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vilevexedvixen · 6 months ago

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Like OG Fallout? Play Pathologic!

I've been a fan of various things for literal decades now, but not really participated in any fandom communities until literally this year. I've just been making cosplays, watching videos, drawing fanart and writing fan theories / fiction in my own time. So the very heated aspects of fandom flew me by until now ^^' I do completely get the more angry fellow FNV fans for what Bethesda has done to Fallout (regarding all entries after FNV), and some of the aspects I see people praising most about OG Fallout and FNV are mainly the roleplaying, writing, and bleak setting / vibe.

And to that I can't help but go "Have you heard of our Lord and Saviour Icepick Lodge?"

Pathologic classic HD and Pathologic 2 are the closest games (in my opinion) that capture the same aspects of OG Fallout and FNV the more angry fans feel they've lost.

You play as one of three healers in an isolated Russian town ravaged by plague. This is going to be more of a ramble of me gushing about various aspects of the game, so I've included a less popular review (love this guy's stuff) to more concisely discuss the game in a more structured way and give an accurate picture of gameplay (which I only really discuss in terms of combat, which is frankly a really small part of it compared to the resource and survival stat management, semi-present fast-travel (at a cost, which changes as circumstances get worse and forces the player to choose between loss of time, energy, money, or risk of infection, when deciding how to get from a to b by forcing players to only fast travel between certain points if they have the right resources, or walk through infected or ransacked districts).

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Never before have I sympathised so much with a certified twat (The Bachelor), or been so genuinely excited to discover my character's bf-turned-bitter enemy isn't dead but finally taking a nap.

Admittedly, Classic HD is more linear but that doesn't detract from the story for me, but I definitely think 2 actualises the player freedom classic HD pretended to have.

Also both soundtracks are bangers, but quite different (tribal electronica versus shamanistic horror).

An aspect of gameplay that took a hot minute to learn but is very engaging is the hobo economy bartering system, which subtly changes as time goes by. Different resources such as medicine (which are obviously used up a lot in a plague) become more scarce and expensive. As people get more desperate for essentials like food, they start trading more valuable items like jewellery for it. Kids want seemingly valueless things like marbles and nuts for very valuable items (food and meds - yeah, besides the pharmacies, children carry the most drugs and knives; take that as you will). Inflation goes through the roof, money is no longer accepted in some shops later on. The economy is extremely dynamic, but not overly difficult to navigate so forces the player to adapt alongside it. You can never be certain what resources will be accessible the next day, which further makes when and where you decide to use what resources you have on others an engaging moral and practical decision. Unscripted, might I add!

Leading players to act like this when rare things like Schmowder (a near-fatal cure to the plague) show up by chance:

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And if you don't stay on top of your stats and resources (which is very easy to do) you end up in binds like this:

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The diagnostic and treatment system is also fairly intuitive, in that there are humor-specific tinctures, and others that can be used to treat two different humors. The more resources you use trying to diagnose where the infection has settled, the more pain you'll caused the patient, which you can lower (to prevent death) by using vials or morphine. Accurate diagnosis is important to avoid wasting resources by using the wrong antibiotics (which is less effective). You can't be in two places at once, so every patient you treat is a drain on time and resources you could be using somewhere else. Sometimes it's better to let a patient be if the risk of death is too high for your treatment to have a worthwhile impact on their chances for survival.

Given how stretched thin your time and resources always are, even if the opportunity for tender downtime catching up with old friends arises it is all to easy to pass up because you're too busy. A cruel reality most people face these days irl. What's more, if you happen to die before deciding to go to this meetup, there is a chance that Mark Immortal will tie your character's hands behind their back which then prevents you from being able to hug you friends when you meet them.

Oh yeah, forgot to say but death has permanent consequences across all saves so reloading to before you died doesn't undo any penalty Mark curses you with unless you start a whole new run. Early on, you may be asked to help with a task which ends up not helping in the way expected (to help solve Burakh's father's murder or to help cure the plague) but does act as a small tutorial on how to listen / look for herbs you can use in remedies. You still feel irritated that a child wasted your time / was just playing with you, at least initially, so you learn to really consider what's worth chasing up and what might be a waste of time / red herring when deciding what trails in your mind map task menu to chase up. Especially since if you don't pursue them, they WILL happen without you and the consequences of your intervention or not remain uncertain until they crop back up in unexpected ways.

Admitedly, the endings in 2 are binary (though what you do in the wider world and story do effect the ending / what happens to specific characters) which I found very disappointing, especially given how much less effort it takes to do one over the other, like the game is encouraging you to pick the diurnal ending. The game is also a bit janky, but no moreso than FNV. Combat is not satisfying mechanically, especially if you opt for using guns, though that's kind of the point. You're a doctor (admittedly Artemy was a military medic, so he has some combat training, but still). Though sometimes it can seem (but isn't) unavoidable in the early game when you're public enemy number one. The combat feels like if OV Fallout's combat was in first person.

There aren't technically "factions" per se, but rather bodies of power in the town the approach both its running and the crisis at hand from different angles. To be honest, I completely sidestepped the Saborovs for my first two playthroughs entirely. Bad Grief says I'm a fool to try and clear my name to the man who effectively runs the police force? Sure! Unless you take interest in investigating your father's death, or frequently save babies (long story), I didn't cross their path except in the town hall meeting. Which is a shame, but honestly the other families interested me more. The Kains have a lot going on and are the most philosophically driven family both in their architectural choices and in how they utilize the polyhedron. The Kains and the Olgimskies are more interlinked than the Saborovs are with anyone, especially regarding the town's children and their seperate factions (Notkin's Soul-and-a-halves and Khan's Dogheads, whom you'll likely encounter early on to help settle some gang warfare). In fact the town children functionally operate a seperate society divided between the town and the polyhedron.

I quite like the fact that the Olgymskies (responsible for the town's main / only industry of slaughterhouses, which repeatedly overlap with the older practice of bull worship and sacrifice by The Kin - wait, I haven't even mentioned them yet wtf) aren't just treated as evil robber barons (though Big Vlad absolutely partakes in corruption and prioritising the health of his children over the town / his worker, especially when investigating The Termitary and the circumstances around its closure), but people navigating stopping the spread of plague while still trying to meet the very real problem of food scarcity now that the Town's been effectively cut off from the rest of the world and their lifeline industry has been halted.

Something I really appreciate is that they show the children have agency and act by their own judgement, and that the adults of the town aren't inherently wiser. Early on in the game the leaders of the town main child gangs will go in search of a way to help stop the plague's spread and WILL get infected unless you intervene. They also keep track of the plague's spread, for their own sake but the player can take head of what they learn to plan their routes through the town ahead of time. They also aren't treated like untouchable saints either. Death is very much a reality for EVERY character, no matter how young, both by natural and unnatural causes from the get-go. There are several occasions where the player character will be taught by child characters, such as Sticky, about how to survive in ways they've had to as orphans. I also love how the main child factions have their own distinct philosophies that help (alongside more specific characters that play carer / leadership roles outside of the Doghead and Soul-and-a-half factions, like Capella and Maria Kaina) inform your late-game decisions, since the children are very much the town's future, and how you endorse them will inform how the town operates going forward. I especially love the dogheads, and how they see themselves as not quite fully human yet. Striving for humanity and to be better, such as the utopian future promised by their home The Polyhedron. Meanwhile Notkin's soul-and-a-halves are far more grounded in the here and now, and the fact we need to rely on each other (and our animal companions) to be whole. The two aren't a dichotomy either and work together on a few occasions since, at the end of the day, surviving the plague is a shared goal.

Good luck trying to save everyone! It is genuinely difficult and just deciding who to use resources on and choosing what to use resources for actively effect the story and roleplaying, not just dialogue. Supplies are limited and sometimes it's better to focus on self-preservation just to live another day because it's better others die than the town to go without a doctor. The game mocks and derides players who engage in combat, but you're never barred from it and there are very good reasons to engage in it (obtaining more medical supplies to keep people alive, saving babies from infected buildings, self-defence, protecting people who would otherwise be wrongfully executed, etc.)

I think it's important to seek out the good that still exists in the world rather than stew over the bad. Ironic, I know, given I'm recommending a bleak tragedy of a game / story, but my point that it's good still stands.

So yeah, if you're a disgruntled Fallout fan please give Pathologic (especially Pathologic 2) a shot. I really think you'll like it!

Edit: I keep adding stuff to this post. Originally tried to keep it brief but kept thinking of stuff worth talking about that it's beginning to get bloated ^^'

#fallout nv #fallout new vegas #fallout #pathologic #pathologic 2 #my favourite games #game recommendations #Youtube

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ballorawan740 · 3 years ago

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SCP Scenarios: SCP 1678 (Unlondon) x Reader (REQUESTED)

Source: Photo

Requested by: @lilithisfurry

Ok, so I've done it!!! 😃

Before any of you say a thing, I know that there are 2 humanoid 1678s which are 1678-A (Bobbies/Policeman) and 1678-C (Wretch) and an avian type one (1678-B)

The one I'll be using is 1678-A (Policeman) because it takes too much time to write 3 versions of this SCP (But I might consider writing the other 2, but it's highly unlikely)

First Encounter

When you first met this humanoid, you were sent into SCP 1678 for some test

The police humanoid emitted a loud whistle as the speakers screamed ‘‘Police! Halt, criminal!’’

A couple of others who were with you attempted to shoot them with their guns but were quickly shown to be resistant

Luckily for them, they managed to plant some explosives which caused damage

The other 1678-As went in and attacked them which wasn't unusual because of their hostile nature

However, for you, one of them managed to capture you and ran

For some reason, it showed some interest towards you and warded off the other SCP 1678-As off from you

They seemed to understand that you were "marked" and left you alone

That particular 1678-A managed to get you out from harm and back to your foundation

The foundation staff did wonder what had happened and you told them everything with proof since you were wearing a bodycam

They've soon noticed that this particular policeman was softer towards you as you bandaged up its broken arm

Your feelings for him

After the incident, you were sent back down into 1678 for further research and you bumped back into the sane 1678-A

You only remembered that it was him because of its gesture and its unusual markings which distinguished him from the others

Somehow, you both were able to communicate with each other

The researchers realised that they seemed to understand human speech, mainly English, however, they seemed to understand other forms of European languages as well

Moreover, this particular Bobby also understood sign language and used it to his advantage to communicate with you, displaying some fondness for you

The researchers were reluctant to let you carry on with this test as they've noticed that you've reciprocated the same gesture

Let's just say that the researchers and the other Bobbies agreed to the fact that it was strange for you and that special policeman to be dating

His Confession

Over time, as you both became closer, he worked up the courage to sign to you that he cares a lot about you

And you've found that rather cute and returned the gesture

Which then made you both a rather unique type of couple

The other 1678-As were concerned and curious about this new relationship and so was the Foundation

The researchers had decided to borrow your newfound partner and took him to his new room (No, you've basically kidnapped him)

Needless to say, the other Bobbies were somewhat furious while others were glad that he's gone since he betrayed them for not killing you

Your new partner was somewhat homesick, so you've decided to paint some victorian style art for his cell

Date

From time to time, you both were shoved back into 1678 which just so happens to be the main place for you both to date

Some of his friends were relieved to see him and some would even offer you a hug

You obviously returned the gesture for being so flattering and because your man could finally get laid (NGL yall still be touch starved to the point you'd even date strange beings and objects)

Dates with this Bobby would be rather interesting

Like, he'd hold hands, but probably wouldn't start it during the beginning of the relationship because he's just shy (Just like everybody else here)

Since his face is all bandaged up, you wouldn't really be having many kisses

But he'll make it up with hugs instead

His fellow friends would probably enjoy bothering the both of you while you're there and would pull pranks on you both

If you both were in the foundation, you'd be chilling in his cell and talking bout your experiences in life (Not like you'd have much to say, get back to studying/work)

The researchers may poke fun of you both but would generally leave you both alone

When he gets jealous

Now, depending on who he's jealous of, he would react differently

If it was another fellow 1678-A, he would be slightly hostile and assert his dominance over the others

However, if it was a member of the foundation or anyone else that's not 1678-A for that matter, he'd be even more aggressive and would probably try and kill them

Unless you manage to stop him then it's fine

This Bobby would be slightly possessive because you're the only other person who genuinely cares about him other than his 1678 friends/family

If he sees you having a friendly chat with another person/SCP, he would wrap an arm around you just so the other person knows you're taken

I think over time he learns some boundaries so even if he is aggressive, he wouldn't just automatically send the dude you're with to hell

Unless that person is a crappy person then good for them

Yandere!1678-A

This yandere right here would literally kidnap you and take you back into 1678

He'd make sure that you would never find a way back into the foundation which does concern the researchers, so they send a group of D-classes and MTFs to find you

If he was feeling nice, he would let you wander around 1678 but he would most likely be next to or near you at all times

If he was having a bad day, he would tie you up in a random building and made sure that nobody can get in or out

Would most likely be even more hostile to everybody else around you

If you haven't behaved, he'd probs use something sharp to inflict pain on you

If you managed to behave, then he loosens the ropes around your arms, legs and neck

Probs would feed you tiny doses of 1678-D but only a bit because he's aware of how that affects the bodies of ordinary humans

Their younger sister

You and the other 1678-As would literally be families at this point or friends with the ones who are lurking away from the main area of 1678

And since you were rather new, you were treated as the younger one (That's also because you're the youngest one)

Would probably protect you from everything

You would be spoilt to death and wouldn't have to hurt a fly

One of the policemen would get you a 1678-B as your personal pet

And it's rather fond of you so it basically follows you around

Would most likely intimidate your dates if you have one

Even more so if they're a human/SCP from the Foundation

If it was another member of 1678 then they're more chill

However, if you were dating 1678-C, they'd be quite reluctant for you to be in a relationship with her but would let you anyways

When their kids say their name for the first time

Would 100% be crying internally and shocked

Like, it happened out of the blue since you both were just relaxing

Word would spread across the whole of 1678 because of this

And not because you both were a unique pairing in the first place

1678-A would try to teach your child some sign language in contrast to you who would teach them to communicate verbally

Most likely try and teach the kid to defend themselves and probably attack others

But you wouldn't let him because they were too young (Just like you lot!!! Shouldn't y'all be studying in primary or high/secondary schools?)

