#when i close my eyes i see the horrors that is decomposition but it is of myself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

karenarella22 · 2 years ago

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Fourth

I know it might be a bit confusing but bear with me the name of the charpters are ok, even when they might not seem organized you'll understand, eventually. There is Graphic Content in this chapter, read at your own risk.

***

The constant tick-tock of the clock on the wall increases the state of anxiety in which I am submerged. I take a deep breath leaning back in the office chair in front of the round table in the conference room of the NewShire Police department. 12 hours have passed since the murder of Diana Winston and in our possession there is only a group of disjointed clues that make me lose my patience.

-Coffee? - A voice behind me breaks the silence.

-Please...- I murmur, still looking at the blackboard in front of my eyes.

The lights went out the night before because of the blizzard, so we were half in the dark looking at the blackboard full of clues that lead us nowhere, obfuscation and sleep are not a good combination sometimes. I watch him pour the coffee cups and he brings one of them closer to me.

-Any news? - Take a seat next to me, in the dim light I can see that his hair is disheveled and his cologne mixes with the smell of testosterone from the entire office.

-No news yet, the clues are useless and we haven't found the boyfriend yet- I sip my cup of coffee.

-To calm your frustration I have something for you- I take the folder stretching a little towards him- this is the preliminary report of the autopsy, I look at the first pages beginning to read.

"This case gets even worse, it doesn't make sense"

I mutter, getting up to the whiteboard, picking up a marker and adding the new information to the list of evidence.

● Animal hair in wounds (canine species)

● Traces of leather found in the neck wound

-Detectives we have news of the boyfriend- cadet Brooks notifies with his usual hurried tone.

-Thank heavens he showed up, I need to talk to him- I take my jacket heading to the garage following his steps quickly.

-Yes about that... I don't think he'll be able to...-

Indeed he was right; he was not going to be able to speak. The victim's boyfriend Aaron Browson was found dead by a group of children outside of NewShire, more precisely in an abandoned factory near Highway 55 outside of town.

The body has deep defensive wounds on its arms and legs, second and third degree burns; it is kneeled in front of a wooden cross made with pieces of fallen beams from the ceiling of the place. I walk through the rubble, his back is scourged with what looks like whipping, he has wounds on his hands and feet, clear signs that he was tortured, his hands are tied behind his back with totally generic white ties.

-Aeryne, you have to see this- I approach while my partner discovers with the light of the flashlight something inside the victim's mouth-it looks like paper...- I take some tweezers for materials and slowly begin to remove the piece of paper from the mouth of the deceased. I place it against the light, revealing an inscription slightly worn by the decomposition of the body.

I take an old sales receipt in my jacket and copy the few words that were saved from being left under the thick blanket of blood that covers the entire scene:

"...there was no one who existed before me...."

-What is that supposed to mean?-

-We'll find out later- I put the paper in the plastic evidence bag, close the lock and sign to identify that it was me who collected the evidence at the scene of the crime. I turn the bag over to crime scene investigators for lab analysis.

I look up trying to decipher the feeling that runs through my body, without a doubt this was not a casual encounter, it has time to plan, only an incredibly meticulous mind (without leaving aside the macabre and twisted) can achieve this type of drama. The "stage" is neat, clearly arranged, its "decoration" perfectly positioned so that we, its "audience", could witness in detail the horrors committed.

The note in the throat itself is peculiar, this unknown subject with a personality disorder as specific as psychopathy, thinks he is smarter than the detectives themselves, he is an artist exposing his work to the public, a work that we hope for the good everyone hope it ends soon.

Corporal torture suggests a subject of sadistic nature, whose objective is the most bizarre way of finding pleasure, everything he does has a great degree of intimacy, he enjoys the sexual component, liberation, ecstasy one might think, that it gives him the knowledge that his victims ask for mercy.

Very different from the murder discovered hours ago, fast, cold and calculating, even though the woman's throat was ripped out, it doesn't compare to the level of sadism I'm witnessing here; one thing is for sure, this killer enjoys the feel of life snuffing out between his fingers.

To fully satisfy these needs, he must control everything around you, he cannot leave anything to chance, each step he takes has a specific order that must be respected to meet his goals, which indicates that he's are an individual who spends 30 years of age, an adolescent/young person would not have the ability to curb their impulses in such a way, they would not have the patience to do so.

Back at the police station we began to investigate the life of the couple, focusing specifically on the boyfriend, who was the one who suffered the worst aggression.

-He was an exemplary employee of the Central Bank, no problem with his colleagues; his boss gives very good references-

-Where was he the morning Diana was murdered?- I open the medical reports and begin to read them.

-We are not sure, according to her mother-in-law he had a very strict schedule, and he would go running at 6:30, come home at 7:30, take a shower and go out again to work while Diana slept.

-God, with those in-laws why do I want a detective- I smile tired leaving the papers on the table- you can go home, I still have to finish these reports- I hit the pen on the papers.

-Then you won't go home, right? - His hand is placed on mine calming the pounding over the papers.

-I will, I won't sleep on the sofa in the common room again, it's too uncomfortable for my back, now go, I need you awake tomorrow- I thank silently with a smile and take my hand off the table.

-If that's what you want- I see his teeth appear in a bright smile.

He left a kiss on my cheek.

I inhale its citrus scent and a shiver runs through my body, the blood pooling on my cheeks causing a faint pink color on my cheekbones.

After this long farewell I accompany his departure with my sight, once I lose him I manage to release the air that without noticing until that moment, I had retained.

With the little energy I have left after a long day at work, I return home with more questions than answers. Questions that I will only be able to answer if I solve this case.

I park outside of what it is my place one again, after my escape from town I spent a long time wandering through different cities only to realize that despite the horrors lived here, this was always going to be my home. I enter the house, it is small but cozy, it has two rooms, one where I used to sleep and the other where my parents slept, the walls are worn by the passing of the years and the siege of countless snowstorms, but in the end it always stood up.

Once out of the shower I go to the kitchen to prepare dinner, as one can imagine the diet of policemen/detectives basically consists of junk food. After heating up some instant noodles I take a sit on the couch determined to find some clue about this case. Each event is arranged around me in their respective folders, I begin the review of each fact and evidence of this crime by putting together a mental scheme of each one of them.

On March 21 of this year at 8:48 a.m., the lifeless body of Diana Winston was found by New Shire Police officers at her home on 523 Manson and Trickle Streets, responding to a distress call for made by Mrs. Marta Winston to determine the unknown whereabouts of her daughter. Upon arrival at the scene, officers López and Paulson found warning signs indicating that the missing person could be in imminent danger of death, which were enough to enter the home without a search warrant. (Attached statement from the officers)

We banged on the front door just in case she had fallen asleep until we heard the sound of the backyard gate slamming shut with a deep bang; we proceeded to drop Mrs. Winston safely away from the scene and walked with our guns drawn to the back of the house. After not seeing anyone we checked the back door of the kitchen which was ajar and had visible blood stains.

We entered the kitchen, we checked the ground floor for some individual, not finding anyone we went up to the first floor we went through all the rooms until we reached the main bedroom where we found the victim already lifeless, we proceeded to protect the scene and we called the forensics, meanwhile Officer Paulson notified the mother of what had happened and proceeded to take the first statement that was verified by Detective Wolf, and then remove her from the crime scene."

At 8:59 in the morning, the death of the missing person is verified; the body was found in her bed, a woman of medium height, white race, approximately 30 years old, her throat visibly slashed while she slept.

Traces of leather and hair of a canine species (not yet identified) were found on the corpse.

Diana Winston showed signs of mutilation on her genitals and reproductive organs, blunt force trauma to the back of her skull, suggesting that she was subdued, handcuffed, and then killed.

Note: no other manipulation on the body is recognized.

She took a sip of the noodle soup without stopping to review the lines with her eyes, the wounds, his arms showed defensive wounds but according to the coroner the cut on the neck was without hesitation. I put down Diana's case folder and moved on to Aaron's, revealing a plethora of inconsistencies.

On March 21 at 6:31 p.m., the discovery of the body of the missing suspect Aaron Browson was reported in an abandoned factory half a mile into the field next to Highway 55. The search for the subject began 12 hours before when the partner of the aforementioned, with whom they shared a home, was found dead with clear signs of have been suffered a violent dead.

According to the reports of the medical examiner, the victim bled to death due to the lacerations caused on his back, the body was found tied to a steel cross made with the beams of the same factory.

Inside his respiratory tract, a paper was found with writing that has not yet been identified.

I keep searching through the evidence with only one question in my mind, why? For what purpose was this couple murdered, on the surface they had a quiet life. The subjects he chooses are meticulously studied; they know their habits, the daily life of the couple, if it were not for the blood on the back door of the house, and it could be assumed that it is a ghost. A psychopathic killer trying to blend into "common" society until his desires are stronger than his will.

After half an hour of going around clues that don't seem to lead me anywhere, I give up finding something there. I lie down for a moment on the sofa looking at the ceiling.

...

I take a deep breath as I feel the fresh air hit my face, it doesn't seem like winter, the cold dissipates and it almost seems like a spring breeze. I open my eyes trying to orient myself in time and space, an army of birch trees rises above me, I'm no longer at home that's clear, I lift myself off the ground feeling the earth fall from my clothes, I clean it a little with my hands scanning the area, it seems that the sun almost escaped. The last rays pass through the forest leaving me with enough light to know where I am going, mom told me to take a nap because I was really very nervous, David Jackman invited me to the prom dance and in a few hours I should be talking to him. I run a few meters ahead, my breathing is agitated, for a moment I think I see a male figure walking away behind some bushes, I follow him trying to get his attention,

-Sir... -I run cutting my calves with the dry bushes- sir please!! Could you tell me where we are? -He has a red backpack on his back, a somewhat dirty checkered shirt, white with brown lines that camouflage it with the environment, worn jeans with mud stains on the lower part of the cuffs and boots brown leather. His back is big, surely he is a hunter, after the last incidents that occurred in the town many of them began to patrol the area, dad spent a lot of time outside waiting to catch the beast that stalked the streets of the town this season, I am sure he can help me. I stop for a few seconds to breathe; he seems to be walking very fast, in a hurry. He may have seen something, all the more reason to stay close to him.

I can still hear his footsteps as if he were by my side, although I already lost him in the thick of the forest. I run a few more meters in the direction I think it was, suddenly the feeling of anguish invades me, tears wet my cheeks, and a pressure is present in my chest, as if tons of sadness were perched on it. Soon the sound of running water reaches my ears, and I run towards it with the little breath left in my lungs. I run, I run as if a life depended on it, my life? Whose lie depends on it? I reach the waterfall; adrenaline does not stop flowing through my body preparing me for an emergency of which I am not aware.

In the distance I manage to see a figure in the branches, a few feet too far from the ground, a noose around his neck. He hanged himself, my only chance to get out of here he killed himself, I run desperately trying to get to him, he jumped hard, my cramped legs put all the force they could into it without getting an answer because of the muddy floor surrounding the waterfall, I manage to touch his feet, the sound of the waterfall mixes with the sound of my agitated breathing, little by little the inert body of my savior is revealed to me.

-No...Dad...

...

I fall to the ground gasping for breath, tears flowing uncontrollably from my face.

Memories or nightmares you choose the name.

I arrive at the office early in the morning with a cup of coffee in hand, bag on my shoulder and all the files of the case in hand, I did not sleep after that memory, I never do.

I take a seat in the conference room to get to work, reviewing the couple's financial statements. Luckily the bank where the boyfriend worked gave us access to the accounts without problems and I did not have to ask for a warrant for the them.

Diana kept her savings and those of the flower shop where she worked in a single joint savings account, Aaron, on the other hand, had only one account in his Bank, but at the same time, in a relay of his accounts, the National Bank found an account to Name of Aaron Smith who is transferring funds to an off-shore account.

-Thanks for the information, have a good day- I cut the call- he confirms that the account is in the Cayman Islands, we don't know the amount but the transfers range from $150 to $1,000 two or three times a week, the were small amounts not to draw attention to the bank.

-He has many ATM transferences-I continue reading the resume.

-We can say that he was a thief, but why kill him like that?- my partner hides himself behind a cup of hot coffee.

-To miss lead us?-

-I have no idea- I sigh stressed leaning on the nearest chair.

-Don't worry, we'll find something-

-Yes, with some time and...-

-And another murder-he interrupts.

#novel in progress #dark novel #police #female protagonist #female writers #detectives

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chloelucia13 · 4 years ago

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To Dream

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Prompt: After a case takes a turn for the worst, Spencer can’t help the doubt of your future riddling his brain. But when he closes his eyes, everything is okay. If only for a moment. Based off the song “Epiphany” by Taylor Swift

Warnings: angst, a little fluff, mentions of death, language, violence, gore, it’s just a ride y’all (italics are memories, words in bold are dreams)

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: So I’ve gotten sucked into the Criminal Minds fandom, and now it’s time to do what I do best: write sad fan fiction. I hope you all enjoy! My requests are open 24/7 and so is my taglist!

Tags: @sojournmichael

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You’ve done this a million times. The case was so simple, so easy to dissect.

Maybe you got cocky. Maybe you underestimated the unsub. Maybe this was all your fault.

Nausea churned in your stomach as you screeched to a halt in front of the old auto body shop. You knew that you would find a house of horrors as soon as you stepped inside, but the adrenaline in your veins told you to ignore your hesitation and the breakfast from this morning that was crawling up your esophagus.

“I’m going in,” you announced, unbuckling your seatbelt and nearly throwing yourself out of the car.

“Y/N, wait, you need backup,” Spencer shouted after you as you hurried to the entrance.

You stopped in front of the building, turning to give him a look. “Spence, you heard his message.”

This man, this murderer, seemed to be infatuated with the media coverage of the case. You caught on to the fact that he was following along closely with the case after he sent a haunting letter to the precinct, detailing where he was and that he would give himself up to the police, as long as his legacy would not be forgotten.

Turns out, the media coverage wasn’t the only thing he was infatuated with.

It was realized at the beginning of researching this case that you fit his type to a t, but you never expected that it would become this.

His other request? That you were the only one to capture him and take him into custody.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but you cut him off. “If anyone goes in there but me, it’ll be a bloodbath,” you reminded him.

He gulped, weighing his options for a moment. “Fine. The rest of the team is on the way. As soon as you’ve got him, radio to me and we’ll send everyone in,” he instructed, worry marring his features.

“Everything’s gonna be fine. I promise, doc.” You gave him a gentle smile before turning on your heel and entering the building, your gun drawn.

The smell of coagulated blood and decomposition hit your nostrils the moment you stepped inside, making your stomach lurch. You bit down on your cheek so harshly the taste of copper tinged your tongue.

“Randy McAllister, this is the FBI,” you announced your presence, edging around the corner into the main part of the garage.

“Ah, Agent Y/L/N, I thought you’d never make it,” a voice hummed to the right of you.You turned your head to see him standing with a gun in his right hand, a woman on her knees in front of him.

“Let her go, Randy. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

He chuckled. “Oh darling, she has everything to do with this. She’s my replacement for you, can’t you tell?” He glided the tip of his gun against her forehead, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Then give me her, and you can get what you want.”

“You really thought I was gonna be that easy?” He clicked his tongue. “Take off your vest.”

You scoffed. “I’m not taking off my vest.”

he clenched his jaw, hovering his finger over the trigger. “Take off your vest or I’ll blow her fucking brains out!”

You knew not to question him. He’d done it five times already, so what’s stopping him from doing it again.

You slowly slid your gun into your holster before ripping the velcro apart, pulling your kevlar vest off and setting it on the ground. “There, are you happy?”

He grinned, baring his teeth like a rabid dog, before pushing the girl forward. You bent down and helped her up before directing her to run, waiting until you could no longer hear her footsteps before you drew your gun once more.

“Alright, Randy. I did what you wanted. Now drop your weapon and put your hands above your head.”

His grin slowly fell, letting his gun clatter to the ground before he rose his hands in the air, surrendering.

You stepped behind him, yanking his hands behind his back and holding them together with one hand while you searched for your cuffs with the other.

Everything moved so suddenly.

A sharp crack echoed through the garage as he slammed his head back into yours, shattering the cartilage in your nose. You stumbled back, clutching onto your nose as you tried to regain your balance.

He grabbed you by your shirt and threw you to the ground, climbing on top of you and wrapping a hand around your throat. You clawed at his hand and kicked with all your might, finally landing one solid blow to his groin.

He swayed, and you gathered enough strength to roll him over, pinning him to the ground.

But you didn’t account for his hands.

As you held his shoulders against the concrete, a shot rang out.

Your abdomen felt warm as the rest of your body felt as if it was stuck in a freezer. Slowly, you rolled off of Randy and laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling.

Voices began to echo around you, a muffled sound that mimicked the effect of your head being held underwater. “Agent down, we need a medic!”

Your eyelids fluttered open and closed at a snail-like pace, eyes flickering around the room to try and figure out what was going on.

And then they shot open wide as the burning sensation began, a feeling as if your organs were being shredded apart with red hot knives.

“Y/N, what happened?”

Your eyes finally focused on Spencer’s face hovering above you, tears in his eyes. “Tis just a flesh wound,” you whispered, your lungs burning.

He glanced between you and the bullet wound in your chest. “Are you quoting Monty Python right now?”

You let out a chuckle, feeling tears begin to sting your eyes. “It’s what I do when I’m panicking. You should know that by now.” Slowly, you reached your hand down to where you felt the pain resonate, eyes growing wide when you felt something wet soak your hand. “Oh my god.”

Tears began streaking down his face, his lip caught in-between his teeth to keep from crying out.

Without thinking, you reached your hands up to wipe away his tears, a look of terror residing on your face when a dark crimson smeared across his cheeks. “Oh god,” you gasped out, moving to pull your sleeves over your hands and try to wipe away the blood. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The blood smeared around his cheek, and you felt the room spinning around you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just breathe for me. Calm down.”

You nodded, desperately trying to gasp in a solid breath, but to no avail. A sob left your lips, and you felt a rush of blood pour down your sides. “I-I can’t.” You shook your head. “I think... I think I’m bleeding out, doc.”

“No, no, don’t say that. You’re gonna be just fine.” He pulled away from your gaze for a moment to search around. “Where the fuck is the medic?!”

“Spence.”

His eyes fell back onto your face, hazel irises boring into yours as tears dripped down his face. You dedicated his face to memory, trying to remember the way his skin felt under your fingertips, the gentle scratch of his stubble, the way his hair would glide between your fingertips, worried that it you would never be able to experience it again.

“I love you,” you choked out, sniffling. “I love you so much.”

He nodded, a crease forming between his brows as he tried his hardest to contain his sobs. “I love you too. So much.”

He felt as if he died when he watched your eyelids slowly flutter closed, and then stopped moving altogether. He continued applying pressure to your wound, feeling your blood soak through his windbreaker and onto his hands.

Suddenly he was shoved away, and he watched in a daze as a group of medics quickly checked your vitals before lifting you on a stretcher and rushing you out of the building. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled behind them, clambering into the back of the ambulance.

They attached an oxygen mask with a bag valve, attempting to pump oxygen into your lungs. He watched as your chest rose and fell, wishing it wasn’t being controlled by someone else.

The tips of your hair twirled between his fingers, a dazed look on his face as his eyes tracked each breath you took. Breathe in, gentle rise. Breathe out, gentle droop. He felt the soft rush of air against his skin, making his heart race under your cheek.

He didn’t dare move, too worried that if he did, you would wake up. It was rare that he would see you in such a peaceful state, so fragile and unguarded. He wouldn’t dare ruin it. He never knew when it would be the last time he could witness it.

“Her vitals are crashing, she’s going into V FIB!” an EMT shouted, startling him back to the present. “Bring me the AED.” He watched as they applied two wired pads to your chest and turned up a dial, signaling before delivering an electric shock. Your body flinched from the shock, only for it to collapse back down and lay flat.

He felt like he was going to vomit. His hands were clutching onto your free one, unable to tear his eyes away from your ashen face.

He couldn’t decide if it would be better if you were in a black void, unaware of anything that was going on, or if you could feel and hear every single thing that was occurring. He mostly just hoped that you weren’t scared.

But the only thought on his mind, when they finally arrived to the ER and he watched you get rushed into the OR, was that he couldn’t live without you.

*** “Spence, you can head home. I’ll take over,” Emily instructed as she stepped into the waiting room, nudging his shoulder slightly.

He just shook his head, staring at the glass windows in front of him that peered into the hallways of the hospital.

“You need to get some rest,” she persisted, sitting down next to him. “Just go lay down for a few hours, I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“I-I can’t just leave. If something happens...” Spencer mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He couldn’t tell if he was being defensive, or if he was trying to desperately hold himself together.

“She’s gonna be just fine. She’s a fighter.”

He let out a shuddering breath, his eyes falling closed for a moment. “The survival rate after going into V FIB is 50%.”

“Well, 50% seems like a pretty good probability to me.”

“That doesn’t account for the blood loss or oxygen deprivation. She lost over four pints of blood. The body goes into hypovolemic after losing only two pints. Any more than that, and the body will most likely fall into a coma.”

Now he understood how everyone else felt when he spewed out facts. It was torturous, unwilling to allow him to slip away from the predicament for even a moment.

The image of your body bleeding out on the dirty floor was imprinted in his mind. Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory, there was no way that he could ever forget it.

Emily pursed her lips. “But she’ll be alive. She might be banged up, but she isn’t gone. She’s not going anywhere anytime soon.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You know, if Y/N were here right now, she’d be yelling at you to go and take a nap.”

