he batted away with the knife. It clattered to the ground. He whispered something else into Alastair’s ear as he briefly placed his hand over his forehead. The butler’s eyes drifted shut and his body grew limp. Bill put him down, “There we go. No more witnesses. No one to remember what happened.”

“Alastair?! What did you do to him? My cousin’s a witness. He’ll tell everyone!” Arthur said. He was backing away again. He had no way to fight this man. No, not a man. He was a monster, “He may be handicapped, but he’ll know! He needs me! He’ll be broken if I die!”

“Just a little trick I learned a good several hundred years ago now. Mastered it even. And if that is the case, I’ll just have to make sure he won’t tell, won’t I? Just like with everyone else here,” Bill said. He didn’t sound concerned at all, “And something tells me that he’ll be just fine...”

He seemed to vanish again. Arthur stiffened, gazing around. He then felt an intense pain in the back of his legs. He screamed out loud and he dropped to the ground. He managed to force himself to stand, but he realised he couldn’t move more than a few agonising steps. He staggered and found himself leaning against a nearby wall. Blood soaked into his trousers and ran down his skin.

“You can always rely on a straight cut to the Achilles tendons. As much as I enjoy a good game of cat and mouse, this is starting to go on a little bit long, don’t you think?” Bill asked, “I still need to go and find somewhere to rest before the sun comes up. Honestly, when you’re as old as me, all it takes is one experience in the sunlight to make you never want it again.”

“Please, please don’t kill me,” Arthur said, as Bill walked over to stand in front of him, “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, huh? Can you bring back my boy Russell?” Bill asked. Sorrow crept into his face and his voice when he asked that question, before his tone grew cold again, “Can you take back the things you did and said to him? Can you somehow turn back the clock and change it all? Can you?”

Arthur was silent. He then cried out when he felt the knife being stabbed into his abdomen. It was removed and thrust in again, and then again. Bill then let go and left the blade in his stomach.

“You’re not sorry about what you did to him. You’re just sorry that you got caught, and by the worst person to catch you,” Bill said, “I know doing this won’t bring him back either, but it certainly makes me feel a hell of a lot better.”

He grabbed Arthur and sank his teeth into his neck, pinned his arms to the nearby wall as he did. Arthur squirmed, trying to get out of the vampire’s grip. It was useless. Bill drank every last drop of blood that he could. When he tore his fangs out, Arthur was still and silent. He dropped to the ground, his heart no longer beating.

Perhaps it’s a fair trade, my life for his. I’m still not sorry about him though. I enjoyed it too much. My only true regret is that my mother will have to live with this.

Just like with Death, Bill didn’t give that last thought any response. He instead felt a laugh burst out of his mouth. He threw his head back and let it echo through the corridors. He then stopped as suddenly as he started.

“Hmm, crazed laughter suits me a lot less than I thought it would,” he said to himself, “No matter. It’s time to go.”

He couldn’t help but notice himself in a mirror when he into a nearby bathroom to wash his hands and his mouth, just like he had done in that stream back in Pennsylvania. He let out a low whistle and grinned, running a hand down one of his smooth pale cheeks, through his ginger beard, and combed his fingers in his hair. He gave his reflection a wink.

“Now, what’s a handsome gentleman like you doing a place like this?” he said, as he took a few moments to admire his new look. He appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties and he found it rather becoming on him, “I’ll have admirers chasing me for miles. I think I’ll keep up appearances this time… at least for a while.”

He opened the door to the whittling shed. Earnest did look at all surprised to see him. He and Bill stared at each other for a few moments. Earnest stood. Russell was right. He was a big man. He was easily a good six feet and a half, and looked like he could punch his way through a brick wall. Bill wondered if he was going to try and to fight him. He got his answer when Earnest got his piece of slate and wrote down:

“Old Bill?”

Bill was quiet for a moment, but then he nodded.

“Yes, that’s me, even if the ‘old’ part doesn’t really fit anymore. You’re definitely smarter than your cousin gives you credit for,” Bill said, “And you’re Earnest. Big Red. I saw it. Russell saved your life, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Earnest wrote. He didn’t even seem shocked to hear that. It was like he expected Bill to have known, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save his. I’m sure if I was on the ship with them, things could have been different.”

“Yes, I suppose they could have been,” Bill agreed, “But I said this to Elmer, that the cosmos have a funny old way of seeing things through. So you knew this was going to happen?”

Earnest nodded.

“It seemed the most logical outcome, with what happened to the other Horsemen,” he wrote, “He is my family of course, and I feel sad for him, but I think he would have done a lot worse had he lived. Sometimes you have to think of the majority.”

“Heh, despite what he said about you, you’re more than capable of thinking for yourself,” Bill said, smirking, “And you’re not scared despite seeing what I am now and what I’m capable of. Impressive. Maybe I really am getting a bit too soft in my old age.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you would have already done it. I may be a big man, but that’s all I am, just a man,” Earnest replied. He erased the message he wrote and then added, “Are you going to?”

“No. Only Arthur was my target. His life for my boy’s. Your father, aunt, and butler are all sound asleep, although poor Alastair will have a bit of a headache in the morning,” Bill said, “Arthur thought he was me and hit him with a ball-bat.”

Earnest huffed.

“I was wondering where that had gone,” he wrote, “So what now? You’ve done what you set out to do. You’ve taken care of all the Horsemen.”

“Who can tell?” Bill replied, “I think I’m going to head a different state and think about what I want to do next. Look after your aunt for her last bit of time here, okay? She’s going to need it.”

Earnest nodded.

“To alleviate suspicion, I’ll do to you what I did to the others; make you sleep until tomorrow, just so you can’t be considered a suspect... but I’ll allow you to remember. I think I can trust you not to tell anyone?” Bill said.

“Yes, Sir,” Earnest wrote, “I’ll take this to my grave.”

“I appreciate it,” Bill replied, allowing Earnest to rub away the words first so it didn’t seem like he had been ‘talking’ to anyone, “Now, just allow me...”

Three days later, he decided to stop in Maryland. He had stopped in a small shop to buy a newspaper and a packet of cigarettes. He leant against a wall outside so he could smoke one. He flipped through the articles, letting his eyes run across them. Nothing was really going in.

He then smirked when he saw the article that told its readers of Arthur Brennan’s death. Luckily, none of the other family members came under suspicion. It was concluded that they had simply been drugged by the murderer, so they couldn’t get in his way. He chuckled when those who had gone to investigate the murder said they had no leads.

However, they had come to the other conclusion that the four recent murders were coincidental, and four different people were the perpetrators; they wrote that there was no way one killer could have travelled to each particular area so fast. Bill chuckled.

“I suppose not,” he joked to himself. He then turned a few other pages. He froze. His eyes widened and the cigarette dropped out of his mouth. One particular headline had caught his eye:

“American Soldier Washed Up on London Docks.”

He was still and quiet for the longest time as he read the article over and over. According to it, about three weeks ago, an American soldier had been washed up on London’s docks. There was no name and the circumstances of his arrival seemed to be a mystery even to those who had written it. Not even the soldier had seemed able to confirm.

“No wonder,” Bill said, shaking his head, “With all the times they smacked his head around… if it really is him?”

He pondered. Could it be Russell? Had he somehow survived the assault and managed to make it all the way to London? What were the odds? If it really was him, was he all right? Was he safe? Bill knew he wouldn’t get the answer to those questions just standing here. He looked up at the stars in the night sky.

“Russell. If it really is you, hang in there. I’m coming.”

That's the end of the narrative. Sadly, Bill arrived too late in the end. Russell was indeed the soldier who had washed up on London’s docks, but he had been killed in a fight the day before. Although he took the vampire that killed him down with him as well, which Bill is proud of him for.