The other 1678s would literally yeet their way to meet the kid just so they can teach your child to say more words

And to swear of course

When his S/O is angry

Oh dear

If the foundation doesn't know any better, they'd just assume that all the Bobbies were the aggressive ones

And oh boy were they wrong

You were the one who needs a chill pill

Basically, some guy tried to hit on you and wouldn't stop

So you just casually gave him a taste in his own medicine

Which were a punch in the face and a kick in the nuts (Kids, don't do this to a guy unless he really deserves it)

He somehow got back up and carried on harassing you

Your man was just strolling around the park until he saw the commotion

He had to literally hold you back and made the guy run for his life

Which was a shocker since it's usually the other way around

And of course, everybody inside 1678 heard about the news and cheered on for you while others just ran since they didn't wanna have the first-hand experience with your anger issue

When someone tries to steal you away

Oh this man right here would gather all his police friends as well as the birds to hunt down whoever stole you away

He would be furious to the core and rightfully so

The foundation was informed of this and they didn't blame this SCP

And that's because the person who stole you was from the Chaos Insurgency

Both GOIs hated each other's guts so the foundation just kinda let 1678-A hunt down the guy

And he did along with the MTFs

But was met with you standing over the guy's dead body

Then everybody realised that your man taught you how to protect yourself

And you did it so perfectly that even 1678 was intimidated af

Nobody wanted to mess with you and your partner was relieved that he taught you self defence

When his pregnant!S/O gets hurt by accident

This particular 1678-A that just so happens to be your partner, is rather shy and introverted

Nad although he does his 'job' well, he would rather just stay away from any contact

Until he met you and you became pregnant

This 1678-A would be slightly more protective but would let you have some space

And because of this, you managed to give yourself a papercut

Which was met with a furious policeman

But was cooled down when you explained your injury to him

He was giving you a huge lecture about your safety and how not to get hurt because you're carrying his baby

Wouldn't leave you alone ever again

Even if that means he would have to sit by the corner at all times

Would send his mates to come over to check on you if he wasn't there

Meeting a dragon hybrid child fem!reader

Definitely would be curious about you since they mostly interact with Foundation staffs

Probably would try to attack you but instead got burnt

1678-A would definitely notice your strange appearance and that you cry lava

Would feel bad so he'd try and comfort you

This then leads to you both being rather attached to each other

This particular 1678-A would have to bribe the others to keep you

The foundation realising this would happen

Probably would let you stay there for research purposes

They would most likely help level up your telekineses

Treats you like their own child and would be extremely protective

Most likely would have a heart attack every time you show kindness towards foundation members instead of attacking them

Every time you're in danger, the ones attacking you would soon realise that they've screwed up

Because the SCPs can hear you cry which would summon a whole bunch of them

When he accidentally kills you

He was basically chilling with you until some MTF members arrived to take some samples for testing

They were attacked by the other 1678-As and retaliated

This chill guy would lead you to safety before attacking the remaining MTFs

You realising what has happened decided to try and help out

You noticed that one of the MTF members were about to shoot your guy and managed to throw the gun out of his hand

1678-A notices and tries to attack the member but instead killed you

The remaining MTF members flee as he mourns your death

He would be even more vengeful and aggressive to the foundation members

Which does scare off the other Bobbies

Stayed in one of the abandoned houses to cry alone

Yandere!1678 - A x Evil!Reader

I'd say aside from his yandere self and the fact that he's only more aggressive to everyone else aside from you and giving you some scars, he's pretty dense and thicc in the brain

Probably wouldn't notice that you were working on them for a project in the GOC

You were able to get away with a lot of things because of your small stature and innocent appearance

Definitely managed to fool this yandere!1678-A because of your appearance

You could be just as vicious when you want to be

Yandere!1678-A soon realises that you were just using him for some experiment and were angered to the point of no return

Would most likely try and hunt you down

But since you've already got enough information about this SCP, you were able to devise a plan to leave

Manages to catch up to you but you were fortunate enough to know enough self-defence tactics to ward him off

You never came back to him and he was depressed for all of eternity

Trying McDonald's Sprite

You were requested to bring some ordinary food to 1678 as a test

And you've decided that you wanted to bring some Sprite with some Apple pie, mozzarella dippers and pancakes (They're my soul food from Mackies ok? Don't judge)

When you arrived in 1678, that one particular policeman who is attached to you for some odd reason was curious about the food

Of course, he would need to take off the bandage on his head to taste the food but not before some bribery from you

He reminisced about the food since he loved eating them before he turned into 1678-A

Sprite, however, was slightly different

He never tried them and was surprised with how good they tasted

Most likely would ask you to get more for him though

Foundation staff would be rather conflicted but allowed you to reward him with Sprite and some food

Only whenever he behaved well though

When his kid swears at him

You should've seen the look on his face (oh the irony)

You both taught your kid verbal and non-verbal communications with some common sentences people would say

But never have either of you taught your kid how to swear

Kinda just happened and 1678-A was about to go into cardiac arrest (Pun intended)

Would hunt down whoever taught them that depending on the severity

Like if the kid was using a ton of swearing in a sentence and was directing it to either of you, 1678-A would kill the guy

You were more of a chill type of parent

But would recommend the kid to stop swearing sine it's rude

Most likely wound ground the kind for a week tbh

When the reader scares him (Child!Reader)

Well, let's just say you managed to make the policeman play hide and seek with you

And you were the one hiding since you secretly knew that you were a professional at it

So you made 1678-A to find you

And although he's pretty good at catching his victims, he couldn't find you (Cuz y'all be so short)

Like he was literally in front of you and he still couldn't see you and you even giggled

So you've decided to jump on him

And oh boy was he about to scream out for help

But luckily he didn't cuz the others would whoop yo ass

Probably wouldn't give you a lecture but would need a while for his precious heart to not go yeetus the fetus

He would probably yeet you though tbf

When the reader pole dances/aerial silk dance

1678-A probably would have some ideas on what pole dancing is

Maybe not as much with the term aerial silk dancing but would soon understand when he sees you dancing

Probably thinks that you're trying to fondue with him if you're pole dancing

Definitely would be in awe when he sees you dance with the aerial silks

Would have a difficult time mimicking you if he ever wants you to teach him

Has definitely fallen 1000 times while pole dancing and broke his arms while dancing 10 ft off the ground

If the others inside 1678 see you dancing, he'd be in a blushing mess, especially if you were dancing to certain kinds of songs

Would most likely tell you to dance for him privately so there's no peeking

Having a Pregnant!S/O

Would most definitely be on the guard more since you're carrying his child

1678-A would most likely follow you around like a well trained and clingy German Shepard

You'd most likely have to tell him to tone it down because you're pregnant, not some delicate flower

Would most likely do whatever you tell him to do, even if it means hurting himself as long as you're safe and sound

Definitely would make sure that another 1678 would be around you at all times when he's away from you

1678-A would occasionally rub your stomach and sing victorian era songs

Sometimes he would bring you some of your favourite foods

When you try to commit suicide

When he hears the news he was devastated

He literally ran 69 miles just to see you

Would give you a big boi lecture about doing that

Nearly had his heart jump out of his body

Would constantly follow you everywhere after this

He's basically your bodyguard at this point

Would bandage up your wounds

Makes sure that you're fed well and all and would give you random gifts out of the blue

Would most likely ask the other Bobbies to care for you if he's not there and would even give you 1678-B

Asks the Wretches to keep a lookout to make sure nobody hurts you

Having a hopelessly romantic/easily flustered GN!Reader

This particular Bobby would most likely be just as easily flustered and hopelessly romantic as you

I'd imagine him trying to make the first move and you both being in a blushing mess

You both would exchange little gifts every now and again

Everyone else just teases and ships you both

You both loving each other unconditionally and constantly worrying about each other when you're both away from each other

This Bobby would definitely protect you from the MTFs and/or D-classes from attacking you

You would make a deal with the foundation to keep your guy safe and sound

The foundation witnessing how lovey-dovey you both are and just dies of cringe and sweetness overload (but not as sweet as out 999)

#scp #scp scenarios #scp x reader #scp headcanons #scp x reader headcanons #scp x reader scenarios #scp 1678 #scp 1678 headcanon #scp 1678 scenarios #scp 1678 x reader #scp 1678 x reader scenarios #scp 1678 x reader headcanon

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steve0discusses · 4 years ago

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Yugioh Ep 36 S4: Seto Joins Dragon Wife in Hell

So I dunno about you guys, but 2020 aged me like a lot in just these 8 months, so I figured it was time to embrace the feeling of being on death’s door and I decided to learn Mahjong. So I could truly embrace the ancients and vibe in their natural habitat.

Anyway, once I learned some Mahjong lore, some parts of Yugioh just open up. Namely--Seto’s dragons. Like a whole lot of stuff about early Seto Kaiba that confused me at the time just makes so much more sense now.

But unfortunately, he dies this episode, and he never pulled out his Blue Eyes White Dragons, and it’s just like...

...but my Mahjong deep cuts...

Like every episode I’m just rubbing my palms together in anticipation that someone will die, but like...I never get to talk about how in Mahjong, there’s only 4 white dragon tiles, but if you have 3, you can steal the fourth white dragon from another player’s discards, and that when you that, other stuff happens...I don’t get to talk about that because Seto’s hella dead.

So lets just get to the death. Dartz decides to make all of our soldier frenemies attack Pharaoh--because that’s all he needs to raise the Leviathan. Like Dartz doesn’t even really need to finish this game. He just needs Yami.

Seto picks up that these friend (and Pegasus) soldiers that Yami refuses to kill are probably going to end the world very quickly so he decides to do something about it. If this were a blog where I talked about cards instead of Mahjong, then I’d dive into the intricacies of what that even was.

But, we’re not, so lets just talk about Pegasus.

(read more under the cut)

This guy harnesses some psychic energy he’s got leftover from S1 and communicates directly to Pharaoh’s mind.

So, hey, what was that about Pegasus not having powers anymore? Like? He’s still doing this? He’s still psychic and he very clearly can still make blank cards so like...I guess you can take out the eyeball and make him nicer, but you can’t take out some of the effed up magic side-effects. (like there was a comment I didn’t respond to (which, sorry about that, been a little nuts over here in California), but apparently there was a movie in between seasons where Pegasus saved their lives--so he’s legit good now...there was a DLC where character arcs happened.)

Which kind makes you wonder about Marik, but we’ll probably never see him again so o well, save it for the fanfiction.

PS Yami is totally fixating on that eye we can’t see, right? Like...it never outright tells us, but does this spiritual Orichalcos manifestation of Pegasus still have the golden eye? A human eye? Or no eye at all? Just skin?

Not like it matters because Seto does some sort of card shenanigans that undo the whole friends that are soldiers thing like it never happened.

MMMMM I don’t like these weird legs on Yugi. Don’t like the thighs it gave to Joey. No! I’m seeing like this skin-tight silhouette of half an ass right now and I really don’t like it.

Along with other card things I won’t go into that consumed most of this episode, Seto finally got hit by a...well, I mean you can clearly see it in the next cap.

So, in Mahjong, there are 3 types of dragons: a white dragon, a red dragon, and a green dragon. I used to think it was really lazy that we’re just calling monsters straight up “white dragon” or “red dragon” in this show, but now it makes more sense because this whole time it was probably baby’s first Mahjong reference but I’m too Western to know that.

Anyway, the white dragon is funny looking because it’s a white tile--just a completely blank white tile. I thought it was a wild card at first but nah--it’s a white dragon in a snowfield--which is a very funny Dad joke from 200 years ago we’re still doing today. But, often, instead of a Dad joke, they’ll just make the white dragon tile a drawing of a blank card, like this:

Kind of funny that the guy who’s shtick is white dragons, ended up with his soul in a blank card. Was that a mahjong reference? Probably not, but I noticed it.

And mahjong aside, the show paid it’s respects to Seto dying and so he took his sweet time passing on. It’s still not that much respect. We aren’t gonna get that amazing Joey death sequence from S3 that took like half an episode of scene-shredding for our mains to recover from, but like...Seto was very determined to keep going, despite not having a soul.

He even finished his turn of cards, as if to just spite Joey Wheeler for that one time Joey hella died before killing Marik.

Shippers rejoice, it’s a Yami and Seto Kaiba death sequence. If you squint really hard, it might even be an embrace. I mean they both have very sharp duel disks on, and if Yugi’s closes for whatever reason, it’ll snap Seto’s head clear off, but what other “hugs” do we really get on this show?

And as for Mokuba, he was quite tragic this episode. I mean it’s Yugioh, so it’s not like you’re gonna cry or anything, but Mokuba just doesn’t really have anything else going for him without his brother so it is legit like...man Mokuba gets a lot of crap thrown his way and even when he’s happy, he still has to live with Seto so just...Mokuba...

Again we get this bubble effect of other people trying to enter the Orichalcos which happens just a Hell of a lot this season. Like Dartz probably has never had a single person WANT to go in the green zone in 10,000 years and then these bizarre children happened and they just want to bounce off that thing like a jello pudding.

I think it took over 5 minutes for Seto to die, and he was very, very, VERY angry the entire time. Just fueled by literally nothing but rage. Could probably go a couple more episodes if he had taken a nap in the KaibaCopter, but alas, even Seto Kaiba eventually runs out of fumes.

Anyway, another Mahjong fun fact. The dragon tiles are considered an “honor tile” and how many times have we heard Seto--who is such a scumball--go off about his honor? It can be hard to use honors tiles because their rate of success is lower, so when Seto’s like “I have to live up to my dragon’s honor or I can’t keep these in my deck” could he be like...making a Mahjong pun as well as a literal reference to whatever he defines as honor?

...Again, just a Mahjong reference I noticed, but probably not what they intended at all. Which is Good Enough for this blog.

After he tragically passed on, and Yami delicately put his body on the ground, -- Dartz decided to make this moment very funny for me, instead.

Bless.

Not as good as Yami the both times his body was chucked casually across the screen this season--but a very good toss, nonetheless.

I have made so MANY clips of this season!

Tristan and Tea kinda just stood there this entire episode while this was all going down and like...I know they can’t really do anything else at this point but like...can someone give Mokuba a hug???

I can’t believe Valon was the only guy in this entire show about friendship who knew how to hug people. He was in prison since he was 9, and then was raised by freakin Dartz, why is he the only hugger?

PS, apparently Seto’s yummy soul was enough to make the Leviathan open a single eye-ball in curiosity.

Mokuba out there flinging so many insults that he got everyone else banned from watching devil cards. It’s like sports competitions in Middle school with that one kid who won’t stop cussing. That one kid who is the reason everyone else has to sit through a boring ass assembly about sportsmanship? That’s Mokuba.

Now that everyone is ‘passed out’, we can get to the juicy stuff only the olds talk about--which sounds a lot like I’m about to do another segway into talking about Mahjong again, but I’m actually all out of the Mahjong juice. Again, I’m ass at Mahjong.

(and like...the peanut gallery died in the original version, right? I know to never trust a “they’re just sleeping” line in Yugioh.)

Dartz telling me he dragged that ass length blue hair across Egypt?

Man.

I would say that it must’ve really thrown people, but then again, their Pharaoh looked like...that.

So Dartz ended up wandering the earth for 5000 years, cursed to live immortally, unable to revive the great Leviathan, wallowing in his failure. Sentenced to suffer the entire existence of humanity that he never wanted to see survive anyway, unable to die himself.

That’s an interesting plotline that I wish I saw more of. I really like the idea of a supervillian who is already past his prime, who’s already burnt out, who’s so far removed from what happened that he’s fully accepted his demise and is just wandering around out of habit. But, most importantly--that changes my math. That’s like...5000 years he wasn’t slurping no souls because he was too damn depressed. So I’ll append the Deathcount. One second.

OK so we can just subtract 7.3 million from what we had, leaving us with: 7,805,844,047. Barely even made a dent but...eh...when you got the current population of the Earth in there it’s really hard to make a dent in that thing.

PS I still have that google doc where I keep track of the deaths, we have 55 lines of entries, haha.

Yugioh is interesting because you do have some racial stuff going on here where Yami is SO OLD that he doesn’t remember not only his own name--he doesn’t remember what he looks like. He’s even seen it a few times in hallucinations but like...Yami legit doesn’t know what it is to be an ancient Egyptian anymore. It’s been a hot minute, and he still sees himself as a pale skinned Yugi clone when he spiritually manifests in the show. Because the modern day, set in Japan, through Yugi’s eyes--that’s all he knows about life.

Dartz was so impressed by Pharaoh’s magic powers that he knew--he just KNEW that this Pharaoh with the worst hair would be the yummy soul for the Leviathan tummy. But unfortunately...

This is a show that has had so MANY overlapping apocalypses that I did have to sit back and kind of count off on my fingers which crazy person this would be about.

Honestly? Either Seto or Bakura...guessing Bakura because we haven’t finished his storyline yet and I know that he’s the big bad of S5. But man...Dartz was just like “oh...no thanks to that guy. I’ll just take a nap for 5000 years, BIG no thanks.” and it does make you wonder...

...oh...so that’s why you didn’t bother Bakura in this timeline.

It also helps make Bakura even more of a threat. Again, Bakura is great because he’s just constantly leaving nuggets of what a threat he is and then just...disappears for seasons on end. The Bakura we’ve made in our head is probably way more awful than what he may end up being.

But for now, it’s fun to just fill in the gaps instead.

anyway that was it for this episode, I’m off to pretend it’s Thanksgiving week and will look forward to drowning my anxiety in a 16 lb turkey shared between four people.

Anyway, I brought up the cat that falls asleep on metal rods so I have to do this:

And for those that are new, this is a link to read these in chrono order: https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

#yugioh #ygo #yu-gi-oh #yami #dartz #seto kaiba #dies #mokuba #tea gardner #tristan taylor #Yugi Muto #Joey Wheeler #'s weird ass pants with the flap thing going on #mahjong #S4 Ep36

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blackypanther9 · 4 years ago

Text

Part 22 - Oh Shit...We won...

Your POV....

I was in the air and killed the most Chitauri I could. I fought and attacked and killed. I was trained and skilled to do that. Suddenly I got shot, from behind.

"GAH !!"

I fell down to the ground. A hard landing but I still live. I stood up.

"Hey Lucie, are you okay ?", Tony asked me worried, over a communication device in my ear.

"I just got shot, from behind in my left lung.", I replied.

"Don't die ! I am coming !", he screamed.

"No. Continue fighting. I am fine."

"Are you kidding ? You got shot in an organ of yours ! Let Tony help you.", Steve said.

"I can heal myself I just need time. Continue fighting. I will survive it."

"Okay. But if you lied to us, we're gonna kick your ass.", Tony warned.

I laughed. After 10 more seconds I was healed and started to fight again. I looked at the portal and saw something big coming out of it.