He let out a watery chuckle at that, sniffling slightly. “I can’t leave, Emily. Not until I hear something from the doctors.”

She sighed. “Fine. I’m gonna set a timer on my phone for 20 minutes, and you will sleep until that timer goes off. If you get up any time during that, I’m restarting the timer. Deal?”

“Emily-”

“Spencer, you know better than anybody the effects of sleep deprivation on a person. You’re not going to be any use here if you’re tired.”

He clenched his jaw, already feeling his eyelids begin to droop. “Fine. But only 20 minutes.”

***

He never thought that golden could be a feeling, until he met you. His whole being, his whole soul felt as if it was dripping with the warm yellow hue.

He may have felt golden, but you were golden. You were the sun to him, something that he treasured with his whole being but worried he would be blinded by your beauty, turned into mush from your warmth. He still risked it, staring at you for so long so he could memorize every aspect of you before his sight left him.

Your scent of sunshine and sweet morning dew lingered on everything he owned, and he was addicted to it. He could smell it now, swooning over it.

“Your hair’s getting shaggy, doc.”

Spencer hummed, fluttering his eyes open and seeing that his head was laying in your lap, the two of you perched underneath a tree in the park down the road from your shared apartment.

“Yeah? You want me to cut it?” he teased, shifting slightly to look up at you.

You grinned, ruffling his hair slightly before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Never.”

His eyes flickered over your face, taking in every small detail. “You’re so beautiful.”

You scoffed, gently gliding your finger along his jawline. “I can say the same for you, pretty boy.”

“I’m serious.” He huffed, sitting up and taking your hand in his, staring directly into your eyes for a moment. He mimicked your ministrations, taking his finger and tracing along your collarbone, against the angle of your jawbone, down the slope of your nose, and down the dip of your cupid’s bow. His eyes followed his finger, a small wrinkle forming between his brows. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

A grin settled on your face, gently pulling his fingers from your skin and pressing your lips to his fingertips. “What’s got you being so sappy?”

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly before touching his lips to yours. “I’m so in love with you.”

A pleased sigh escaped your lips, and your eyes searched his. “I’m so in love with you too. Now will you please tell me what’s going on?” You shifted into his lap, entwining your arms around his neck and playing with his hair.

“I...” He gulped, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Spencer.” The corners of your lips crooked into a frown and you rested a hand on his cheek. “What makes you think I’ll ever leave you?”

“Y/N, you’re dying.”

“What do you mean? I’m right here. And I know you’re not a medical doctor, but I know you’re smart enough to know when someone is alive.”

He shook his head, sniffling. “No, you-you’re laying on an operating table right now. This isn’t real. None of this is real.”

“It’s real enough, isn’t it?”

He shot up with a gasp, immediately burying his head in his hands and letting out a shuddering breath.

“Spence, that was only eleven min-” Emily began.

He ignored her, pushing himself to his feet and propelling himself towards the bathrooms. He stumbled into the bathroom and gripped onto the edge of the sink, sucking in deep breaths until his lungs burned. Bile rose in his throat and he willed himself to keep it down, gaining enough strength to turn on the cold water and splash his face.

A hand touched his shoulder and he stood up straight in a panic. “Calm down, man, it’s just me,” Derek consoled, holding his hands up. “Are you okay?”

Spencer shook his head fervently, running his hands over his face before pulling them through his hair. “I can’t lose her.”

Derek reached forward, grabbing Spencer’s shoulder and tugging him into a tight hug. ‘’You’re not gonna lose her. She’s strong, and she’s stubborn as all hell. If she’s gonna die, it’s gonna be by her own terms.”

And Spencer sobbed.

***

It had been over four hours, and the entire team still had yet to hear anything from the doctors. The sun had already set, and almost everyone had headed home for the night.

But Spencer was still sat in the waiting room, eyelids drooping lower and lower with each passing moment of silence.

He wanted so badly to sleep, to go back to that peaceful moment in his mind where he could lay with you and forget anything bad ever happened, but he couldn’t let himself. He couldn’t let himself succumb to a fantasy when in reality, you were laying on an operating table with multiple surgeons working to keep you alive.

“Mr. Reid?”

Spencer rose to his feet at once, all feelings of exhaustion fleeing his body and being replaced with pure adrenaline. “Yes?”

The doctor gave him a curt nod before directing him into the hall. Spencer followed behind him and stood in a nervous silence as he watched her flip through a clipboard.

“She’s alive, and she’s in stable condition,” she explained, looking away from her clipboard.

He felt as if he was floating, a high he never even imagined was possible.

“But she is in a coma, and probably will remain that way for the next few days.”

And there it was.

“But-But you think she’ll wake up?” Spencer rushed out, shifting from foot to foot.

“Definitely. Her body needs time to rest, but she’ll wake up as soon as she’s ready.”

Spencer let out a sigh of relief, a small smile residing on his lips. “Thank you, doctor.”

“You’re a lucky man. We almost lost her, but she fought with all she had. She wanted to stay here.”

He knew that her claims were impossible, but there was an inkling in the back of his mind that maybe she was right. So, instead of responding, he just nodded. “Can-” He cleared his throat. “Can I see her?”

The doctor pressed her lips together in thought for a moment before nodding. “Right this way.”

He followed her through the hospital halls, leading him through the winding maze until they stopped in front of room 112. She gestured to the door before retreating, leaving him alone.

All attempts to catch his breath were futile for the moment he stepped through the door, all the air left his lungs. He couldn’t tell if he was staring at your sleeping form in horror or fondness as he inched towards your bedside, settling into the chair next to you.

“You’re alive,” were the only words he could formulate, repeating them like a mantra while he took your hand in his and pressed feather-light kisses to your knuckles.

Finally, he let his head rest against the thin blanket on your bed, and his eyes drooped closed.

Poppies were your favorite flower. They symbolized peace, something neither of you were familiar with due to your jobs.

Spencer never understood how a flower could symbolize something so complex until he opened his eyes.

He was completely, utterly at peace.

You stood in a field of bright red poppies, a white dress cascading around your frame and a megawatt smile on your face.

Sunshine. Golden.

As if out of a scene from a romance movie (one that you probably forced him to watch), he ran through the fields, coming towards you. Once you were within reach, he wrapped both of his arms around your waist and clung onto you like a vice.

A breathless laugh fell from your lips as you returned the hug, letting your arms hook around his neck. “Hi, my love,” you whispered.

He knew none of this was real. He knew that every memory of you was being pulled from his brain all at once and letting him feel a moment of peace.

But he also knew that he wanted to stay here, at least for a little while.

“Hi, my love,” he echoed, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Are you alright?” You pulled away slightly, searching his eyes as you brought one hand to cup his face. “You’re crying.”

“I’m just fine.” He gave you a smile, gently taking your hand from his face and placing your hand in his own. “I’m perfect.”

“Are you sure? Did I do-”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, squeezing your hand gently. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, letting your shoulders drop. “Sorry, I just... I know you’ve been feeling sad lately. I just want to make sure it isn’t because of me.”

His brows furrowed together, worry lines settling on his forehead. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Because every time you look at me, you cry.”

Those words made his heart drop to his stomach. He knew that this was all in his mind, but it was still your voice. He felt all the hurt, all the guilt.

“I...” A small sob bubbled in his throat, and he pulled you back into his tight embrace. “I just don’t want to lose you. I’m not ready yet.”

You nodded, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt and holding him as close as you possibly could. “Well, right now, you have me. Is that not enough?”

“But it’s not real. I need the real you.”

“Then you have to wake up, my love.”

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up

“Spencer, wake up.”

His eyes flew open, a hand immediately coming up to rub at them. “What?” he grumbled, holding back a yawn.

“God, I’ve tried waking you up for the past five minutes.”

His eyes flickered up to see a pair of Y/E/C eyes staring back at him.

“You’re awake.”

“I can say the same thing about you, sleepyhead,” you teased, weakly patting his hand.

“Oh my god. You’re okay.” He pushed himself to his feet and hovered his hands over your face, fearful that if he touched you, you would disappear.

“I’m okay, doc.” Your words were slurred, but that was expected. He still knew what you were saying, and even if he didn’t, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were awake, that you were alive.

He let out an incredulous laugh as he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I thought I lost you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” You hands slowly reached up, letting your fingers graze along his cheek. “Hi, my love.”

“Hi, my love.” He grinned at you. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be awake for a few more days, at least.”

“I guess I just had to wake up. I couldn’t stand being gone from you that long.” You pulled your lower lip between your teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I-If I wasn’t so cocky, none of this would have happened. You all wouldn’t be wondering whether I’m gonna live or not. I wouldn’t be stuck in a hospital bed with a hole in my chest. You... You wouldn’t be crying.” You gestured to the tears on his cheeks as tears began to stream down your own. “I wouldn’t be crying.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, taking your hand in his and pressing his lips to the back of it. “None of this is your fault. Don’t you ever blame yourself for this.”

You nodded with a sniffle, pulling his hand to your lips and reciprocating his actions. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, letting yourselves take in everything that was happening.

“Once you get released from the hospital and you’re healed, do you want to get married?”

Your eyes widened in shock at his words, searching his face to make sure that he was being honest. “Are you proposing?”

He shrugged, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. “I-I mean I don’t have a ring yet but... I think I am.”

“Well, if you think you’re proposing, I think I’ll say yes.”

Both of your cheeks ached from how wide you were smiling, that smile never faltering when he pressed his lips to yours and let them linger.

“Can we have poppies at our wedding?” you mumbled against his lips.

He chuckled, nodding.

Pure sunshine.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #tw: violence #tw: blood #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds writing #fan fiction #fanfiction #fan fic #fanfic #taylor swift #folklore #spencer x reader #emily prentiss #derek morgan

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flying-nightwing · 4 years ago

Text

The Three Words to Remember in Dealing with the End

I’m trying something new y’all, this is a third person POV because I want you to unveil the actions at the same pace as Jason and not MC/reader. I absolutely loved writing this, so hopefully I did it right and you will enjoy this adventure like I did!

ps: this isn’t something fun or light hearted, it might be triggering for some people. if you are in a fragile mindset right now (especially with everything that’s happening right now), maybe it would be best to save it for later. Please take care of yourselves xx

Masterlist in bio/pinned

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader (ish)

Word count: 5060

Warnings: death (major theme), language

Summary: Jason finds something deeply unsettling during a not so typical night in Gotham (I’m not saying more y’all, read and find out).

It had been a strange night for Jason. Things had been quiet, not too quiet to become suspicious, but enough to underwhelm him at an unsettling level. Everything from the gloomy, yellow-ish night sky above him to his tensed muscles screamed trouble--and his instincts were rarely wrong--but there was nothing big happening. He was almost tempted to pick a fight with the wrong person just for the sake of it, just to shake off this nagging feeling that serious shit was about to blow in his face. Although starting beef again with Sionis would be quite entertaining, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with another tantrum from the eccentric man on the longer term.

So instead, he kicked the door from the building’s roof on which he was hanging around and half heartedly climbed down the stairs. Plastic tarps were flapping around in his face like badly designed Halloween ghosts, and the wind in the half constructed walls were whispering unintelligible songs in his ears. That specific construction site had been abandoned as the recurrent vandalism had weighed the construction costs into the negative, making the company leaving it behind completely as a rotting proof the poorer Gotham neighborhoods were no longer a concern to city hall. Jason thought about the community center that had been bulldozed down to make room for the apartment complex, leaving dozens if not hundreds of children and teenagers without an after school hangout place, and it made him sigh. Now the cheap carcass served to shelter squatters, or well, him when he needed a hideout in between safe houses.

The building in itself wasn’t very high like the skyscrapers one could find in the diamond district, it was rather on par with the rest of the apartment complexes around. From a distance, you couldn’t even differentiate it from the rest. Cheap, smog stained concrete looked the same whether or not it was a finished product. The aesthetics wasn’t something developers around here were aiming for, nor were the resident seeking lodging. Low income neighborhoods didn’t get to benefit from trendy landscaping. But the city didn’t really care about that, they claimed nobody really came around here anyway, like poor people weren’t people in the first place. But Jason knew, and every day he resented those officials on the city council a little bit more.

A thud coming from the floor he had just passed made him halt his descent, his ears strained to try and catch some more noise. He waited a few seconds, and concluded it must have been a squatter tripping and falling on the floor when no other sound followed. But he hadn’t taken a full step down that a loud and clear cry for help bounced on the unfinished plaster on the walls. Without much more thinking, he turned around and climbed back up the five steps he had already taken, going straight for the origin of the sound. He was about to round the corner of a threshold when he bumped into a frantic young woman, her eyes wide and terrified.

“Please help!” She cried, gripping the sleeves of his leather jacket like it was a lifeline. She had an angry, scabbed rope mark on her neck and bruises the size of fingerprints around. “Somebody’s after me, he tried to strangle me!”

Well, that was a new one. Usually, there would be little punks making graffiti or trying to steal material from the structure, petty non-violent crimes like that, but he had never seen homicide, especially not since he started coming around. Nevertheless, he gently pushed the woman aside and pulled out his gun, ready to investigate.

“Stay close” He said, and she nodded vigorously. He carefully walked inside the room, analysing his surroundings for any thread or hostile individual. The floor creaked lightly under his boots, making the woman jump every other second. However, his search eventually came up empty, so he clicked the safety of his gun back on and slid it back in his thigh holster. He faced the girl and shrugged. “If there was anyone here, he’s long gone”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah” He replied. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m not sure” She flinched, still visibly. “To either questions, to be honest. All I remember was seeing this blurred figure grab my head and slam it on the floor, then his hands were around my neck… And I woke up, and there we are”

“Do you have any idea who did this?”

“No really” She rubbed her temples. “I was grabbed on my way back from work and dragged in here. I know it was a man, but he was masked”

“Damn” He muttered, looking around. There wasn’t much left to do now, beside making sure that woman got home safely. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Do you have somewhere safe to go?”

“Yeah, I have an apartment a few blocks away” She nodded timidly.

They climbed down the stairs, Jason following a pace behind her. She was recoiled on herself, her eyes darting from one place to another like she was expecting to be jumped at any time now. She was shivering from the harsh wind, clearly not dressed for one of Gotham’s cold September nights. He thought she was lucky to have fallen onto him and not someone with ill intentions. The people coming here usually left each other alone, but with the lady’s assailant on the loose, he wouldn’t be so trusting of everyone’s intentions around here.

“Here, we’re almost out” He said as the front door came into view. She sighed in relief as she took the last step down and closed the distance with the door. She reached for the handle, pulled, but nothing moved. She then tried to push, but it didn’t move any more.

“I-It’s like it’s locked” She stuttered in disbelief.

“Let me try” Jason stepped forward, pushing and pulling the door like she did before. Strange, that door was never, ever locked. He then tried to pick it, even break it, to no avail. The door simply wouldn’t open. He huffed and took a step back, thinking. “Let’s try the backdoor”

The pair moved through the ground floor, passing in front of a few empty sleeping bags on the way. Jason went straight for the small door, only to be met with the same problem.

“Alright, you wanna play this game?” He muttered harshly, pulling out his gun and aiming at the handle. He fired a shot, but the bullet bounced right back on his red helmet. “Son of a bitch!”

He muttered a few more curses before kicking the stubborn door in frustration, then turned to the woman.

“Well, somebody doesn’t want us to leave '' He stated with bitter humour. “Maybe your wannabe killer is still around, after all”

“Oh god” She gasped, her chest suddenly heaving quickly. She was having a panic attack. “We’re trapped. We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

“Hey, hey” He tried to reassure her, an uncertain hand on her shoulder. “I won’t let him get near you. He certainly didn’t plan on having me around, so he’ll stay away if he knows what’s good for him. We’ll find a way out”

She bent over, hands on her knees, and shut her eyes tight, focusing on her breathing until it somewhat calmed down. She then nodded slowly, standing straighter again. “O-okay”

“You sure?”

She took a deep breath and nodded again.

“Alright…” He drawled out, looking at her for a second more to be sure she was actually okay. “Let’s go around and see if there’s anyone in here tonight, and if they have seen anything”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” She eyed him with uncertainty. “...He could be out there”

“Then it’s his mistake” He shrugged. “Come on”

Like earlier, she followed closely behind him as he checked each floor in detail. He came across a few homeless people he had seen around before, none of which could ever commit murder, or attempt to for that matter. He saw it in their eyes, they were harmless. They had been on the second floor, the only one which seemed inhabited at all that night. The third floor came up empty as well, so Jason didn’t waste time there either. However, he was a little more careful on the fourth. It was where he had found the girl, so there was a slight chance the assaulter might still be hanging around there. He began with the first apartment on the left, then the one on the right he initially searched. He paid specific attention to any detail he might find; hair, cloth, blood splatter, anything. He was crouched over a suspicious stain when he heard it.

A deafening scream.

In less than a second, he was on his feet and through the threshold of an adjacent room, only to come face to face with a decaying corpse. The woman was staring with horror like she was in a trance, a hand covering her mouth to either hold back any more screams or her own vomit. Probably both, Jason thought.

“That definitely complicates things now” He hummed.

“How can you be so calm?” She was freaking out again. “There’s a body! A dead body!”

“Yeah, I know” He replied, unbothered, taking a step closer to observe. The nauseous smell of decomposition was starting to get through his helmet, and he genuinely wondered how she hadn’t barfed her guts up already. Her state of shock perhaps helped to keep her together, at least for now. “Looks like it’s a woman. Probably has been there for two weeks or--fuck this is nasty”

He backed up and gently pulled her out of the room, away from the corpse. She didn’t need to see anymore of it.

“Well, there’s good news and bad news” He sighed. “Bad news is your guy and this poor woman’s killer are most likely the same person. Good news is that you, unlike her, escaped him”

“Oh god” She gagged, but dry heaved on air. “This can’t be happening”

“Okay, listen” He sighed, “I’m sure this is a lot for you, and you didn’t ask for any of this. But the killer is potentially here keeping us trapped, and I need you to hold it together a little bit longer until I figure this out, kay?”

She gave him a wild look like he was crazy. “How can you expect me to hold it together?”

“Is there anything you can focus on?” He tried, getting a bit impatient. Things weren’t adding up in his head and he needed to concentrate, but he couldn’t if his new unwilling investigation partner started freaking out every other minute. Then, he noticed her fingers fidgeting with a necklace around her neck, a small ring with a azur gem hanging from it. “What does that ring mean?”

She looked down at it, like she was surprised she had subconsciously showed it up. “Uh, it was my mother’s. Family heirloom, y’know. She gave it to me when I graduated college”

“It’s very pretty” He said. “Look at it and think about your mother, okay?”

She nodded, and he took a step away to pace around in peace. So there was a killer who managed to trap them into the building, or intended to trap only her, which was why he was hiding away now that Jason was here too. But then again, Marty on the second floor didn’t see or hear anything all night, and that guy had a sharper ear than a cat. Then came the question of why he didn’t see or smell the body on his first general scouting of the place. Surely, a decaying body would have ticked him off way sooner. Maybe the killer dragged the body from a higher floor? It would make no sense as to why he would have done that, but there was no other logical explanation.

He went to rub the bridge of his nose, only to be met with his helmet. He let out another muffled curse and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “This is the one time I could use one of my stupid brothers”

“Why?”

He let out a dry chuckle. “They’re idiots and annoying as fuck, but they’re better detectives than I could ever be. Solving this nonsense puzzle would be an easy game for them”

“Then what’s stopping you from calling them?”

Jason paused, staring at the woman for a moment. No, it wasn’t that simple. “Last time we spoke, I… We fought pretty bad. I don’t think they ever want to see me again”

“I’m sure--”

“We’re on our own for this, trust me” He interrupted, his tone dry enough to make her recoil. He coughed and relaxed his tense posture, taking a deep breath. “I can solve this, I don’t need them. I’ll go check the body again, stay here”

“Wait!” She called before he could turn around. “What if he comes back?”

He blinked a few times, then began patting his side and pockets. He wouldn’t leave her a gun, or she’d hurt herself in the state she was in, or accidently shoot him for that matter. Nervous firing rarely even found their intended target anyway. A knife was also out of the question for the same reasons. Besides, she didn’t seem skilled enough to hold her own with a blade, and he had no idea what weapons the killer carried. The knife would basically be useless, if not more dangerous for her. He finally felt a small lump in his pant pocket, then fished for it. He pulled a small taser that definitely wasn’t his, remembering he had disarmed it from a goon earlier that night. He had no idea he had kept it, but it would do.

“Here” He held it up to eye level, pressing the button. A blue-ish current was formed, crackling and fizzling. “You hold it out and press the side button to turn it on. Don’t point it at me or yourself. Got it?”

“Uh-- I guess--”

“Great” He pushed the device in her hand and turned on his heels without more ceremonies.

He inhaled deeply and held his breath as he returned to the corpse, thinking about a thousand better ways he could have been spending his Friday night. He crouched next to it, grimacing at the decaying skin that made the victim’s identity barely recognizable. He noticed the dried out hair first, it was the same color as the poor girl on the other side of the wall. The exact same, he could have sworn. The killer must have a very specific m.o. he stuck to. There had been a couple of girls going missing in the last weeks, it must have been one of them. Nobody would think to check here, or rather nobody would bother. He turned his head to the side, coughing as he worked to catch his breath despite the putrid smell. He forced himself to return to his half assed detective work, scanning for any trace of struggle or aggression. The rope the killer used to choke her was still around her neck, but that was nothing Jason could work with as he already knew about the obvious neck fetish that was in play here. He poked the rotten skin with the end of his gun, pushing hair and clothes away to try and find something he could have missed with a first glance. No viable piece of information could be found in the teeth or under the nail since he was about two weeks too late, and he could not make the distinction between decomposition marks and actual contusion marks. Dammit. He had nothing.