#ooc #violence tw #gore tw #death tw #homophobia tw #the moral is don't hurt or kill the people Bill cares about #Because you will face his horrific wrath #Yes #His surrogate son happened to be called Russell as well

3 notes · View notes

bones-of-sheogorath-blog · 6 years ago

Text

I write stories to cope with depression. Here’s one about Sheogorath. I don’t usually post my writings because I’m insecure as all hell, but I wanted to see if it was worth any amusement to you guys. Fair warning, Sheogorath isn’t a good person in this short story. He’s mean and cruel, because I have a habit of writing mean people when I’m sad. IDK why. So, if you feel like reading a story about Sheogorath doing something horrible, then here’s your chance.

The afternoon swirled with mountain mist, a biting chill in the wintry air. Snowflakes glittered like ivory stars as they drifted from a clouded, silver sky. Most people knew it unwise to wander in such bitter weather, but on that day, a dark elf lingered in the windswept valley, piercing gaze of bloody crimson scanning the rocky mountainside that rose to tower over either side of their position. Just ahead, in a shadowed crevice, was their destination. Rumor had brought them there, and on a desperate whim, the elf had decided pay the cavern a curious visit, to see if the stories were true.

The Dunmer was a sad individual, with hopeless thoughts that swirled and danced within a dark and solemn mind. For years they had faced a terrible depression, and each time they had tried to steal away their own life, they had failed. It didn’t make sense to the dark elf. They didn’t have a bad life. They weren’t poor. They weren’t abused. Their family was kind, gentle, and lived in a small farm nearby. They had always treated the elf with respect and love, so why had the Gods cursed them with such cruel madness?

This was their way of fixing things, of finding some amount of joy in the cruel, miserable world that hung over their head like an eternal thundercloud. Their boots pressed into the thin crust of glacial snow beneath large feet as they approached the cave, and, without hesitation, slipped into the shadowed depths of the crevice with only the stream of overcast grey light from an overhead crag to illuminate their path. They found it with ease, no twists or turns or narrow passages. The shrine stood tall in the center of the dark cavern, empty and lonesome, not a candle or worshiper in sight. The stone was chipped away, leaving the bearded face and carved cane hardly recognizable, but if the rumors were true, they knew who this shrine belonged to.

Sheogorath.

The Dunmer approached, hesitant at first, before reaching into the pocket of their heavy fur coat to pull the only item of value they possessed. A flawless diamond. A family treasure. They were in the wrong for stealing it from their grandmother, but desperation had driven the elf to take what wasn’t really theirs, if it meant some manner of comfort in the end. Placing the glittering gem upon a stone pedestal in front of the gloomy shrine, they waited in silence, to ponder their words. After moments had passed, they finally spoke.

“Lord Sheogorath. I offer you this diamond in the hopes that you will hear my pleas, and listen. I am a desperate elf. Sadness burdens my heart and mind. Please…” The Dunmer sounded entirely hopeless, certain this wouldn’t work, that they were praying into empty, frigid air. “I just want to be happy.” The quiet stretched onward, until a rumble of thunder shook the cave. That was strange, there hadn’t been a storm in sight on the way in. Then they heard the voice, a cheery, accented string of words that fell into their mind and echoed throughout their head.

“A diamond? Well, not the best offering, but it’ll do I suppose. In your case, at least. I’m quite curious.” Was that...Sheogorath? The elf’s scarlet eyes widened, uncertain as to what to say, but after a moment, they swallowed down their surprise and anxiety, and spoke again.

“I just want happiness. I’ll give you anything for it. I’ve suffered so much.” The Dunmer uttered a heavy sigh, his tone bleeding with a sorrowful, desperate tone.

“Really? Anything?” Suddenly, in a flash, a swarm of vibrant butterflies, a bearded man appeared, or at least, the daedra appeared as a man, but the elf knew better. Daedra were shape-shifters, and were more than capable of appearing as any form they desired. But for now, as Sheogorath had taken the form of a silvery haired male, the elf would consider them as such. It would be polite, wouldn’t it? But the sudden sight of the Madgod made the Dunmer increasingly uncomfortable, and they stumbled back, tripping over their own feet to fall flat upon their ass. Amusement fluttered across the daedra’s face, and the elf felt their cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“I can give you happiness.” Sheogorath spoke in a chipper tone of voice, lively and loud enough that it echoed throughout the cavern. “In exchange for your soul, and on a day of my choosing, I will come to take you into my realm. Sound like a deal? I certainly hope so, because if not, I’ll have to consider this little trip to be a waste of my time, and you wouldn’t like that, little mortal.” The Madgod spoke dangerously.

They swallowed as a fearful ache developed within their gut, heart rate increasing until it pounded within their chest. Suddenly, tugging in a breath felt a bit more difficult. Sheogorath was threatening them. It was make a deal, or suffer the consequences of summoning such a dangerous being. Perhaps they’d suffer anyways. The Dunmer struggled with their own thoughts for a moment, but the desperation won over their terror.

“I-I accept.” They responded carefully. “Just make me happy. Please.”

“Wonderful!” In a flash of black, like a shadow had been peeled away from his chest, a dark orb arose from where their heart should be, and danced toward the Madgod, who quickly gathered it within his hands, and with a clap, the blackness dissipated. The elf wondered if that was their soul. Black souls were souls that belonged to people, weren’t they? They suddenly felt a chill run down their spine. They had just made a deal with the devil, and Sheogorath was beaming, looking quite pleased with himself. “Now then, why don’t you go rest somewhere warm? Before you know it, you’ll be giggling like a madman! And of course, we can’t forget the part where you brutally torture your two sons and cut your grandmother to death!”

The Dunmer felt a shock shoot through their body, eyes widening into crimson orbs that reflected both confusion and horror.

“What? What do you mean? I’d never do anything like that!” The elf protested, fear edging his voice.

“Oh, but you would! And you will! But don’t worry, you’ll be happy while you do it, and that’s just what you wanted, isn’t it?” The Madgod seemed to purr with wicked amusement, serpentine eyes of gold piercing the Dunmer’s mind.

“That wasn’t part of our deal! Please, they’re innocent people!” They were pleading now, desperation like nothing they had ever felt before struggling within their own thoughts. Already they could feel the hint of something strange creep into their mind, making their thoughts turn sluggish. A seed had been planted amidst terrifying visions, and it would soon blossom into something cruel. A euphoria that would claim their mind, and force them to commit the most terrible of acts.

“It wasn’t? Hmm. I don’t recall you saying anything about not murdering your entire family.” Sheogorath chuckled darkly. “Now run along, before I decide your happiness should only last until shortly after your family’s death. After all, you never specified how long you wanted me to make you happy.” Cold amusement prompted a chilling chuckle that slithered into the open air from the Madgod’s own lips. Then, he was gone, engulfed within a swarm of butterflies that devoured his round bellied frame and faded back into oblivion.

Horrified by the deal they had just made, the elf staggered out of the cave, and fled as far away from their cottage home as possible. But as the madness began to claim their mind, they found themself twisting in circles, confused as to what direction they had been originally heading, and before they knew it, the giggling elf had found their way back home, and, finding a scythe among the farm tools, proceeded to chop the life of their family away, their screams prompting joyous laughter.