"....Oh shit....", I said.

"We see it too. That thing is big as fuck...", Clint said.

"Holy shit of Odin. I am dead now.", I mumbled.

I flew in the air and killed some more Chitauri.

"Where are you guys ?", I asked.

"We are at the Grand Central Station, right infront of the building.", Steve answered.

"And I am in the air over New York at the big ugly thing.", Tony answered.

"Okay. And where is Thor ?", I asked.

"He is fighting Loki.", Natasha informed me.

"Okay. Steve I am coming to you. I see some trouble coming towards you.", I warned.

"Okay.", he responded.

I flew in their direction. I needed to dodge the flying Chitauri. I saw Loki infront of them.

"Didn't you guys tell me, like 10 seconds ago, that Thor is fighting Loki ? He just flew past me !", I yelled.

"They were fighting...", Natasha corrected.

"Well, fucking great !"

"Don't come here. Play with Stark in the air. We play on the ground.", Steve told.

"Fine !", I yelled annoyed.

We had an very interesting fight...for 15 fricking minutes... After this time Banner finally showed up.

"Tony, Banner is here.", Steve said.

"Good then tell him to suit up. I am bringing the party to you.", he replied.

"Dusk, how are you doing ?", Steve asked me.

"Doing fine...I think. I have a little too much work here... I need to kill Chitauri and save many people out of buildings...without dying...", I informed.

"You will do this. We have a party here soon.", Clint said.

"I rather have the party, than this...WAIT WHAT ?! You have a party and I have to work my ass off ?! NOT FAIR !!", I said sacastically.

"You hate us now...do you ?", Stark asked me.

"Nope. I am not the person for parties anyway.", I said.

10 Citauri surounded me now. I kicked one of the Chitauri in the nuts and the other in the chest. The others did all at the same time. I flew up and they crashed together. I summoned black flames in my hands and threw it at them. They all screamed while they burned. But I felt a little weak, now. I need to change with someone...soon.

"Guys...I need to warn you. Please warn Thor too. I won't be myself in a few minutes anymore. I will talk different, have another mood and maybe look different. Don't worry about it and don't worry about me. It's someone of me. Don't kill me. Not even hurt me. I swear I am no threat.", I informed them.

"Okay.", Steve and the others said.

'Listen Ratchel...don't attack or even try to find Loki. Kill the Chitauri and save the others, please. They need more help than we need to kick Loki's sorry ass. And after that, set me conscious again. '- You

'.....Fine. At least I can kill something with joy.'- Ratchel

'Great. I let you out now.'- You

Everything around me went black and I was unconscious. Better I was in my black void with the others.

Ratchel's POV....

As I saw the city around me in chaos, I was shocked. Everywhere, where I looked, was chaos. I saw the Chitauri running at me and I called a dagger which can also be a sword. If I press a button, while it's a dagger, it changes into a sword and the other way is the same. 6 of them were coming. I pressed the button and ran at them too. I changed my appearence to my actual body. I looked almost the same as Dest. Just the eye-, skin- and haircolour was different. (Chose on your own how she looks like.) I killed the six and suddenly all the Chitauri screamed.

"What's going on here ?!", I screamed.

"We killed one of the big Chitauri things...", Tony answered.

"Oh great...", I mumbled.

I stared up at the portal and saw more of them coming out.

"Oh Shit....", I mumbled.

Then I saw the big things.

"Oh fucking shit.", I cursed under my breath.

Then I remembered that we were outnumbered and these things have Loki as leader.

"Oh holy fucking shit....", I cursed again.

And then I remembered that it was war, we will die, Loki is an ass, we are probably wounded and exhausted and we don't have a useful army.

"Oh holy bloody fucking shit...", I mumbled again.

All the Chitauri on the ground attacked me now. I dodged and killed the first 3 with a slit open throat, the next 5 with cut away arms, the next 9 with an open stomach and the last 15 with a stab in their heads. I looked around and saw no people anywhere. Not even with my roentgen stare. I flew back to the others. They seemed fine and I searched Hulk. I found Hulk after 6 minutes.

"Hulk !", I called.

He turned around.

"I need your help to smash someone.", I said smiling.

"You friend of Lucie ?", he asked me.

"Yes I am a friend of hers."

"What you want Hulk do ?"

"You hate Loki right ?"

He nodded.

"Jump on him on Stark Tower. He will be there in 5 minutes.", I said.

"And Hulk then does what ?"

"You do what you can best. Smash him into the ground 5 or so times. Then leave him there and fight outside again. Show him no mercy."

He nodded again and smiled.

"But don't kill him, Hulk ! I still need his sorry ass ! Alive !", I screamed after him.

I took a short cut to the tower and hid in the shadows...well better said I made myself invisible. And after 2 minutes I saw with my eyes exactly what happened. Loki tried to shot the flying...something, where Natasha was on, down.

youtube

(Too lazy to write and it's funnier if you see it, or more painful, cause you like Loki.)

Wow...that must've hurt...Welp ! I love Hulk. I have problems to hold my laugh right now...This reaction of Loki...like he forgot that he got Hulk smashed in the basis once. Well, maybe he wasn't that hard the first time. That event must be traumatizing. How he lays there and stares in shock...I can't hold it anymore. I teleported away and laughed like an idiot. I made the others see it too. Heiko laughed too. But Mimi and Destiny didn't. Destiny flinched and Mimi looked away. Sheesh... I got back to work. I suddenly heard Natasha say...

"I can close the portal."

"Then do it.", Steve said.

"No.", Tony said.

I wondered why, but I turned the communicator off. I had other things to do, like stopping the other Chitauri from exiting the portal. And then- Oh.... What the hell is this ? A bomb ? What is that what Tony has there.... I looked closer. Nope no idea...

'What's that thing Tony carries ?'- Ratchel

'It's a missile. It can destroy maybe the whole city.'- You

'Oh...shit...'- Ratchel

I stared at Tony. He overpowered his thrusters and pushed the missile with himself through the portal. They were there and after maybe 5 minutes there was a sound of an exposion. We waited 40 more seconds for Stark. I saw Natasha then closing the portal and in the last second Tony fell out. All the Chitauri were dead. Better deactivated. I teleported to the others and saw Hulk catching Tony. Thor riped off the metal mask and Tony had closed eyes. No...

"Oh Shit....", I cursed loud.

They turned around and raised their weapons.

"Hey, hey ! I am Ratchel. Lucie told you she wouldn't be herself, right ? I am the other one. I am here in peace.", I said.

They all put the weapons down again. Hulk screamed angry and suddenly Tony awoke. I jumped and was happy he was still alive.

"What the hell ?", Tony asked shocked.

Thor smiled a little smile.

"What just happened ? Please tell me nobody kissed me.", Tony said.

Steve and I answered him then.

"We won."

Tony sighed relieved.

"Alright yay ! Hurray. Good job guys."

"We're not finished yet.", I said.

They all looked at me.

'Come out again, it's over.'- Ratchel

'Alright.'- You

And around me was all black.

Your POV....

I opened my eyes. They all still stared at me.

"We need to get Loki. Before he is able to run away.", I said.

"Well then...lets go.", Tony said.

"And then we take a day off and maybe go to try Shawarma.", Tony added.

"Fine by me, now lets go.", I replied.

After 10 minutes we were there and we saw Loki crawling to the stairs to sit down. He must be exhausted. He groaned by every painful move he made. After he stopped and wanted to sit down he noticed our presence. He slowly turned around and stared at the others. I was behind them, hidden. Nobody noticed.

"If it's all the same to you, ugh, I'll have that drink now.", he said.

He looked at them with almost asking for mercy eyes. And turned fully to us around.

Thor turned to me.

"So...you were the whole time here, Dusk ?", he asked smiling.

"Yeah...", I scratched the back of my head, "I knew Loki would appear here, but not like that...."

Thor nodded.

"Luciella ?", Loki asked.

"Shut up Loki. I don't think we need to talk now.", I said coldly.

"I just wanted to apologize."

"I know Loki, but...that won't help you now. You killed, kidnapped and hurt people here. A simple apology won't undo it. And about everything else before...too."

Loki was quiet.

"So you weren't lying with you and Reindeer Games, being best friends ?", Tony asked.

"No. We were best friends. In our childhood he was for 2 years and then after 352 years he was still my friend, but now...I am not sure anymore...", I answered.

I summoned chains with cuffs and cuffed Loki. He stared at me with eyes, that showed that he was still broken as hell, maybe even more and I still saw my best friend there. Trapped in a cell, which is slowly faiding away. I gave him a cold stare. He looked away. I stood up again and turned to Tony.

"Can I use a glass and fill water in it, for the chained princess, before she whines ?", I asked.

"Sure. I have nothing against it.", Tony replied.

I nodded, went to the bar, took a glass and went off. After 5 minutes I came back with a glass of water. I went to Loki and took a sip infront of him.

"I didn't poison it, like you see. Take it, drink it, be happy and shut up.", I said.

I took his right hand and pressed it into his hand. He looked at me, then at the glass and took a sip. And then another.

"Break one of these 4 rules in the next 10 minutes and I will set the poison in the water free.", I warned him.

His eyes widened and he spit it out. I laughed.

"As soon as it touched your lips, you can't get rid of it. It will not work anymore in the next 10 minutes. Within it, the poison just waits until I set it free. Are the 10 minutes over, it disappears."

Loki stared at me in shock.

"Drink the rest, or I set it free.", I told him.

He quickly drank the whole glass empty. I reached out my hand, he gave it to me, silently. I lifted my right hand and petted his head and hair softly.

"Good boy. You are such a good God.", I said with a small smile.

He looked at me. I slapped him across the face, starting at his right cheek, he didn't say anything.

"That was for New York, worrying me, not listening to me at the Bifrost and hurting me.", I told him.

He looked at me again. I grabbed his chin, moved it slowly but forcefully to the left and kissed his right, now red cheek.

"And that for being alive.", I told him.

Part 23

Masterlist with all Chapters of this Story click here !

#Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Marvel #Thor #Loki x Reader

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spideyyroos · 5 years ago

Text

are you kidding me? - peter parker (soulmate!au) - part 3

pairing: peter parker x stark!female!reader

summary: during your everlasting rivalry against peter parker, you’re unlucky enough to find out that not only is he spider-man (your dad’s new kid), but he is also your soulmate. god help us all. (soulmate au where you have a mark of where your soulmate first touches you)

word count: 2511

requested: yes!

warnings: language, slight angst, stab wound

a/n: GUESS WHOSE BACK BACK BACK BACK AGAIN!!! hey guys! sorry i’ve been mia recently, school has really been piling up on me and i pushed off this part for so long! tbh i think this is gonna be slightly slow burn?? i don’t want to rush anything oof. hope you guys like it :))

THE NEXT DAY

As both Peter and Y/N made their way to school, they communicated to one another on how they should act and when they should tell their individual friends about the whole soulmate ordeal. For the time being, they decided to still hate each other at school--which, technically, they still hadn’t been too fond of each other ever since the previous day. Y/N, being the more stubborn of the two, couldn’t push aside the decade-long rivalry between her and Peter. She was still in denial that he was her soulmate, the one who she would spend the rest of her life with.

Chewing on her lip, Y/N thought about her future with Peter in it. She always knew that he would stick around in her life but never where. After the almost-kiss that they shared last night, she muted her thoughts from him, not wanting to distract while fighting crime. As she did so, she wondered why she cared about the well-being of the boy, not just in academics.

-at Midtown-

As Peter and Y/N made their way to their first period, they cautiously stood at different places from one another when passing through the hallway. Thankfully enough, Ned found Peter and they weaved their way into their history class. Y/N found herself in the class moments after, taking a seat in the back corner to ensure that she could take a nap for the period.

Y/N had always prepared ahead of time for the classes she decided to take naps in. Her phone was programmed to pick up what the teacher was saying during the lecture; later, Y/N would listen and add extra information to her notes (a/n: i suggest this highly; it works super well! :)).

When the lecture started, Y/N was out like a light. She got plenty of sleep the night before, but still preferred to be asleep. Peter, who sat across the room, tried to focus on his notes, but felt the strong urge to stare at her. Similar to Y/N, Peter felt hesitant to feel affections toward his usual enemy. Ever since yesterday, he cringed at how the two treated each other.

Needless to say, these circumstances were more than overwhelming.

-lunch-

After their fifth period Spanish class, Y/N and Peter walked side by side in the hallway. Before they knew it, Flash called out at Peter.

“Hey Penis Parker! What are you doing, flying out of your league?”

“And what would you know, Flash? Last time I checked, your homecoming date left you in the dust to go and grind with some other egotistical prick.”

Flash’s jaw dropped at Y/N’s words and Peter covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. Y/N turned around to face Flash, deadpan--clearly unamused by his ever so endearing nickname for Peter. Then, as if in some world-turning moment, she realized that she had just defended her rival.

Nobody knew that they were soulmates just yet.

She couldn’t let that happen--not now at least.

However, before she could make an excuse for standing up for Peter, Flash suddenly changed his target of ridicule.

“Aw, I’m sorry babe. Do you have a personal score to settle with Lindsey? Or, better yet, come over tonight and we can,” Flash continued to advance towards her and corner Y/N onto a locker, “make up for lost time.” Flash was face-to-face with Y/N, expelling his hot breath over her face. Although Flash was yet another person who knew how to make Y/N’s skin crawl, she decided to swallow the vomit coming up her throat and let herself be “enchanted” with the king of douches.

“Umm...you sure have a way with words, handsome,” Y/N’s mind was screaming at her to kick him in the nuts, but her pride didn’t allow her to let up and run to her only safe space--Peter. She feigned a gleaming smile, letting it hit her eyes. Flash only smirked at his supposed “power” over women, though it repulsed anything that walked--no, breathed--on this very earth. Y/N continued to keep this act up by biting her lip and forcing herself to eye his lips, misshapen and topped with peach fuzz for a mustache. It sent her back to last night with Peter, and she mentally sunk into thoughts of the blessed day when she’d put her guard down and allow herself to love him--woah, wait...what the fuck?

Just as she was about to dwell on her absurd thought, she felt the disgustingly warm body heat in front of her being ripped away and an angry Peter now in front of her. His back was facing her and he held his death grip on Flash, who now looked scared as all hell, was panting from the sudden movement and wide-eyed.

“How about we don’t do that?” Peter threatened, gritting his teeth and shooting daggers at Flash. Y/N walked directly behind Peter and performed the trick as old as time: playing with the angry boy’s hair to calm him down. As she laced her fingers through his wavy hair, Peter fell victim to the affection. He let go of Flash, freeing him to run away from the previously seething Peter--not sparing to look back at the nerd who once could never have the heart to kill a fly.

Y/N grabbed onto Peter’s shoulder and turned him around, hand still interlocked within his curls. Peter’s expression showed pure relaxation, contradicting the near-death that he could have caused. They looked into each other’s eyes, once again letting the rest of the world slip away. Thank God that everyone else had cleared the hallway and went their own ways to the cafeteria. The young Stark filed her hand through his exceptionally soft hair--what conditioner do you use? They chuckled, knowing that only these two could see into her comedic genius. Peter’s eyes wandered her face, taking in her features and mentally noting small details that he would’ve never noticed beforehand. He suddenly cupped her face with his hands and went to lean in, only for Y/N to abruptly rip her contact from him.

“Peter--”

“I’m sorry--”

“Can we just give...give whatever this is--a moment to breathe? Jesus, it’s been a day and now I have to make sure that no one ever hits on me because God forbid Spider-Man’s soulma--” Peter’s hand clamped over Y/N’s mouth, eyes wide and desperate for her to shut up.

“I’m sorry, ok? Now will you stop talking before someone hears?” Y/N shoved his hand off her mouth and made a beeline towards the exit, not dealing with anymore of this bullshit.

Y/N, frustrated and fed up, went home to the complex--this, and she swears by it, was by far the worst week of her life. She wished that she wasn’t so difficult, that she could have been dealt a different soulmate, that she could start over, that she could be anywhere else but here. She made an effort to ignore his thoughts and mute her own. She didn’t want to be burned again. She has always pined after the well-deserved love and freely gave her heart to the people who gave her half-assed compliments--believing that each time would be different. Yet time and time again she would be let down, until she had enough. She sealed her walls with super-glue and rejected any form of genuine interest in her well-being.

-at Avengers complex-

4:56

Peter tried to busy himself with expanding his patrol area, patrol hours, and homework--anything to avoid facing the obvious. He may as well be dead to her, right?