He was about to give up when something shiny got his attention on the victim’s chest. There was a chain plunging into the neckline of her shirt, and with his gun he carefully pulled it up. He was certain his brain physically broke in two when he came face to face with a stained, yet recognizable ring with an azur stone.

“What…” He trailed off softly. “... The Fuck”

Thinking about it, the victim’s clothes were awfully similar to what the lady on the other side was wearing, beside the obvious dirtiness difference. He looked over his shoulder, to where she was pacing nervously, then back to the corpse. Same hair, same clothes, same ring. Same approximate size, same bone structure, rope position coinciding with her strangling mark. Jason did not want to be thinking what he was thinking, because only crazy people were seeing ghosts. But was he totally sane? That was debatable. It would explain why they were locked in the building for no goddamn reason, or why Marty didn’t hear anything, or why he did not notice the corpse or the smell during his initial search, or why that lady did not stop once to rethink asking an armed stranger in a red mask for help, or why…

Besides, ghosts would not even make the list of the weirdest things he’s seen. He himself came back from the dead, so the idea wasn’t actually that far fetched. But now, the question he faced was, how do you tell someone they’re dead, when they’re convinced they’re alive? Bruce’s training did not prepare him for that, and honestly neither did Ra’s.

He slowly stood up, trying to scour his brain for a gentle way to break it to her. He couldn't just rip the bandaid off, that would be insensitive. And if she really did control who could get in and out of the building, would sending her into ghost shock--if that was even a thing--risk trapping him here forever as well? How does one even deal with a bloody ghost? Reluctantly, he returned to the other room, where the woman looked at him with hopeful eyes. Jason felt a pinch in his heart, knowing he would be the one to break the news to her.

“Anything?” She asked, her arms wrapping around herself. He gave a sad nod, and she sighed in relief. “Good, I just wanna go home”

“I…” He struggled to find the words. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/N)” She said, uncertain.

Jason was glad his mask hid his expression. His eyes closed as his suspicions were officially confirmed; she had disappeared a little less than three weeks ago without a trace. She had been presumed dead by the GCPD, apparently rightfully so, he found out.

“(Y/N), I have good news and bad news”

She kept staring at him to let him speak. She didn’t seem to grasp the undertone of his words, or how he somehow said it completely differently than the previous time. She really wasn’t aware of her situation.

“Good news is that I found who the victim is” He began, his voice heavy. He wasn’t the type to just get emotional for strangers like this, but this one especially struck a chord in him. “Bad news is… You’re--you’re not going home, (Y/N)”

Her face fell. “W-What?”

“The… Body, on the other side” He half heartedly pointed behind him. “It’s you. You went missing three weeks ago, and you’re...”

“That’s crazy!” She shrieked. “That’s impossible! I’m here, I’m right here, I’m real…”

Her voice faltered at the end, like she was starting to doubt herself. Jason softly jerked his head to the other room, silently making his way back to the corpse with her carefully following behind. He stopped and crouched like he had done minutes ago, and in the same way, lifted the ring. Something clicked in her face, a newfound horror etching on her features. This time, it wasn’t because she found a corpse, but because she found out the corpse was hers.

“No…” She stumbled back, and Jason hurried to steady her. He didn’t know if it was necessary, since she probably couldn’t even feel physical pain anymore, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He escorted her out of the room once again and waited beside her as her entire reality came crashing down. It felt surreal for him, he couldn’t even imagine what it was like for her. He let her slide down the wall and rest her head in her hands as she processed all of this. “I can’t be… My family, they must be worried sick”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N)” He sighed, sliding down next to her.

“But I’m--” She tried to argue, then a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m not ready to go”

He took off his mask for the first time, ruffling his hair in the process. The least he could do was to give her a human face as the last she would ever see. “Take all the time you need, I’ve got nowhere else to be”

She eyed him with confusion, at both the removal of his mask and his words. “Why?”

He smiled sadly at her. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. I’m Jason, nice to formally meet you”

“I don’t think it matters now” She mumbled, casting her glance downward. She handed him back the small taser, realizing she wouldn't need it anymore. “I’m dead. I don’t even know how I’m even still here, or where I’m even going. I don’t understand anything--”

“You don’t have to,” He interrupted softly. “It’s okay not to understand. And it’s okay to be afraid. But death is a part of life, and despite how scary it might be when it rings at your door, sometimes it’s better not to fight it”

“Easy to say for someone who is still alive” She said, making his lips subtly curl up. At least she was calming down now.

“I died years ago” He admitted, and her eyes widened comically. “No, I’m not a ghost if that’s what you’re wondering. I was resurrected through magic… But I know what it feels like”

“How did you die?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Jason hesitated. He wasn’t used to talking about this, but he figured he could at least vent to a ghost. It might even make her feel better about the circumstances of her death, he thought. “I died in an explosion” He finally revealed as he looked away. “I realized I was dead when the countdown reached two seconds and nobody came for me. Two seconds isn’t a long time to come to term with the end of your own existence, and everything that comes after”

“I suppose not” She sighed. “I guess I’m lucky I have time to figure it out. What’s it like, on the other side?”

“I honestly can’t really remember” He shook his head. “My memory from the moment I closed my eyes to when I reopened them is scrambled. And even if I did recall, it might be different from you”

“You think so?”

“I hope so”

He did not elaborate on that, and she did not ask. Jason wasn’t sure whether his visions of hell were from his time in the grave, or if the pit messed with his perspective, but he certainly hoped this girl wouldn’t have to go through something similar as well. They waited in silence for a moment as neither felt the need to speak up. He respected her need to have a moment to herself to absorb all this like he had wished he could have had. He had never felt as vulnerable as when he waited, helpless and unable to move, for the bomb to go off. He had been terrified, clinging to a last hope it was just a nightmare, or that help would have swept in at the last second like it always happened in the movies. He had been truly alone then. Perhaps it was why she had found him earlier, she felt his connection to death and his ability to relate. She seeked one last ray of warmth before disappearing, one last attempt not to be forgotten by reaching out to someone with the best chance to understand her. He doubted it was a coincidence he was the one she let help her.

“You didn’t have to stay with me…” She spoke up. It could have been ten minutes or more, Jason couldn’t tell. He had been in his head the whole time. “But you did, for what it’s worth. Thank you, Jason”

“You’re welcome, I guess” He half shrugged. “It’s… It’s just things I wish had been said to me in my last moments, comfort I wish had been brought to me when it was time to go. I’m glad it helped ease this transition for you”

She gave him a small smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. He could feel her unnatural cold radiating on him, see the bleakness of her skin and the absence or a steady rise and fall of her chest now that he was up close.

“Well, I’m glad you found me” She muttered, letting her hand fall back down to her side. “I… I think I’m ready to go. But before, could you do me a last favor?

“Sure” He nodded.

“Could you bring back my necklace to my mother?” She asked, staring straight into his eyes. And probably his soul, by the looks of it. “This case might never be solved, I don’t want it to be lost in an evidence bag”

He was initially surprised by the request, but it made sense. This would be the last thing her mother would have of her daughter, and it didn’t belong in a locker kept away forever. He nodded. “I can do that”

“Thank you” She gave him the first real smile he had seen on her face. Her eyes had lost the life in them, that was obvious, but there was this peacefulness that hadn’t been there before. Her resolve to accept her faith showed more and more in her expression, and it was steadily becoming clearer she did not belong to this plane of existence anymore. Two weeks trapped in between life and death without being heard or seen must have been so exhausting, and now she was ready to let go. “Just one more thing”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows at her sudden knowing expression. He could see it clearly despite her image slowly fading away. Was she even aware of it? He didn’t know, but it didn’t seem painful. He hoped it wasn’t, she deserved an undisturbed rest for what had been done to her in this life.

“A piece of unwanted advice from a dead girl?” Her tone was a bit playful. He let out a quiet chuckle, his shoulders barely raising. “Call your brothers”

She became serious, and so did he.

“The worst thing about this, is that I left this life without even being able to say proper goodbyes to my family” She explained. “I wish more than anything I could just see them one more time to tell them I love them, but I can’t. Don’t take for granted there will always be a later for it, because there might not be”

“I…”

“Please, for me” She said, almost entirely faded now. “I hope I see you again one day, Jason. Thank you for everything”

And then she was gone. Jason stared at the empty space beside him, like there had never been anyone there. The cold spot was gone, and with it the last image of her smiling face. The smell of the corpse returned at full strength now that she wasn’t there to manipulate the surroundings, but he couldn’t be bothered by it as much as he was before. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from where she had been seconds ago, struggling to tell whether or not it had actually happened. But it must have, the entire experience had felt way too real to be a product of his imagination, and the dead body served as a material proof his head didn’t conjure it all up. Slowly, he stood up and went back to the body for one last time. He’d have to place an anonymous call to the police to tip them to the body tomorrow, after giving a heads up to the squatters to steer clear of the building until the situation died down. He bent down and only took the necklace without disturbing anything else, slipping it in a pocket for safe keeping. He’d also have to find a way to give it back to her mother without making it seem like he had killed the girl…

With one last silent goodbye to a new found yet ephemeral friend, Jason made his way down to the first floor, his step a little slower and heavier than last time. The first light of the morning peeked shyly through the sky of Gotham as the clouds appeared clear up, like it was their way of reflecting the peaceful passing of a soul on the other side. He never believed in symbolism in nature, but this once, just this once, he could make an exception. He reached the bottom of the stairs and carefully made his way to the main doors, pausing in front of it. The birds in the walls didn’t seem to mind him as they sang the arrival of the morning, and he put back his mask to face the outside once again. He gripped the door handle, pushing even so slightly.

It opened with a groan.

Sighing, he stepped outside and fished for his phone in his back pocket. He went to his contacts, scrolling down until he found the name he was looking for. Reluctantly, he pressed it and came face to face with the taunting call icon. Surely he would still be awake, his patrol would have ended not too long ago. Or he’d be asleep, and then he’d disturb him. Hesitating, his thumb hovered above the lock screen button, then over the call one, then again, the lock screen. He let out a frustrated huff, looking at the sky. There might not be a later… Or perhaps there will. But was he ready to take that chance? He looked at his phone again, taking a deep breath and making his decision.

As the first sun ray reflected his helmet, he called Dick Grayson for the first time in years.

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daily-dose-of-imagines · 4 years ago

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ᴀɴ ᴜɴʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ | ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ 𝘋𝘳. 𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘕𝘌 | [ꜰᴏʀᴇɴꜱɪᴄꜱ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟɪꜱᴛ!ꜱᴇɴᴋᴜ x ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ] ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ

Here’s a one-shot for my best leek boy~! As you can most likely tell-- I absolutely adore any sort of show that deals with the realistic and understanding of human decomposition and how the forensics teams work~ So I decided to do a little twist with a modern AU~! I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did writing it ;; and as always, thank you all for your love and support for our blog~!

» » Admin Ko

An aggravated sigh filled the empty void of white. The figure that stood near the stacks of unfinished paper work couldn’t help but run a hand through his silver and green hair as he lazily flipped through the stacks of paper awaiting to be filled in with his chicken scratch.

Despite having chosen this career, he couldn’t deny the blatant hatred he had for filing out the mountains of paper work that was undoubtedly tied to it. Ishigami Senku, a renowned forensics specialist at such a young age, had to admit that despite how much he wanted to avoid and honestly burn the hoard of paper, that it was most definitely vital in his line of work.

After all, no matter how much he enjoyed being able to complete experiments on the human body and testing new theories, he had to at least make up for the sheer horror and grotesque methods he choose to come exhibit during his trials.

“Tch...I wonder if I can pawn this off to Chrome... hehe perhaps with the right convictions I’ll get him to do it all for me~.”

A devious grin graced the young specialist as he began to shift the paperwork from his desk to his apprentice’s desk. A soft melodic tune escaping his pursed lips as he casually whistled the troubles away as he admired his handiwork.

“Hello? Is Ishigami in?”

The new voice that filled the cramped and bright space had the male in question quirk an eyebrow up as he slowly cocked his head. Scarlet hues quickly began to dissect and analyze the new body as the person in question merely stared back at him with a curious gaze of her own.

“...mmmm....garbs are too tattered and clearly worn in....dark circles around the eyes....lack of physical appeal to the opposite gender...a detective?”

“Hey! I heard that! What the hell do you mean by lack of physical appearance?!”

Immediately, irritation flitted through her veins at the blunt and uncaring tone that left the male’s voice. Despite having been warned about his careless and aloof personality, she hadn’t exactly expected to be ‘insulted’ within the first couple of minutes with meeting the estranged specialist.

“What brings you here detective? As you can see I’m quite...busy, so I’d rather you cut to the chase rather than try to argue with me.”

Again, a mere shrug off his shoulders as he lazily began to pick at his ear. The lack of care and desire to even properly greet her grated against her nerves as she fought the urge to walk over and rip the multicolored leek colored locks out of his annoying head.

“I-- god I’m not even going to bother. I’m here to introduce myself to you. Believe it or not Ishigami, but we’re going to be much more...acquainted.”

“Oh? I’m intrigued. Explain to me what you mean pea-brain.”

“P-Pea-brain--”

Another aggravated inhale.

“T-To put it simply ‘you short leek’ I’ll be visiting your office frequently. The cases I’ve been assigned will have me practically in and out of your office constantly, and I would appreciate your expertise and help in completing and solving these cases.”

“Ah, you’re insinuating the sudden uproar of with the murders popping up throughout the city. Haven’t gotten any leads, have you detective?”

“N-No-- as I said I just received the case---”

“Well no point in trying to solve them if you’re trying to make friends with me. Tell you what pea-brain, if you’re able to come up with some interesting new evidence that even the veteran detectives can’t find, I’ll consider partnering up with you.”

A twitch to her right eye. One that she could feel and was almost certain that it was noticeable as the cocky grin that graced the other’s lips beamed straight at her. The first thought that came to her mind was: insufferable. How had she been given such a ‘privilege’ to work with such an experienced forensics specialist? Even she didn’t know. At this point, she wished she could take back the enthusiasm she showed for the case.

“Well? What’ll it be pea-brain?”

Again, she reviewed his words in her head. The choices that were lain before her only had a headache slowly work it’s way up as she felt the sudden strong desire to have a drink after her shift ended for the day.

“...Fine. I’ll take on your stupid challenge.”

“Excellent~. Do make sure it’s something worth my time Detective~.”

With a wave of his fingers being the last thing she saw, she immediately rushed out of the office back to the hallway before letting out an aggravated yell. Completely unaware of the mirthful scarlet eyes that kept watch on her retreating back as he made his way over to his desk.

“Hmmm...let’s see just who you are detective.”

»»————-　★　————-««

A week had passed. The information she gained only seemed to multiply in her face as she sat her desk. The stacks of paper work and empty coffee cups that littered her car and desk seemed to be all too telling to her associates as to how hard she was working on the case.

Taking a deep breath and leaning back into her chair, she couldn’t help but stare up at the ceiling as she allowed her eyes the much needed break from staring at the black and white texts along with the grotesque mutilated bodies that were photographed at each crime scene.

A light chuckle escaped her lips as she reminisced on her first visit to one of the many crime scenes when she was first assigned to the case and found how terrifying it was that she now was practically immune to the sights and smells now. Of course, the motive and reasoning behind each murder had her stomach swirl with disgust and unprecedented rage, but even then she couldn’t do much besides look.

“What exactly are the motives...why are there so many?”

Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to briefly rest. A brief run through of all the images of the bodies and words mindlessly ran through as she soaked up the information she had tried to observe when she had first started for the day.

Though as she thought back to the photos, she couldn’t help but furrow her brows at the strange pattern that continued to show up. Quickly sitting up, she rummaged through the photos and theories that the rest of the detectives on the case had come up with.

It was without a doubt something sinister. Tragic even, and many had considered it to be a large organization. A cult even.

“But...even for a cult...a lot of these are premeditated, yet hold such strange religious symbolism...what exactly--- maybe?”

Jumping out of her seat, she found herself rushing towards the forensics lab. The weariness that once plagued her body now gone as she felt a surge of adrenaline run through her body at the sudden information that ran through her mind.

Finding the familiar and dreaded door, she pushed her way in. The sight before her practically comical as she almost forgot what was on her mind. Ishigami sat atop what seemed to be his assistant. Two cotton swabs placed against the male’s nostrils as screams of pain escaped from the brown haired male.

“Wake up and smell the ammonia. We have paperwork Chrome~.”

Though as dark burgundy eyes finally met her own adrenaline filled (e/c) ones, he couldn’t help but slowly pick himself up as the man named Chrome pulled the cotton swabs out of his nose before kneading at the abused airways.

“Oh? Looks like the pea-brain stopped by. What did you find out---”

“What if this is all an elaborate plan?”

“...Okay, explain?”

“The cult-like activity. The multiple killings. Sacrifical pawns. The strange messages? What if...it’s a preparation for something big? A doomsday sort of attack?”

“A demand for a rebirth for the country then. That’s what you’re saying? Even so, why is that a theory?”

“The positioning and contents of the bodies. I know you did the autopsies, you saw what the bodies were filled with Ishigami.”

“Tch...you’ve got some brain cells that’s for sure pea-brain. You’re correct, each body was filled with something that coincided with the corrupt society we live in. Even then--”

“What if...the people involved aren’t cultists, but people in the higher ups with position of power?”

The silence that filled the room had her heart quicken in pace as she watched dark scarlet eyes shift to the files that laid messily across his desk. A low chuckle escaping the male as he slowly returned his gaze to her.

“Well that means we’re going to have to look into this a little more then. Won’t we, partner?”

#Dr. Stone x reader #dr. stone #dr. stone imagines #ishigami senku x reader #ishigami senku #senku x reader #modern au #modern crime au

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tuttifuckinfruttifriday · 3 years ago

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First part

Harmless Playing

Pairings: Archie x Malon x Justin(not romantic, evidently),side the Voorheese’s family(MJ and Jason) and Archie’s(Pennywise and Aquarius)

Warnings: some kiddies talks, angst, gore and decay, description of decay smell and decomposition(kinda goes in gore but i'm not taking chances), plain horror, guilt

This is kinda dark l: hehe-

I always can't help myself, I love me some good ol' angst and horror

(There is a reference to the story of when MJ was bitten by a snake.)

Don't hesitate to tell me any mistakes I made! It would be greatly appreciated.

When Archie and Justin came back the next day, the two of them and Malon (The Friendly Trio :D) discussed and played in the clubhouse, like normal kids do. Yesterday was nice, Archie would say definitely say that, but for the rest of the day he felt bad for his first friend, correction: best friend. He knew she didn't have the same interests as them, but it didn't seem like Justin did, at least yesterday. He was so captivated by the insects that Archie didn't know if he thought about what he said or about how they left Malon. He remembered the thing about how he said he was his only friend and knew it wasn't to be mean or anything, but he knew too that Malon would probably be sad if she paid attention and heard it. So that's why the small clown payed more attention to his female friend, still paying attention to Justin though. Strangely but fortunately, when they seemed to be getting more and more into the bugs' subject, Justin stole some glances at Malon and changed the subject, making the small girl smile thankfully. The first time it surprised Archie, but he was really happy about it because he wouldn't have to talk to Justin about it. Maybe he saw how their interests differs after all...

It was almost dinner and MJ looked through the window, seeing the three friends running around with smiles and laughing faces. A worrying look immediately came onto the woman's face as she put the plate she was washing onto the counter, drying her hands before opening the window. It was cute and all that they were happily playing and that her daughter didn't seem sad anymore, but the woods were pretty dangerous and they didn't really have a clear spot around the clubhouse, which made the situation even more dangerous and kind of stressful for her. Leaning towards the now opened window with a small smile but furrowed brows as she heard the laughters, MJ yelled out to them; ''Be careful, kids! If you're playing around like that, it would be better if you were somewhere I can see you. '' They looked back at MJ before nodding, Malon yells back an ''Okay mom! '' before they move towards an empty spot where there was the fire pit Malon and her parents used to make fires. Archie and Justin sat on each side of Malon on the wooden chairs that were around the pit and calmed down, deciding that they would continue their conversations they had earlier. Seeing them sit down, the older woman closed the window as she felt the wind entering, looking back one more time before she continued to do the dishes and occupied herself before her husband came home.

''You really don't have a TV??'' ''You have been into my house, you know I don't, silly!'' Malon and Justin were currently talking about her not having a tv and about how she missed a lot of things that were on the screen, from what Justin and Archie told her. The latter was just listening to them since he didn't know what to say, so he contented himself to listening.

They started to talk about cartoons though, which finally made Archie talk. ''You two should come to my house sometime, we could watch some! '' The Friendly Trio smiled, the three still talking as the mood was soft and joyful. ''So-'' There was a sharp silence as the wind picked up and they were suddenly attacked by a strong smell, which wasn't pleasant at all. The kids whimpered and got up as they smelt the air as it carried the smell towards them. It was like rotten meat and eggs with a hint of sickly sweet smell that didn't reassure them at all. Imagine rotten meat ang fruits plus a hint of really sweet perfume. ''What is that??!! Ewww!-'' Justin said as he looked around with his eyes wide opened and his brows furrowed. Malon was looking pale as she backed away a little from the pit, her eyes looking into the distance. For Archie though, a small panic entered him. He knew this smell was probably bad, he wasn't stupid. Strangely, it seemed kind of familiar too... While his friends mumbled and whimpered, nobody moving, a lot of ungodly guesses took place into his head as he followed the smell, making the two behind him curiously follow him. It wasn't the brightest idea, but you can't help the mischief of a child's curiosity..