#sheogorath #long post #short story #murder tw #suicide mention

2 notes · View notes

ladyyatexel · 6 years ago

Text

So I don't know if you guys remember the last time that I decided just to do a stream-of-consciousness chatting in my voice to text box while I was sitting in traffic, but that's what we're going to do again today. Because it's funny, every time I leave the house kind of late I end up with traffic that's like a little more active than usual but I managed to squeeze into the parking lot right around the time that I need to be there. Except today, I'm thinking okay I feel like garbage but I'm going to try 2 be at work a little earlier and look responsible or some shit. So since I'm doing this you can imagine the. Has not gone as planned. I'm sitting in even worse traffic than usual despite leaving considerably earlier. There is some kind of holy sweet spot for traffic that I have not yet found at least not for this season. Because, the traffic patterns change dramatically depending on what the weather looks like. This sounds like it should make sense like people drive worse when it's actively storming or something like that. But it's actually just like as soon as it gets colder there's 200 on my route to work. I don't know why this is but it makes my already seasonal efukt brain less happy. I apologize that this wall of text I've been able to figure out for the most part, and last night I even figured out that you can vocally enter emojis, which blows my fucking mind for some reason. I do not however know how to get it to make a

Okay so saying the word new and then the word paragraph turned off the voice thing and acted like it was thinking about getting me another line so that's pretty funny, luckily I'm sitting in traffic so I could reach over and press the button again. I didn't actually want to make a new space right there but whatever this is what we've got. Already having so much trouble waking up in the morning and it's not even completely dark. I should be getting up earlier than I am but it's a struggle just to do what I'm doing right now. I have definitely just rolled out of bed in the shirt and sports bra that I slept in threw on some pants and a sweater and gone to work a few times in the last week and a half. I'm wearing a sports bar right now. I can't stop coughing in the mornings I always sounds like I'm the first carrier of the new bubonic plague and then it just like goes away by 10:30 or so but I wish that this thing could pick up coffin somehow and relate to you how often I'm doing it throughout this. I look over at it occasionally and I can see that it's already made some very interesting word choices but my last one was a lot more interesting in terms of what the fuck does that say

I just passed a car that is always parked on the side of the road when I'm on my way in except today they had a new sticker on their back window that said in loving memory of someone with an end date of 2018 so that was certainly something. There's usually well not usually but frequently enough that I recognize it a truck that is parked on my route home that has a sticker on its window with the word sleep in like a no-smoking circle. And there's another sticker to with a similar Johnny 5 and I can never remember it until I see it and everytime I think hey I got to go home and tell the internet about that they're really going to appreciate it but I never remember because like the moment I enter my door the day is gone you know? Like yesterday, my supervisor asked me about something that I did on Thursday of last week and I don't know if she legitimately expect me to remember the names of all of the people that I deal with, but I especially am not going to remember it after a weekend and a Friday that I left sick. Unless the case was really interesting or really unique or something no I don't remember these people I just do the thing I'm supposed to do and ship it off to where it's supposed to go that's literally it. I also just passed some people who were pulled over by the police, so maybe that's what made traffic extra funky today feel like I've been seeing a lot of police

I guess I do this because sometimes I just need to feel like I'm talking to someone and my situation lately has his left things uncomfortable in that regard like I feel as though I am being a bother more so than usual because I just kind of have bad things going on and the people that I usually go to to help me with the bad things also have bad things so I feel a bit like I'm running out of outlets.

I also feel like I have been working so hard on so many things lately trying 2 make my life better buy some marginal Shred and it either goes unrecognized or ends up meaning nothing. Like I finally got that stupid wage garnishment off of my paycheck and then my right. Increased and yeah the paycheck will still result in me having more but it feels like I lately have been taking steps to do things better and what I'm getting in return is excuses for people to their for take more from me. About here buddy that was me talking to the construction guy who was waving at me to go on a different Road when I wasn't even going onto his Road

But really lately it does feel like I just make progress and step forward so that someone can say oh good she can handle more abuse, you know? Hey she makes more money now that's great that means we can take more from her. Hey we know that she's an adult and tries to do things rationally and shit and has really been working on communication and other kinds of therapy bullshit so it's okay to let other people mistreat her for a while because she can take it.

Dang she sure is really fast at work let's make sure we give her all of the work that has an extreme time limit. Her anxiety disorder will definitely not short out her brain when she sees all these emergencies in her inbox and force her to do nothing but hide in the bathroom for 20 minutes.

I did a lot of scary things and put a serious dent in my financial stability in order to rehabilitate this dumb student loan and attempted to improve my credit score, and while that has removed the garnishing my wages like I said my rent immediately went up so it feels kind of like that did nothing and I feel like the higher credit score has only increased the amount of garbage I get in the mail telling me to sign up for more credit cards. Like all I really did was make myself look more attractive two people who want to take advantage of me.

Last year I tried to fix my uterus after bleeding constantly for 3 months and that was a complete shitshow and I feel like I have gotten only slightly above middling results with that treatment

Considering that I tried to slice my own arms apart with my fingernails last week not terribly sure the antidepressants are working either

Like oh you want to take meds for this great let's make it worse and have you attempt suicide at work, you know?

Therapy, you say? Yeah, you barely fit in the schedule and can't afford to go as often as you need to now. Congrats, dumbass.

I feel like my good efforts are mostly being punished, that's the moral of the story.

10 notes · View notes

emmelfish · 6 years ago

Text

‘After woohoo, I like to celebrate with a long hike to ponder the fact that my wife being pregnant means it’ll be a while before we can have more babies.’

Pfft, keep dreaming John. Like that want about playing for tips, nice try – you have zero creativity points. Stick to wanting to praise Tabby, becoming besties with Lucy, and befriending Darren. Also if it’s so hot maybe you should take off your outerwear when you get inside?

FACK

John: What’s the best thing about gardening? Getting down and dirty with your hoes!

Jen: These interactions ALWAYS result in one of us walking away with minus points, why would you think this one would be any different? Anyway, come look at this, you’ll like this.

Jen: LOOK! He’s watching sports on TV like he’s people!

John: Oh that’s adorable! Hey speaking of sports, how is woohoo like a game of bridge?

Jen: *screams internally*

Finally, Jen gets to hang out with some intelligent lifeforms.

Jen: Alright. ‘Examine the lives of the best and the most fruitful sim and sims and ask yourself whether a tree which is supposed to grow to a proud height could do without bad weather and storms: whether misfortune and external resistance, whether any kinds of hatred, jealousy, stubbornness, mistrust, hardness, greed and violence do not belong to the favorable conditions without which any great growth even of virtue is scarcely possible?’

Tabby: Screw this.

Jen: ‘The poison from which the weaker nature perishes strengthens the strong sim – and he does not call it poison.’

John: My wife! I am so proud of you for reading to our child and furchildren and yet-to-be-born children AND getting a golden ticket to My Muse from the spiky-haired man because of your musical talent.

(Hey it’s Justin Kim again! Wonder if he’s come searching for his Hot Tub Time Machine mom.)

Justin: I’m a child and even I know that if you jump on her like that it’s not good for your yet-to-be-born children.

Pop

Jen: The hell is this?

John: You said you wanted new clothes.

Jen: But blue is so not my color.

John: But darling, now you match my shorts! 🎵Off to tend to my peppers I shall go...

Glitches

John: 🎵 With a broken arm, yes oh-ee-oh

Another day, another dollar simoleon...

Jen: TUCKER II! You lucrative little furball, thank you so much for pulling your weight while Mommy is carrying so much of it and thus can’t work herself, all thanks to that great big tit I’m married to.

John: What’s that?

Jen: I said is that the Greater Blue-Tit you’ve spotted there dear?

John: I think it is!

Jen: YAY I am so proud of you!

John: Me too!

John: Unff

I’m sorry, I can’t suspend my disbelief with this game any longer because Lucy IS the classmate that saw the rated R movie, and would be the one describing boobies and butts and bloody violence to the innocent child this chance card was actually meant for. So I picked Ignore, because a) no, and b) chance cards are bullshit, they have a 99.999999999999% chance of undoing all your good work in any scenario.