God, no! Don’t ever say that. Just--give me time, alright? This is just...a lot.

Look--we’re adjusting right now. Us even talking is already some sort of sign that we can try to get along. I know you’d prefer to stay at the very least 6 feet apart but--fuck, I’ll be honest--ever since we…connected I’ve been able to see you in a different light--

--pretty sure that’s called being horny--

--will you just...you know what? No. You don’t get to find out what I was going to say. Are you happy now?

Y/N didn’t respond. She just laid on her bed, aggressively staring at her window, hoping that he just might swing by.

It wasn’t long until she felt a searingly white hot pain on her left side. She screamed out in her room, trying to haphazardly relieve some of this unbearable punishment of having a superhero as a soulmate. Tears blurred her vision and she clutched her side, unable to move in fear that she would break her entire body. With as much effort she could put out, she reached for her suit tracking device--jesus christ, what the fuck happened to him?

Y/N saw the spider icon deep in the streets of Queens, at one of the many Mom and Pop restaurants. She saw an update on the suit condition:

OPENING ON LEFT SIDE - COULD BE KNIFE WOUND?

Peter, are you okay? Please get out of there as soon as you can! I’ll call the police right now--OW!

Y/N received a crisp punch to her right cheek, wincing and letting the new tears fall over her face. She tried to stay strong, despite everything hurting so much. She pressed “NOTIFY POLICE” on the device and curled into a ball, hoping the pain would stop soon. Just as she thought it was over, a square kick to the stomach almost caused an upheaval of her last meal. Stars taking over her vision, she fell unconscious onto her bedroom floor.

-meanwhile-

Peter has had his fair share of difficult and strong criminals, but damn! This group was one for the books. Not considering the soulmate tie between himself and Y/N, he fought the band of robbers and took each hit as a grain of salt.

Peter, are you okay? Please get out of there as soon as you can! I’ll call the police right now--OW!

“Oh shit--” Peter mumbled, allowing himself to get punched in the face by the one of the last men standing. Easily knocking him out with his special “pow, pow, POW” combo, as Peter liked to call it.

Unfortunately, before he could safely escape the scene, with the criminals webbed up against the wall, the final “stupidhead” (once again, as Peter liked to call it) attacked him with a swift kick to the stomach.

Shit.

Peter heard the sirens nearly a block away, so he opted to avoid any more conflict by webbing the kicker against the ceiling of the restaurant--stealing away into the city and on the way to the complex.

He remembered the backpack that was so secretly plastered next to the window of Y/N’s bedroom and was quick to change into his street clothes. Practically breaking into her bedroom, Peter was instantly at Y/N’s unconscious side--did her body show where he got hurt also?

Unsure if he was throwing away all of Aunt May’s well-taught respect and manners of “don’t put your hands on a girl unless she says you can and she wants you to,” Peter lifted her shirt to check if she was stabbed as well. Fortunately, either soulmate can have the sensation of pain--not the actual injury itself.

Y/N woke with a start, breaking her eyelids open to see Peter lifting her shirt to check the left side.

“What are you doing?” Y/N flinched away, tearing the material out of his hands.

“I’m sorry--I was checking if you were okay--”

“--people don’t check under other people’s shirts--wait. Am I stabbed?” Y/N went to check herself, only to double take at Peter’s blood stain growing larger by the second.

“Oh my god--stay right there, ok? I’ll go get a first aid kit--holy shit…”

Peter chuckled at her antics, but winced as he realized that...I got stabbed and it’s an open wound and now I’m laughing and oh my god--

“Ok, holyshitok--lay on my bed, please. Lay on your side, with the wound facing me. Also, please take off your shirt,” Y/N took a deep breath, preparing the sutures to properly address the injury. She concentrated, despite her hands shaking horribly.

“This is going to feel even worse than when I start to sew but you can grab onto something if you need,” Y/N softly spoke, ready to clean, with alcohol, around where the knife had tore into his flesh. Peter nodded, unsure what he could grab onto without breaking her concentration. He opted for her bedsheets, which were slightly wrinkled and smelled like the expensive detergent that often surrounds Y/N--what? Why am I--

Y/N hummed in content and smiled to herself as she finished disinfecting and started to sew. Although Peter was used to his clumsy hands dangerously stitching together his deeper injuries, Y/N’s precision and patience to ensure the least amount of pain almost...put him at peace. She would glance over at him to reassure herself that he wasn’t passed out--though that would make the situation far less intimidating. Here he was, Peter Benjamin Parker, shirtless and occasionally bleeding (though it was far less than before), on Y/N M/N Stark’s bed. When she wasn’t looking at him, Peter would steal glances at the young Stark, appreciating her calm nature in such a scenario like this. On the other hand, when he wasn’t staring at her, Y/N would give a side eye to Peter--who was focusing on the small design on the bedsheets. He recognized the R2-D2 and C-3PO duo that continued across the dimensions of the mattress, tracing the dark outline of each character.

“Ok, I’m almost done. I just need to apply the gauze and the skin adhesive,” Y/N stated, quickly exiting the room to go fetch the proper dressings.

When she came back, Peter was still in the same position--but with stilled breathing and relaxed muscles.

Oh my God, he’s asleep. At least the hard part’s over--I think.

Y/N finished the full treatment for the wounds, briefly waking Peter up to tell him to get changed into some loungewear. He barely obliged, grumpy from having been woken up from his short nap. He pouted like a toddler, wanting to return to the “comfy bed with the nice blankets.” Y/N did her best to not laugh, admiring the adorable nature that came with him. He returned to the bed and Y/N made sure that he was comfortable enough without laying directly on top the wounds. She tried her best to be a better person and reluctantly played with his hair, hearing a small “thank you” in response. Peter fell asleep immediately, exhausted from a mentally and emotionally gruelling day.

Y/N watched as he finally relaxed into his sleep, thankful that she could at least help the superhero everyone loved.

Someday, I will love him. Just not now--not yet. I can’t let you in just yet.

taglist: @mega-bi @lordofblamo @sadstrudel @ispiderdudei @everythingsship @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @annathesillyfriend @mybitchborky @randxmthxughts @dear-selena

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #soulmate!peter parker #soulmate!au #spiderman x reader #spiderman #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker fanfiction #marvel #marvel imagine #tony stark #dad!tony #hi i'm back #it's been like 10 years #spideyyroos writes

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antoxsmith · 5 years ago

Text

Toxic (Part 1)

Warnings - Drama, Heartbreak

Pairings - Negan x Reader

Summary - Negan is as possessive as could be and she thought she was ready to let him go. She was wrong.

NEGAN MASTERLIST

I am in AO3 as @antoxsmith:)

Also angry Negan is daddiest.

What do you call a man that would kill another guy out of jealousness?

Toxic.

What do you do when you’ve come too deep and you don’t know how to stop him?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Or at least, she thought so. She had tried to talk to him, leave him, cry, even compared the situation with her killing one of his wives.

But did he care?

Of course not. Negan was not one of those men who cared.

First it was Liam, the cute boy about her age that had a crush on her since he heard her play the guitar. But he never tried anything more than a friendship. At least for Negan, that as enough to send him to a suicide mission out in the woods. Three men died that night and Liam was the only one that didn’t do anything wrong.

She exploded that time, but Negan said it wasn’t intentional, that the group just needed someone to be in charge. And she believed him as the fool she was.

Then, it was Louis. He was a little bit older but not as much as Negan. Louis was a straight-up flirt, with those lovely blue eyes he had, he could’ve made her melt; but she was way too much into Negan to even notice. Then, one night he disappeared. She found out he was sent to one of the other communities and not long later, news came about his passing mysteriously.

“What the fuck, Negan?” were the words she said when she walked into his office, leaving a letter with a punch on the desk. It had been written by Louis, and it said that he was ‘scared for his life’ and that ‘he saw a man following him all over the compound’, sent just days before he was killed.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked, his hands over his chest with his fingers intertwined, only looking at the letter for a half a second before realizing what it was. He looked up at her as if he was trying to read her thoughts, and of course, with jealousness.

“Don’t change the subject!” she raised her voice. “Was this you?” she asked without leaving his eyes, still leaning over the desk.

Negan just sighed slowly and held his gaze on hers. “Why…” he stood up. “… do you care…” he walked around the desk without leaving her eyes, closing the distance between them. “… so much!?” he raised his voice at the end making her flinch.

“He was my friend” she said now looking down, his voice reminding her who she was talking to. She couldn’t stand up to him, not yet.

Negan kept looking at her with a serious gaze, but after a second he smiled cockily as always. His left hand went up to her chin and made her look at him. “Do I need to remind you who is in charge here, honey?” he asked softly, tilting his head.

She swallowed hard, with fear. She just moved her head no.

“That’s so good, really good” he said without letting go of her skin. “Now, sweet cheeks, I am going to answer your question even though I shouldn’t have to” he said before being quiet a few seconds, his tongue playing with his front teeth seductively. “I didn’t do it” he said, then let go of her chin, a dark look in his eyes as he invaded her personal space.

The next time there was no way he could deny it. She heard him. She heard him telling Simon to ‘kill that mother fucker in his sleep’, and that was how she found her friend Javaad dead the next morning. She didn’t say anything. About it or… to him. She literally didn’t talk to him for days. Then she went out on a run with Simon trying to avoid him, but…

“Why are you stopping? We have to take advantage of the light!” she said, coming from the back of the RV and leaving the guns she was cleaning.

“Negan said he didn’t give you no permission to go out” Simon said simply as he turned around the RV going back to the sanctuary.

“What? No! Wait, we have to go there I know there’s something in that gas station!” She said feeling anxious not wanting to go back to Negan.

“I am going. Later” he said, only looking at her for a second before turning back to the road. “You shouldn’t try to run from him,” Simon advised.

And yeah, she shouldn’t have tried.

As soon as she had arrived at The Sanctuary, Negan had called her into his office. When she entered the room, Sherry was there and Negan was kissing her neck.

She looked down to the ground when she saw that little scene, and coughed trying to get his attention. He looked up, but didn’t stop till he wanted to, his lips on Sherry’s skin for some more time. Then sent Sherry away after whispering something to her.

“Close the door.” was the only thing he said. She obeyed.

He was sitting there with Lucille right in front of him on the desk. She just stayed there then, standing like a fearful idiot that couldn’t even look at him in the eye.

“What the fuck is it about you that you are trying to drive me nuts?” he asked like he was so full of her shit.

“Me?” she asked confused and angry, looking up to him. “You are the one killing everyone close to me” she said with sad eyes.

“I am no-“

“I heard you the other night when you sent them to kill Javaad.” She stopped his lie. “Don’t deny it, please.”

Negan looked angrier now. He moved one finger signaling for her to come closer. And again, she obeyed. She walked around the desk and stopped next to him, looking down to the floor with sadness.

“He was trying to get with you.” was his only justification. She felt her blood boiling in angriness. “Just as Louis and Liam.” He said looking at her.

“What!?” she asked when she heard that. “But you said you didn’t!” she yelled, disappointed. Negan furrowed his eyebrows and stood up, rising in front of her and making her feel little.

“What was that again?” he asked with his hand on his earlobe in a sarcastic move. “Thought I heard you yell something” he said sarcastically.

She put her hands over her face. “Why would you do this to me?”

“To you!?” he raised his voice. “Well fuckity fuck I was right. Those fuckers were too important if it hurt you so bad” he raised his eyebrows.

“What?” she asked truly confused. “What the fuck, Negan?” she raised her voice too, looking up to him. That was the first time she ever talked back to him like that and he looked truly surprised. “I didn’t do anything with them and I wouldn’t because… because…!” she couldn’t say it. She moved her head no and ran her fingers through her hair, turning around.

“Because?” he asked with his sarcastic tone, leaning on the desk, as if he didn’t care but oh, he did. She had never yelled at him like that and it concerned him, but he couldn’t understand why she was so angry.

She turned to see him; her eyes full of tears. “I want out.” She finally said, her hands in fists trying not to lose it. She felt as if she was responsible for her three dead friends.

“You want- What!?” he asked as if he was afraid of something. But she didn’t even notice. She was already walking towards the door.

Negan was way faster. He put his much larger hand over the door right in front of her face making her close it strongly, and turned her around by holding her forearm with far more strength than he intended to.

“You can’t” he said leaning in towards her.

She looked at him with a comical look. “Where is the ‘you are free to go anytime you want’?” she raised one eyebrow as she cleaned up her tears. He didn’t answer and with that silence, she tried to open the door again but he didn’t let her.

“What the fuck Negan!?” she asked now getting anxious.

“You are not going anywhere,” he said in a calm tone that only did hide a tremendous amount of angriness. And she could see it in his eyes.

“I said I want o- “

She shut up when he hit the door behind her with his fist, getting scared.

“There’s no ‘out’ of this!” he snapped.

“Look, I don’t know what’s wrong with you right now but- “

“You did this! You can’t blame me over it!”

She opened her mouth when she heard that, truly surprised. “I didn’t d- “

“That fucking Louis was always trying to get into your panties and you played the fool! Am I supposed to let that slip!?”

“Wha- “

“And then Jawad or whatever the fuck is his name gave you flowers right in front of everyone in the garden!” he claimed as if he was in his right. “Fuck!” he screamed this time, hitting the door again and now truly scaring her to the point she covered her head thinking he would hit her. That was when he snapped back to reality. “No, no, sweet cheeks I wasn’t…” he put one of his hands over hers making her gasp and flinch.

“Please just let me out. We can talk later.” She said as if she was a robot.

He sighed softly, then nodded. “Go” he simply said, turning around, almost embarrassed even though she was too scared to notice. She quickly ran out of there and went to her room. “What the hell was that?” she asked to herself once there, her chest going quickly up and down. She was genuinely scared, confused, surprised and weirdly excited. Negan had never acted like that with her.

Maybe it was solely because she knew… things. Maybe it was because he had confessed to her a lot of shit about his past. Maybe he was just… as confused as she was.

“What the fuck?” he asked to himself once alone in his office.

But the fact that she left him with his thoughts was not a good thing. He started convincing himself that nothing about her was that special. And in the end, he was sure about it. So, the next day, when he called her into his office again, it wasn’t for what you could call an explanation.

“Come here” he simply said, patting his lap, after looking at her standing in front of the desk for what felt like an eternity in complete, dead silence.

She looked confused but she moved, looking at his eyes as she did. Once she was next to him, she stopped and sighed.

“Negan, I don’t think I- “

“I didn’t ask.” He cut her off in a serious tone.

She bit the inside of her mouth and obeyed. Softly, she sat on his lap trying not to feel like a toy. Before, she used to like it a lot; for him to tell her what to do. She thought it was sexy somehow. But in these circumstances?

He put his arms on her hips, the difference of sizes very obvious.

She looked up to him, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“What?” he asked.

“I don’t know” she shrugged as if she was a kid.

He caressed her thighs softly still looking into her eyes as if he was trying to read something in them. “Are you leaving?”

She looked confused. “I… guess so” she nodded, looking as if she was dying for him to just say something else, to not let her go. She looked down then, playing with his jacket’s zipper. He didn’t look surprised.

“Then there’s a spot for you in The Hilltop.” He simply answered. “We will need your room clean by tomorrow morning. There’s someone else coming for your spot” he didn’t remove the hands on her hips.

“My spot’?” she asked confused. “I-I thought- “

“Yeah. There’s not another room available for her and since you are so eager to go then it’s what you would call perfect timing, doll” he explained as if he didn’t care.

She felt her heart break right there.

“Just like that?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Yes” he said coldly but his looks said otherwise, still studying her face.

“So, all of this…” she stood up not caring about his hands trying to pull her down again, and forced her way up. “For nothing?” she asked, eyes now full of tears.

“All of what?” he asked oblivious looking up to her from his seat, raising one of his eyebrows.

She just moved her head no. “Just- Just… Just get away from me” she said and ran out of the room not wanting for him to see her cry.

He stayed there, looking at the door and suddenly, he felt like he hadn’t in years.

Like shit.

Part 2 HERE

#negan #The Walking Dead #the walking dead negan #negan x original female character #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x y/n #negan x oc #twd #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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hockeysweetheart · 4 years ago

Photo

I can name a thousand reasons why I love Peeta Mellark this is one of them...

He can bake duh...and prob can make some other wonderful things besides just baking..Growing up as a baker he knows a lot about bread and damn we all know he makes stuff extra special for Katniss.. Hot guy would be like hey look at me I would be like no shut up that one over there good looking and can bake sold...