The farther they went, the more the smell turned terrible, which (sadly) almost made them go back. ''I think... I think it's here-''

Every noises stopped as he did.

As soon as his eyes landed on the disfigured and decaying, but still bloody, corpse of what looked like a woman, he knew he had been right from the start. That's why the smell was familiar... Without helping himself, his scared and disgusted gaze moved up and down the body, noting all the small insects crawling in and out of her now rotten and lifeless figure. Archie's first reflex was to turn around, engulfing his friends as he told them to go back now and not look.Only for them to do that.Justin was the first to scream, barfing on the ground two seconds later. He immediately ran towards the house, alerting some animals and someone who was fortunately nearby; Jason. When he then heard Malon screaming, he immediately ran as fast as he could towards the noise, his machete at the ready and his eyes wide open. The noises he made as he ran towards them alerted Archie, who fearfully hid Malon behind him, thinking it might be the person or thing that killed that woman.

However, it was Jason who literally ran towards them, his head moving back and forth as he tried to search for the source of what made Malon scream. As soon as his eyes fell onto the corpse, he stopped in his tracks and went slowly towards a really scared Archie and Malon and took Malon in his arms, hugging her tightly as he let Archie hug him, a hand on his back. The scared whimpers and sniffles made him take Archie in his arms too, balancing the too kids in his arms as he walked towards the cabin, seeing MJ running towards them at full speed with a scared and teary-eyed Justin behind her. Her motherly instincts immediately told her something was wrong as soon as she didn’t saw them playing outside, even more when she saw Justin running here with tears streaming down his face.

The poor boy couldn’t even form words, the image of what he had seen still in his mind. So MJ had tried to calm him, hugging him and letting him cry on her shoulder as her worry increased for Archie and her daughter. That’s why as soon as he could form words and said that there was a body, she ran towards the way he showed her with him at her trail.

“Malon????” Jason put Malon down as he almost heard his wife screeching and she took her, the little girl still crying and shaking. Archie cuddled closer to Jason as he now had the two of his arms to cradle him in. The two adults, and Justin, walked towards the house and put the two crying kids on the couch, the two having now a little bit calmed. As soon as they seemed calm enough, Jason cradling Archie and Malon close to him and they cling onto his jacket, MJ asked them to tell her what happened, a frown on her face as she hugged Justin close. “We smelt something... funny... and we... w-we found a... a dead body.......” Jason held them close as Archie sniffled, putting his head back onto Jason’s chest. The boy had evidently seen dead bodies, but none at this stage of decomposition, which is why he was probably now in shock. Malon had never even thought she would see something like this, even if she knew her father killed people. And for poor Justin... Well, let’s just say he was probably traumatized.

—

After MJ had gotten Justin home safely and Archie decided that he wanted to stay with Malon, Jason decided that he would get rid of the corpse while his wife called Archie’s parents. He was absolutely shocked when he saw the body, it not being his because he remembered the person who killed them. Michael. F ing Micheal Myers.

His eyes travelled all over the woman’s body as he noticed some broken ribs and noticeable stab wounds where there was still skin. There was evidently the blonde hair, which made him remember of that day when he had to look for plants to help MJ.

(Flashback kinda-

Michael seemed concentrated, his eyes focused on a whimpering woman who seems to be limping and coming this way, making Jason’s body tense. It was probably why Michael was so silent and seemed to be stalking something when he saw him earlier, so he decided not to interfere, watching him stalking away. Guess he didn’t have anybody to help him then .. As the screams of the girl could finally be heard, Jason walked towards where the last item was, his steps hurried and bigger than normal. He really hoped he wasn’t too late...)

The undead man shook his head, trying not to think of that day as he looked at the woman’s broken leg, the source of her limping that day. Without hesitation, he took the body in his arms and tried not to breath it’s disgusting smell as he walked towards a clear place where he could bury it. He didn’t know how to get rid of it, so it was an idea. His daughter and wife would probably approve of this method too, since it’s more humane.

Guilt filled him as soon as he finished digging a hole, the shovel he took from the small homemade shed they keep MJ’s gardening tools in stuck in the ground. He pushed the body down the hole, his jacket now smelling of dead body juices (ew idk how it’s called) and making him almost throw up, which is the reason why he decided to put it in the hole too, his bare arms revealed to the world as he immediately started to put the dirt back in. Each time he put a shovel of dirt his guilt grew bigger and bigger, thoughts swirling in his head. He should have made sure to come back that day, so he could have made sure Micheal had gotten rid of the body, which he obviously didn’t do.

Now was too late anyway, so as soon as he got home, he put the shovel back where it belonged and looked at the two sleeping kids on the ground, a small smile on his face even if he was still thinking about the body. Archie and Malon were cuddled together, blankets and pillows on the carpeted floor of the living room as a small night light illuminated the room a bit with his daughter’s favourite colour. Jason didn’t know how those two could get along so good, but he was really happy about it. He couldn’t imagine Malon having her parents for friends, which saddened him even more than he was thinking about it. He silently and carefully got out of his boots and washed his hands that were still covered in dead body fluids before he got into his PJs and into bed with his peacefully sleeping wife, wrapping an arm around her protectively like always. This life wasn’t one he wanted his kid, or any children, to live in, but he couldn’t do anything about it except his job of protecting them and getting rid of trespassers...

He hoped he could do more than that one day.

#randomly a fan #jason voorheese #jasonvoorhees #horror #gore tw #gore #decay #decaying body #tw decay #tw dead body

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years ago

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Since houses with teeth is shelved what will be fostered 7. Also how is FD coming along, i miss the updates😢😢

I’m not sure! I think, honestly, that the “main series” side of Fostered is done (so it ends at 6 books). It’s unfortunate because HWT came at the wrong time in my writing journey. I was in my last year of high school when I finished book 6 of Fostered, which I ended prematurely because I was in “writing puberty” lol where my genre, and how I approached writing greatly changed. I managed to finish a majority of book 6 balancing the older parts of my tastes with the newer, but by the time I got to writing book 7, I just couldn’t balance out these tastes anymore without having a headache or overthinking everything. The problem is that Houses With Teeth is a literary fiction novel with a genre fiction past/cast, and to write it properly, I would essentially have to completely overhaul every single Fostered character, which I do not want to do. I’d have to change backstories, even names, and I want to keep these things the way they are. There isn’t a collective story for the Fostered “squad” anymore! It really died when the dystopian elements died in the series. This is why I prefer the spinoffs more because they’re more intimate character studies. I could see myself writing HWT as a novella or something that follows Reeve, because it would be nice to give her a proper goodbye, but I doubt I will do that. This is a really emotional topic for me tbh because it really panics me to think Fostered will eventually end, but I’ve realized lately the series could be done soon, or at least for the foreseeable future. I really want to start writing things outside of this series, namely other novels, and while I love this series very much, I do think I’ve relied on it in recent years as a crutch to handle my anxiety about writing/in general. I struggle with anxiety when writing any novel that isn’t Fostered, which is weird because I write tons of short stories outside of that universe, but when the work is longer, I just freeze up! I want to work on this, and to do that, I need to take a break from/finish the series, even though the thought of that is terrifying (I think that terror comes from the anxiety)!

As for Feeding Habits, I had to take a huge break from this book this semester, not out of choice, necessarily, but necessity. At the beginning of the term, I was having a hard time writing this book, honestly. I had to switch POVs because I was... miserable lol! But then I got so busy with the term that I couldn’t even write anyway! I’ve been writing it actually in the last few days, and it’s going okay! This book is kind of torture to write sometimes because I am actually incapable of not hating or disliking the writing??? Sometimes I’m not even actively trying but my brain is like no u hate this! Like today, I wrote a good chunk of it, was like this prose?? gross lol, but I’ve made it a policy not to let that mindset stop me from writing because it has done so in the past, and when I go back, the writing is fine, and it was all my shaky perception. This is the only project this happens for??? Don’t know why!

The reason there aren’t any updates for FH is because I haven’t finished the next chapter yet, haha, it’s been months haha university as a writing major hahahahhaa

But here are some recent excerpts if you’re interested!

I wrote this at the very beginning of term. Lonan hitchhikes in the car of Lydia, who’s just picked her children up from school:

They stopped fifteen minutes later at a hospital in Portland. The children were mostly excited about its in-house pizza parlour called Zekes, which blinked in neon red letters. Esther and Jensen barrelled toward the revolving door while Lonan fumbled for his seatbelt, and in the end it was Lydia who had to click the release for him. When the grey belt slinked across his chest, back into its holder, he stared at her for a moment—how her red curls haloed in the sun, how a blot of ink stained her index finger (a paralegal, she could’ve been, a teacher, an accountant) how she smiled, this stranger who trusted him, her face this wide, unsuspecting plane—and then he sobbed.

Not sure if I’ve shared this already? But this is Lonan seeing his ex-girlfriend Glenne for the first time in a while:

She was filling two plastic bottles at the motel’s water fountain when he pulled up. The image of her this suspension of ink-soaked particles. She could’ve been a photograph, bent over the metal box, one hand dialled around the fountain nob, the other guiding a bottle to the greedy blip of water. The sun had settled like a yolk in the sky, frescoed her cheeks in persimmon. This is the same image Lonan stared at as he fumbled into the parking lot, mesmerized, trying to distinguish pixel from skin cell.

Glenne was smaller than he’d remembered, something new about her. Maybe a slyness, or a decomposition, or both. She wore a bleached grey pair of cotton overalls and no shoes. Against the mahogany motel door her blonde hair sparked. A woman on fire as she noticed him, her hands jerking so suddenly, the bottle she was filling disengaged from the tap and the contents splashed to the floor.

(TW: gore) I wrote this in a writing sprints weeks ago where Lonan in this chapter’s fictive present is in this super disconnected space to the point where he *tries (doesn’t really get that far lol) to kill Harrison with a butter knife??

Slit or swan. The knife across his throat like a block of Jenga reslotting. Him in the fridge lightbulb’s reflection, staring at a sealed block of gouda. It would be so easy, his arterial spray like the rays of water splaying the motel’s walkway. Him unsure when the pigment of the cheese’s red wax begins to come from him. Slit or swan. The refrigerator’s hum like the drone of cars dicing the freeway just beyond the parking lot. Remember it. That noise like caribou running.

I also wrote this during that writing sprint and LOVE the radio commentator’s dialogue:

Across the room, Glenne leaned over the nightstand, fiddling with the clock radio. In bursts, what could be heard from the room was this: the microwave whirring, then a jab of 6 o’ clock news, the microwave beeping, then a blast of electropop, the microwave slamming, then a radio host saying Tell me why I should care about almonds, Eileen, literally, tell me why. The microwave beeped again, then finally, a lick of violins pulsed through the speakers.

Wrote this description either today or yesterday??? what is time (TW: body horror-ish)

So much of his face had dried violet after the crash that it was difficult to find a patch of untouched skin. His eye was still bloodshot from where Eliza had burst the ventricle, and a scattering of cuts, small, like grains of rice, constellated his temple. His hair beamed from his head in different lengths. He looked more bird than human and even then, worse than a bird.

^^ confirmation that lonan IS a bird

I also wrote this today! Lonan takes care of Glenne’s baby, Olivia and it is so PURE I cannot handle it! At one point in time, I had a separate Fostered spinoff called ALANNIS planned out where Lonan actually takes on a fatherly role of Olivia who would be older at that point (he’s in his late 20s, I think she was like 7 or 8??) and so it’s so fantastic to see this role come to fruition here since I never thought it would!

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his heart, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds.

just imagine my terrifying bird man carrying this lil munchkin it’s SO CUTE!!

working on this chapter right now, so hopefully I’ll finish it and update you soon! <3

#asks #fostered

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nitewrighter · 4 years ago

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Heya, Mun!! :Dc

I absolutely adored the Thing fic with the fankids!!! And I was wondering if there would be a continuation/part 2/sequel to that fic? Or was the gang's leaving through the elevator them leaving to safety? I was just imagining them just unwittingly sinking deeper into the bowels of that lab for more terrifying encounters! I hope you're doing well!!! :DDD

(Referring back to this fic)

The elevator was supposed to be them going up to safety, but I think followup would be interesting...

----

Winston, Jack, Mei, and Mercy were all seated at the conference table, opposite of Marti, Aedan, Jaime, and Samir. A part of Aedan was relieved that the people looking at their debrief was mostly scientists, but it still made his stomach turn as Jack frowned at his tablet.

“...a blob,” said Jack Morrison, glancing up from the tablet that held the team’s debrief, “...you went into the Talon lab, and you were attacked by a blob.”

“A mass of nanites and human tissue, yes,” said Samir.

“A blob,” said Jaime.

“It’s unclear if it was attacking or attempting to communicate,” said Marti, not fully making eye contact with him. Jack’s wrinkled brow furrowed wincingly at her own words, lending further reality to the events described to him. Jaime had bullshitted him before, and Aedan and Samir both had a habit of launching off into multiple tangents that suggested muddled observation, but Marti had eyes on a mission that he could count on as his own--probably better than his own, with his age.

“Was--was this like back at Urdr, or--?” said Jack.

“You have to understand, this wasn’t a nanite amalgam,” said Aedan, “It had human DNA. In all likelihood, it had your DNA.”

“And Reyes’s,” Samir added in as Jack paled.

“So, what, this was a failed attempt before they made the woman that attacked you back in Japan?” said Jack.

“Andrea,” said Aedan.

Jack gave him an odd look, mulling over the name.

“Her name is Andrea,” said Aedan.

“From the Greek ‘Andros,’ ‘of man,’” Winston chimed in, “Quite a clever name considering her--” Jack shot a look at Winston and Winston cleared his throat.

“Yes--We’re pretty sure the lab was the site, or a site, where they were attempting to clone you and Reyes,” said Marti.

“And you said you sealed the lab behind you?” said Winston, looking at Marti.

“We could open it again, with decryption,” said Marti.

“Don’t really want to do that anytime soon though...” said Jaime.

“And you said it apparently ‘fed’ on biotics and... biomass?” said Mercy, looking at her own tablet.

“Our working theory is that it must have consumed several scientists, forcing Talon to abandon the site,” said Samir.

“If it made it out, it could spell ecological disaster for the surrounding area,” murmured Mei.

“Well, that might be dependent on how... resilient it is,” said Aedan, “I mean, just outside that lab is unforgiving snowy peaks and glacial ocean. If it has human DNA, it might be subject to similar limitations.”

“So it can be killed,” said Jack.

Aedan paled.

“If it’s sealed in the lab, it could just... starve to death on its own, right?” said Jaime.

“With the artificial aging on clones and biotics basically shutting down decomposition on the clones that were still in their amnio-tanks, it’s not actually clear how long its been down there,” said Aedan. His gaze had become fixed on the wood of the table, “But based on how it reacted to our presence...”

“I think it was hungry,” said Jaime.

Aedan could feel Mercy’s eyes on him, studious, discerning, and he wanted to shrink into his chair and disappear.

“If the lab is sealed, I think we can assume it doesn’t currently present a threat to the surrounding area,” said Winston.

“So, we just stick a pin in the secret lab in Cordillera Darwin that has a cannibalistic human-nanite blob lurking around in it?” said Jack.

“Well, we could call in Interpol,” said Winston.

Aedan tensed in his seat at the mental image of a wall of armed agents of some unknown country fixing their sights on the blob.

“We still don’t know the extent of how much Talon may have infiltrated the UN or different governments,” said Jack.

Mercy shuddered, “Just as well, if the existence of such an organism becomes mainstream knowledge, it could kick off a biological arms race. Even governments who abhor Talon’s biological experiments may see the need to create their own... projects... to try and counter it.”

“Keeping secrets never went particularly well for us, either,” said Jack.

“Mei and I could test the waters with other scientists in our correspondence,” said Mercy, “Get a gauge on how desperate other countries might be with regards to Talon’s research...”

“We could have Athena re-direct one of our satellites to send us more regular updates of imagery of the area if anything changes,” suggested Mei, “I could set up cryo-mines to stop it without too much damage to the lab...”

“If it could be frozen...” said Winston.

“if I had some samples of it... just to get a better idea of what we’re up against...” Mercy started.

“Why are we against it?” said Aedan, his voice came out as a flinch. “It didn’t ask to be made, but now we’re talking about killing it like it’s--it’s-- some sort of infection!”

“We didn’t say we would kill it,” said Winston.

“Only that it could be killed--” Aedan argued.

“It’s not an infection--” Mei started calmly.

“You said it was an ecological threat!”

“It consumes biomass---” Mei started.

“It has human DNA---” Aedan’s voice was overlapping with hers, “What, because it’s ugly? Because it’s a blob?”

“Even if it has intelligence, it’s highly likely that intelligence was also shaped by Talon’s brainwashing. If it’s smart, it could be as hell-bent on destroying us as that other cl--Andrea,” said Jack.

“But LaCroix came back from it!” said Aedan, “What, it comes into the world with no context except what Talon pumped into it and we just decide it’s a monster!? Let it be locked away in that lab or--?”

Aedan felt a hand on his shoulder and he glanced sharply over at Marti. “What?!” he snapped.

“...it tried to eat us,” said Marti.

“I--” Aedan inhaled and found his breath was short. Aedan wasn’t sure what he was arguing. He could remember the sheer terror of that thing pursuing him, the sheer horror that it came from an amnio-tank like he did. For a few mad flailing seconds he wondered if this was some instinct his mother implanted in him--an unconscious kinship with the monstrous, some mental building block for the world she wanted to build--no, no, too much speculation, too much spiraling. “I’m emotionally compromised,” Aedan said, standing up, “If you require further details on the debrief, you can call me but--I--I need some air.”

“Aedan--” Samir started as he stood up but Aedan was already out the door.

“...so... putting a pin in it?” said Winston, after a long pause.

----

David Bowie’s ‘Quicksand’ warbled through Aedan’s earbuds as he listened to the song on his comm and sat on the small bench in the Watchpoint garden. Aedan closed his eyes and took in the smell of upturned earth and orange blossoms on the ocean air. The sunlight glowed red through his eyelids, but he opened his eyes as he felt a shadow pass over him and startled slightly to see Mercy blocking the sun. He tensed a bit. “...is... there something you need, Doctor Ziegler?” he said warily.

“May I sit?” said Mercy.

Aedan scooted over and she took a seat next to him on the garden bench. A long silence passed between them.

“You know, we planted that olive tree over there when Rei was born,” Mercy said, pushing brightness into her voice and pointing at an olive tree with some canvas spread beneath it to catch the falling olives.

“Yes, she, um... told me when she gave me the tour,” said Aedan.

“Oh,” said Mercy. And they sat in silence a while longer. Aedan couldn’t recall a time when Mercy had ever actively sought him out, and she seemed too awkward to have any malice in her actions--not that it was really in character for her to go out of her way to be malicious to him, but he knew his presence in general made her uncomfortable, especially with regards to Rei. Mercy clasped her hands together in her lap.

“Aedan--” she started.

“Look--” Aedan started speaking at the same time but he caught himself and glanced down, “Sorry. You go first.”

“I... wanted to apologize for that debriefing,” said Mercy, “Of course it was standard procedure that those on the mission be present, and given the nature of the mission, it was important that you were there, but we should have taken more care.”

“I know... time sensitive,” said Aedan, slouching his elbows onto his knees.

“And... I apologize for the precedent I’ve set in how I’ve treated you,” said Mercy.

Aedan blinked. “What?”

“You threw all security and your entire future with Talon away to save Rei, but I still viewed you as a potential threat to us for months,” said Mercy.

“Well... that’s fair,” Aedan said a little helplessly, not really sure what to say, “I mean, given the history with LaCroix---”

“And we all rationalized it as that for all that time when it must have been incredibly lonely to you,” said Mercy.

“I was scared of it, too,” Aedan blurted out.

“What?” said Mercy.

“I--I was scared Mum put something in me. Something in my head. Some unconscious set of automatic orders that I would follow just when we’d all let our guard down,” his breath shook a little, “I even looked for it--Master Zenyatta helped me search for it in my head--some Shambali hypnosis thing--but it wasn’t there. But a part of me’s still scared of it,” Aedan threaded his thin fingers into his red hair, “Zenyatta said, maybe this fear is some... manifestation of having this-this consciousness just... propped up within me all at once. Like... I don’t have... the physical chronology so my brain keeps thinking there has to be something more and then jumping to the worst conclusion---” he curled his knuckles against his forehead, “Seeing that thing in that lab--Mum made me to prove that nanite organisms can survive infancy--and once Talon knew they could do that, they just started making....” His other hand unconsciously went over the point on his solarplexus where Andrea’s fist had torn out of him, “They just... started making...” He drew a steadying breath before letting his hand drop from his solarplexus.

He felt a gentle hand on his back and his head jerked over to look at Mercy. She was looking at him gently.

“I don’t know what I could say that could comfort you,” Mercy said quietly, “I wish I did.”

“Honestly I’m still kind of processing the fact that you’re even listening to me right now,” said Aedan.

Mercy snorted. “Fair,” she said with a slight nod before looking over at him, “Have you... mentioned any of this to Rei?”