Oh looky who it is! Everyone’s favorite Desiderata resident. And, three nanoseconds of a chat with Jen results in Jen’s crumpled face of confusion and Natasha’s hatred thought bubble. Shame, really.

I’ve noticed the community tends to call her Nat, but all the Natashas I’ve known in my life (all two of them) go for Tash or Tasha. I’m torn. I’ll tell you what I’m NOT torn on. Her exquisite grilled cheese dress by the exquisite @strangetomato, amirite? 🧀

GO TABS!

Good: Tabby promoted Good: Smart investing Bad: Justin falling out with Lucy, probably because he was the kid the chance card was meant for and she was traumatizing him with talk of blood and boobies. I’m not gonna lose sleep over it, he’s all the way out in Viper Canyon so it wasn’t like they were gonna be besties in childhood. Maybe at college or something.

This family, I swear. They’re like the sim embodiment of Bender’s ‘impression of life at big Bri’s house’ in The Breakfast Club.

youtube

That’s if, uh, Bri’s parents constantly make sexually-charged advances toward one another.

Meanwhile, dat text doe! Brandi Broke Hair Hour is upon us.

Jen: Sweetie I’ve found myself wearing something I wouldn’t choose even if it were the last garment on the planet and I’m scared.

Lucy: It’s okay Mom, if I’ve lost all respect for you it’s primarily because I’m on the precipice of puberty and that’s what’s supposed to happen.

John: The heck is this? I’m the Family sim here. You can’t have it both ways.

John: THAT’S more like it. Hai little bestie!

Lucy: Hai Dad! Why are all these people in our house?

John: Oh, well Brandi Broke was on a walkby so I wanted to paint a picture of what your hair will look like tomorrow so that you’re prepared. And I got one of those annoying messages about whether I’d been abducted by aliens from Darren even though I spoke to him yesterday, so I felt guilty.

Meanwhile, Jennifer stares longingly at her guitar and gets all introspective about this five-minute lack of romance in her life, exacerbated by Brandi heartfarting at Darren. That Family/Knowledge attraction, it never fails. And yet, somehow I can’t see Dustin and Dirk as stepbrothers, but we need to find Brandi someone soon as she needs to up her brood to six for that stupid LTW about marrying off multiple kids. WHAT IF UNBORN BABYBROKE ISN’T THE MARRYING KIND, Brandi, ever think of that?!

(Makes mental note to create drahmz by making Unborn Babybroke a Romance sim who constantly disappoints its mother)

Jen: Oh that DOES it. You lot might be able to sit around waiting for these babies to fall out of me but I have to DO something.

Brandi you utter utter terrible stupid moron you are PENNILESS WHY are you tipping Jen all those simoleons 😱

Lucy meanwhile stares at her father and tries to picture Brandi’s hair on his face in a vain attempt to glimpse into her near future.

And yet... are these two meant to be though? The synchronized terrible dancing and constant thoughts of one another may be a sign. That said, Dina Caliente does that with Darren too and, much as I love Darren and Dina as individuals, the thought of that is so godawfully wrong that I always have to direct sims to speak with each of them separately in an attempt to stop them autonomously eating one another’s faces whenever they always show up in the same GD welcome wagon. #StopDinarren #SaveTheDreamers #ACRYouMonster

Lucy manages to alienate yet another boy from districts afar (like does her schoolbus refuel in Viper Canyon or something?) by saying things about art or theater that offend Gallagher Newson so deeply, he launches a tirade of vitriolic mansplaining at her while she checks her nails, unfazed. Atta girl.

Brandi: I wish we could all get along like we used to in middle school... I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy...

Best not look outside then Bran.

Tabby: Huh? Yeah? You want some o’ this? Come at me bro!

Tabby: Oh you think I can’t take you? Think again assclown, I’m a stunt double now, I eat fear FOR BREAKFAST.

And so the thrill ride begins. Lucy’s face is that unique mixture of anxiety and resignation that plainly says, ‘Well, my reign is at an end. It’s been real, friends.’

I love Tucker II, but the fact that he chooses THIS moment to act out for the first time in his life and start destroying the furniture is far from cool. Clearly he too is worried about upcoming changes in the pack hierarchy.

Stone cold Tabs meanwhile favors staying outside in the rain and having no part in any of this.

Tabby: 🎵 Hello darkness my old friend...

Urgh

IS NOOBOO TIME!

Spoiler alert: this nooboo actually ends up with blue eyes because I quit without saving to roll the pacifier a couple times, which is sad because neither nooboo has black hair now. But we’ll survive. Somehow. I just liked this snap.

When both your dog and your seconds-old nooboo are thinking about Brandi, it’s probably time for her to leave the house. But she won’t, because she’s a Family sim who subscribes to the stereotype of only caring about other people’s children. And pets.

3 days off? Pahaha. I don’t even have any hacks installed to share parental leave (I really should), and Jen was somehow still back at work the next day.

Poor Babygirl Burb (not her permanent name) isn’t getting a great start in life considering everybody’s just yelling about Babyboy Burb and not even acknowledging her. Well, except Jen, who hasn’t yet put her down. See that, Family sims?! That’s how to do it.

Case in point.

Brandi: Congrats!

John: Oh yeah, the nooboos? Great aren’t they. I’m sure I dropped The Boy around here somewhere.

The Boy: And my suffering beginneth...

John: The Boy! Ah, The Boy. There you are. The Boy.

(If you can’t already tell, John will be saying ‘The Boy’ in the same relieved and happy voice as the dad from 8 Simple Rules for the rest of his natural life, primarily because both of his daughters are genetically engineered to make his hair grey.)

Hey Brandi, ever feel like you’re intruding on an intimate family moment?

Brandi: Nup!

Lucy: I just can’t picture it ON me...

Brandi: Kid, what is it with you and my hair?

John: I’VE LOST THE BOY AGAIN

Lucy: Haha, my parents can be so incompetent sometimes.

Lucy: Actually... where are my parents?

Well Lucy, get ready to upscale that judgment of incompetence because...

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. John’s face. John’s face right there. Is the most smackable face I’ve ever seen.

Not only did Jennifer Burb give birth TO TWINS less than five minutes ago...

... but they unceremoniously dumped both twins in the Bouncinators, and they’re now screaming.

To which, their creators remain oblivious. There are some pretty terrible parents out there in the Sims universe BUT THESE TWO ARE HOT ON THEIR HEELS right now.

Hey, while these poor minutes-old creatures are stuck screaming in their Bouncinators while John presumably tries to create more problems for the family with his testicles, why don’t we meet them?

This is not at all named solely to give Alexander Goth a younger wife one day Cecilia! You can’t see them here because they’re squeezed shut in agony and anguish, but her eyes are deep blue, presumably from her grandfather Jeff Pleasant. Perhaps upon looking at her, her uncle Daniel will be overcome with the guilt referenced in his bio and try to send her to Mars.

And here’s Patrick! With his skintone plus the brown eyes and brown hair, he’s probably destined to be a John / Lucy clone, but we shall see. Let’s get one thing straight though (or should I say curly), when these anklebiters transition they are both leaping right into Jennifer Burb tousled waves territory.

Lucy: WHAT DO I DO

Don’t worry Lucy, we’ll pause this one here as it’s already been far too long a round and no doubt everyone involved is tired as hell.

Until next time!