But his stuff is almost to pretty to eat honestly... but inside would taste so damn good you don’t feel so bad respect that

Below is the whole bread story enjoy

It was during the worst time. My father had been killed in the mine accident three months earlier in the bitterest January anyone could remember. The numbness of his loss had passed, and the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over, racking my body with sobs. Where are you? I would cry out in my mind. Where have you gone? Of course, there was never any answer. The district had given us a small amount of money as compensation for his death, enough to cover one month of grieving at which time my mother would be expected to get a job. Only she didn't. She didn't do anything but sit propped up in a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. Once in a while, she'd stir, get up as if moved by some urgent purpose, only to then collapse back into stillness. No amount of pleading from Prim seemed to affect her. I was terrified. I suppose now that my mother was locked in some dark world of sadness, but at the time, all I knew was that I had lost not only a father, but a mother as well. At eleven years old, with Prim just seven, I took over as head of the family. There was no choice. I bought our food at the market and cooked it as best I could and tried to keep Prim and myself looking presentable. Because if it had become known that my mother could no longer care for us, the district would have taken us away from her and placed us in the community home. I'd grown up seeing those home kids at school. The sadness, the marks of angry hands on their faces, the hopelessness that curled their shoulders forward. I could never let that happen to Prim. Sweet, tiny Prim who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason, who brushed and plaited my mother's hair before we left for school, who still polished my father's shaving mirror each night because he'd hated the layer of coal dust that settled on everything in the Seam. The community home would crush her like a bug. So I kept our predicament a secret. But the money ran out and we were slowly starving to death. There's no other way to put it. I kept telling myself if I could only hold out until May, just May 8th, I would turn twelve and be able to sign up for the tesserae and get that precious grain and oil to feed us. Only there were still several weeks to go. We could well be dead by then. Starvation's not an uncommon fate in District 12. Who hasn't seen the victims? Older people who can't work. Children from a family with too many to feed. Those injured in the mines. Straggling through the streets. And one day, you come upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the Meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and the Peacekeepers are called in to retrieve the body. Starvation is never the cause of death officially. It's always the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. But that fools no one. On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta Mellark, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town, trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of Prim's in the public market, but there were no takers. Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father, I was too frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. The rain had soaked through my father's hunting jacket, leaving me chilled to the bone. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mint leaves I'd found in the back of a cupboard. By the time the market closed, I was shaking so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud puddle. I didn't pick it up for fear I would keel over and be unable to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes. I couldn't go home. Because at home was my mother with her dead eyes and my little sister, with her hollow cheeks and cracked lips. I couldn't walk into that room with the smoky fire from the damp branches I had scavenged at the edge of the woods after the coal had run out, my bands empty of any hope. I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. The merchants live above their businesses, so I was essentially in their backyards. I remember the outlines of garden beds not yet planted for the spring, a goat or two in a pen, one sodden dog tied to a post, hunched defeated in the muck. All forms of stealing are forbidden in District 12. Punishable by death. But it crossed my mind that there might be something in the trash bins, and those were fair game. Perhaps a bone at the butcher's or rotted vegetables at the grocer's, something no one but my family was desperate enough to eat. Unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied. When I passed the baker's, the smell of fresh bread was so overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. I stood mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back to life. I lifted the lid to the baker's trash bin and found it spotlessly, heartlessly bare. Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to see the baker's wife, telling me to move on and did I want her to call the Peacekeepers and how sick she was of having those brats from the Seam pawing through her trash. The words were ugly and I had no defense. As I carefully replaced the lid and backed away, I noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering out from behind his mother's back. I'd seen him at school. He was in my year, but I didn't know his name. He stuck with the town kids, so how would I? His mother went back into the bakery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as I made my way behind the pen that held their pig and leaned against the far side of an old apple tree. The realization that I'd have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain. There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through the mud and I thought, It's her. She's coming to drive me away with a stick. But it wasn't her. It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black. His mother was yelling, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" He began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss them into the trough, and the front bakery bell rung and the mother disappeared to help a customer. The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? My parents never hit us. I couldn't even imagine it. The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. I stared at the loaves in disbelief. They were fine, perfect really, except for the burned areas. Did he mean for me to have them? He must have. Because there they were at my feet. Before anyone could witness what had happened I shoved the loaves up under my shirt, wrapped the hunting jacket tightly about me, and walked swiftly away. The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life. By the time I reached home, the loaves had cooled somewhat, but the insides were still warm. When I dropped them on the table, Prim's hands reached to tear off a chunk, but I made her sit, forced my mother to join us at the table, and poured warm tea. I scraped off the black stuff and sliced the bread. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. It was good hearty bread, filled with raisins and nuts. I put my clothes to dry at the fire, crawled into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep. It didn't occur to me until the next morning that the boy might have burned the bread on purpose. Might have dropped the loaves into the flames, knowing it meant being punished, and then delivered them to me. But I dismissed this. It must have been an accident. Why would he have done it? He didn't even know me. Still, just throwing me the bread was an enormous kindness that would have surely resulted in a beating if discovered. I couldn't explain his actions. We ate slices of bread for breakfast and headed to school. It was as if spring had come overnight. Warm sweet air. Fluffy clouds. At school, I passed the boy in the hall, his cheek had swelled up and his eye had blackened. He was with his friends and didn't acknowledge me in any way. But as I collected Prim and started for home that afternoon, I found him staring at me from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that's when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to survive.

I had just turned away from Peeta Mellark's bruised face when I saw the dandelion and I knew hope wasn't lost. I plucked it carefully and hurried home. I grabbed a bucket and Prim's hand and headed to the Meadow and yes, it was dotted with the golden-headed weeds. After we'd harvested those, we scrounged along inside the fence for probably a mile until we'd filled the bucket with the dandelion greens, stems, and flowers. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bakery bread. "What else?" Prim asked me. "What other food can we find?" "All kinds of things," I promised her. "I just have to remember them." My mother had a book she'd brought with her from the apothecary shop. The pages were made of old parchment and covered in ink drawings of plants. Neat handwritten blocks told their names, where to gather them, when they came in bloom, their medical uses. But my father added other entries to the book. Plants for eating, not healing. Dandelions, pokeweed, wild onions, pines. Prim and I spent the rest of the night poring over those pages. The next day, we were off school. For a while I hung around the edges of the Meadow, but finally I worked up the courage to go under the fence. It was the first time I'd been there alone, without my father's weapons to protect me. But I retrieved the small bow and arrows he'd made me from a hollow tree. I probably didn't go more than twenty yards into the woods that day. Most of the time, I perched up in the branches of an old oak, hoping for game to come by. After several hours, I had the good luck to kill a rabbit. I'd shot a few rabbits before, with my father's guidance. But this I'd done on my own. We hadn't had meat in months. The sight of the rabbit seemed to stir something in my mother. She roused herself, skinned the carcass, and made a stew with the meat and some more greens Prim had gathered. Then she acted confused and went back to bed, but when the stew was done, we made her eat a bowl. The woods became our savior, and each day I went a bit farther into its arms. It was slow-going at first, but I was determined to feed us. I stole eggs from nests, caught fish in nets, sometimes managed to shoot a squirrel or rabbit for stew, and gathered the various plants that sprung up beneath my feet. Plants are tricky. Many are edible, but one false mouthful and you're dead. I checked and double-checked the plants I harvested with my father's pictures. I kept us alive. Any sign of danger, a distant howl, the inexplicable break of a branch, sent me flying back to the fence at first. Then I began to risk climbing trees to escape the wild dogs that quickly got bored and moved on. Bears and cats lived deeper in, perhaps disliking the sooty reek of our district. On May 8th, I went to the Justice Building, signed up for my tesserae, and pulled home my first batch of grain and oil in Prim's toy wagon. On the eighth of every month, I was entitled to do the same. I couldn't stop hunting and gathering, of course. The grain was not enough to live on, and there were other things to buy, soap and milk and thread. What we didn't absolutely have to eat, I began to trade at the Hob. It was frightening to enter that place without my father at my side, but people had respected him, and they accepted me. Game was game after all, no matter who'd shot it. I also sold at the back doors of the wealthier clients in town, trying to remember what my father had told me and learning a few new tricks as well. The butcher would buy my rabbits but not squirrels. The baker enjoyed squirrel but would only trade for one if his wife wasn't around. The Head Peacekeeper loved wild turkey. The mayor had a passion for strawberries. In late summer, I was washing up in a pond when I noticed the plants growing around me. Tall with leaves like arrowheads. Blossoms with three white petals. I knelt down in the water, my fingers digging into the soft mud, and I pulled up handfuls of the roots. Small, bluish tubers that don't look like much but boiled or baked are as good as any potato. "Katniss," I said aloud. It's the plant I was named for. And I heard my father's voice joking, "As long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve." I spent hours stirring up the pond bed with my toes and a stick, gathering the tubers that floated to the top. That night, we feasted on fish and katniss roots until we were all, for the first time in months, full. Slowly, my mother returned to us. She began to clean and cook and preserve some of the food I brought in for winter. People traded us or paid money for her medical remedies. One day, I heard her singing. Prim was thrilled to have her back, but I kept watching, waiting for her to disappear on us again. I didn't trust her. And some small gnarled place inside me hated her for her weakness, for her neglect, for the months she had put us through. Prim forgave her, but I had taken a step back from my mother, put up a wall to protect myself from needing her, and nothing was ever the same between us again.

#the boy with the bread #thg #The Hunger Games #Hunger Games #catching fire #CatchingFire #mockingjay #TheHungerGames #Peeta Mellark #Peeta #katniss everdeen #everlark #katniss #katniss and peeta #bread #the bread story #bakery

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pippki-writes · 4 years ago

Text

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 4

NOTES:

Snippet 1

Snippets 2 & 3

Features lyrics from Danny Schmidt’s “This Too Shall Pass”

Faoust belongs to @thebiggestnerd - she writes him, the healer (whose contribution I summarized in this snippet, I don’t think she comes up again much for our murderboy here so I didn’t go too in depth with her) - everyone else is mine.

Longer post, 8,066 words folks! Buckle up.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The name is like an ill-fitting coat, but it’s either wear it, or go naked in the cold, metaphorically speaking. He knows Faoust will kill him, but he’s not dead yet.

The officer sitting outside the room tilts her chair back on its legs, in one ear her radio turned low and largely ignored, holding her phone out playing music and keeping her other ear tilted to the room and its occupant for signs of life. He listens to the music coming from her phone:

We think too big

We think our self is one whole thing

And we claim that this collection

Has a name and is a being

But deep inside

When every cell divides

Well, it sets upon the rule that states

Self-interest is divine

He scrapes out an involuntary cough, and the officer lets her chair fall forward as she twists to check on him.

She tries to interrogate him, but he can’t talk, and only whispers “no.” He writes on her notepad, “I’m expecting a visitor,” and refuses to communicate further. His intuition is that Faoust will come here for him eventually, though he doesn’t know how long Faoust will let him live. Maybe Faoust won’t come while he’s in the hospital. But hovering over the edge of the pain, death feels certain and he knows where it will come from.

Finally, a visitor arrives. He hears the footsteps approaching, certainly heavier than any of the nurses that have tended to him, and the sound of a respectful shuffling in place, acknowledging the officer guarding his hospital room.

A familiar voice speaks. “Hey. I’m here to see my friend Asmodai, officer…?”

He can hear the sound of the officer crossing her arms, but she neither gets up nor offers her name. “Don’t suppose you might be able to tell me what the hell happened to him and how he ended up here?”

“Nah, wish I could. Is he ok?”

“He’s not in great shape. I’m not a doctor but he’s bad off. And not the kind of bad off that happens accidentally.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Almost as crazy as whoever did this. You don’t have any ideas?”

“Nah. I’m not really an ideas guy. Just a guy who worries about my friends. Can I go see him or...?”

The officer gives a defeated little grunt. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. We can talk later.”

Dorien walks into the room as though he belongs there. Machines. IVs. In the middle of the room, bed propped up, staring at him, there’s that bastard Asmodai. Dorien takes a moment to breathe, staring back, looking angry. Dorien reminds himself why he is here. Not to kill him. Not to bring retribution. Just information to help Faoust. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

It takes Dorien a moment to realize what Asmodai is doing. The slight, strange sound, chest heaving—he is, very quietly, laughing.

He hasn’t come to terms with how to refer to himself—he is no more Isaiah than he was Asmodai, but he supposes, out of respect for the wish of a self who once knew what it wanted, he will call himself Isaiah until it fits. Or until he’s dead.

Isaiah laughs until the sound breaks into a cough. For starters, this was not the visitor he was expecting. And he can see why he would have been drawn to Dorien. Tall, dark-haired, handsome, and vulnerable. So many of his favorite things. The wizard Asmodai, before he stole his name, had been much the same.

Dorien keeps himself in check, and comes closer to the bedside. He doesn’t want the officer to hear him.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Dorien growls quietly.

Isaiah frowns. Talking will be an effort. He can’t even breathe too deeply, thanks to Dorien’s best attempts to slowly crush his ribs the other night after what he tried to do to Faoust. This is merely a fact—he doesn’t feel particular malice over it. He tries to choose his words carefully, so as not to waste them. There’s no volume, only whispering, but even the whispers are so resolute, so final. The playfulness of Asmodai is gone.

“Too much...to explain. What ...do you want...to know?”

Dorien folds his arms, lest he be tempted to do anything. “C’mon, what do you think I’d be here wanting to know. The magic-blocking cuffs. How do we take them off? Where’s the key?”

Isaiah shakes his head. “Didn’t get...a key. Wouldn’t...have wanted it.”

Dorien glares down at the bastard who nearly succeeded at killing the love of his life, and proceeds to try to get information out of him while texting Faoust. The conversation is slow going. The answers Dorien gets are halting and unsatisfying.

Faoust texts Dorien: "I want to know what he thinks should happen next."

Dorien looks down at Asmodai. “So what do you think should happen next?”

Isaiah sighs, unfazed. “Talking...not exactly....easy. Paper? Pen? Your phone?”

Dorien looks around for paper. He’s dumb, but not dumb enough to hand over his phone. He finds a notepad and a cheap pen in the desk drawer, and throws them on Asmodai’s lap.

Isaiah scribbles, handwriting messy and difficult on the flimsy pad, “He kills me for what” a scribble then, crossing out an “As,” and the writing resumes, “I’ve done. Why wouldn’t he? It’s inevitable.”

Dorien tears the paper off the notepad and holds it up, taking a picture to send to Faoust. “You’ve really fucked up, Asmodai.”

Isaiah’s mouth twitches a little at the name.

Above the top of the note, in the picture, Faoust can see Asmodai staring at the camera. There is no fear, nothing pathetic in the way he looks. Resolute. Certain. Final.

Faoust frowns. He had hoped for a bit more fight. But this is sort of like putting down a rabid dog at this point. It's not enjoyable for anyone involved.

Faoust: "tell him I'm disappointed that it came to this"

Faoust: "tell him I'll be there soon. As soon as my magic is back"

Dorien reads his phone, and before he can speak another note is being waved at him that reads “tell him come talk to me himself. This is fucking ridiculous.” Dorien sighs and snatches the note, snapping a picture for Faoust. There is a touch of defiance in Isaiah’s eye.

Faoust's lip curls in irritation and a tiny bit of embarrassment. Fine.

Faoust makes his way to the hospital, to the third floor, to the charge nurse.

“Looking for my friend,” says Faoust, “A John Doe?”

The charge nurse points with a pen. “The room with the officer. There’s already a visitor and technically I shouldn’t let too many people visit at once, but you know what? The world is hell. This hospital is hell. Go nuts.”

“Amen,” Faoust replies, heading over to the officer. “Hi, I'm here for my friend. I guess I have to answer questions first?”

The officer squints up at him suspiciously. “Damn, did the city call a prettyboy convention and I missed the memo?” She lets the chair rest back on all four legs. “I dunno, what do you know about what happened to your friend?”

“Not much. We were out partying, I know pandemic and all, but spare me the lecture. I told him goodbye and to call me when he got home but he never did.” Faoust pauses. “I heard he's bad. Maybe a hit and run?”

“Sure. Sure. Right.” The officer eyes him for a moment. “You’re a better liar than your friend. Go on in.”

“Liar? I- ugh. Fine.” He gives up on the officer and goes in the room.

“Alright you piece of shit. I'm here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Isaiah looks at Faoust appreciatively. Yeah, he can see why he did all that shit. He sighs, wishing he could just fucking talk, and settles for hurriedly writing on the notepad.