“I’ve heaped enough clone hangups on her,” muttered Aedan, “And she’s scared enough about Mnemosyne nearly being used on her back in Urdr without me adding my anxieties to the list.”

“You shouldn’t think like that,” said Mercy.

“Like what?”

“Making yourself smaller and living with a problem rather than working through it,” said Mercy, “But... you could talk to me, or Genji, or Zenyatta about it. There was a time when Genji had a lot of anxieties about how human he was, as well.”

“Oh--Uh, thank you,” said Aedan, honestly more than a little intimidated at the prospect of talking to Rei’s father.

“You’re a part of this team, and you’ve proven that plenty of times,” Mercy went on, “And... we wanted you in that debriefing not just because you were on the mission, but I think... we thought you might know better than anyone how to deal with..”

“A giant cannibalistic human tissue nanite blob that we’re not even sure is sentient?” said Aedan.

“Yes,” Mercy caught herself, “But I don’t mean ‘deal with’ like--”

“I understand,” said Aedan. He paused, “I--I don’t want to kill it. Or hurt it. Not unless we have to, and not until we understand it more.”

“I agree,” said Mercy.

“Maybe it could even help you find that cure for Reyes,” Aedan mentioned offhandedly.

Mercy gave him a slightly shrewd look.

“I knew it crossed your mind,” said Aedan, he caught himself, “But--it can’t be a lab rat, either...” his voice trailed off a little, ��I wonder if it’s in pain right now...Maybe it had been down there so long, the nanites in it couldn’t distinguish between loneliness and hunger...”

A softness filled Mercy’s eyes and she tilted her head at him slightly.

“What?” said Aedan.

“You know... your mother was always trying to push humanity to something... beyond human. I just think it’s very special that you try to see humanity in what we don’t understand.”

Aedan scratched at his temple blankly, weighing her words for a few long seconds. “Uh... thank you.”

Another pause passed between them, not uncomfortable, but both ruminating on passing over a threshold of mutual discomfort into a sort of cautious familiarity.

“Does loneliness sometimes feel like hunger to you?” said Mercy, her brow crinkling slightly with some amused curiosity, “With your nanites?”

“Well, I don’t know if the connection is that direct, but sometimes I feel them... perking up when I’m with Rei, and I wonder if they’re responding to the biotics her body naturally--” Aedan realized he said the words ‘perking up’ and ‘her body’ regarding Rei to Rei’s mother, instantly caught himself, and noted that Mercy’s face had shifted from gentle curiosity to maternal alarm. He cleared his throat. “Er--I mean... it’s probably psychosomatic---It’s not like I feel the same around a biotic rifle---That is---nanites are--You know what? I’m going to stop talking.”

“Mm,” Mercy forced a nod, “Yes. I think this is a good point to stop.”

“Good talk?” said Aedan.

“Good talk,” Mercy huffed before standing up.

“And--Doctor Ziegler?” Aedan said as Mercy started to walk away. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Thank you,” said Aedan, “Really.”

Mercy smiled a little.

#moiraspawn #spiderbyte kid #mchanzo kid #symmarah kids #reidan

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daraanna · 4 years ago

Text

Dziady

Disclaimer: I don’t own Naruto nor Boruto, Masashi Kishimoto does. Also I don’t own Dziady part II written by Adam Mickiewicz. Fic is strongly inspired by this drama, it includes some quotes from it clumsily translated into English, written in this fic in Italic type.

Rate: T I guess... but it get a little bit gore.

.....................

Ciemno wszędzie, głucho wszędzie, co to będzie? co to będzie?

...................

She knew she shouldn't have agreed to do it. When Boruto suggested they spend the Halloween as a team together a week ago, she declined. She did not like this holiday. She didn’t like sweets as well as the spooky atmosphere. Unfortunately he was so annoying that in the end he convinced her, also he promised that they would spend the whole evening in Mitsuki's apartment. She had no other plans for the day, Cho-cho was on a mission, Mom was on shift in hospital all night, and Dad wasn't in the village either.

She agreed, now she regretted it. Forced to bargain with an old woman selling food from all over the world, because to apparently Mistuki she can't imagine a party without some dumplings from the Land of Fields.

....................... Darkness everywhere, silent everywhere, what will happen? What will it happen?

........................

Boruto couldn't contain his excitement. He had been planning this evening for a long time.

Mitsuki showed him a scroll a month ago, he found it while visiting his parent in Oto. This scroll allows its owner to summon the souls of dead. The text was in a strange language, but his blue-haired teammate claimed he could decode it. The young Uzumaki immediately got the idea to use it at the Halloween party, they planned with Inojin and Shikadai. Unfortunately Team 10 received a long mission just before the end of October. Therefore, from the boys party, they decided to turn it into an evening of deepening the ties in their team. The problem was that Sarada hated horrors. He was really surprised when she finally agreed to come.

He and Mitsuki prepared the room. All furniture was pushed against the wall, making as much space as possible on the floor. They placed a large stone in the centre of the room. (The blonde had no idea where his friend got it from, but he preferred not to ask.) Sitting down next to him, he took the items needed for the ritual out of his pocket. Linen yarn, a wreath that Himawari helped him to make from herbs and flowers from their garden, and food that Hinata prepared for them.

"Um ... You got ..." He began to ask a question when the golden-eyed boy put a bottle of vodka next to him. Boruto almost jumped in nervousness, if his mother found out he would kill them. “How did you get it?”

“Hn? It was not difficult ...”replied the snake boy with creepy smile.

They heard a knock on the door. The blond was the first to open. Sarada stood in the corridor irritated with the box in her hand. The boy smiled letting her inside.

"I knew you would get them," he sighed, scratching his head

“I hope it would be worth it” she replied, setting the box with food on the counter in the small kitchen. She was dressed in civilian clothes, a red dress that slightly resembled her disguise during their mission in Hozuki's castle. He couldn't help but think she looked cute. Uchiha went to the living room to greet the host. Her gaze scanned the room.

“Don't say you're planning a horror marathon?” She asked, trying to hide her anxiety.

"We have much better ideas," replied Mitsuki, pulling out the scroll. However, at that moment the eyes of the black-haired girl stopped at the bottle of alcohol.

“You must be kidding !? There's no way we're having a libation here! Where did you get it from !?”she shouted, moving towards the exit.

“It's not like that!”blue-eyed grabbed her wrist. “We will not drink it is for something else ...”

“ Sure, for what? Are we going to wash the oven?”

“No, we will summon ghosts “ blue-haired joined the discussion. Sarada looked at him in shock.

"It's part of the ritual that Mitsuki found while his visit in Oto, we want to try it out," said the blond. She looked at them in shock as if they were crazy. Finally, she took her hand away from her friend's grip as she walked towards the door.

“I'm coming home. You two do whatever you want!” her hand touched the door handle when she heard Uzumaki’s voice.

“I told you that she will get scared” he said to their friend, but loud enough for her to hear it. She froze, because although it was true that she was afraid, she could not give him that satisfaction and admit it.

“I'm not afraid”a few steps she was again by his side “I will stay”

"Are you sure?" Orochimaru's son asked in a serious tone.”Once the ritual begin, it cannot be interrupted, nor can anyone leave the room.”

She swallowed involuntarily.

"I'm sure," she replied, trying to sound confident.

.................... Darkness everywhere, silent everywhere, what will happen? What will happen? .................. As they sat down around the stone, Mitsuki unfolded the scroll and began to read.

"Close the door to the room, turn off the lights and cover the windows, don’t let the moonlight get here," he said in a sublime tone.

“You could have said that before we sat down ...” Boruto sighed heading towards the door.

"It's part of the ritual," the boy replied.

“ What to do with the cat?“ asked Uchiha, who, while covering the curtains, found him sleeping on the radiator.

“I think it will be safer to move him to the kitchen” she did as he said. Cat struggled a bit, but at the sight of his food, he forgot about his warm lair.

When the room was completely dark and catless, playing the role of a sorcerer, Mitsuki spoke again.

“Darkness everywhere, silent everywhere, what will happen? What will happen?” “You told us to cover everything ...”

"That's part of the ritual you have to repeat after me ..." he sighed, but the other two obediently repeated.

In the darkness, Sarada could hardly refrain from activating her sharingan, convinced that her friend was about to do something to scare her. She clenched her hands into fists to stop them from trembling, at this point Uzumaki moved closer to her and leaning slightly towards her, he whispered with a mocking smile “Do not worry I will save you from ghosts.”

She answered him with a "Tch". Still she feeling a bit more confident in having him closer. Of course, she couldn't admit it.

“The soul on the other side, with unfinished matters, wanting to contact the living, we conjure you, invite you to the Forefathers' Eve! - shouted Mitsuki - Put the yarn on a stone and set it on fire” he instructed his friends.

They did so, the flame swept over the yarn quickly and went out. It was dark again in the room. They were sitting in silence when suddenly two beams of light appeared at the ceiling. Sarada let out a small sigh, but as the lights landed on the stones, they turned into two children. The scream rip through the room. Before she had time to realize what was going on, she was in the grip of the scared blonde.

“They are real ghosts!” He stumbled, looking away from them.

"Well, that's what we do, we summon the spirits ..." she replied, trying not to laugh. Despite the fact that she was scared herself, she felt a growing curiosity in her.

“I wasn't expecting this to work!”

“I do not believe that my grandson is such a coward” said red-haired girl.

“Oh Kushina, we surprised them. You also did not expect that we would visit today the world of the living ... - replied the blue-eyed boy who looked very similar to Boruto. “It is a really interesting justu, we can��t get physical contact with anything except food , and it also took us here in a compact version ...

“I can’t be eleven, who saw it, be younger than your own grandson” Uzumaki sighed.

“It will pass with the first cock crowing, in order to return to the afterlife you must eat mustard seed- said Mitsuki.

“Don't talk to them so calmly, who are you anyway?” Asked the son of the Hokage, still clutching to Sarada, who tried to soothe him by gently stroking his head.

“Isn't it obvious? Though you probably won't guess, just like my Naruto. I am your grandmother Kushina Uzumaki, and this is your grandfather Minato Namikaze ...” explained the ghost girl.

The boy looked at them in shock.

“ Fourth? “ asked the surprised brunette.

The former Hokage ghost smiled at her.

“Who are you? Are my grandson's girlfriend?”he asked.

“No way!” both of them shouted in response, quickly pushing themselves away from each other.

“Heh? Last time I didn’t guessed right too” gost sighed.

“No no. This time there is something in it ...” the red-haired girl joined in.

“So what were you planning on getting into our world?” Mitsuki interrupted them.

“Actually, the only thing I wanted is to see is my grandchildren and daughter-in-law, maybe we can visit the village too?” Kushina exchanged look with her husband.

“I think we will have enough time for it ...“ he replied “We only have to leave immediately” he added, looking at his grandson “I believe that our son raised you well, but if I could give you some advice, it will be that it is worth fighting for love.”

“It's also worth not to be too stubborn, you don't need kidnapping to notice that you love someone!” his grandmother added before they both turned into beams of light and disappeared from the room.

"Hn ... I didn't even have to talk them out," the blue-haired man was surprised.

“Uh ... What was this advice supposed to be?” Uzumaki asked strongly flushed.

However, no one answered him. Mitsuki was busy with another spell, and black-haired was too blushed to even looked in his direction.

“Souls of purgation, who for their sins end up chained to this world, if we can shorten the torture a bit to of any of you! “ said the boy pouring alcohol into the bowl which he put on the stone, then threw a match into it. Goblet was immediately caught in the fire which quickly spread. A hand emerged from inside, looking like a zombie from a horror films. Moments later, a grown man appeared from the flame. His body was in a state of partial decomposition, his clothes was torn. Both Boruto and Sarada moved as far away from him as possible, even Mitsuki backed away a few steps.

“Who are you?” Asked the summoner.

“You don't know me !? I was once the second most important person in this village, I was to be appointed the sixth Hokage! My name is Danzô Shimura” at the sound of his name, Uchicha felt a chill. She was terrified, and yet she felt a disgust towards the man and a strong rage that she could not explain. Suddenly, crows, owls, and eagles and other birds emerged from the flame. The animals pounced on the spirit, tearing his clothes and rip his flesh with their claws.

“What do you need to get to the afterlife? We have food, drink, herbs! ”Orochimaru's son shouted, trying to continue the ritual.

The man just laughed, a dry laugh.

“The only thing that can save me is the mercy shown me by someone against whom I have sinned. You can't do anything for me ...” his eyes fell on Uchiha, who unintentionally activated hers sharingan.

“ YOU! Give me something to eat!” He shouted pointing his finger at her. Another wave of emotions rolled through her body. Fear, despair, hatred all so intense as if it did not come from her, but from thousands of people. She felt breathless.

Danzo took a step towards her, but then Boruto stood between them with a kunai in his hand.

"Mitsuki, we have to break it somehow!", He shouted at his friend who was nervously searching through the text on the scroll.

"The only thing we can do to send back is to fulfil his demands," the boy replied reluctantly.

" Why is it supposed to be Sarada??" The blonde snarled, covering his friend with his body.

"I must be forgiven ..." the impatient spectre replied, and then birds surrounding him began to attack it even more intensely.

“F-for what? What have you done?” Black-haired girl asked, still trying to calm down.

“If you don't know that, then you shouldn't ask ... Do you really think I deserves such a fate? Eternal hunger and flesh tearing !?”

The girl stiffened, no one seemed to deserve such a fate after all and how could she judge a man she didn't know. She stood up carefully, taking the bowl of rice. Slowly she stretched her hand toward the wraith, trying to stop her from trembling. But as soon as she got close to the man, one of the crows, turned into a boy who gripped her wrist tightly enough to stop her but not that hard that it would hurt her. He was not much older than them, he had curly black hair with black feathers tangled between them, and his fingernails resembled the claws of a bird of prey. His eye sockets were empty, but even so, she felt as if he was looking into her soul. Surprisingly, she was not afraid of him.

"He doesn't deserve your mercy" he said in a calm voice. All she could do was nod. She her knees feel weak. The crow-man carefully helped her sid in her place next to Boruto, before turning to the former ANBU leader. His aura immediately became sinister.

“You don't like starving? But do you remember how hungry for power and honors of the Hokage title, by deception you took my sight away to condemn my relatives and me to death? How did you took away the only chance to resolve the conflict without bloodshed? How did you use the child of our clan and sentence him for the fate of a murderer and traitor? You knew no mercy! ”He moved closer to Danzo with every word he spoke. Then a scream came out of the birds' throats in sync with the boy's voice.

“Hey owls, eagles and crows, we also have no mercy! Let us tear the food into pieces, and if the food won’ be enough, let's tear the body into pieces. Let the naked bones shine!”

Another bird turned into a human. A boy with gray hair wearing an owl ANBU mask. He grabbed the former Hokage candidate’s arm with his claws, tearing his skin and muscles apart.

“You don't like starving? And do you remember how you trained the Konoha orphans for your own use? How did you condemn them to fratricidal duels in the name of creating obedient and emotionless soldiers? You knew no mercy!

“Hey owls, eagles and crows, we also have no mercy! Let us tear the food into pieces, and if the food won’ be enough, let's tear the body into pieces. Let the naked bones shine!”

Echoed the rest of the herd, throwing herself at the ghost. They pecked and scratched his body. His screams of pain spread across the room. Team Seven stared in shock at the cruel scene that lasted until it was only a skeleton than left from his body. Then all the ghosts disappeared in the fire they came from. It was completely dark again in the room. The blond looked shocked at the empty cup. A soft sob fill the silence. His gaze shifted to his friend, he instinctively embraced her and pulled her into his arms.

"Mitsuki, what the hell was that?" He turned to the blue-haired boy.

“I did not foresee this ...” he explained, preparing the wreath for the next ritual.

“What are you doing!? Do you want to continue after something like this?“ Uzumaki growled.

“If we don't finish now, we can hit the afterlife too ...”

“WHAAAT?!”

“ I said when we start, there will be no turning back ...”

"No way! You see what it led to?" He asked, hugging the black-haired girl tighter.

"It's alright," Sarada sighed, wiping her tears and sitting down in her seat. "Let's continue ...”

Boruto pouted slightly as the girl moved away from him, but he was glad that he was feeling better now. Still, he still didn't release her right hand, just in case she was scared again ... not that he liked her or something ...

Mitsuki lit the wreath and, stretching his hand over it, began to recite: “ Oh holy weed...”

Uchiha rebuked the blonde with her eyes. The boy scratched the back of his head silently swearing that they had not brought any illegal substances with them.

“With your power I invoke a soul that is stuck between two worlds, that have raised too high for the world of men, but sill too low for the world of gods!”

The flame above the flowers turn blue, which spread around the room as moonlike aura. A beautiful woman with long white hair and horns resembling rabbit ears appeared on the stone.

“Is that ... “- blue-eyed began, but the spirit interrupted him.

"My name is Kaguya ... The princess of this planet. You should know me," she said as she surveyed the three genins with her Byakugan.

“Well, this time, I actually exaggerated, the last time she was summoned, the world almost ended ...”

"Mitsuki?!" His teammates spoke simultaneously

“Do not be afraid, in this form I cannot hurt you ...“ the goddess replied, staring at the right hand of Uzumaki “Bloody Momoshiki ... I guess, this is not the last time we meet... Who knows, maybe my children will call me back from with all my strength ...”

“Why would we do this? You wanted to destroy our planet! ”Sarada replied.

The rabbit princess looked at the still folded hands of Uchiha and Uzumaki.

"I loved this planet and its inhabitants ... Unfortunately, they betrayed me and I had to punish them, but nevertheless I hate my clan even more than you humans ... My scrolls are still on the moon. The children of Ashura and Idrra should be able to handle it ... " she said and disappeared the same way she appeared, leaving Team 7 in consternation.

The ritual leader looked at the scroll again.

"Basically it's the end ... we just have to put the rest of the food out the door for the lesser spirits," said Orochimaru's son and throwed the contents of the bento prepared for them by Hinata through the window.

"Mitsuki!" moaned pitifully blonde, and a lonely tear ran down his cheek. If only his mom found out about it, she would kill him! “That’s the end of Forefathers' Eve” The boy replied opening the curtains. The first rays of sun broke into the room. The other two genins get busy cleaning up the rest of the food when the figure of a young man with long black hair gathered in a ponytail appeared on the stone altar.

Noticing him, the Boruto let out a scream.

“Strange this should not happen ... Certainly not during the day ...” blue-haired boy sighed, grabbing his chin ”What do you need spirit?”

However, the ghost said nothing, just stood looking straight at Sarada. Despite the strangeness of the scene, she felt no fear. On the contrary, the presence of this soul filled her with peace and warmth combined with longing.

“You said it was over!“ the blue-eyed snarled to his friend.

“It should be ... What do you need? Food? Drink? Answer, or get be lost!”

However, the spirit absolutely ignored them, taking a step towards the young Uchiha.

“Mitsuki!”

In desperation, Orochimaru's son grabbed one of the dumplings and threw it at the ghost. Food bounced off his cloak, but juts look irritated at them and continued his walk.

“Impossible ... He resisted the pieróg ... This soul is too powerful!”

“What? What is that supposed to mean? We have to do something! Sarada, why aren't you running away from him?“ young Uzumaki started to panic.

"I think ... I think I know him ..." she replied, and the ghost smiled slightly at her. His eyes reminds her of her father's, although the ghost was perhaps a meter away, she did not move away from him. She didn't flinch as he reached out and gently tapped her forehead and disappeared. Moments after that, she felt someone grab her tightly by the arms.

“Sarada? Hey can you hear me? What did he done to you ?!” Boruto's face get too close to her as he pulled her into his arms, but she could see how worried he was.

“Everything is okay” she replied embracing his face so that he looked at her and stopped panicking.”I'm fine ...” she added yawning.

"It's 5 in the morning what you say for a little nap, before you get back home I have a lot of space on the couch, the carpet is also quite comfortable," suggested Mitsuki.

“It's a good idea ... after all, it was supposed to be a sleepover...” Uchiha replied, because the blonde was still too busy being nervous to answer.

The host left the room to get the blankets from the wardrobe in the hall. However, pulling them out turned be more difficult than he expected. While the shelves with the scrolls from his parent, was kept a spotless order, the closet was in a complete mess. When he finally managed to pull them out, Mikazuki's rubbed against his legs, and started to scratch the door of the apartment. The boy sighed and putting down what he had in his hands opened them for him. The cat looked at him and then at the door, again at him without moving a bit. The blue-haired rolled his eyes and wanted to close the door when the kitten decided to get out. When he finally returned to the room, he found his friends on the couch. Boruto was leaning against the back of the furniture with one hand wrapped around Uchiha’s waist. Sarada was leaning against his shoulder, hugging his torso. They both slept soundly. Mitsuki covered them with a blanket and took a photo with the camera his parent had given him for the second anniversary of the living outside the incubator. He looked at the photo smiling wide.

“Maybe they are not canon yet, but they are definitely my OTP...”

....................................................................................................

So... I missed Halloween, but writing this turned to be much harder that I thought it, will be.

Also writing this I based the description of rite on drama, and didn’t do a lot of research about the actual ceremony... I’m sorry If I write something wrong way. Naprawdę nie chciałam obrażać rodzimowierców słowiańskich, przepraszam jeśli to zrobiłam.