#sims2 #pleasantview #john burb #jennifer burb #lucy burb #patrick burb #cecilia burb #brandi broke #darren dreamer #justin kim #gallagher newson #tucker burb #tabby burb #sims 2 premades #maxis premades #emmelfishuberhood #Pleasant Family #Pleasant Household #Tucker II Burb

3 notes · View notes

potatokim · 7 years ago

Note

Do all of the fall ones cause I like them

:OThere's no read more bc I'm on mobile and I have no idea how to add it here LOL IDC HERE'S SOME STUFF ABOUT MEEEpumpkin spice: what’s your drink of choice? Usually iced coffee with a lil cream but you know in all about that psl when the time comeswool socks: what’s something you look forward to in fall?The atmosphere. The cold weather and the anticipation of Halloween falling leaves: you’re stranded on a desert island and here’s the twist; what three things do you NOT bring with you?My anxiety, centipedes, bell pepperssmelly candles: what’s your absolute favorite scent?I have this plug in that's called bergamot and black pepper. It'sa beautiful musky fall smell big sweaters: do you prefer the cold, warmth, or a perfect in-between?GIMME DAT COLD halloween: if you could dress up as anyone/ anything and pull it off absolutely flawlessly, who/what would it be?Jessica rabbitcozy blankets: where do you feel the most safe and at home?Not really anywhere at the momenthot tea: when was the last time you kissed someone (if you haven’t had your first kiss, who would you like that first someone to be?)It's been a v long time but hopefully not too much longer nowflannel: what’s your favorite day of the year? is there a reason it’s your favorite?October and November for OBVIOUS REASONSchilly air: what’s your least favorite and favorite type of weather?Least favorite- hot and humid with no escapeFavoei- cool and dry with big fluffy storm clouds rolling inscarves: if you could only wear one outfit for the rest of your life what would it be?My cropped leggings, my grey keds, and my dark grey pens shirtapple cider: if you could throw a party, and invite absolutely anyone, who would they be?My umass babbies alwayshaunted houses: what’s your scariest memory? (if you don’t have one/ don’t want to talk about it, what’s your biggest fear?)I had MASSIVE abandonment issues when I was very small and one time in early elementary my sister missed the bus and my grandma had left to go get her instead of waiting with me until my mom got home from work. Also I sometimes watch horror movies to focus my anxiety on something and it's DUMBfuzzy boots: if you could live in any year/era, which would it be and why?No year or era is without terrible things so I'm probably best off where I am I guessthanksgiving: what is something/someone you’re the most thankful for? any particular reason?I have some really amazing friends and in particular Kati has been there for me a lot lately and it means everything. Also Remy, my sunshine boyblack friday: what is one thing, if anything, you would sell your soul to own?Financial stability, mental health, and a nice long life filled with good friendsapple picking: if you could go anywhere, where would it be and why?I have really been missing Florence lately but I've got a hankering for a long weekend in Boston to replace some bad memories that have been cropping up lately corn mazes: do you have any secret talents/abilities?Sometimes I can draw faces and sometimes I can turn those faces into chocolate hay rides: if you could pick absolutely anything to be your form of transportation, what would it be? Flightthe color orange: do you have a specific song that reminds you of autumn? what is it?There are several songs by The Gabe Dixon band that do (and they're the only ones by them I listen to haha)windy nights:if you could go to any concert whose would it be?WELL SINCE IN ALREADY SEEING HANSON IN A MONTH I'd love to see Imagine Dragons again but this time without bronchitis so bad I thought I was going to literally die. Also walk the moonholding hands: do you believe in soulmates?No but I have a few friends that have given me some hope that love exists

5 notes · View notes

unluckyadept · 7 years ago

Text

Story Excerpt: IALS

{A Tale Begins}

It’s A Long Story.

And the role I play is small within it.

The roots of the story are all but lost to time. There are few ruins, and even fewer myths or legends.

I am but a line in the saga of civilization—confronting the legacy of those that came before me, even while being a product of such legacy myself.

This story is one that does not have a single beginning—not even roots that lead to a single point. What beginning can there be in that? Though even the roots come from a seed. But there is no singular point for this tale, unless that seed be the dawn of the world.

Alchemy… Psynergy… the Clans, the peoples, the empires, the Machines…

It’s all interrelated… and the timing is not clear. And the truth has been lost, completely forgotten.

How fitting it is that the one glimpse I have heard of the ancient world comes from Prox, while Vale has forgotten almost all of who they were.

The tale of the Lighthouses does not begin with me… and to merely tell my own story—with no context—would be to do a disservice to the truth of the matter.

But what is the truth? How can that be known, when not even legends remain?

~*~

The truth is that the need for such a quest stems from the very reason that this knowledge has been lost….

…and that… only those who retain some fragment of the knowledge can appreciate the need for it.

And that held true for me as much as for anyone.

~*~

I was not born into this quest. No… no, I didn’t even enter it of my own free will. And when the time came for my verse to begin, I resisted and resented it.

That is the truth of it. I did not know the context when this “began”—

I had no idea that my “terrible fate” would soon consume me.

But it wasn’t long before I found out.

-*-*-*-*-

I can never forget that night. Truly—I cannot forget, no matter how much I have tried.

Even now, it haunts my dreams, dragging me down…

-*-*-*-*-

{Gathering Storms}

It all happened so suddenly.

I was having bad dreams that night—dreams of a terrible dragon.

I have often had such dreams, ever since I could remember. Sometimes there was one dragon, sometimes two… sometimes they were hydras, other times, they were not.

It is not entirely uncommon for Mars Adepts to dream of dragons, but for Venus Adepts… in Vale, that was unheard of.

The roaring this time was terrible, and I could not escape—the behemoth’s steps crashed down, uprooting trees and bringing down debris in landslides.

It was only when I was thrown from my bed that I realized it was not a dream.

-*-*-*-

“Dad! DAD!”

It is not uncommon for Venus Adepts to sleep very deeply. We are sound sleepers by nature. This does make it difficult to rouse us, a fact which contributed to my anxiety.

Thunderstorms are not uncommon in Vale, and they can get pretty nasty. We’d always accepted the risk of living on the river in times like this—I had grown up with it and never known a reason for fear, as I was always more interested in the forest and the mountains than in the water. So… one learns to sleep through the sounds of tumultuous thunder and blinding flashes of lightning, unless it should strike very close.

The storm which changed my life had come on suddenly, but it did not start out supernatural. My parents were still asleep.

Jenna was not—and I had made her leave her room with her valuables. We had been taught how to handle severe weather, and to remain calm—you had to be ready to gather what you valued most, and willing to leave everything else behind as you sought shelter. It was better safe than sorry—while nothing had ever come to pass in the other storms before, there were times where I did know fear.

This was one of them, and it went beyond that. There was some part of me that still felt like a dragon was out there—

And in a way, I was right, though I did not know it at the time.

“Felix…? What’s wrong?”

Dad was still trying to cling to sleep, but Mother had stirred from her slumber. Jenna piped up immediately.

“Felix says there are big rocks coming off the mountain!”

She sat upright, looking startled.

Another crash shook the house—so much so that nearby crockery fell off a table and shattered. Father sat upright as well—looking awake, if not yet alert.

“Out.”

Like myself, he was not a man of many words. I had wondered, when I was younger, if he and my mother could read minds—for they often seemed to understand without him speaking. (They also knew when I was lying, though that’s probably because I am not a very good liar.)

That was all that was needed—we went for the door. Jenna and I were already dressed to go—I had anticipated that we would go over to our grandparents’ house, and stay with them and my aunt, like we were supposed to.

But once we got outside, it was a different story.

-*-

It was a storm the likes of which I had never seen before, and hopefully never shall again. Lightning was tearing the sky apart, and the thunder shook the mountain. There were landslides, yes, and the river was rising well past her bed—but there was more than that.