Dorien mutters softly to Faoust. “He can’t talk..apparently.”

Faoust chuckles a little. “I should expect so.”

Isaiah rips off the note and holds it out. It begins with “A” scratched out and then “I resented the power you had over me. Wanted you to suffer. Wanted to kill you, and Dorien, and take your name, take your power. And didn’t want to kill you. Wanted to fuck and kill with you. Poorer judgment won out. Tried to make you suffer.” He sighs, frustrated at the time it takes to write, already writing on a new note.

Faoust reads the note and sighs. It was just as he thought.

“I wanted to just keep it fun and casual.” Faoust grits out through his teeth, “Why did you have to complicate things?”

Isaiah tosses Faoust a finished note: “No point in apologies. Won’t change what was done. No actions to right it” and starts writing a response to the question, tapping the pen on his chin, thinking.

“Wasn’t as fun fucking and killing without you. Didn’t like that.”

“That's called friendship, you absolute dolt.”

Isaiah pauses, and writes “Asmodai didn’t do well with having friends.”

Faoust runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Wait-Asmodai? Third person? Who the fuck are we talking to then?”

Isaiah makes a face. It’s difficult to explain. He writes. “I am. Was. Asmodai. For too long I think.”

He pauses, rolls his eye. He doesn’t feel like Isaiah either.

“I did what he did. But don’t feel what he felt, anymore. Memories, yes. Feeling? No.”

Faoust pauses. “So is..is Asmodai gone?”

“Depends on what you mean. The me that felt what he—I felt?”

Isaiah makes a quiet frustrated noise and slams the pen down. He is so tired of writing. He jots another note, mindful of trying to do magic around either of them. “Can I try magic on my voice? You mind?”

Faoust shrugs. “Go for it.”

Isaiah holds his right hand around his throat, eye closed. Healing has never been his strong suit, but he knows enough to get by. He just needs to be able to talk. His hand glows faintly.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, not much volume to it but it’s more than a whisper.

“If I don’t feel the things I felt when I called myself Asmodai, am I Asmodai?”

Faoust thinks. This complicates matters. “I'll be frank. If I were to leave you be, what would you do? Don't lie to me.”

“I would leave you alone.” Isaiah shrugs. “The things I ...Asmodai...I felt, I know them. Factually. I don’t feel them anymore.” He looks at Faoust sharply. “But I am responsible for what I did.”

Faoust thinks for a moment. “This is complicated. I'll need some time with this. What do you think you'll do when you're out of the hospital?”

“What do you mean, when I’m out of the hospital? You’re going to kill me. No further planning needed.”

“Well, I was thinking about waiting when you got out of the hospital regardless.”

Isaiah sighs. “Wish I’d known that sooner. Might’ve kept this magical existential crisis at bay.” He shakes his head. “No. Probably not. Asmodai—I. Fucked up too much. There was no way he...I...would win. It’s certain. You will kill me.” He shakes his head again.

“Look. I don't want to kill you. Asmodai. At all. At this point it's about putting down an animal. That's all. And now there's this whole thing that you're not even who I knew anymore? This complicates things. Shit, if I were to kill you, it wouldn't even feel right.”

Isaiah makes a frustrated noise. “Fuck. The only reason I’m like this is because you’re going to kill me.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

Isaiah dodges the question. “Back when I started killing to take power and names, I bound my own name away, far beyond my memory, and it would only come back if I was certain I was going to die. So I could die not as whatever fucking asshole whose name I stole. But as myself. Or at least. In the name I was born with, right?

“I was Asmodai. I was happy being Asmodai. But now?

“I’m no more Asmodai than I am this damn name my shit mother gave me.”

Faoust thinks. “Well, look. Fine. I'll kill you. Put you down. But I have to wait. I can't do anything until I have my magic back.”

Isaiah twists his lips a little. “Hm. Can’t help there. Told your boy here, I don’t have a key for the cuffs.”

This whole time, Dorien has just been watching, arms crossed and not believing this bullshit.

“Yeah,” Faoust says, “I heard. I've just got to wait. So you've got to wait.”

Isaiah sighs again. “Isaiah. Isaiah James. My name.” He shrugs. “Me. Not me.”

Isaiah twists his lips briefly in disgust at the taste of his own name on his tongue. “If you’re going to kill me, you ought to have my name.”

Faoust nods and rubs his face. “Look, I'll put you down. I will. But it's going to take like at least a week for me to get my magic back.”

Isaiah gives another shrug. “You know where to find me. I know what I’ve done. It’s only right.”

“Alright. You're not going anywhere?”

Isaiah gives him a flat look. “Where and how the hell would I manage to do that?”

“I mean, you've got magic. I don't. You could pull out some magic to take yourself somewhere.”

Isaiah rubs his fingers together on his right hand, little sparks arcing between them as he stares vacantly at his hand. “Where would I go? For what purpose? I know my fate.”

Faoust nods, satisfied. “Alright. Well then, we'll be on our way. You've got my number.”

Isaiah nods, dismissing the sparks. “I’ll be waiting.”

Isaiah wonders if it’s worth healing himself--physically, at any rate. He closes his eye and takes stock of all his pain. So many choices. And what else is he supposed to do with his time? The burns, he thinks, he will work on those. He hovers his right hand over his burned forearm, wrapped loosely in the day’s fresh gauze, and slowly works a healing spell, distracted by memories of the fight. Remembering the moment it all turned on him, when help came for Faoust while he had no one. He shakes his head, his thoughts wandering around. So many emotions that ruled him that he’s no longer bound by. Though perhaps he should be. He ought to be more angry. But he is mostly hollowed out. He does not even notice when his thoughts slip over the witch and his magic doesn’t so much as flicker, the healing steadily and slowly knitting in his skin.

Those were Asmodai’s problems.

The worst part is the waiting. Or perhaps the worst part, right now, is the burns on his arm—his healing magic is slow, the process tedious, and his head is empty of any warming memory to draw upon to make the healing go faster. There are memories, so many memories, but as he turns his mind to each of them in turn he feels nothing he can pull from. Perhaps it would have been better not to restore the nerve endings that had been burnt away—as they return, so too returns the opportunity for fresh pain to scream through his senses. And the drugs have trouble working their wonders as his magic interferes with the natural order of his body. Too late now, he’s already started this project. When the nurses aren’t looking in on him, he hovers his hand over the burned arm and continues the laborious process of working healing magic. Healing was never his forte. It still isn’t. Good to know, though it still seems like all he knows is a catalogue of things he was, and now isn’t.

Though perhaps, Isaiah thinks, it’s pointless to dwell on. Does he need that badly to know who he is now, if he’s only going to die? Not that he wants to die. Though, he can tell, Asmodai didn’t want to die in a particularly crazed and desperate way that Isaiah no longer feels. He doesn’t want to die, but then, he doesn’t feel a clear sense that he wants much of anything right now. From the moment the spell he placed upon himself fell away, he has simply accepted the fact of his death. Imminent. Inevitable. Deserved.

Asmodai was awful—not in a way that Isaiah feels, merely as a summary of fact considering the things that he’d done. The drives that motivated him. But to be fair, Isaiah had not been a good person either. No. He had been awful too. Killed people. Tortured them. Enjoyed it. Sought power beyond his measure, and took it.

Killed the dark wizard who taught him everything.

Sealed himself away.

What had he thought would happen, if this spell had ever had cause to come undone? He can’t remember, but he is pretty sure he would not have guessed it would leave him like this. So...uncertain.

Regret implies a level of sadness Isaiah doesn’t feel. He...wishes he had been someone different though. He wishes he had acted differently. Had recognized his limits. Recognized battles he wouldn’t win, and had the sense not to fight them.

The nurse surely notices when Isaiah’s arm does not look as bad off today as it did yesterday, putting fresh gauze on, but says nothing. Discreetly checks the patient chart—yes, third degree burns. It definitely said the patient had third degree burns. But you don’t last long in this town by asking inconvenient questions. Since the patient is conscious now, staring out the window, the nurse offers him his phone from his belongings and plugs it in for him. There’s a crack across the screen, but the phone works.

Isaiah has been working on healing his arm. It is such a slow, deliberate process. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, but now that he’s started he’s committed to continuing. After all, what else has he got to do? His arm is still a mess of burnt tissue and pain, fresh nerve endings and the testament to his limitations.

Later, he looks through his phone, deleting pictures that bring him no particular joy to look at. Eventually he texts Faoust, “Have you decided how you’ll do it?” and nothing else.

Faoust: “something quick. Could stab you right in the heart.”

The heart had been Asmodai’s favorite, ripped from his victims—sometimes raw, other times he’d toast them before devouring them whole.

Isaiah: “poetic. fitting.”

Faoust: "look man. I really don't want to do this. You could go about your business. I don't care"

Isaiah sighs, and leaves the message on read for a few minutes. He thinks.

Isaiah: “I did wrong by you. I accept responsibility for it.”

Faoust: "and I'm telling you it's fine."

Isaiah waits again before responding.

Isaiah: “now I’m the one that needs to think on that”

Faoust: "Asmodai tried to kill me. He failed. You're here now. Not the same as Asmodai. It's not the same kill for me. Look, I beat the shit out of you. That should cover it. Do you really want to die?"

Isaiah sighs to himself.

Isaiah: “no, I don’t”

Faoust: "then I'm giving you your fucking out. Take it."

Isaiah pauses. Again, Faoust giving him the opportunity not to die, after everything he...Asmodai...he did. After so many times he honestly deserved to die. He was a warped and twisted thing, not right, and surely not to be trusted. But fuck. He didn’t really want to die.

Isaiah: “...ok.”

Isaiah: “fine”

Faoust: "want me to call a healer for you?"

Isaiah: “...seriously?”

Faoust: "otherwise you're going to be stuck at the hospital forever. No offense but I want you out of here."

Isaiah: “sure, sure. If I’m healing myself it’ll take forever”

Faoust: "you can't kill her"

Isaiah: “of course”

Isaiah thinks about the warning, which is fair, considering his history. He doesn’t even feel like killing anyone right now. Which is strange to him. He wonders to himself as he waits if this is the right thing to do, not insisting Faoust kill him. If he’s just avoiding fate and what he deserves. But when Faoust arrives in his hospital room with a healer, and she uses magic to transport the three of them out of his hospital room, he just watches quietly, making no protest. The empty alley she takes them to is cold, and Isaiah’s broken body falls to the ground painfully without a bed beneath him anymore.

He sucks it up, grits his teeth, and withstands the pain and the cold. Not out of any sense of pride, but because he feels he deserves it. He lists out for the healer the procedures the doctors had done, along with his own meager attempts at healing, and in turn, she tells him what she’ll be able to do. The metal they used to set his bones will always bring him some pain and discomfort, and there’s nothing she can do for his eye, the curse--

“The eye,” says Isaiah, touching his cheek lightly, “has been there a long time now. It’s fine.”

The magic of healing is painful, and there is a lot of it to be done. Isaiah doesn’t scream, not the way he did when Faoust beat him in the first place. He endures, and tries to focus on the fact that he deserves this pain. This doesn’t stop a few strangled screams and growls from bubbling up. Faoust watches impassively, satisfied.

When it’s finished, Isaiah breathes heavily for a moment, feeling every nerve on fire, taking stock of how he feels. He sits up, slowly, impressed and in awe. He gives thanks to the healer, to Faoust, and stands up shakily on knees that are no longer shattered. He summons up the illusion of clothes over his hospital gown, with no idea where he ought to go, what he ought to do. When Faoust tells him to get the fuck out of here, he readily agrees. Not the first town he’s been kicked out of. Always violent. Always deserved.

He could teleport himself, but where the hell would he go? There’s nowhere he belongs. There’s a dull ache in his bones, and he picks a cardinal direction and starts walking toward it. The speed doesn’t matter. Isaiah doesn’t strictly need actual clothes. He could use magic to keep himself warm. But the first window shop he passes, he swaps his hospital gown for the outfit on display, and keeps walking. He walks until he’s passed by a sign indicating leaving/entering, the liminal space of one town bleeding into another, goes to the first clean motel he can find, uses his magic to procure a room, and passes out after having walked for hours.

At the hospital, a call is placed to 911. A patient is missing.

The officer assigned to take the report is the same one who had been guarding the room when Dorien and Faoust visited. With the most deadpan expression, she questions the charge nurse on duty, intoning dully, “wow, just fucking vanished, huh?”

She files a missing persons report for “Asmodai / Isaiah James,” because in spite of trying not to hear things she doesn’t want to have to question, she hears them anyway. She makes note of possible contacts / persons of interest, “Dorien” and “Faoust,” and submits her report to see if she can get away with not following up on anything further.

She doesn’t even bother running any checks on any of the names. She doesn’t find anything out about a decades-old missing persons report for a runaway boy of the name Isaiah James out of Ohio. If anyone bothered to fingerprint the victim at all to try to ID him while he was unconscious, the prints have been lost.

After all, a lot of people go missing in this town.

It’s just one more.

Her supervisor literally flips a coin to decide if such absolute bullshit shoddy work will be accepted. Tails. That’s a nope. He rejects the report, and sends her a CAD message: “hit the streets and try again sweetie.”

Officer Dannic “Dani” Voros swears, loudly, in her patrol car in the hospital parking lot, and slams her computer shut. Growls, and opens it again to search for any information she can find about Dorien and Faoust. If she can find anything, she’ll talk to them at least.

Here’s what she finds: no drivers licenses. No arrest records. No voter records. Nothing in any database she has access to. No hospital records, which no, her friend in the hospital records should NOT have looked up for her probably but dammit, this was important. Well, not important to her, but it’s what she was supposed to be doing and she was getting very annoyed with the lack of any hints of paper trail for those two.

She starts angrily and haphazardly googling search terms, and some combination of tall, mysterious, handsome, and Dorien does bring back a tabloid article about the enigmatic artist, which brings up several printed interviews and connections to a particular pre-teen punk rock band apparently bankrolled by Mr. Dorien Godforbidhehavealastname, and the names of its musicians. Actual names. First and last names, unlike those recordless bastards Dorien and Faoust. She searches the names. Property tax records. Bingo. A lead. And an address. She puts the patrol car in drive and heads out. One conversation largely conducted through the few-inch gap of a chained door later, Officer Voros has both probably offended another citizen with an inappropriate joke, and obtained an address for the two handsome strangers that called on her missing person.

The cold rain makes all this work extra annoying. She debates putting off the follow up until more clement weather. Or just never. Reluctantly she puts the patrol car in drive and heads to the address.

She looks at the apartment building as she pulls up. No, correction. She looks at the giant skeleton covered in Valentine’s decorations outside the apartment building as she pulls up. The apartment building itself is an afterthought. As she arrives, the weather around the apartment changes. Suddenly it is clear and 59 degrees.

Officer Voros just stares at the atmosphere and blinks at it like it has personally offended her. She twists in her seat to look back down the street at the weather there, then stares at the apartment again, and sinks back in her seat for a moment, closing her eyes, and thinks to herself, “thiiiiiiis. iiiiiis. some buuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiit.”

She sighs a very angry sigh, gets out of the patrol car, and goes up to the appropriate door. She raps on the door with her very best authoritative knock.

Faoust opens the door and clocks the cop. “Hm.”

Officer Voros puts her hands on her hips and brightens comically. “And they said I’d never find the secret prettyboy convention! Those bastards once again were wrong.” She smiles, and doesn’t offer her name. “Evening citizen. I’m hoping you might help me with this absolute crazy missing persons case I’ve been cursed with.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Why, your dear friend or whatever bullshit you said at the time. Asmodai? Isaiah? You know, the guy SOMEBODY in this cursed plane of existence beat all to hell and put in the hospital.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How did he go missing? He couldn't stand, let alone walk? How did you lose him?”

“Yeah! That’s the crazy part, he just. Fucking. Vanished. Shattered kneecaps, pelvis, and all. Gone. Between you and me, that’s on the hospital. We weren’t watching him anymore at that point, but now it IS my problem to, you know. Figure out what the fuck happened and make sure there’s not a homicide investigation that should be happening here.”

Faoust shakes his head in disbelief as he tries to come up with a plan. “I could give you his motel room and location if you want? I mean, I haven't heard from him since I went to go see him?”

“Sure, sure. And it’s not like it’s illegal for him to leave the hospital. If he’s fine, I just need to lay eyes on him. It just seems real fucking suspiciously inconceivable how he’d have managed that in the state he was in, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, for sure. Let me go get some paper.”