Also I want to apologie to high school lecture teacher, I know she won’t read it, but I know she would kill me, if she did XD

#sarada uchiha #boruto #boruto uzumaki #Mitsuki #borusara #Dziady AU #because why not #halloween #but i'm late #tried too #Kaguya (Naruto)#danzo shimura #kushina uzumaki #minato namikaze #pierógXD

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solynaceawrites · 4 years ago

Text

King of Nothing [1]

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins Relationship: Estarossa/Original Female Character(s), Estarossa Moth Characters: Estarossa, Original Female Character(s), Moth, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Romance, Established Relationship, Angst, Drama, Dubious Consent, Violence, Murder, Fantasty, Sex, Rough Sex Chapters: 1/5 co-written by @lickitysplitfic Summary: As a trial from her mother, Moth and Estarossa are sent to a kingdom to oversee a peace treaty. Upon arrival, they realize that the new king is a brutal tyrant, and a battle of wits ensues as Moth tries to decided between doing her duty or doing what she thinks is right. Part 5 of the Dark Side of the Moon series.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Moth leans out the window of the carriage with a deep frown. The palace looms before them, shining gold in the sunlight as they draw to a stop. There are a few calls from the footman and driver that are answered by the guard before the gate is slowly lowered with a loud creak.

"Think he's compensating?" Estarossa jokes.

Moth makes a face, about to chide him for such an obvious joke when she looks up. On the tops of the spikes of the gate there are dozens of heads in various states of decomposition. Her mouth drops open in horror as the carriage jerks into motion, and she quickly moves back onto her seat, shutting the curtain tightly.

"What is it?" asks Estarossa.

"This place," she murmurs. "It's awful."

He shrugs. "I don't know. Weather seems nice."

"Rossa," Moth hisses. "Did you not notice? The people are thin, almost starving. Their homes are little more than mud. The children are dirty. There are beggars everywhere."

"True. But we only saw a bit of the kingdom."

Moth rolls her eyes. "Yet the bit we saw has only proven the rumors of how the people are destitute." She wraps her arms around herself. "How can someone rule a kingdom and allow that to continue? How can you call yourself a king while your subjects starve?"

"I don't know. The soldiers seemed fed enough."

She shoots him an unamused look. "This isn't funny."

Estarossa sighs. "You're right, it's not. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, hm? You're here to oversee a peace agreement, not right the wrongs of a powerful monarch."

"He is only human," she scoffs.

"A human with an army," he reminds her. “And we’re not here to pass judgment on how he rules, no matter how much you or I might disagree. Leave them alone and focus on this agreement so we can get back to our lives.”

She bites her tongue, not wanting this to devolve into another round of bickering between them. Neither she nor Estarossa wanted to come here, particularly not when they were planning a simple excursion to the lakeshore to relax for a few days, and that and the fact that they came by boat has left both of them so irritable that simple conversations are leading to heated arguments. Moth sits against the cushions, folding her hands in her lap and pretending that she is in a cozy little cottage, or perhaps next to the lake with a glass of wine and a good book.

Anywhere but here.

When the carriage finally draws to a halt, the footman opens the door and helps her step down. Looking around only fuels her agitation. Everywhere are signs of opulence: the grass is lush and well-watered, the trees and bushes bear fragrant blossoms, and there's even a small gathering of peacocks resting by a little pond. Her lips twitch as she waits for Estarossa to join her, and she does her best to ignore his low whistle.

"He's definitely compensating," Estarossa remarks.

Moth shoots him a glare, but says nothing as she follows the footman inside. In the foyer, he pauses, turning to address them with an apologetic bow. "His Majesty regrets to inform you that he is preoccupied, and will be so until tomorrow. A matter of great importance has arisen that he must tend to."

"Uh-huh." Estarossa frowns. "And what are we to do until he is not . . . preoccupied?"

"There are quarters prepared for you where you may bathe and rest," the footman offers.

Moth glances to the grand doors on the right. "Certainly," she bites out. "Lead the way."

The castle is just as beautiful as she had feared. Moth calculates in her head the cost of so much marble and the people that must be paid to maintain the sparkling cleanliness of the floors and tapestries. Of course, when a king uses slave labor, none of those costs matter. Is that what he's done, she wonders?

Outside of their room stands a man who introduces himself as the steward. "Greetings, sir. I wanted to make sure your quarters are to your liking," he says with a smile, bowing to Estarossa.

Moth waits for him to acknowledge her, and when he doesn't, Estarossa glances down at her. "She's the queen, you know," he says. "Or about-to-be queen. Not me."

The steward makes a face, but then nods at Moth. "Very good. If you'll follow me."

The disrespect makes her skin crawl, but it's not as if she hadn't experienced this before. She decides to ignore the slight as they enter, and once again she is astonished by the room. It is covered in shining wood and marble, a huge fireplace on one wall, separate vanities for both on either side of a huge bed with an intricately carved headboard. Even Estarossa looks a bit impressed, and Moth walks through the room to look out the long, glass-paned windows before spying what looks like to be an even bigger washroom beyond.

"I hope Your Highness is satisfied?"

Moth turns to answer, but the steward is still stubbornly speaking directly to Estarossa. To her annoyance he snorts before gesturing towards the door. "It's great. Send up some wine, will you?"

"Of course." The steward shoots her a contemptuous look before he departs, and Moth, rather childishly, sticks her tongue out at his back.

"They'll never take you seriously if you do that, you know," Estarossa says blandly.

She frowns at him. "They already refuse to take me seriously," she retorts.

"So you want to give them more reasons for it?"

"Oh, excuse me for doing something harmless."

"Moth," he says, exasperated, "it's not harmless when it comes to servants. They know what goes on, even behind their backs. It's their business to. And now the steward has something to take to the king. 'The princess sticks her tongue out like a petulant child,' he'll say, and that will be the end of what little credibility you have here."

"Go blow it out your ass," she says, heading into the washroom. Estarossa laughs behind her, and her lips quirk a bit as she starts to run a bath.

The water isn't nearly warm enough, so Moth must use magic to bring it to a comfortable heat. As she soaks in the tub, she looks around at the intricate carving on the ceiling and the way the stone sparkles in the light. If the king sold even a tenth of the materials in this place he could provide grain for years to his people. So what is the problem? Merely ignorance?

Her skin is wrinkled by the time she reluctantly leaves the bath, not surprised when she finds luxuriously knitted towels for their use. She winds one around her body and heads back into the bedroom to see if their things have arrived, but stops, startled, in the doorway.

There are servants there, a half dozen, laying out an extravagant table of meat, vegetables, and fruit. The mix of smells makes her stomach rumble, but what catches her off guard is the nearly risque uniform of the servant girls. Their robes are little more than that: robes that cling to their bodies, nearly see through, and drape in such a way that Moth is sure at any moment a breast or thigh or any other body part will come spilling out.

She hesitates in the door, gaping at the display. All of them are young—the oldest can't be more than twenty—and pretty, with luscious curves. Concubines, is her first thought, then, Wait, we never heard anything about concubines. But her mind fumbles for another explanation, and when one turns to her with a bow and Moth realizes she can clearly make out her nipples through the fabric, she stops caring about why they're dressed as they are.

"Estarossa," she begins, turning to look at him. He's lounging on the bed, watching the girls unashamedly with hooded eyes, and her confusion gives way to a sting of anger with a pinch of jealousy.

One of the servants approaches her timidly. "My lady," the girl whispers, "allow me to help you dress."

Moth takes a deep breath, forcing herself to smile. "There's no need, but thank you."

"Please," the girl says, and Moth is startled by how close she sounds to tears. "Allow me to help you dress."

Another approaches, pulling her hair back. "Would you prefer this up or down?"

"I . . ."

Moth turns as a third is opening her trunks, another offering tea, another girl rubbing lotion into her skin. "Wait," Moth says, pulling away from their attention. "I can do this myself. I don't need such a fuss."

The servants look at one another in confusion. Moth glances at Estarossa, who looks like he is pretending to be asleep. "Damn it, will you help me?" she hisses.

Estarossa peeks at her out of one eye. "I'm fine here."

"You're an ass," she snaps.

“Just let them do their jobs,” he replies.

Moth heads back into the washroom, followed by the girls, and begrudgingly she lets one comb and braid her hair as the others unpack her things. She chooses a simple dress and allows them to help her into it, but when one goes down on her knees to place her shoes on Moth once again protests. "That's fine," she says, smiling at the girls. "I can take it from here."

"How else can we serve?" one asks, and the others murmur their agreement.

"Really, I'm fine," she smiles. "Would you all like something before you go?"

The servants seem confused, so she walks back to the bedroom. Estarossa is gone, but Moth decides to not bother asking as she moves to the table. There is enough food for a dozen dinners, and she gestures towards it. "You all seem so thin," she says with a small smile. "Can you take some bread for your families? Or some fruit?"

Several of the girls gasp, and three run for the door. "What is it?" Moth asks.

"We . . . we can't . . ."

"Nonsense." Moth smiles warmly and selects a small loaf holding it out to the girl that braided her hair. "Back in Cailleach, my handmaiden is a friend."

The girl shakes her head and steps away. "Okay, fine," Moth mutters, trying to maintain her smile. She moves to where her bag sits on the bed and takes out a small purse, pressing it into the hand of the nearest girl. "There should be enough for all of you," she says. "Will you share with the ones that brought the food in too, and you—"

Moth jumps as the servant gives a blood-curdling scream and runs from the room. The coins scatter on the floor as the others follow, and Moth is left gaping at the open doorway, where Estarossa now appears, leaning on the doorframe. Moth ignores him and moves to the window, peering through the glass at the kingdom below. So much opulence, and yet the servants are afraid of taking food or coin would otherwise go to waste; they are so terrified of it, in fact, that it cements the idea that had formed the moment she had seen the grotesque decorations on the castle gate. This king is a tyrant, cruel and greedy, and nothing good will come of his rule.

Bitterly, she thinks, I could always destroy this place. Surprised by the venom of her own thoughts, she shakes her head, studying the buildings that stretch into the distance. Those closest to the palace have lights shining from their windows and smoke curling from their chimneys, but the farther ones do not, as though someone drew a very clear line in the sand between the wealthy and the poor.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and when she turns she sees him sitting at the table, carefully picking through the heaping trays of food left for them.

"The servants," Moth sighs. "I tried to pay one but she . . . she just ran out of the room."

Estarossa clicks his tongue. "That was foolish of you."

"Why?" she snaps. "I can't pay for a job well done?"

"Servants aren't allowed gifts, my darling. She's probably getting a beating now, because of you," he answers. Moth stiffens at his tone, which is a mild amusement, scowling as he inspects a chocolate covered strawberry.

He takes a bite and then glances over. "And before you get it in your head to go find out, trust me, you will only make it worse. I told you to leave these people alone. They don't want your help."

"I'm beginning to think you're enjoying their suffering," she replies heatedly. "You've chafed against Cailleach's neutrality from the beginning, relying on and railing against it. Does seeing how they starve and bleed for a cruel king bring you joy? Does it scratch the itch you no longer can, away from your own kind?"

Estarossa only laughs. "This isn't how demons behave. Only humans can be this cruel."

Moth folds her arms and looks back out the window. "I can't stand by and let this go on."

There is a long pause as she watches the shadows, trying to find an answer. Her thoughts are interrupted when Estarossa's hands slide down her arms, and his lips press to her neck. He breathes her in deeply and murmurs, "Let's get this job done and go home. The sooner the better."

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Moth sends the servants away the next morning when they arrive, preferring to dress herself. That sets off another round of wailing, which wakes Estarossa up and has him grousing. "I don't know what they want from me!" she exclaims, exasperated when she finally convinces the last to go.

"Just let them do their work," he mutters. He walks to pour himself coffee from the fresh pot left on the table. "Stop getting them in trouble."

"I'm not," she hisses, but she goes to find something to wear, heat on her neck making it difficult to keep her embarrassment hidden.

They head to the great hall together where they have been invited to eat breakfast with the king. Moth tries not to examine the gold trimming on everything, the marble statues and intricate tapestries, the grandeur of the archways, the frescos on the ceilings. It is all too much, she decides, preferring the simple elegance of Cailleach, but even the finery of the palace does not prepare her for the hall.

There is a table long enough to easily sit a hundred. Silk covers it, and it is laden with food from one end to the other; Moth's mouth opens in shock, thinking this would be enough food to feed a village for a week. But there are no other guests, just them, and her stomach turns to think of it all going to waste. She looks around to see if there is a party coming, but the only other person is the king, who sits at the head of the table.

He spies them at the same time, and waves over. "Please, my honored guests, come sit," he says pleasantly. "I would stand, but I cannot at the moment."

Moth frowns at the odd statement as they approach, and they are only a few feet away when she sees why: there are two young ladies kneeling beneath the table, barely out of maidenhood, who eagerly service his cock with their mouths. "Won't you sit and break your fast with me?" the king grins, gesturing at the table.

Moth isn't even sure what the emotion that roils within her is. Estarossa must, because he takes her elbow and says something she cannot hear through the ringing of her ears to the king before helping her into her seat. Something nudges her beneath the table. One of the girls? Her suspicion is confirmed when it moves quickly away, as if afraid she will draw attention to a perceived slight.

The king is speaking—not to her, but to Estarossa—though it sounds muffled, like she has dunked her head underwater. I'll kill him, she thinks viciously, and Estarossa's eyes snap to hers as he gives a subtle shake of his head, unnoticed by their host. "Lady Alessa," the king says warmly. "I have heard much of Cailleach and your people. Tell me, are the rumors true?"

Moth forces herself to appear cordially interested. "Which rumors, Your Grace?"

"That you seduced a goddess and left him dead on the altar in favor of your demon lover."

The statement is so absurd she is struck dumb for a moment. Beside her, Estarossa bursts into laughter, his hand on her knee telling her just how fake his reaction is. "Moth, you did not tell me you cared so much as to kill a goddess for me," he laughs.

"Moth?" The king’s eyes go up as he studies her, and she swallows thickly when she sees him adjust in his seat.

"My childhood name," she says. "My consort uses it as a term of endearment."

The king smiles. He leans his elbows on the table and presses his lips to his folded hands. For a moment his eyes close, and a gasp beneath the table tells Moth all she needs to know. "Moth," he sighs, his expression pure satisfaction. "I like it."

A shiver of revulsion goes up her spine. Had he thought of her? She hopes not; the way Estarossa's fingers dig into her dress tells her that he's had the same thought, and she wonders if his tenseness stems from jealousy or something else. "You may use it, if it pleases you," she says after a moment. "My closest friends and allies do."

"I'm glad." The king sits back in his chair and snaps his fingers. The two girls quickly scurry out from under the table, both bowing deeply before hurrying from the room. "Won't you eat something?" he asks, again gesturing to the spread, as if nothing had happened.

"I'm not particularly hungry," Moth answers.

The king nods. "I imagine Cailleach must be very different, and such rich and succulent food is unsettling for a clan that eats nothing but roots and sticks."

"What?!" Moth cries.

The king laughs and shakes his head. "Just a little joke! And an unfunny one, I see. I hope I did not offend you?" He tilts his head with a smile. "You are honored guests. Just say the word and anything you want you will receive, I put my life on it."

She and Estarossa share a glance, and what she sees there has her doing her best to dissuade him through their bond. But she finds it closed, and her eyes widen when he says quite casually, "If you have anymore like that, I would appreciate their company while bathing."

The king pauses for a moment before erupting into another of those laughs that set Moth's teeth on edge. "I would hate to insult our fair Moth."

"No insult," Estarossa replies lazily. "She allows me a mortal woman or two when I have a craving for them. I can't devour her soul, after all."

Chewing thoughtfully, the king nods and shifts his attention to Moth. "And you, fair bird? Shall I send some pretty things your way, as well?"

"I am not here for pleasure, Your Grace," she says through her teeth, trying her best to sound normal. "I want to focus on the negotiations."

"Of course," he says. "I understand completely. I've arranged for my advisors to be here tomorrow at noon, and we'll begin arguments then to decide the terms of their surrender. The rebel leaders will be escorted here in a few days. Will that suit you?"

"More than." Moth does not fully understand Estarossa's game, or what he hopes to accomplish, but she can play one of her own. With a sigh, she reaches up to loosen the collar of her dress so that it exposes the column of her neck and the sweep of her collar, fanning herself with one hand. "Your kingdom is truly lovely, Your Grace, but I'm afraid I'm far more suited to colder climes. It's why I chose Prince Estarossa, you see. A warm body for cold nights."

"Ah, you do not fool me, my lady!" he teases, shaking a finger at her. "Anyone can see how very much in love you are. But it is so unusual for a witch and a demon to find such happiness. And killing a goddess for it, no less!"

"I didn't kill a goddess," she mutters.

The king frowns. "My mistake then. You certainly can never tell with rumors." He taps his lip thoughtfully. "So many nasty rumors go around about people. Especially those of us who must rule. I'm sure there are any number of stories out there about me, for instance. I shudder to think what atrocities are laid at my feet."

"I'm sure that while they may be vocal, any who dislike you are few." The lie tastes like bitter medicine in her throat despite how light she keeps her voice. "Simply look at your home! Those who serve you are pleased to do so, and eager for it, I imagine."

"I take care of my people," he replies earnestly, placing a hand on his heart. "Their welfare is my only concern. It's why I overthrew the old king, who was cruel and destructive in his old age. The mind of the elderly can warp, and his had rotted long ago."

Moth presses her lips together. "If your people are so pleased, it's a wonder there are any rebels at all."

The king sighs loudly. "Jealousy, insanity, some are simply anarchists. You cannot reason with them any more than you can reason with a dog. They must be trained. Which reminds me," He continues, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, "I understand that your servants displeased you. I'll have them taken care of immediately and new ones dispatched this evening. I have no tolerance for servants who cannot do their duties faithfully."

Estarossa sighs next to her, no doubt expecting an outburst from her. But Moth merely shakes her head, a pleasant smile firmly in place. "I was not displeased, Your Grace, rather . . . seeking a bit of privacy with my consort, if you understand."

His gaze is sharp on hers, his smile pleasant but not reaching his eyes. "Even more reason for them to be disciplined," the king replies. "They must anticipate the needs of their masters."

Before she can say anything, Estarossa chuckles. "If it does not offend, send them to us tonight. There are certain . . . acts that she prefers to watch rather than participate in, and those acts can be used as punishment in their own way."

Moth shoots him a glance, trying to reach him through the bond again, but Estarossa ignores her. Meanwhile the king erupts into laughter again. "I know we are going to get along so well!" he cries.

Moth takes a deep breath as he stands. "If you'll excuse me, I must go and see to my appointments before our meeting," the king says. Estarossa stands as he gives a respectful nod and walks out, but Moth stays seated, her hands balled into tight fists as she watches him go and fights the urge to send a dozen daggers behind him.

Once the door is closed and they are alone, Estarossa reaches for an apple, drawing a knife from within his coat to slice it. "An interesting fellow," he muses, more to himself than to her. "Would you like some?"

"I'm going to throttle you," she replies pleasantly.

He gives her a sideways look before shrugging. "Suit yourself. They're perfectly ripe, though. Be a shame to let them go to waste."

"Are you really going to—"

"Don't be ridiculous," he says, cutting her off harshly. "And don't insult me by asking that question."

Moth sighs and slumps in her chair. "I can't do this. I can't make nice like this."

"You don't have to," he replies. "I'll keep him flattered. You keep him guessing."

"Keep him guessing about what?" she gestures around them vaguely. "His head is full of rumors, he has girls suck him off while he eats. I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to keep him 'guessing' on."

"Because you're blind," he says matter-of-factly. "You always have been. Mortal men fall at your feet, and you think they've only tripped."

Moth snorts. "They're clumsy."

"Sometimes I think you must be intentionally playing naive, others I think you genuinely might be." She gapes at him as he pops a slice of apple into his mouth, closing his eyes with a hum. "Delicious."

"You're impossible," she huffs, standing to go.

Estarossa grabs her by the wrist and presses a kiss to her palm. "Perhaps," he grins, stroking his index finger along her skin. "But you love me."

Moth snorts and tugs her hand away. "I need some air," she says. "Try not to eat too many maidens while I'm on a walk, hm?"

"I'll come with you," he says, wiping his hands on a napkin, but Moth presses her hand to his shoulder. "I could use a minute to think," she says. "I'll be out on the terrace, within shouting distance. I promise."

He studies her for a moment, and then he settles back into his seat, his gaze softening. "Be careful."

With a nod, she turns and heads for the large glass doors to the back of the room. They open easily under her touch, the well-greased hinges giving not even a whisper of protest, and latch quietly back into place once she's stepped through them onto the terrace. Made of the same stone as the rest of the castle, the walkway has been decorated with potted shrubs and marble figures, and the view from it is stunning; it doesn't particularly seem to end in either direction, and Moth decides to go left, wondering if it wraps around the entirety of the castle as she paces and thinks.

It must, because mere minutes later she hears the king call her name. Breaking away from her running list of questions, she looks away from the mountains to her right as he approaches, a broad smile on his face. "Fair Moth!" he says jovially. "Good, good. I was hoping for some company on my stroll. Though I'm afraid I must ask where your demon has gotten off to?"

"Having a snack," she replies sarcastically. "I should be getting back—"

"Then allow me to accompany you," he says, holding out an arm.

Moth glances at it before squaring her eyes at him. "I'm afraid it would not be proper to be escorted by anyone other than my bonded consort," she says coolly.

The king barely masks his displeasure. "Then I suppose I will walk, and you will walk, and if some words are spoken aloud, would that be all right? I would hate to offend the Witch Clan's superstitions."