There were boulders—heavy chunks of rock from the size of a fist to that of a stall in a barn, or even larger— spewing down from the mountain.

Families were evacuating all around us, but there were also people running up toward the mountain—

And I could sense it.

There was a massive boulder being held back by Venus Psynergy—a concentration so great that even I could tell.

It was one of those things where you just knew that every ounce of power was going to be needed. Even from children—though I was arrogant enough yet to think myself able to hold my own, no longer a child…

So I turned to my sister as we left the house through the front door, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking her in the eye.

"Run, Jenna! Get out of here! Get to high ground!"

…I was not afraid… it seemed almost like a dream, or a trance—just doing what needs to be done. As if I were only listening to what someone else was saying.

Jenna misunderstood me, and she was frustrated. Who could blame her? It was wet, it was cold, it was loud, and it was frightening—

"I'm not leaving without you, Felix! Hurry up already!"

I turned to run north toward the mountain.

"NO! I have to go help the other Adepts hold back the boulder! I'm a Venus Adept, I have to h—”

…

…To this day…

…I am not sure what happened…

For before I could finish my sentence, there was a loud rumble and a blinding flash, and a force that hit my whole body, stealing away the ability to breathe.

When I tried to catch my breath, I was rewarded with water, and choked on it. I could only vaguely realize that I was in the river—there was water everywhere. Frigid, violently churning water that was starting to pull me under.

I would have drowned if not for my father. My grandfather and great-grandfather were powerful healers—a power which he retained, and could use at even a distance. I was healed enough to regain my wits and coherency, enough to grab onto something before the water dragged me down to the brink of despair.

I could hear voices. Screams.

"Felix! Somebody help him! Please, someone save my son!"

My parents must have gone out to the broken dock, alongside my sister. She, too, screamed out at me.

"Don't die, Felix! Hang in there!"

(It’s so cold… I can hardly breathe…)

I was too dazed to even be really afraid. I could hear other voices.

"Hang on, Felix!"

"Felix will be all right. We'll find a way to save him..."

Some part of me knew that there was great danger, and I did not desire them to risk their lives. I tried.

"RUN! G—"

…But the river overpowered me and pulled me under—cascading down like a great flood, drowning out all other noise with sheer volume and pain.

I gripped the post as if my life depended on it—for it truly did. I managed to resurface, and I was frantic for air.

"The rope won't reach...We should use Psynergy. Do you have any left?"

"I've used all mine up. What about you, Kyle?"

(Dad… help me…)

"I'm drained from helping the other villagers..."

"We have to get help."

"Can Felix hang on long enough for us to find help?"

(It's so cold… I can't feel my arms anymore…)

"There's nothing else we can do for him here, is there?"

"Then go get help, but be as quick as possible!"

"Jenna, can you go too? You'll go find help, right?"

"I can't leave him!"

I begged her to go. I wanted her to get out of there.

"J-Jenna! Please!"

There was cold, dark water everywhere. I was pulled under again, but resurfaced— but I was growing weaker and weaker, and the river only seemed to be getting stronger.

"Hang in there, son! Kyle, can't we do anything?!"

"D-Dad…"

I was exhausted. My vision had begun to blur, and I was numb. My mother cried out in a plea of despair—

"Hang in there, Felix!"

"I…I don't think I'll make it, Mom… I can't…"

"NO! Don't give up!"

I tried to speak again, but the water came crashing down and drowned it out. I choked on the water again.

(I… I'm going to die…)

I didn't even have the strength to tell them to go and stop the boulder instead. My end was nearing.

Voices… far off, fading—

I was jerked out of my trance by a horrific crash a hysteric shriek of terror.

"LOOK OUT!"

For just a moment, I looked up for the last time—only for it to seem like the mountain had come down upon us.

And then…

A blinding nothing.

#cje #unluckyadept #Golden Sun: The Lost Age #Golden Sun #Golden Sun: The Broken Seal

7 notes · View notes

thorne93 · 8 years ago

Text

Savior

Prompt: This is for @amarvelouswritings 700 follower challenge. My song was Lady Antebellum - Just a kiss. The story takes place right after Loki lands on Earth (before he visits Berlin) in Avengers (so he hasn’t caused any damage yet).

Fandom: Marvel - Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4160

Warnings: language, suicide/suicidal thoughts, domestic/spousal abuse (emotional and physical), depression...?