Faoust leaves her at the front door and digs around in drawers looking for paper and pen. She stands at the front door, looking inside, pondering Faoust the whole while. He hands her a note with the address of the motel Asmodai had been staying at.

“Let me know if you find anything, yeah?”

Officer Voros takes the paper. “Of course.” She takes a blank card out of her pocket, a generic business card for the police department that doesn’t have her name on it. She writes down a phone number and offers the card to Faoust. “You think of anything else helpful, call or text me. Or if your prettyboy friend Dorien knows anything either.”

“Dorien doesn't know anything. At all. Not a braincell up there. But I'll keep it in mind.” Faoust takes the card and pockets it.

“Thanks. Stay safe citizen.” She heads down the steps and back to her patrol car, looking at the address. She knows the motel.

Officer Voros looks back toward Faoust from her patrol car for a long minute before she pulls out. She doesn’t have any sort of proof necessarily, just a feeling that Faoust was lying quite smoothly out of every side of his head right to her face. She types up a field contact for alias Faoust along with the address before she leaves.

Asmodai’s motel room ends up being a dead end. There’s nothing obviously off about the room, but she gets a weird vibe. Still a suitcase here. Some knives. Nothing much else. She does not discover that the room is under a stolen credit card in another name. She doesn’t look up any other purchases that stolen card might have made to connect it to an abandoned rental car that was impounded on Faoust’s street. She types up her report and deletes “went on a wild fucking goose chase because my corporal is a dickhead” from the report.

Officer Voros swears loudly, because she realizes she didn’t ask Faoust if the mysteriously vanished bastard had. a fucking. cell phone number. She groans. She decides she’ll pretend to have thought of that tomorrow, because she doesn’t want to follow up now.

The weak and cloudy light of morning is scattered further by the cheap, hazy curtains pulled loosely across the window. Isaiah wakes up, still dressed in his stolen clothes where he passed out on top of the covers. There it is—a dull ache in his bones, a twinge in his hips and knees as he pushes himself up to sit. He looks down at his palms, and they are smooth and untroubled, marked by nothing but the simple creases of where his hand folds. He flexes his left hand. The countless scars that had made a tangled nest there in his palm, the countless times he’d cut and called upon blood magic and done only a just-good-enough job of closing the wounds, when he remembered to heal himself at all, they’re all gone.

Isaiah doesn’t even have a knife, he realizes. His...Asmodai’s favored knives were either in the clothes left in the hospital, in the rental car, or in the motel room he has no intention of returning to. But it feels like he should have a knife. He has no money, but money isn’t too necessary when you’re flush with magic and short on moral qualms against stealing.

He heads out for the day to get a knife, zipping up his stolen coat. Something simple. New. He goes to the nearest outdoors store and sees a nice Benchmade folding knife with a black-coated blade and white handle and feels drawn to it. With an effortless bit of magic, the knife disappears from the case and appears in his pocket as he leaves the parking lot.

Isaiah flips the knife open experimentally, admires it, turning his wrist this way and that to see the sides of the blade. He unlocks the blade and closes it again, clipping the knife in his pocket. He doesn’t have a plan for it, but it felt appropriate in his hand.

Isaiah has been somewhat skirting around thinking about this fact, but taking the knife in his hand he has to confront it. He’s not someone who can go work a 9 to 5 job, take a little paycheck home, find someone sweet to love him and love in turn. Whatever he does next isn’t going to be some contented kind of life. That wasn’t the lot he was born to.

What he is good at...all he has ever been good at, is violence.

He walks slowly back to the current motel. He takes the knife out of his pocket, opening and closing it as he goes, thinking to himself. Magic, and violence. Magic and violence. This is all he’s ever known. Even if he wanted to do something else, how could he, at this point? He’s not a good person. And surely nothing he is capable of can be used for good ends. He hasn’t killed anyone in so many days now, and strangest of all, doesn’t feel particularly compelled to. Not averse to it either. But the stirring in his blood that craved to see the icy glint of fear through tears before an untimely death doesn’t move him, for now.

Officer Voros follows up with Faoust the next night, gets a phone number for her missing person, and puts in a request for a ping before taking a nap in her patrol car. She’ll follow up further in daylight hours. Before ending her night shift, Officer Voros tries to call the phone number Faoust provided for the missing person. It’s almost 6am, of course he doesn’t answer. She leaves a voicemail indicating for him to call the communications center so they can speak.

The next day, Officer Voros, as soon as assembly is done, goes to her patrol car and puts herself on a follow up before any calls can be assigned to her. She tries calling the number again. Isaiah looks at his phone. A blocked number. He silences the phone without answering, because who would be calling him? He hasn’t bothered checking his voicemail either, since he didn’t recognize the number that called. He’ll check it eventually. He sits in his motel room, opening and closing his stolen knife.

Officer Voros checks the latitude and longitude of the ping. Another motel. It’s within a mile of what technically counts as her jurisdiction, so technically she CAN go investigate her own damn self, OR she can call her counterparts in the next town over to check for her. She debates which sounds like more work. With an agonized groan that can surely be heard two counties over, Officer Voros puts her patrol car in drive and heads for the motel.

Officer Voros checks with the front desk, but thanks to his use of magic there’s no one checked in by the names of Asmodai or Isaiah James. She pulls up the coordinates on her phone to get as close as possible to the ping, and starts knocking on doors fruitlessly, starting with the ground floor. She has an idea, and dials the number again, and faintly hears a ring from a couple doors down. A little excited in spite of herself, she hustles down to the door and knocks.

Asmodai would’ve checked through the peephole before opening the door, if he opened it at all. Isaiah does not care, and opens the door as he silences his phone again, looking up from the phone at the officer.

“There you are, you mysterious bastard! Alive and unmurdered, and my hatred of paperwork thanks you for that.”

Isaiah feels a slight needle of panic, if only because he has done a lot of things that would not put him on the good side of the police. His eye darts briefly to her neck and back to meet her eyes.

“Here I am. Alive. Unmurdered, as you say.”

Officer Voros looks him up and down, frowning. This is definitely the same guy, that’s not a common scar after all, but he’s clearly not just unmurdered, but very significantly undamaged. “Didn’t you have a hell of a lot of shattered bones?”

Isaiah shrugs. “Modern medicine is a miracle.”

Officer Voros just blinks at him. She doesn’t believe him for a moment. “And I don’t suppose you might be able to tell me how you managed to make your way so secretly out of the hospital that they felt compelled to report you as a missing person?”

“Sorry, no. Not sure what the miscommunication was there. Quite obviously, I left the hospital.”

“Quite. Obviously. Of course.”

Isaiah smiles wanly. “Am I in trouble?”

Officer Voros continues looking him over suspiciously. “I suppose not. You left your paperwork from the hospital.” She hands him a stack of paperwork and billing statements. “Somehow.”

Isaiah takes the papers. “Oh, thanks.”

“And the belongings you came in with. Are still at the hospital.”

“Oops.”

“And a bunch of shit I’m guessing belongs to you is all left at another cheap motel.”

“You think?”

“No,” Officer Voros snaps. “I try to avoid thinking whenever I can. But I do think some weird ass shit is involved here with you.”

Isaiah’s hand twitches slightly, and he presses his lips together. “Hm.”

“But shit being weird isn’t my problem. Not my jurisdiction. So I suppose I don’t give a fuck. Glad you’re not murdered. Take care. Call your friends, they’re pretending to be worried about you.” She heads back to her patrol car.

Isaiah slowly lets out a tensely held breath.

Officer Voros sits in the parking lot, wrapping up her report. She tries calling Faoust from her blocked number. He answers, not knowing any better.

“Solid citizen! Faoust right? Your favorite friend-finding officer here. Found your friend.”

“Oh my god! Where was he? Is he ok?”

“He’s better than ok, considering the state I last saw him in. Damn near miraculous recovery. He’s just outside of town, another motel not far off the highway.”

“Oh man, thanks so much for finding him. I'll have to go see him. Are you able to give me the address?”

“That depends, are you going there to murder him?”

“Why the hell would Igo there to murder him?”

“Aaaa I’m just fucking with you. I’ve got a nice neat solved missing persons case here and if you went and murdered him it would just be an assfuck of paperwork that I don’t want to have to deal with is all.”

“Fucked up joke, officer.”

“Yeah, file a complaint on me if you’d like. Oh, right, address,” she says, and gives him the address and room of the Quality Inn where Isaiah is staying.

“Thank you. Despite the fucked up joke, I'm glad you found him.”

“Just doing my sworn duty and all that. Stay safe citizen,” she says and hangs up.

Without fully realizing it, Officer Voros has solved the first missing persons case in the department in nearly a year.

Officer Voros always keeps a spare portable radio among her belongings. She managed to get it more or less off the record, so that when she inevitably loses track of her actual radio again, she can make do with the backup until the original eventually resurfaces, and not get all manner of shit from her corporal for losing her radio AGAIN. She doesn’t think hard on the fact that her radio is once again MIA. It will turn up in time.

In his motel room, Isaiah switches the radio on, and fiddles between channels.

Isaiah lays on the bed, one hand manipulating the knife—open, closed, open, closed, each motion with a satisfying little sound—the other hand resting on the radio on his chest, occasionally following the chatter of traffic to a side channel. An officer keys up, her voice annoyed and muttering over sounds of entitlement in the background—“6676 to 200, switch to 2”—and Isaiah flips the radio to channel 2, partly because he is curious and partly because it sounds like the officer from the other night.

The officer keys up, he’s quite sure it’s her, and a voice that sounds like it expects the world laid compliantly at its feet cuts through the backdrop of everything the officer says

6676: 200 you on?

—this is AMERICA, I have RIGHTS, I demand to speak to your SUPERVISOR, I—

200: go’on whatcha got

—what is your NAME, no WHAT is your NAME—

6676: *you can hear the eye roll in her voice* can you just come over here and deal with this.

There’s a final indignant “do you even KNOW” in the background before the supervisor cuts over the traffic to advise he’s en route. Isaiah’s thumb closes the knife again with a sense of finality. He doesn’t care about the officers, but the woman in the background had the sort of voice you’d love to cut right out of her throat.

Isaiah sits up, goes to put the radio aside but pulls it back in front of him again. He focuses on the radio, whatever traces of grit and grime and little skin cells from the officer still stick to the plasticky radio, and does a tracking spell. He switches the radio off, puts it on the bedside table, and grabs his jacket on the way out the door.

Isaiah returns to his motel room. Hands clean. Knife clean.

He did not appear with an ear-splitting bang, as the witch does. He knows ways to move through shadows and though it isn’t instantaneous, it’s a hell of a lot quieter. Isaiah remained in the shadows, waiting. There, yes, the officer from the other night, and there, that must be 200, the human embodiment of an industrial refrigerator crossed with a boulder, and there. Jabbing her finger, practically frothing at the mouth, hair crisply cut, every line in her body set in the conviction of her own righteousness and that she should get what she wants. Isaiah didn’t even try to listen to what she was saying. It didn’t matter. He waited.

When the officers left, the woman turned to her minivan to get in. Or, that was what she intended to do. But she found as she walked, it was like her body was being pushed and pulled, and the sound had left her voice, and she walked into the shadows across the parking lot.

Without saying a word, Isaiah came up quickly behind her and slit her throat, and before a drop could hit the concrete sent her body and all its rapidly spilling blood deep, deep into the earth below.

Magic cleaned the knife. Magic cleaned his hands. He slipped back into the shadows and hurried to get the hell back out of Faoust’s town.

Isaiah returned to his motel room, everything clean. Feeling a certain ...satisfaction? Correctness? A bit of lost unease dissolved away within him.

Of course, Isaiah reflects on how different this murder was. He flicks the knife, open and closed. When he thinks of himself as he was, he has gotten in the habit of thinking of himself as an entirely separate person now. Asmodai was. Asmodai would have. So on. Asmodai would have taken far more enjoyment from the killing. Asmodai would have tasted the blood on the knife. Asmodai would have savored the delicious fear in her eyes, for as long as possible. Asmodai would have had the possibility of someone to share the experience with, though he resented so much about that fact. Asmodai was an idiot.

Isaiah switches the radio back on, quietly, to have something to listen to, since that’s all he has.

When Officer Voros was handling the latest missing person case early this morning, part of her was perversely satisfied—maybe that bitch descended back to hell where she belonged—and that other part of her, the part made of intuitions that guessed too correctly, that had long ago tried to bring up things that had since gone ignored, the part that she did her best to keep buried, that part felt a sharp jolt of unease. She was, officially, the last person to have seen the missing person. There was a security camera on the other side of the parking lot, and the footage made no sense. The victim—victim? Why was she already thinking victim?—missing bitch, then, started walking to her car, and then turned, and walked off to the far side of the parking lot, into grainy shadow. It didn’t look like someone had called out to her, she just...decided to go on some random bitch walk. In the dark of early morning hours, Officer Voros walked around the spot she went off to, clicking on her flashlight, looking for clues. Nothing.

It seemed appropriate for Isaiah to return to murder on his own...it’s all he knows. He’s not suddenly a good person. He’s not full of remorse for everything he did. It’s all just facts. Things that happened that can’t be changed.

He listens to the radio again today, and thinks with a sort of mirthless chuckle how hypocritical it would be for him to kill some of the people he’s hearing about. “If I were cutting throats for that, have to start with myself,” he thinks, over and over and over. Asmodai craved victims, sought them out. Isaiah is content to see what serendipity will bring.

Isaiah struck out into town yesterday to find a charger for his stolen radio. Listening gives him something to do besides think. He could have just gotten a commercial police scanner, or used an app on his phone to listen in, but that didn’t have the same appeal. He listens carefully, mentally keeping track of the addresses and where the officers are, when it’s announced anyway. The officer from the other night he can find easily enough, but without addresses and nothing to trace them with, magically speaking, finding any of these other officers would be incredibly difficult. Well, to do in a timely fashion anyway.

So he listens, and waits, hoping to feel that same jolt of dead certainty, knowing a voice spoke that would be his to kill.

Isaiah knows. An officer keys up “put me out with an animal problem at” and gives an address, and just before the radio cuts out he hears a man in the background, derisive, say “I don’t understand, it’s just a stupid—“ before being cut off by the end of the transmission. That voice. He felt it, like a nail being slashed at high speed across a chalkboard, a string plucked so hard it snaps, THAT is a man he needs to kill. He is equal parts thrilled and yet feels the calm certainty slipping over him. His knife is ready. He knows where to go. He slips out into the cold rain.

Sliding through shadows. Waiting. The man goes inside, alone. Isaiah slips inside, without a word, the only sound made is his knife blade locking into place. The man finds his voice is gone. The man walks toward Isaiah, against his own will, and kneels before him, fear shining in his eyes. Isaiah looks down, cold, comes around from behind, threads his fingers in the man’s hair and pulls back, hard, exposing his neck. He draws the blade firm and fast across the neck, and like the woman before Isaiah sends the body hundreds of feet into the ground below before a drop of blood can hit the floor.

He looks at the blood on the knife, for a moment, imagines the taste on his tongue like a mouth full of pennies. It doesn’t appeal to him, not right now. Magic cleans the blade, cleans the bit of blood on his hands, cleans the scene of any trace evidence, and Isaiah slips away.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

#an ill-fitting name #My writing #original story #collaborative fiction #Original work #original writing #original fiction #magic fiction #Magic murderer #Snippets #fictional murder #fictional murderer #Fictional incompetent police

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myhusbandsasemni · 4 years ago

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Asphodel, Travis, and Ivan

I wrote a story a while ago for a creative writing class, this was years ago, and I always wanted to come back to it and add onto it. So I did. I won’t be posting any of that first part cause it’s old and I’ve changed my mind about how those events happened, but this will be easy to read without that context anyways.

Enjoy

Asphodel, Travis, and Ivan escaped the collection of satellite living people, mostly from earth, who had escaped after being experimented on by a government on earth. They blew up the base as they left, killing most of the people living there. Now they’re off to find their next adventure in space, still not entirely sure what they’re looking for.

Asphodel sat down in the copilot chair next to Travis just as he was about to start a difficult flight through an asteroid belt. Ivan leapt up into her lap with an annoyed meow as she opened her bag of snacks, ready to help Travis navigate through it with her ability to calculate angles, speeds, and inertia. The fact that she knew exactly how to get through such an obstacle course, added to Travis’s piloting skills and slight mind reading abilities (and Ivan’s snarky remarks), made it so the three could get to places that most space shuttles and ships couldn’t get through. Which made them the highest paid delivery team for the more, well, illegal goods, of the star system.