The word superstitions makes her hackles rise, and she barely keeps her pleasant expression in place. Something must feel the same way, because there's a quiet echo of a snarl that sends a chill up her spine. "But of course." Hoping that she comes across as genuine, she adds, "I meant no offense, Your Grace. I'm afraid my . . . Well, I was lost in thought and you startled me, and I reacted poorly. I hope we can put it behind us?"

"That depends on you." Moth raises her brows, but he does not offer more, only extending his hand to gesture her ahead.

They walk about a foot apart, his hands clasped behind his back as Moth keeps hers to her sides. "What is it you want, Your Grace?" she asks.

"Only to be treated fairly, Your Highness," he replies. "You see for yourself how the kingdom is thriving. I wager there is nowhere in Britannia as glorious as this palace. This kingdom will rival the Goddess and Demon Clans if I have my way. But that won't happen if my policies are undone because of a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?"

The king halts, turning to face her. "Yes. While I may jest about the rumors I have heard of you and your people, I do understand your position. The Witch Clan has always been the one to resolve disputes that the other clans cannot, whether it be ending wars or," his lips twitch slightly, "investigating the rumored cruelty of a king."

Moth raises her chin. "I know my role. I am not here as a judge, simply a mediator."

"That is reassuring," he replies. "My methods may not be the same as yours, but our people are not the same. Our histories are not the same. Our clans are not the same."

"They may not be the same, but don't we feel the same?" Moth argues. "Humans, witches, fairies, giants, demons, goddesses . . . We all want peace. We feel pain and happiness, hunger and pain, joy and tenderness. Our ways may be different but we are not so different as you assume."

The king snorts. "As you said, you are here as a mediator to negotiate the end of this war. I hope you keep that in mind during your stay. Moving away from your sworn task will surely make things . . . complicated, wouldn't you agree?"

It's a not so subtle threat, and one that she would, under normal circumstances, have no qualms about rising to. Human arrogance has a tendency to give way to terror when faced with death, she has found, and mortal bodies break very easily. But she thinks of Estarossa's warnings, and forces herself to breathe through her nose to quell as much of her rage as she can. "I would," she replies. "My only concern here is to smooth your transition and help bring peace."

"Good." They resume walking, but he stands much closer than before, so that she is uncomfortably aware of him. "If you find yourself needing company while your demon is preoccupied tonight," he murmurs, "You may seek out whoever you desire. None would deny you."

"I would never do that," she answers sharply.

The king snorts, and she swears she can feel him touch her hip, but when she turns her head his hand is once more behind her back. "Interesting thing to know about witches," he muses. "I had no idea that the men could fuck whomever they wanted while the women were subservient. I had thought having a queen would put the women in charge."

Moth is debating the merits of simply pushing him off of the terrace when Estarossa appears, his expression of concern quickly smoothing away into pleasantness. "There you are," he says. "I was beginning to think you'd grown tired of me."

"Prince Estarossa!" the king beams. "Perhaps you can answer this question for me, as it seems our lovely Moth can not or will not. Is it subservience to you that keeps her from seeking the pleasures she desires, or is it a lack of interest?"

Moth's mouth opens in shock, but what truly surprises her is when he looks as though he is thinking. "I would have to say it's my giant cock," Estarossa replies.

The king dissolves into peals of laughter, and Estarossa winks at her as he is distracted. "Let's go in and have a drink, demon," the king says. "I want to hear more about your clan now that I've learned so much about the witches. We have a bit of time before the meeting."

"But of course." Estarossa moves to her, offering an arm that she takes. When she reaches down the bond, She finds him this time, but the crack is small, as though it's only there to ease her worries.

As they walk, the king points out the different buildings in the distance, the entrance to the mines, his tone indifferent. Moth says nothing, merely listening, allowing Estarossa to offer what replies he wishes while deciding on her next course of action. The king is already suspicious. Perhaps not so much of Estarossa, who seems perfectly comfortable acting like a lech and scoundrel, but of her for certain. Meaning more secrecy. Should she play the foolish princess?

The door opens and a messenger walks in, handing a note to the king with a deep bow. He smiles when he reads it and then stands. "I must beg your leave, my queen," he says. "I have something to attend to right away. I will see you at our meeting."

"Of course."

As soon as he is gone, Moth stands and stalks for the hallway. Estarossa is on her heels, but before she can exit he pulls her by the arm. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” she confesses. “To scream at something.”

"Every time you rise to his bait, whether it be a rumor that he creates or an offer for sex, you give him more ways to undermine you, to control you."

Moth wrenches away from him. "We're leaving then. I won't let him do this."

Estarossa laughs. "We're not leaving. We're not going back to Cailleach and explaining to Nemain how this king got the better of you." He steps up to her and points a finger, tapping her forehead. "You better start thinking, Moth. Otherwise you'll be under that table before you even realize what's happened."

She gives a growl of frustration and pushes past him again, heading back for their room. Usually when Moth visits a kingdom she enjoys the tours, seeing new places, meeting people. But what would be the point here? Everything is upside down, and everyone is either miserable or fake.

She spends some time writing, which normally helps Moth organize her thoughts and get her frustrations out on paper. But nothing seems to work, and every scenario she can think of, from killing the king herself to offering the rebels her support feels wrong. She needs to know more, but the thought of walking around or talking more with the king makes her stomach churn. Above all, she just wants to go home.

Estarossa appears just before dinnertime. Moth looks up from where she sits on the bed, trying to read but unable to concentrate. “I went to the village,” he says before she asks. “The tavern has shit for ale. Let’s get out of here.”

"Until peace is here, we can't." Her voice is hard, bitter with anger and disappointment, and she scowls, unamused with his joking. "And peace will not come. The people will continue to suffer, wars will be fought, blood will be spilled. When the next king comes, if he's like this one, the cycle will continue. We never should have come here in the first place. That mortal has no interest in anything to do with me unless it involves having me in his bed."

Estarossa laughs as he slides up next to her, nuzzling her ear. "Probably."

"You think that's funny?" she snaps.

"Not at all. I feel sorry for him." His lips travel to her neck, leaving a trail of kisses. "He has no idea just how very stubborn you are."

Moth chooses to ignore his mouth on her skin. "I am finding myself to be very tired of men. Quarrelsome, bickering fools who think with their cocks and believe that having one makes them superior."

"You are absolutely right." His lips are at her jaw now, and his hands move to her hips to jerk her onto his lap. "Luckily for me, I can't be counted among them because I serve my queen."

"You certainly think like the rest of them," she says dryly. Moth climbs off of him, ignoring his protest and heading to the vanity, where she sits to brush her hair. A servant had already done it, but Moth needs something to do with her hands.

Or a king will die by them, neutrality be damned.

"Have I ever told you the tale of the Sage?" she asks.

The sound of the bed creaking tells her that Estarossa has shifted, and the tightness of his voice when he replies, "No," tells her that she's irritated him.

"Eons ago, the Sage served a King. The King was a cruel, greedy miser, but the mask he wore in public was one of a doting, compassionate man. Only the Sage and the King's wife knew of his true nature, and they despaired the day he finally turned on his people." Moth sets the brush down and starts to braid. "So, they hatched a plot. The Queen, for that was what she was, was given a knife by the Sage, coated in the vilest poison she knew of. That night, as the King fucked her, she drove it deeply into his chest."

She pauses, taking a deep breath. "But then, needing a criminal to blame, she turned on the Sage, blinding her with that same knife before banning her from the kingdom. As she left, the Sage cursed her. All of her children would be monsters in mortal guise, just as their father had been."

Estarossa chuckles darkly. "I can't wait until we have children. You have such lovely bedtime stories."

Moth shoots him a look over her shoulder. "Why can't you support me in this? I know these people are helpless, but I want to do something!"

His eyes go darker, and she feels the swirl of his magic from across the room. There is also something in their bond, something sharp, as if he is tugging to get her full attention. "I'm here to protect you," he says carefully. "to keep you alive, to give my life for yours if I must. Not for these people. You are my life. Not a kingdom too stupid to know it is dying by its own hand."

She does not know if the fury that blinds her suddenly is directed at him, herself, her mother for sending them here, the king, or all of them. What she does know, a split second too late, is that she has teetered too closely to hatred. While Estarossa's decree cannot drain her like it does him thanks to the protection their bond gives them from each other, it still makes her nauseous, and the room spins as she puts her head in her hands.

"This place will ruin us," she says, her voice choked. "Even if we survive it, I will hate you for refusing to help them."

He is at her side in an instant, scooping her up and carrying her to the bed. Moth wants to fight him but feels too weak, turning her face away when he lays her against the soft pillows. A moment later he presses a cold rag to her forehead, and it is soothing as the nausea fades. "I love you, Moth," he says quietly. "I hate to see you suffer."

"I hate to see others suffer," she whispers.

"I know. It is a part of you I admire most." Moth glances at him as he presses the cloth to her cheek. "You possess more than this king. You have a job to do, but you do have the power to change things, even if it's not the way you want. Use the negotiations to expose what you can, and craft agreements to ease their pain. If anyone can do it, it's you."

She has nothing to say to that. Estarossa places the rag onto the table next to her before removing his shirt and trousers, holding her tightly once he has settled behind her in the bed. He murmurs quietly to her until he falls asleep, but despite the warmth of him and the steady lull of his breathing, rest eludes her. Her mind is too awake, too aware. Estarossa had called her a wolf earlier, a reminder of her place as a soldier, but what he does not know—or does not want to see in his belief that there is little darkness to her at all—is that she has muzzled herself here.

Had she come alone, without him, she would have simply done what witches always do to those who torture the less fortunate. The king’s heart carved out, his eyes placed into a box and given to the next in line as a reminder of what could befall them one day. Fear, to keep the peace, because that, too, is a form of neutrality, a little rebellion against the Nameless God's edict that he either allows or does not care about.

Yet Estarossa has also called her a fox: wily, clever, quick. and Moth knows that is what he wants her to be now. Immovable, unshakeable, working slyly behind the scenes to ensure the best possible outcome for this kingdom. But how?

#nnt #nanatsu no taizai #estarossa #nnt oc #alessa kevrim #moth #estarossa/moth #estamoth #nnt fanfic #nnt fanfiction #writing #story #collab #myfic #kon #king of nothing

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cdyssey · 4 years ago

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Miscalculations

Summary: The toll of being in the multiverse for too long finally exacts its price on Olivia Octavius. A/N: I've been babysitting for family friends these past two days, and the little one made us watch *Into the Spider-Verse* five times over, so I wanted to write something.

AO3 Link At the end of Olivia Octavius’s world, there is blood, so much of it, too much—staining her shirt dark around her midsection where old incisions are prying themselves loose, and dribbling warningly down her mouth in a thin line.

Cellular decay.

Accelerated decomposition.

As her erythrocytes continue to implode upon themselves, her organs will shut down one by one until the lack of oxygen finally squeezes upon her tired heart like a vice.

She was out of her own dimension for too long.

If you stay in this dimension too long, your body’s going to disintegrate. Do you know how painful that would be, Peter Parker?

She thought she could have control of the multiverse if only she could stabilize her body with exposure to gamma radiation, theorizing that the treatment would do as it had done for the infamous Bruce Banner and reinforce her cellular structure—but she miscalculated.

And Olivia never miscalculates.

No, that isn’t true, an awful voice in her head says, right here and right now, on her fucking death bed. Her conscience has always gloated rather than informed. You miscalculate all the time.

“No, goddammit,” May Parker growls. “You do not get to leave like this.”

Surprise jolts through her unpleasantly considering everything that is happening to her body; with an effort that isn’t minimal, the physicist opens her eyes to see a familiar shape kneeling by her side, pressing gnarled hands to her stomach wounds, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding.

But there is so much of it, too much.

Out of the periphery of her eye that isn’t blackened, she can see the shadows of the various Spider-Fools simply standing a few feet away, watching. For they understand, better than maybe most, that there is nothing to be done, no more fight to be had.

May Parker’s hands are vivid with her blood, drowning in it.

“What?” Olivia attempts a bloodied smile that doesn’t quite cut through the pain in her eyes. “You want me to walk away in cuffs? Cheeky, cheeky, May Parker. I thought you were oh-so-straight-laced.”

“Shut up,” May snarls, and the scientist is startled to see that there are tears in her cornflower blue eyes, threatening to spill over, to leak, to pour.

And then she knows.

She knows, she knows, she knows.

That May Parker still loves her, too.

That maybe she never stopped.

And the realization of it takes her breath away, what little of it is that is left.

“May,” she says, her voice surprisingly soft, even though her shivering hands are firm as she slowly brings them up to rest upon the other woman’s. “Cellular decay. Multisystem organ failure. Within a few minutes, I'll likely go into cardiac arrest. It will be quick, maybe even painless.”

“No,” May mutters. “No, no, no. We could get you to a hospital, offset the worst of your symptoms until we can regenerate cellular life in you. An ambulance is coming. ETA five minutes.”

“You’re thinking with that big, ‘ole heart of yours again.” The thing Olivia loves and hates most about the old bat—how much she cares. It’s sickening. It’s stupid. It’s wonderful. “I’ve lost too much blood, and my exoskeleton implants are compromised, which—“

But May cuts across her with an explosive swear.

“—likely means that your spine is also compromised,” she finishes, eyes closing in horror.

Liv smiles weakly, a gesture which ends in her coughing up phlegm and blood.

“Correct.”

Doc Ock’s comeuppance has finally arrived, both decades late and years too soon. It is quieter than she imagined it would be, less of a kaleidoscope of many colors than it is a coagulated darkness. She can see black beginning to edge upon her vision, eradicating the excess, eliminating anything that isn’t May Parker.

How fitting.

“I went to twenty-seven different dimensions, May,” she whispers, “and they were all so beautiful—vivid, unique, and extraordinary, each a fully realized universe unto its own...”

When she closes her eyes, she can conjure them even now, the shapes of them, their textures, their scientific impossibility... and it is with awful reluctance that she pries them open again. The darkness is so soft and inviting. Oblivion isn’t as scary as she had imagined it to be.

Maybe she can explore its expansive confines, understand it in the same way she does quasi connectivity in dimensional warping.

Or maybe Olivia Octavius can simply rest.

That might be a nice change in pace.

“Liv...” May whispers, though, and it’s more than enough of a reminder for the sole reason she’d ever stay if she had a choice.

(She doesn’t have a choice.)

“And in every world, I did what a scientist just a tiny bit full of herself would naturally do. I searched myself out. In every dimension... and I asked myself, damn, do I really look like that? In eighty-nine percent of the worlds, I had a bowl cut, May! A godawful bowl cut!”

“Is this really what you want to talk about?”

“Yes—I mean no. No.” Olivia’s dark brow furrows as she herself tries to remember the point of bringing up the twenty-seven universes and the self-exploration and the bowl cuts. Her brain’s a little wonky at the moment, dull and heavy, like a rock sunk in a lake.

But then it hits her.

Realization and remembrance.

Dimension 24. Earth C-432.

The cats. The apartment in Brooklyn. The cozy sweaters. The peace.

“In the 24th iteration of Earth I visited, I looked a lot like I do now—geeky, foxy, big hair, and less than enviable eyesight... I was intrigued naturally, and so, when I found out where I lived, I paid myself a little visit.”

She knocked politely on the door before not so politely letting herself in, tentacular extensions swarming.

She always did like a dramatic entrance.

Fuck, Olivia J. Octavius moaned. I invented inter-dimensional travel again.

May E. Parker looked up from her mug of coffee and simply raised an unimpressed brow.

Well, at least you didn’t smash the door this time.

“I'd... she’d never gotten the implants, so she was paralyzed from the waist down... do y’know what that means?”

Of course May does.

Beneath Liv’s hand, her knuckles tense, the ridges warm against her cold palm.

“We never separated then,” she rasps, her voice strained, a hundred emotions thick. “I must have taken you home from the hospital, like I told you I would.”

“Yeah.”

A single tear leaks out of the corner of Olivia’s blackened eye, dripping down her cheek and falling away. If she'd been able to, she would have tried to wipe it away before May Parker could see.

“Were we happy, Liv?” She whispers, and she looks guilty about it. She has never cared much for hypotheticals, while Olivia built her entire career upon them—a delicate balancing act, always doomed to collapse one day.

She just never wanted to admit it.

Indeed, she just wanted to see how high she could go.

She didn't want to touch the stars.

She wanted to rip open the fabric of the fucking universe.

“We have two cats, one called Marie and the other Curie... and we live together in an apartment in Brooklyn. Nice place. There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts just around the corner. Parker visits at least three times a week unless he’s busy saving the city or the world or whatever the hell else he has it in his mind to save. He has a kid—a boy named Ben, but everyone calls him Fox because of the hair.”

We like to beat each other at Scrabble, even though we’re both sore losers. Four times a week, we head up to Columbia to do guest lectures on particulate matter and cellular structure and quantum physics. You’ve organized all of our medicines in alphabetical order, and I tease you about it because of course I do. Once a month, we replace the flowers on Ben Parker’s grave and have a picnic in the cemetery. We’re thinking about moving to a tiny house on Long Island that’s more wheelchair accessible, and we can hear the ocean every time we wake up in the morning side by side. There are wedding bands on our fingers, simple, understated, even though I'm pretty fucking sure they're made of anti-metal. In a different world, in an entirely separate universe, we are together forever, as long as we both shall live.

“I think so. I think we were happy,” she finishes quietly, “but I didn’t stay long enough to know for sure.”

“Too bad,” May Parker finally says, her tears falling freely now.

With the last of her strength, Olivia squeezes her hand.

“I... I heard myself say one thing, though, right as I was leaving.”

By leaving, she left a gaping hole next to their door just for the hell and spite of it.

“I chose correctly, it seems.”

In that warm apartment, May E. Parker laughed bluntly before she returned, quite dryly, You never miscalculate, do you?

“Never.”

Always.

Olivia Octavius miscalculates all the time.

#olivia octavius #may parker #livmay #into the spider verse #reginianwrites #it felt really good to write again #I'm going to ease back into doing more of it real soon #m: into the spider-verse

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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just an original story snippet because that anon i got yesterday flattered me (and because i love my girls and my idea)

“The moon will fall February 17th, 4350--”

“Oh dear. THAT’S an embarrassing situation to be in. Better take the long way to class to avoid that--”

“The sun will explode way before then, but I can’t see when it’s too blurry too blurry can’t see further--”

“MY PARENTS ARE GETTING ME A PUPPY?! Oh shoot. I just ruined the surprise--”

“A plague will come. A plague will come. A plague will come--”

“I know the answers to the exam and my peers don’t, hehe--”

“I know when my mother will die, but I don’t know how to save her. I can’t save her. When I try to save her, she dies--”

There are hundreds of voices in this room. Hundreds of people talking over each other, rambling silly teenage thoughts and dark prophets of the future, babbling and gibbering and chattering like noisy jungle birds. Listen to what I have to say, they whisper. Listen to what I Saw. But they aren’t listened to, no one listens, so they keep shouting over each other until it’s a din of conflicting comments and arguments.

The weird thing is, though...the voices didn’t come from any person. The only people in the room were Lee and Keaton, behind one of the doors, and Michael, wearing an old, ripped trench coat and pacing between two tables covered in wicked-looking knives, scissors in various sizes of huge, and wrinkled papers filled to the brim with information. None of them were speaking.

“I should warn Olivia to not try out for the school musical, she’s just going to embarrass herself--”

Keaton began to tremble against Lee’s side. Her eyes are wide and glazed with terror. Lee followed her gaze, tilting ever so slightly around the door so she could see more inside, and froze.

Nearly-depleted bulbs cast dim, horror movie-like lighting across polished wooden shelves and carved out cubbyholes, and the jars full of disembodied tongues that hold them. The muscular remains of finished lives howl and thrash, repeating themselves ad infinitum, slapping the glass walls of their confines until they clank and jiggle. The stench of it is thick and ripe. A choir of dead voices vying for attention.

Lee nearly vomited. Keaton trembled harder, and she can see tears glinting in her multicolored eyes. How many times has she seen this scene in her visions? Could she still hear their thoughts without a brain to read from?

“Oh, that’s it!!!” Michael suddenly roared. Lee flinched, but tightened her muscles to keep from hitting anything in her surprise. “Shut it!!”

He reared around to glower at a particularly rowdy group of tongues that were writhing so violently that their jars were about to topple right over. They don’t obey his command, they can’t, and continue to speak: “I make the team in soccer?! Oh my god--” “Mom and dad are getting a divorce--” “The fire alarm on Thursday won’t be a drill--” “John F. Kennedy will be shot on November 22, 1963--”

That last comment from a spongy, paler tongue on the top row of jars. It does damage to itself as it threw itself against aged glass.

“Just take a breath, Michael,” Michael began to mutter to himself. He rubbed his temples with his middle and index finger. “It’ll all be worth it. This will all pay off soon. Just focus.”

“DAVID IS CHEATING ON JESSIE?! OH THAT GODDAMN BITC--”

“I can’t take this!!” Michael stormed out the door, his long trench coat fluttering darkly behind him like the wings of a black moth. Lee and Keaton wait for a minute, with Keaton confirming that he wasn’t coming back by listening to his receding thoughts, and then crept out into the room.

The smell was so much worse inside, like a mix of fresh rot and week-old decay. There was a certain humidity in the room, too, most likely to preserve the tongues, and it made the odor that much worse. Lee tried to breathe through her mouth, but the air was so thick with stench that she could taste decomposition on her tongue. She careened sharply to the left and vomited into a small black trash can- the most normal thing in the entire place.