Notes: First Loki fic on here (I doubt it’s as amazing as others I’ve seen). Beta’d by the ever amazing @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

~~~~~~~

You ran into the office, winded, stressing about how late you were - 25 minutes, for the--was it the tenth time this month? You winced as every bone and muscle hurt on you, thanks to your asshole husband.

“Y/N,” your boss said as he strolled up to your desk.

“Yes?” You turned instantly to face him. He had always been a rather lenient man for your tardiness and excuses to run home or leave early.

“I’m sorry Y/N, but this is unacceptable. You’re late again. This is the eleventh time this month,” he said, trying to be gentle.

You were getting fired.

You moved in closer and tried to whisper as terror took over your body. “No, Mr. Roberts, please. It won’t ever happen again, I’ll work overtime and you don’t even have to pay me. Please, I can’t lose this job.” You were begging and you hated to do it, but you had to, you were the only one who could support you and Craig. If Craig found out you lost yet another job, he’d take all of his endless rage out on you-your face, your stomach, your arm, your hair...You cringed thinking of the damage he would inflict.

“I’m sorry, we just can’t. Collect your things and leave your key with Julia at the front desk.”

Your heart sped to a million miles per hour. How was this happening? Because that’s how life always happened for you. Your parents abandoned you at a young age of three because they couldn’t be bothered with raising you. You bounced from foster home to foster home until you met Craig, who at first seemed sweet and charming, but as soon as the wedding band was on your finger, it was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

You met in college, but it didn’t take too long before Craig had pressured you to quit college to take care of a home for the two of you. You tried to state that you didn’t have kids yet and there was no reason you couldn’t both take care of the home, but he wasn’t having that. You left college, became a housewife, until Craig’s love for the bottle and the drugs took over and couldn’t hold down even a burger flipping job. You worked as Mr. Roberts assistant for eight months now and it started as usual, Craig let you get a few good months in then he’d start making you stay later and later in the morning, missing more and more. This morning he was throwing beer bottles at you to make his breakfast.

This would be the fourth job in 3 years you’d lost due to his lazy, no good, addicted ridden ass. You hated Craig but you didn’t know how to get away. With your spotty work record and no family or friends to turn to, you couldn’t afford a divorce attorney and even if you could, you were sure he’d kill you before he let you leave him. If he didn’t, he’d at least find you afterward.

You’d cleaned out your desk, your chest constricting from dread as you climbed behind the wheel of your beat up old car. You could always go to the park, or the mall, or somewhere else and not tell him until you got home. You could pretend they let you go at the end of the day.

So you did. Even though you were nervous as hell, and anxiety was rippling through you like electric shock waves, you tried your best to have a good day at the park, you even went and got ice cream, anything to take your mind off the inevitable beating you would be facing when you got home.

Eventually, you knew you had to face the music. You drove into the busted driveway you and Craig shared, grabbed your box out of the back seat, and went inside the broken home.

“Craig, I’m home!” you called out, because if you didn’t address him, he’d be even more of a dick.

“About god damned time! Where the hell have you been?!” he asked, storming out of the kitchen. “I need dinner.”

“It’s only 4:30,” you said in a tired voice.

“What are those boxes? Did you get fired again? Dammit, woman!” His arm reeled back and slapped you so hard you fell to the ground. You thought to fight back but usually that just made it worse. Craig was 6’4 and stocky, he could usually pick you up with one fist, no problem.

“I got fired because you made me make your fucking breakfast,” you growled. At this point in your three year relationship, you’d known what you just said would land you a terrible reaction, but what was the fucking point? You’d lost your only family, your jobs, never had real love….at this point, what did it even matter?

As if on cue, he kicked your stomach. It hurt, but you were numb to it. You no longer cried when the hits, kicks, and stomps came. You laid on the old carpet, taking hit after hit until he was too tired to give any more. You laid for the longest time, just thinking of nothing. Thinking and wishing you were dead. Dead, Heaven, or Hell, had to be better than whatever this life was offering.

After some time, you finally stood up as he sat and smoke and drank, watching some shitty show on an old as hell TV.

“I’m going to go to the store,” you said quietly as he ignored you and you slipped outside. The snow had really picked up since you left work that morning. It was cold, sure, but now it was at least a foot thick on the ground. You dug out the tires from the snow, got in, got the heater going as high as it would go, and started off toward the store for dinner. You weren’t hungry, you were just going to appease that idiot back at the house.

You drove into the giant snowflakes, shivering, your abs hurting from every move you made. The darkness was alleviated by all the white all around, helping to reflect your headlights off of everything. You came across the old bridge you passed every time you went to the store and suddenly a morbid thought crossed your mind.

You pulled over as far as you could off the road and sat there. The idea you had was incredibly far fetched, ludacris, damnable….but it was so inviting.

Getting out of your car and shutting the door with shaking fingers--at this point you didn’t know if you were shaking from cold, fear, or anxiety--you approached the side of the snow covered bridge. Staring down into the icy waters below, it was terrifying, looking at the black liquid running over rocks. You knew this river was deep - the current would either drown you as it held you under and carried you far down the river, or it’d pin you against a rock.

As you climbed on top of the thin, metal railing, you hadn’t realized you were crying, but why wouldn't you be? You were about to end your life and no one would care. Your parents certainly didn’t. You tried to reach out to them many times and they snubbed your requests at meeting. None of your foster homes had ever been kind. Your husband certainly wouldn’t miss you, he’d probably just do coke in your bathroom and find the next whore to sleep with. You had no friends, no neighbors to care. You lived in a small town with no prospects. The only thing you think you would miss was the idea of having kids, but you sure as hell didn’t want them with Craig. You’d simply fade away in death as you did in life.

You were sure you wanted to end your life, but did you want to do it this way? Cold water seemed so harsh. Maybe the cold would cause a heart attack and instant death. Maybe your lungs would collapse. Maybe you’d get hypothermia and get that warm, languid feeling you’d always heard people talk about. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You gripped the icy steel in your right hand as you tried to muster the courage to just let go. Right as you were about to, a voice called to you.

“What are you doing?” the smoothest, most charming voice asked. It wasn’t demeaning. It sounded more...inquisitive than anything else.

You turned back to your right to see a man in a long black coat, green scarf, and a cane? He had long black hair and pale skin, he was certainly the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on but where did he come from? There weren’t houses around for another couple of miles.

“Who are you?” you asked in return rather than tell this stranger what you planned on doing.

“I’m Loki Laufeyson of Asgard,” he answered as if it was obvious.

“You’re...who? Of where?”

“Forgive me, I forget you Midgardians are a little slow. I am Loki, of Asgard.”

You didn’t take offense to his remark, at this point in your life that was the least of your worries, but who was he? What was a Midgardian? What was Asgard?

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Asgard is a place far from here. It’s my…” He almost said home, but bit his tongue. “I come from there. I’m...a prince.”

Great, an insane fool. “If you’re a prince, then I’m the Queen of England.”

“You’re a queen? Why are you out here with no guards, no chaperones, no king? Why are you on the side of a bridge in frigid weather? Surely your followers must be worried about you!”

Loki didn’t understand the sarcasm.

“No, I’m not a queen. I was just being...sarcastic.”

“Ah. I see,” he said, understanding forming on his face. “If you’re not a queen, then who might you be?” he asked as he continually came forward.

“I--I’m Y/N,” you answered.

“Well, Y/N, if I recall, humans can’t plunge into waters below freezing temperatures and have much hope for survival, so tell me, what are you doing up there?”

You sighed as you carefully got down off the railing, wincing slightly as the movement jarred your insides that were bruised. Why did this stranger of all people, care about you?

“I was...I was trying to end my life,” you admitted, hugging yourself and avoiding the handsome man’s gaze.

“What on Midgard for?” he asked, his eyes narrowing on you.

“My life isn’t...what you’d call fabulous.”

“No one’s usually is, but that doesn’t mean you should end it.”

“How would you know? You’re apparently a prince, which I still don’t buy. Did you escape a looney bin?” you demanded.

“A what? No. I’m a prince. What can I do to show you?” he asked, suddenly craving your approval, your trust.

“I don’t know, show me a crown or something, I guess,” you suggested, feeling silly. You were arguing with a supposed prince in the middle of a snow covered bridge, late in the evening, contemplating suicide.

He pondered it for a moment as he brought his slender hand to his chin. You couldn’t help but admire him, he was lean, tall, handsome, confident...yet somewhere in his blue eyes you saw that look of damage too, he must have endured something, what it was you weren’t quite sure of.

“Ah, here.” He held his hand out and a glowing rose fizzled in between his fingers.

“That’s amazing,” you breathed, completely enchanted at the beauty of it. “How did you do that?”

“Your world would call it magic, mine would refer to it as ability and science.”

You took the rose he offered and smelled it, it even had a fragrance.

“Thank you.”

“Now that you accept I’m not of your world, would you tell me why you were going to end your life? It seems like a rather silly thing to do to me.”

You shrugged. “Perhaps it is silly,” you said as you stroked the petals of the glowing flower. “I just...I lost my job today and I had tried so hard to keep it. My husband is...for lack of a better word - a very bad person. My family abandoned me when I was little. I suppose...I have nothing left to live for.”

Loki stared at you a moment. It was nice to talk to someone, especially so...kind.

“So why didn’t you make them suffer?”

The question took you off guard.

“Because it wouldn’t be right. Just because I’m suffering doesn’t mean I can do that to them. It’d just be easier if I left this world.”

This surprised Loki. You shared a common past of pain, being abandoned by family, no mate to care for you, no true friends. Yet, his idea of revenge was to take what he thought was his, rule over a planet as Odin thought he couldn’t, but here you stood before him, a gentle creature who rather than exact her revenge, you were just going to get rid of yourself.

“I know how you feel,” he suddenly said.

“You do?” you questioned. “How could you possibly know?”

“Believe it or not, royalty have personal problems too. My father abandoned me as well. I was taken in by the king, raised as his own, he promised me the throne, but he always knew he’d give it to his biological son.” He shrugged as if he didn’t care but you could see the pain and betrayal in his expression. “I have no partner, I have no friends to call my own except my half-wit oaf of a brother…”

“I’m sorry,” you said simply. “That sounds lonely.”

“It was. I actually came to your planet to...take over it, but I don’t know about that plan now.” He laughed lightly, the sound amazing to you.

“Why would you do that?”

“For what I was denied. I was promised the same chance as Thor yet, Odin chose Thor, who was not ready for the throne.”

“And you are?” you asked gently.

“I’m not sure. I...I suppose I wanted to prove a point to the king,” he informed his head held high.

“You know, it’s not always what you do that impresses people, but what you don’t do.”

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like this king of yours needs you to prove yourself. Has Thor ever controlled any sort of planet or land?”

“No…”

“So why would you think you doing it would impress him?”

“I--I don’t know,” he said, stammering. You didn’t think his icy cool exterior could crack like that.

“Maybe...instead of invasion of another planet, you could go back and discuss it with your brother and father…?” you offered.

“I’m not too sure. They last thought I was dead.”

“Why’s that?”

“I faked my death, fooled them into believing I fell into an abyss. From there, I was taken in by the Chiaturi…”

“What did they do to you?” you asked, as you noticed his eyes had flickered away and looked distant and pained.

“How do you know they did something to me?” he demanded with some vile in his voice.

“It’s obvious, you don’t exactly look like you want to be here. You look...lost to me. Maybe this Chiaturi people are using you or manipulating you.”

He laughed ever so slightly. “You’re exceptionally observant.”

“Maybe, near-death clarity,” you tried with a shrug.

After a moment, he said, “Could you promise me something?”

“What?”

“Will you not end your life?”

You frowned as you looked at the handsome stranger. “Why?”

“Your world needs more people like you.”

You didn't respond except for pursing your lips.

“I, uh, I'd like to take you home, if you don't mind.”

“Home?” you said, your head far off with thoughts of what your life would become if you didn't end it tonight. It seemed bleak.

“Yes, where you live? Surely you don't live here. I just want to make sure you're safe at home.”

“Alright.” What could possibly be the harm? You walked to the car and you noticed that you had forgotten that you had even felt cold. Loki got in beside you as you started the car and pulled out into the snowy road. You turned around and headed home, fearful of Craig.

Neither of you said anything as you drove for 10 minutes to your house, the quiet was peaceful.

“Let me walk you to the door,” he offered kindly.

“Okay.” You got out and he walked with you as your cold hand fumbled with the keys, after a moment or two, the door flung open.

“Where have you been?!” Craig bellowed.

“I'm sorry. I was just out--”

“Who the fuck is this?” he asked, looking at Loki.

“Um. A friend? This is Loki.”

“A friend huh? You fucking him?!”

“No, Craig--” you began to protest but he grabbed you by the hair and yanked you into the house.

Right as you tumbled into the wall, you saw him about to swing again before Craig fell toward suddenly onto the floor. Loki was standing over him with his fist clenched, his eyes burning with rage.

“How dare you hit a woman?” Loki seethed. “You cowardly runt of a human.” He kicked Craig and you weren't entirely sure you wanted to stop him.

“Get out of my house, freak, before I call the cops,” Craig warned as he clutched his stomach on the floor. The sight of him being the one in pain at the hands of another probably gave you more satisfaction than it should.

“I’m not leaving until you apologize to Y/N.”

“She doesn't deserve my apology, the lazy whore.”

He bent down in Craig's face as he said, “Poor choice, my friend.” He stood and kicked Craig one more time before he suddenly wielded knives in both hands.

“Loki, don't!” you begged. “Don't kill him.”

Loki's pained face turned to you. “But he beats you. If I don't stop him, then he continue to do it.”

“But killing him isn't the way.”

“What if I took you from here?”

“What?” you asked, flabbergasted.

“Yes. Come back to Asgard with me. We’ll leave all this wretchedness behind. You said

I should make amends, right?”

“You'd do that?”

“Of course.”

You thought about it. What could possibly be worse than where you were now? Even if Loki turned out to be just like Craig, at least it was a chance, a shot out of this hell you’d come to call life. No job, no money, no prospects, no children, and a husband that hated you. Not a whole hell of a lot keeping you here.

“Then yes...take me away from this suffering,” you requested.

“As you wish.” He stood up and helped you up as he said, “Heimdall, I'm ready to come home.”

After a second, a huge tunnel of light landed around you in your living room and with Loki’s arm around your waist, you were sent soaring upward, a kaleidoscope of colors around you as you suddenly landed in a giant golden dome.

“Thank you, old friend,” Loki said.

“Your father wishes to see you,” a man informed that stood on a raised stand in the middle of the dome in a neutral voice.

“Of course.” He looked at you and took your hand. “This way.”

You walked along a bridge of light and color for a long time until you came up to a golden, glowing, enormous palace. So either you had died and this was Heaven or you really were in some other planet, or plane, or world named Asgard.

Together, you entered the palace and after a long maze of corridors, you finally ended in a small room where an older gentleman, and older woman and several guards were.

“Father,” Loki started as he walked in and you realized you were in the presence of a king. Insecurities enveloped you.

“Loki, where have you been?” the woman asked. “And who is this?”

“Let me explain,” Loki said.

“Alright. Loki, you talk with your father and I’m going to help this young woman freshen up.” The Queen stood and came up to you. “Come with me, dear.”

The Queen, who introduced herself as Frigga, helped you into an ornate gown and had two maidens do your hair.

“Where are you from, dear?” she asked as she put makeup on you.

“I’m from Earth.”

“Ah, is that where you met my son?”

“Yes, we just met tonight. He saved my life.”

She stopped applying the eyeshadow and she looked at you. “Did he now? How noble.” She smiled at this knowledge.

When you were finally done, Loki came and found you as he asked Frigga if it was alright if you stayed with them.

“I don’t want to impose,” you said shyly.

“Nonsense, sweet girl. You can stay here as long as you want,” Frigga insisted. She smiled and left you with Loki.

“What did your father say?”

“He said that he was disappointed I didn’t come back home. He apologized for not telling me the truth. He said that Thor has been looking for me and will return home now.”

“What about the throne?”

“He said he’ll put us through various tests to see how we do. He said he’s going to try and be a fairer king and father to me.”

“See? Communication is all you need,” you said, smiling, feeling like royalty talking to a prince in a pretty dark blue gown.

“You were right,” he said as you began walking aimlessly with him, his arms behind his back. “You know, I’ve never opened up to anyone.”

“Me either,” you admitted. “It’s easy with you though.”

“I feel the same,” he informed with a genuine smile. His mood seemed 100% better now that he was home, now that his animosity was settled.

“So what do I do now?” you asked as you ended up at a balcony under the stars and cosmos, the view taking your breath away.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, back home, I had a job, a home, a husband. I don’t have that now. What can I do in Asgard? Farm? Make jewelry?”

“You could simply do as my mother does. She reads and practices magic.”

“I’m hardly magical.”

“I beg to differ,” he said quickly, making butterflies erupt.

“I mean, what should I do for a job?”

“Why don’t you relax? Your life doesn’t sound as if it was easy. Maybe, just for a little while, you could simply be by my side during some days? I could teach you how to fight, how to wield a sword, we could read. Do you like to read?”

“Mhm.”

“See? There are a few activities we could do together.”

“Alright. I’ll do that, then.”

“Excellent.”

You wanted to kiss him so bad, under the moonlight, the stars, everything. It all seemed so wonderful and perfect and for the first time ever in your life, you felt happy, which is what terrified you.

He must’ve felt it too, because he leaned in and you stopped him.

“No I don't want to mess this thing up. I don't want to push too far. Just a shot in the dark that you just might be the one I've been waiting for my whole life.”

Loki nodded as he leaned back. “We don't need to rush this, I suppose. Let's just take it slow.”

“Right,” you agreed. But the fire burning inside both of you was blazing, and you wanted to kiss him.

“But...Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight, wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” he asked with a coy smile.

“Loki, you mischievous devil,” you teased as he leaned in again, and this time, you didn’t fight it. His lips were tender and gentle against yours, molding perfectly with yours. It was sweet, and quick, with an undercurrent of heat.

He lead you to your private quarters and bid you a good night, with just a kiss. As he walked away and you slipped into your suite and began to get ready for bed, you thought to yourself, “I know that if we give this a little time, it'll only bring us closer to the love we wanna find, it's never felt so real, no it's never felt so right.”

With your old life happily behind you, you slipped into the best sleep of your life, ready for a happy beginning tomorrow.

#savior #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fic #loki x reader

201 notes · View notes