“Well,” She breathed out shakily. “He’s probably going to notice this.” She set the trash can down tentatively and turned to Keaton with a wry smile. “Is there any way that you could rewind to before we enter and warn me to NOT breathe through my mouth?”

Keaton didn’t answer.

She’s staring intently at the wall of jars. Her cropped, coppery hair has gone all tufty and frizzy, as though the relentless noise around her has made it stand on end. She kept clenching and unclenching her fists like she thought this just was a bad dream or vision she could claw herself out of. But it was very, very real. And the next ear-piercing prophecy proved that.

“I’M ADOPTED?! AND MOM AND DAD ARE GOING TO TELL ME AT THE CHRISTMAS PARTY?! ARE YOU SERIOUS--”

“I didn’t know.”

The whisper was mute beneath the din of cries. Lee moved closer to hear her young companion better, but didn’t ask her to repeat herself. Keaton looked up at her with terror in her eyes.

“I didn’t know about this.” She said. “I didn’t see it.”

“Ever?” Lee asked. “Not once?”

“Not once,” Keaton confirmed. Her voice is painfully tight and she looked like she was about to spiral into a panic attack. “I didn’t know...”

She stepped forward slowly, cautiously, like she thought the tongues may suddenly grow bodies and attack her. She gently picked up a jar that held a soft pink tongue with a blue blemish over the bumpy expanse of taste buds, remnants of a blueberry slushy. It did wild flips in its confinements, fresh and sinewy as eels, squawking out things about boys her bad-at-love best friend was crushing on, but then went still when raised. It now sat silently at the bottom of the jar with its tip flicking patiently like the tail of a slithering snake.

“I didn’t know her,” Keaton whispered. She really is shaking- the jar is being rattled so badly that Lee was afraid that she might drop it or it may completely shatter. Her sun-moon eyes are hazy with tears on the reflection against the glass.

Lee crept closer and peered over her shoulder. The tongue flicked its tip again, like it was addressing that she was there, that it knew who she was and it could spit out prophecies about her at any moment. At the top of its jar winked a small gold plaque that read: Hayley Grace Ross | Age: 17 | Best known for: Visions of an alternate universe where time runs backwards | Death: January 13, 2019 |

“I didn’t know any of them.” Keaton choked out. She’s crying, now. She gently cradled the jar close to her chest with a haunted expression and the tongue inside squirmed its way against the glass like it was returning the embrace in a strange, but sad postmortem, disembodied way.

Lee gave her a saddened expression. She’s gotten quite good at comforting Keaton, but she knew not to pry right now. Not when she was so obviously shaken by this.

She turned, wanting to give the girl some space, and saw a jar on one of the several tables. It’s decorated, unlike the others, swathed with sparkling threads of silver and gold around the lid and studded with small sun and moon pendants. She picked it up and read the plaque, which looked like it had been recently shined: Keaton Morgan Fox | Age: 15 | Best known for: Very specific and clear visions into the future, perfected mind reading, time loops | Death: N/A |

It was empty.

There was no death date.

“Beware the one born of the sun and the moon,” Whispered a wrinkly old tongue with cracks over its surface. “Seething with darkness and sparkling with anger.”

“Awakened from the blood of an unwanted womb,” Chimed in another tongue that was missing taste buds.

“And drenched in the carnage of the futures she hides.” Murmured a third.

“Beware the one born of the sun and the moon,” Said all the tongues together. “With too many secrets and too many eyes.”

Lee shuddered and turned to Keaton, finally realizing why she was so distraught.

They were standing in a room full of the severed tongues of murdered Seers.

She was surrounded by her own kind, dead and trapped forever.

#me frantically googling what rhymes with moon #can you tell i cant write poems #or prophecies #anyway this scene comes later in the novel i just thought it was neat and wrote a draft of it now #still dont have a name for it..#lizzie speaks #my writing #lizzie’s dumb book

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mister-maiden · 5 years ago

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*It Comes At Night* A Palpable Fear

While laying in the confines of my fluffy blankets like that of a stuffed peanut with extra spice, I sit upon my red couch scrolling through the lists of Netflix Films I have already watched, ranging from horror to romantic comedy to Korean Horror Drama (Strangers from Hell on Netflix...FIRE) and here I am to come across one of my favorite films of 2017 yet again.

This is: It Comes At Night (2017)

I shall give you one fair warning before this read. This brief observation is meant for those who have already seen the film. This is not a review nor is it a summary, so I ask you look away now if you wish not to spoil a single detail.

What I wish to look at are the faucets of information we are given in the film to try and explain what “It” is in the film, for we are never actually given a proper explanation for what it is and how it works.

From the beginning, the audience can very well assume from the death of Buddy, the Grandfather, that “It” is referring to the deadly virus which has seemingly contaminated the population, forcing people to group together in their own hubs and depend upon one another for survival. The entire film focuses its central drama on this virus and how it spreads - seemingly through skin to skin contact like that of Cabin Fever’s rash, except this virus seems to cause the blood to corrode and turn black, produce fever, and hallucinations...so you would think “It” is this virus which has killed so many.

But what if I told you “it” represented far more than that?

Going back, scene by scene viewing only scenes in which the family is secluded in darkness do we see the real beast.

The Unknown.

The true antagonist is the very faucet of which produces fear. Allow me to explain.

We have a completely unknown virus, both to us as the audience and to the characters. The only symptoms they know of are those that came from Buddy. The black boils of festering flesh, rotten blood, and darkened eyes. It’s a rather horrific virus which resembles the decay of the human body and its resources. In my opinion, this seems to be some form of the Bubonic plague as its symptoms are quite similar. Bleeding, weakness, fever, blackening and death of tissue...but we are never able to confirm what it is because this is a simple family. There is no doctor in which can save the world if he has the proper tools...Just a family whose only objective is to survive.

Inside, we have all that is safe. The lights, food, water. But instead of thinking of the home as a home...let’s think of it as the human mind...And the door as the barriers we place up..The antagonist being the unknown which can tear these barriers to shreds.It’s the things that we remind ourselves everyday to reassure ourselves that everything is fine. The lovely hospitality of a self embrace that protects you, keeps your chest warm and your cheeks rosy...but then darkness falls, and all fades to darkness as paranoia sets in. The doors become hazy lines of paper as whatever protections you believed you had are simply torn apart in the most agonizing moments. For instance: The crimson door of which the family relied on so heavily to keep the evil at bay..was unknowingly opened..and no one knew who. This leads me to discuss the family.

The father heavily relies on his rules to keep the family safe, going so far as to ask the family who they slowly allow through these barriers to follow these rules a T (stick together, don’t go alone, curfew, etc). And he will do anything to keep his family safe. His strict survival has kept the family alive for this long...besides Buddy. Fanatically he strives to keep order, barriers in place to keep the unknown at bay. The sharp clutches of fear digging into the wood every night, slowly digging deeper into the mantel. When his barriers are tested by human/known means, (when the father of the opposite family tries to break in) he knows exactly how to deal with it...But when the door has been opened, and fear has been let into the house through the uncertainty of infection and the loss of trust, the father quickly attempts to establish the same barriers he kept in place from the unknown...only this time he deems the opposite family as the unknown now, keeping them out of his barriers, only this time these barriers are paper thin as fear has already infested the idea that everyone could now be infected...But with no way to be certain, paranoia is produced, and all is lost due to altered perception.

All order breaks down the the removal of these walls. “It” is the unadulterated fear which drives the reasoning of putting these walls in the first place, except “it” is the thing which tears the home apart.

The unknown of if Will was lying about knowing the men trying to shoot them

The unknown if the family is to be trusted

The unknown of the effects and symptoms of the virus

the unknown of who has the virus

It’s the absolute meltdown of order which fear is a staple for. It’s the doubt which is embedded in the families after each night..But the thing that is most frightening is that we don’t actually understand how this virus works in regards to its incubation period.

It was mentioned by the father that Buddy had symptoms in a day and was gone, we understand the child, Andrew, it infected and within the day shows symptoms of coughing and fever, and then the day after that Travis has the physical symptoms as well, and thanks to this movie’s ambitiousness, there is no possible way to tell if this is an actual good sign of whether or not someone has the virus for a simple reason.

Travis is seen having visions of walking around the house quite often...Now pair this with Alex’s sudden want to sleep walk which the opposite family states he has NEVER done before. I believe this is a proper comparison to equal that the virus causes some form of restlessness. Hell, even when all the way infected, Travis seems to be in a near comatose state of being dazed.

My proposal: Travis was sick all along after catching it from the dog who was given it by the grandfather. Travis passed it onto the child, and Andrew showed symptoms before Travis because Travis was young and healthy while Andrew was simply too young to handle the effects. What’s cool about this is that it’s completely unknown if the theory can be true. I can try and explain.

We understand that the dog was the Grandfather’s dog, so we can assume they spent quite the amount of time with each other. It’s no far fetched theory that the dog was infected by Buddy sometime before he passed because of the amount of time spent with him.This then is passed to Travis who has nightmares, insomnia, and paranoia, all mental symptoms of the virus before succumbing to the physical decomposition of skin and flesh.

A piece of evidence I would like to point out for both the dog and Travis being infected is the scene in where the dog runs off into the woods because it heard something, which Travis claims to have seen/heard too...yet the two grown men close behind didn’t see nor hear a thing. It’s a small moment in the film but I believe it was the moment in which both the dog’s and Travis’s minds were fluid enough to hallucinate. We already know Travis has had some serious nightmares, so having this type of sensory misfire wouldn’t be too reaching. Then after this as Travis spends more and more time with the other family, he infects Alex without realizing it, causing the child to undergo insomnia, sleep walking, and confusion just as Travis had in his “visions” which were more or less small windows of time he was conscious while sleep walking. For instance: I believe the door was opened after Travis left to the outside to look for his dog, found the dog rather disgustingly mangled by an infected animal, and brought it back before going back to bed and not closing the door.

Could be a reach, but other explanations are just as palpable.

Everything was so perfectly placed to be as vague as possible! It could be as simple as Andrew opened the door for the dog scratching to get inside into the safety of home, touched it and became infected before going back inside frightened of what he saw, Travis then touched Andrew who then got the virus, and it could go from there...but the virus simply doesn’t seem to be the type to be able to move that quickly. No ordinary virus is going to be able to produce such protein decay in a matter of hours. I believe it begins in the mind and slowly seeps further into the system.

That’s what is so amazing of this film. No place can I look at and go “that’s what happened” or “yeah we can easily infer this from this” because there is no factual way to draw proper conclusions, just like there isn’t a way to properly place barriers to protect from the unknown.

(Hey guys, I know I haven’t been doing much recently. To be honest I’ve been looking for employment and studying for my COMPTIA A+ exam so I can try and find a help desk job somewhere to begin a career into IT. I’m going to try and write more analysis's or observations to further enhance my communication skills. Hope you all have a good night~)

((Also might be recording some singing, so woop))

#It comes at night #Horror movie analysis #Quick writing

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jemej3m · 6 years ago

Text

minyard’s monster

where andrew falls in love with a ghost and dedicates himself to bringing him back (please note that this is not the real plot of mary shelley’s frankenstein, and victor frankenstein is a malicious prick)

Andrew deigned himself as beyond the company of those deemed as family, so he stood, took his pipe, and made for the archway that would lead upstairs.

“Cousin,” Nicky inquired. “Will you return for supper?”

Andrew was overly fond of sweets, but his oddly insatiable irritability overrided his affections for delicacies. He ignored his cousin in favour of marching up the stairs. He heard Mr. Kevin Day murmuring to Aaron, his brother, most likely to spite Andrew. Andrew did not care. Affiliations with others were beyond his realm.

His room was comfortable, with an eccentrically heavy lock upon the door and a bay window: He would peer over the edge just to satisfy the thrill of a potential fall.

The cushioned seat was taken by a flickering mirage. Andrew huffed, placing his pipe on top of the dresser and fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt. He addressed the spirit, refusing to gaze upon it as he spoke. “What have you deemed as so necessary that you must needle me this evening?”

“I was curious.” Mr. Josten claimed. “Days go, by and by, but you do not visit as often. Was it something I said?”

Andrew loosened his cuffs. “Perhaps others will grow suspicious of my lingering by your grave. I have no reason to be affiliated with a Nathaniel Wesninski.”

The ghost’s presence always inspired chills, but his tone took on an iciness unlike any other. “I am Neil Josten.”

Andrew looked at him. The man’s curls floated gently in a non-existent breeze, his eyes glittering. His monochrome valour had Andrew curious. What was the pallor of his skin, the exact shade of his lips?

The thoughts incited disgust within himself. Perhaps his cousin was devoted to a man, but it was done so in secret: Not even Andrew’s twin was aware. Andrew himself had sworn against affections: When he realised he had no desire for female company, and when his church minister took his innocence against his will, nothing made him shudder more thoroughly than the thought of sharing intimacy with someone else.

Neil was not someone else. Neil was a ghost. Perhaps a figment of Andrew’s insanity. Perhaps a mere trick of the light.

“I know.” Andrew said. This settled something within the spirit’s expression. He tucked his knees to his chest: He wore expensive breeches and linen, worthiness exacerbated by a glittering pin at his lapel.

The tale of Neil Josten was tragic: Murdered by his father, his body was preserved in various pieces, forcing his soul to be suspended here on the earthly plane until he was rightfully buried, not under the false headstone inscribed with Nathaniel Wesninski, but instead, in a new grave, beside his mother on a Cornish beach with Neil Josten above his head.

Andrew, who had never thought to commit himself to such an endeavour, found himself reading natural philosophy. Here was a spirit, a perfect specimen for reanimation, as Aaron’s colleagues had once entertained.

Neil hadn’t an inkling of Andrew’s plans.

“I cannot withstand such cold, dreary nights, Andrew.” Neil murmured. “Tell me, are you close to letting me rest?”

Andrew almost smiled. “Every day brings us closer. You do not have to return to your unhallowed grave, Josten. Stay by the fire and keep yourself warm.”

Even dead, Neil’s eyes glittered.

“Why should I consider you for a course of such rigour?” Sir David Wymack protested. “And your band of merry-men, nevertheless?”

“I have a study of such utmost importance for you to peruse.” Andrew alleged. “I have heard of your work with anatomy through my brother, who would remain as a diligent student. He is wasted at his current occupation. As for Nicholas, I cannot acclaim he has any particular talents barring persistence.”

“Scoundrel!” Nicholas cursed at him, but he was grinning. Andrew’s sudden fervour to attend Oxford had the others quivering with excitement. They were ready to indulge in a new place, with new faces and new opportunities.

“It is most true, sir.” Aaron claimed. “Andrew has refused to disclose his studies with his family. It must be of such a caliber for such omissive practises.”

“I, too, will disclose the practises of Moriyama work.” Kevin agreed. “Should you allow us to study under your guidance.”

Wymack was unperturbed by their bribery. Instead, he considered their appearances, rankled by the days of chaotic travel, the browned complexion of Nicky and Kevin, juxtaposed with the fairness of the twins.

Wymack would have the laboratory equipment necessary for Andrew’s toils. Oxford was in close enough jurisdiction to London, where Wesninski’s townhouse and Neil’s remains prevailed. It would all work so finely, should Wymack accept.

With a gentle sigh, Wymack allowed them within the lecture hall’s heavy doors. Neil glittered in a far-away corner. Andrew’s fingers brushed over the words of idle philosophers with skewed ideologies and incompetent skillsets, wondering of the possibilities.

“You’re meaning to convince me,” Wymack tried. “That there is a spirit haunting you, and you mean to put it to rest?”

“Quite.” Andrew agreed. “Neil, won’t you show yourself?”

Neil looked at him uneasily, but agreed by pulling out a chair at Wymack’s desk and sitting down. Wymack looked at the inanimate object with dulled horror.

“Thank you.” Andrew insisted. “Take yourself elsewhere.”

“But,” Neil tried.

“Go.” Andrew insisted. The ghost vanished with a mere frown.

Wymack looked at Andrew with abject disgust.

“Incredulous, I am aware.” Andrew clasped his fingers together. “What I have not disclosed is that I will attempt to reanimate his body. He is young. I believe it may be possible, if it is true that his remains have remained preserved. I have studied alchemy fervently.”

“You do not have a mother, sister, wife or lover you would rather conjure instead?” Wymack demanded. “You are happy to simply allow the return of a strange man?”

“I believe I know him quite well.” Andrew objected. “Will you aid me, Sir Wymack? My endeavours are most perplexing, are they not?”

“Have never considered something quite like it, though it is the culmination of an alchemist’s work.” Wymack agreed. “We will ride into town tomorrow evening and greet this Wesninski.”

Andrew sat back and lit his pipe, pleased.

“Oh, I do so dislike this place.” Neil murmured, as Andrew crept into the basement. Upstairs, Wymack was engaging the Wesninski man in conversation over tea. It was chilly, Andrew agreed. The walls wept condensation and grime, and there was a distinct stench of decomposition that Andrew was all too familiar with, after working with Wymack on reanimation and anatomy studies for the past few weeks. Neil pointed to chains strung across the wall. “He chained me there for days until I could not stand. He is the most horrid man.”

“Quite.” Andrew agreed.

Neil Josten’s remains floated in formalin, so grotesquely but perfectly kept that Andrew could not help but gag. Neil’s colouring was distorted in the liquid, but Andrew could see the various wounds. His body was dismembered, his hips from his waist, one calf from the knee, and the head from his neck. Andrew would have to reassemble the man.

It was quite the task, carting the tanks up stairs without disturbing the servant quarters or the head of house. Andrew managed only through sheer determination. When the masked tanks were loaded onto the tray of the carriage, he returned, washing his hands and removing Wesninki’s apron, blotting himself free of sweat.

“We must escort Wymack out.” Andrew told Neil.

Neil shook his head. “I cannot see him again. I am too afraid.”

“You are already dead: What more can he do?”

Uneasily, Neil accompanied Andrew to the parlour room. Andrew was acting as Wymack’s chauffeur, and he rapped carefully on the archway entrance to Wesninski’s sitting room.

“Sir,” He declared, hating the formality of it all. “We must retire. You have many occasions tomorrow and you mustn’t catch a cold in the evening chill.”

“Quite right,” Wymack agreed, gathering onto his feet and clasping Wesninski’s hand. Neil made a gentle noise of distress at Andrew’s shoulder. “We shall discuss these matters further, Mr. Nathan.”

Nathan Wesninski had blood-red hair, and blue eyes to match the chillingly evil curve to his smile. “Of course.”

Wymack and Andrew retired to the carriage, Neil vanishing into nothingness the instant Wesninski had moved to escort Wymack to the door.

“All according to plan?” Wymack inquired.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Andrew remembered the grotesque mutilations across Neil’s body. “Should this work, Neil must make quick work of Wesninski. He is a cruel, cruel man.”

Wymack nodded.

“What are you doing?” Neil pondered aloud as Andrew made quick work of the arteries and veins, rejoining the dismembered state of Neil’s body before the organic material would begin disintergrate.

“There is no need for this,” Neil objected, as Andrew carefully reconnected the brain to the spine, wiping sweat off his brow. He had worked tirelessly for nights on end.

“Is this necessary?” Neil questioned curiously as Andrew gently bathed and clothed his body, combing his hair and polishing his teeth.

“Andrew,” Neil insisted, mildly panicked, as Andrew rolled out Wymack’s machinery. “What is happening?”

Andrew gazed upon the ghostly figure, glittering and flickering where he stood opposite Andrew. His body laid between them, the gross mutilations left by his father and Andrew’s reattachment hidden beneath soft cloth.

“Don’t hate me.” Andrew murmured.

Lightning struck. Neil screamed.

Slowly, Neil Josten’s eyes peeled open. There was a disoriented glossiness that glazed his eyes, but the bright blue was that of Nathan Wesninski’s, simply, without the cruelness.

Andrew hovered impatiently, fingers twitching with impatience. “Neil? Can you hear me?”

He muttered and groaned, muscles twitching with the electricity that had rejuvenated his heart and soul and was still dissipating through the metal table.

“Cold,” Neil whispered. “Where am I?”

Andrew’s heart fluttered, gazing at the rosiness of Neil’s lips and cheeks. “You were found, hurt in your father’s basement. I am your - doctor.”

“Oh,” Neil said gently, lifting his arms off the table to gaze at his hands. “Well, thank you.”

Andrew said nothing, made uneasy by someone’s gratitude. “How do you feel?”

“Very well.” Neil admitted as he sat up. “Was I truly hurt? I cannot feel any remnants of such pain, and I am well acquainted with my father’s cruelness.”

“You slept deeply.” Andrew lied. “You have healed completely. It has been a long while.”

“Well, what is the day?”

“Friday, October thirteenth. 1837.”

“Many a month, then.” Neil whispered. “Thank you, kind sir. What is your name? I wish to know the identity of my saviour.”

Andrew swallowed. “You may call me Andrew. Would you like to attend me upstairs?”

“I mustn’t stay,” Neil urged. “I am not safe -”

“But only for a minute, Ne - Mr Josten.” Andrew coughed, before offering his arm to help Neil off the table. “You must be famished.”

“Quite.” Neil agreed. “Alright. But only for a minute.”

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

wymack is professor waldman, and that’s the only correlation that makes sense. otherwise neil would be???? andrew’s mother???? and that is not okay lmao

#andrew minyard #frankenstein au #but barely #aftg #andreil #neil josten #1800s au #tfc #all for the game #jem writes

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