“We better hurry,” Travis said, nosing forward into the scrambled mess of space junk. “I think we got pinged while you were in the bathroom.”

Asphodel made an annoyed face and nodded, her eyes speeding between objects and making quick calculations. “Hurry up, then.”

Travis revved up the small craft into the gaps they found together. Ivan fell asleep in Asphodel’s lap as they flew smoothly through the moving piles of rock and metals.

“Did you check on the cargo while you were back there?” Travis asked.

Asphodel stayed silent as she watched the rocks go by.

“Asp?” Travis asked, not taking his eyes from the scene.

Asphodel sighed. “Why do you always make me answer out loud? You already know the answer.”

“I do, but it’s good for you to talk to other people,” Travis said, a half smile coating the tone of his voice. “It’s called ‘socializing.’”

Asphodel rolled her eyes. “Not this again,” she moaned.

“Asphodel, you’ve been a lone wolf, I get it. But you really need to learn how to verbally communicate, even if I can tell what your answer is. When you leave me, you’re going to need how to talk to people.”

Asphodel gave some sort of caustic remark in response, but she hardly paid attention to what she said. ‘When you leave me.’ It was expected, Asphodel was painfully logical and practical due to being grown in a government lab and raised as an experiment and human computer. Travis himself was a slight pessimist as he could tell what people were thinking all the time. Of course he would know that as soon as he was no longer useful to Asphodel, she would leave him for a more beneficial partner. But it…. Bothered her. She’d never been bugged by something like that before, but this bothered her.

She kept those thoughts deep in her mind, though. Travis could only read the surface and she had very quickly learned how to keep him from reading the thoughts she wanted to keep a secret.

Travis looked into one of the monitors and cursed. “There’s a cruiser following us. We’ll have to talk about your socializing issues later.”

Asphodel rolled her eyes and pulled up the weapons controls on the monitor in front of her.

She fired off a round of warning shots, Travis and her working in tandem to steer and shoot. The poor cruiser behind them was having the hardest time trying to keep up. It shot blasts after them, most of them flying wide. In one fraction of a moment, the cruiser got a very very lucky shot which clipped one of the engine’s of the shuttle before getting slightly unlucky and crashing into a large piece of debris. Asphodel caught sight of a pack of cigarettes and an old comic book, at least three decades old, being flung forward on the explosion from the cruiser. Her attention was immediately drawn back to their own situation as the shuttle started throwing very angry warnings that woke Ivan up, making him a very angry cat.

Travis hissed as he wrestled with the controls. “Asp, find us a place to land.”

Asphodel glanced around the dull constellation of rocks and space trash and said, “Up 6 degrees and towards the Capulita Majora.”

Travis nodded and strained to get the shuttle through the tight spaces. Asphodel listened to the scraping of debris against their craft, calculating damages based solely on the noises she heard.

They managed to limp through the belt and into a clear space where both were surprised to see a small space shop set up within the belt. Travis guided the shuddery craft into the bay of the shop and turned it off once he was parked. It was a testament to his skills as a pilot that it only took him one try to park the shuttle, even with it shuddering as it was.

“Probably don’t have to worry about our merchandise being called in to the Govs here,” Travis said, almost to himself as he already knew Asphodel was thinking the same thing. The shop did indeed look fairly shady.

Travis stood up and stooped through the shuttle. He popped open the door and wandered out onto the platform. Asphodel followed him out, Ivan in her arms. Travis climbed up onto the wing and tied his jacket around his waist and crouched over the engine, taking a look at it.

Asphodel watched him as he tinkered, lifting up some of the panels to look into it. He sighed deeply and jumped down. “That’s what I thought,” he sighed. “It was a whisker shot.”

“You know I don’t understand your slang,” Asphodel said with a sneer.

“It means that the shot caused metal whiskers.”

“What, like tin whiskers?”

“Exactly. But since tin isn’t used in welding anymore cause of that issue, they figured out how to make beams that cause other metals to whisker.”

Asphodel handed off Ivan and climbed up to look. She pushed back her choppy hair to have a look at the whiskers. Sure enough, thin wisps of metal shot off from the welds and connected to other parts of the engine, shorting everything out.

“I didn’t know they were putting those in cruisers, though. They’re shooting through technology at an uncomfortable pace, I would have to say.” Travis commented, stroking Ivan thoughtfully.

Asphodel just nodded, studying the pattern of the silvery threads of metal.

“Hey, you two!”

Ivan gave a disgruntled brrp as the three travelers turned to see a curmudgeonly man walking across the docking platform. His outfit was dirty and covering in engine grease. He was missing two fingers and his pleasant resting face.

“What’s wrong with your shuttle? I have paying customers who use that spot,” the grizzled man growled, his piercing eyes glaring out at them from under bushy wire brows.

“Got hit with a whisker beam,” Travis explained, leaning against the shuttle. “I’ll have it fixed momentarily, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Let me see.”

Travis stepped out of the way as the man clambered up, tools jingling in his deep set pockets. He peered in and scoffed. “You’re going to need my help,” the old man declared. “See that one?”

Travis set Ivan down and peered over the man’s grease stained shoulder. “Oh…. yeah. I see what you mean. How much do you need paid?”

The old man eyed Travis, Asphodel, and Ivan. “We’ll talk about it. You kids follow me.”

He rattled off and Travis followed. Asphodel fell into step beside him, Ivan walking just ahead of them with his tail in the air in a sort of snobby way, as if he did not approve of where they were at the moment.

Asphodel studied the broken down ships and shuttles scattered across what was effectively a scrap yard and felt the same as the spotted tabby. She quickly identified where the atmosphere was being thrown from and was glad to see that this gravity/ozone generator was in good repair, unlike the ones often found at drop off and pick up sites for the smuggled goods they sold.

There was a small hut found in the middle of the muddle. The old man leading the way inside said, “I’m Rick. I can tell you’re smugglers. No need to worry about it, though. I’m the repair guy for the smugglers that can make it this far into the belt.”

“You’re trying to get us on your list of regular customers,” Travis said with a wry smile and a knowing look.

Rick just nodded. “I can repair and replace, easy. And it’ll last longer than any other shady duct tape, spit, and a prayer shop.”

“Oh? How do you reason?” Asphodel said, taking another look around the place. The hut was a mess of nuts and bolts, welding materials scattered all over the area just like outside.

Rick grinned, showing teeth that we’re too bad off despite everything else. “Well, the fact that I have repeat customers proves it all on its own, doesn’t it.”

“Because you have such wonderful service,” Asphodel said spitefully.

“Oh, not at all. I’m downright unpleasant at times. The real reason being that when other shops do the work the customer winds up dead.”

With that statement on the table, Rick turned and disappeared into a back room before coming back with some kind of sandwiches. “Here, you smugglers don’t eat as often as they really should.”

Travis took it without hesitation and bit into it. Asphodel slowly took one of her own. Rick narrowed his eyes at them, Travis especially.

“You’re too trusting,” he commented, picking up the last sandwich and offering a piece of the lunch meat to Ivan.

Travis laughed. “Not quite.” He tapped the side of his head with the sandwich before taking another bite.

“Ah,” Rick said with only the slightest hint of distaste. “You’re one of them.”

Travis gave a conceding nod.

“So, about the whiskers?” Asphodel asked, still investigating her sandwich.

“I’ll do them tomorrow.”

“So… you want us to stay here?”

“Yeah. Just sleep on your shuttle.”

Travis and Asphodel shared a look.

“Before you go to bed, there is a way to pay me for the work,” the old man said with a grin. “I need supplies for groceries but there are some cruisers parked out there, waiting for me to come out. I can already tell you two would do much better against them than I would.”

Travis shrugged. “Which ship are we taking?”

Rick grinned. “Old Betty. She was my craft when I was still young and had some of my toes.”

Asphodel gave Travis a whiney look. Travis only laughed at her. “Come on, Asp,” he said warmly. “It’ll be fun.”

“That’s what you said about the time we shuttled six magawarths across two systems.”

“That was fun.They were so cute.”

Ivan made an offended noise to match Asphodel’s glare.

“I mean, I had fun.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Asphodel sighed, picking up Ivan. She was pretty sure this wasn’t going to end well, but what else were they going to do?

She told herself that, stifling the realization that she could easily have fun with this if she let herself.

Random Tag list Let me know if you want to be added

@thethistlegirl @merigreenleaf @doubi-ixi @oshi2413

#writing #random #asphodel #cat #space

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agent-barnes40 · 4 years ago

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Watching The Empire Strikes back

The old sounding theme

Didn’t Mark Hamill get into an accident before filming this one?

What is up with the Dalek looking probes?

Mark Hamill looks so young.

He sounds so young.

Bruh, Luke wtf?

Y’all I fucking see it! I paused it at 4:27 and for a moment thought that Han was being played by Adam Driver. I definitely see the resemblance now.

Rip Chewie’s original actor

Wheretf is Leia?

There she is.

SPACE MOM LOOKS SO YOUNG

Rip Carrie Fisher while we’re here

Damn, Carrie talks so quietly during this scene.

Damn, Leia’s sass is amazing.

Leia hiding her feelings. Are we positive that Leia wouldn’t be an awesome Gen-Z?

Everyone walking in-between Leia and Han as they fight, iconic!

The angry “YOU COULD USE A GOOD KISS!” Sounds so much like Ben/Kylo. It’s nuts.

Above scene is at 6:27.

3P0! R2!

“OH SWITCH OFF!”

Han looks feral, that’s all I’m saying.

Han’s concern for Luke and Leia warms my heart.

“Between ourselves, I think Master Luke is in conciderable danger.”

“That’s right. My friends right out in it.”

Han, admit it, you’re attached to Luke.

“Then I’ll see you in hell.”

Damn Han.

Ya’ll I forgot that most of the “cgi” was stop motion in these first three.

The old force theme.

Rancor? Thingy is cool.

R2 willing to freeze for his Skywalker master makes me want to cry.

R2 DONT SOUND SAD!

Are we close to shoving Luke into a tauntaun yet?

The rebellion people being concerned for Leia’s worry over Luke and Han while C3P0 just walks up.

Leia closing the doors to the base and Chewie looks so sad.

I’m legit about to cry. They mimicked Chewies cry from this to put into TROS when they tell Poe, Finn and Chewie that Leia’s dead.

Shelby is joining me in my watch of Star Wars.

We’re shoving Luke into a tauntaun now!

Obi-Wan absolutely dissing Qui-Gon.

Glad to know the Tauntaun died of the cold,

Han wielding the lightsaber!

They’re so happy to have found Luke and Han

The bacta tank

Luke is like, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED WHILE I WAS ABOUT TO GET EATEN!?

The iconic Laserbrain scene.

Chewie laughing and Han looks so betrayed.

NERF HERDER!

Have I mentioned I love Leia?

The sad look on Han’s face when Leia calls him scruffy.

Luke’s like PLEASE DONT GET ME IN THIS!

I forgot Luke and Leia kiss!

3P0 casually mentioning that it isn’t a rebellion signal

Oop, here comes Anakin “So, do you like my plan?” Vader Skywalker.

The Falcon absolutely wreaking Han.

Han and Luke silently communicating.

Vader’s egg.

Vader casually killing someone while talking.

Have I mentioned I love Leia?

The stop motion is amazing.

THE AT-AT!

3P0 casually reminding R2 to be safe.

Luke trying to save his friend

Han running back for Leia.

Han catching 3P0.

Anthony Daniel’s autotune.

The very old sounding theme.

Luke gets his dumbass traits from Anakin.

Carries scream.

Where in the hell is the scene where 3P0 rips the warning on a door?

R2 being worried about Luke.

“Take Evasive action!” Almost dies.

The scene where Han is on the pole and his ass is on display, thank god Harrison Ford got paid for that.

Leia trying to fly falcon shows that she’s a Skywalker and has that natural ability to fly.

Had to switch over to my computer.

“Never tell me the odds!”

Oof, Dagobah.

Here comes the green dwarf who drinks coke every day.

Luke’s X-wing.

R2 falling into the water

R2 scream

Yoda should show up soon.

Vader’s egg.

Anakin’s crusty head.

Han catching Leia

Leia getting pissed

Han flirting

Here comes Yoda, the coke drinker.

Yoda’s so damn high. I’m meaning weed type of high

R2 getting beat by Yoda.

You know for a fact Yoda was beating R2 because he remembers Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker’s way too damn modified Astromech.

How the fuck is Frank Oz still alive?

3P0 wants his husband.

Oop, here comes the kiss scene with Han and Leia.

Han calling Leia by her first name for the first time.

“Scoundrel?”

“I happen to like nice men.”

Finally!

Fucking 3P0!

Han looks so vulnerable.

Oop Palpatine.

Vader’s egg.

Ian McDiarmid has been playing Palpatine since 1980.

Anakin learning that Luke Skywalker is his son and having to pick between killing him and wanting to finish raising Luke. It’s quite sad actually.

R2 getting drenched scares me.

Luke hiding his distaste for Yoda’s food.

Yoda and Obi-Wan talking.

I’m gonna be honest, I hate Yoda. He’s an old man who is doesn’t want change until literally episode 8. He may have taught Luke something but Luke had to learn the way of the force by himself.

Also, Yoda scares me.

Have I mentioned that I love Leia?

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

C3P0 yelling at the Mynock.

Leia faceplanting into the Falcon.

“I am not a committee!”

I don’t like the Luke/Yoda training scene.

The only thing that I believe that Yoda taught look was to absolutely fear his connection with the force.

The whole under the tree Luke/Vader “fight” was to allude to “hey, Vader is this Anakin guy we keep talking about.”

Is that Boba I see?

The light speed fail x2.

“Shut up!”

I don’t like this Luke/Yoda training scene either.

“No! Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.”

Unpopular opinion: Palpatine should’ve killed Yoda.

The soft flute force theme.

Bruh, I forgot Han landed the Falcon on Vader’s ship.

Leia turning 3P0 off.

“He’s a card player, gambler, scoundrel. You’d like him.

“Thanks.”

You can see Anthony Daniels or his stand in breathing in the 3P0 outfit.

Boba following them.

Again, I hate each and every single Yoda/Luke training scene.

“Han. Leia!”

Yoda constantly belittling Luke’s compassion for his friends that he sees as his family. This is why I don’t like Yoda.

The landing on cloud city.

I forgot how much Cloud city looks like Corucant.

Lando Calrissian

Han pointing to himself, *me?*

Lando Calrissian.

“What have you done to my ship?”

“Your ship? Hey, remember, you lost her to me fair and square.”

They are literal children and I love it.

Lando immediately flirting.

Also, what the fuck was George Lucas thinking on letting 5ft something men get chest to chest with Carrie and try to intimidate her with their height whilst trying to flirt with her?

Wtf was he thinking! Carrie Fisher is 4ft something and I feel bad for her.

“She’s the fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy.”

Chewie going to look for C3P0.

The soft force theme.

The force theme turning to the imperial march.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, you let 12-year old Ahsoka Tano on a battlefield with Anakin fucking Skywalker, the man who stared General Grevious in the face and basically told him to fuck off, and you’re not letting Anakin’s literal son go save his sister and future brother in law! So shut the fuck up dead guy and let Luke save his friends.

Yoda can go die for all I care. I forgot how much of an asshole he is.

God, I fucking hate Yoda.

Leia’s Bespin outfit.

Leia worried over 3P0 is the sweetest thing. This shows just how great of a mom she’ll be.

“I don’t trust Lando.”

Have I said that I appreciate how pretty Harrison Ford is?

Yo! Mandalorian!

Also, chewie finding C3P0!

Leia covering her body when she realizes Lando is watching her is something I thought I’d never relate to but whelp, here we are.

Lando Calrissian is very creepy actually in how he treats Leia every chance he can get.

Han’s ready to punch him.

“Would you join me for a refreshment?”

“No!” I never realized how protective Chewie is of Leia until this scene. Chewbacca immediately is ready to rip Lando apart.

“Having a problem with your droid?”

Han immediately realizes how vulnerable Leia can get when C3P0 is involved and when people she’s intimidated by. Han drew away Lando’s attention on 3P0 to him.

Han drank his appreciating women juice.

Is Boba wearing a death watch thingy on his shoulder?

Leia looks so damn scared.

Han grabbing Leia’s hand tighter to protect her.

Chewie trying to work on C3P0.

The imperial march.

Han’s super pale. “I feel terrible.”

Leia’s vulnerable and even though Han’s hurting he jumps in to protect her and how angry Leia gets, that’s when everyone knows that Leia’s feeling and anger is her protection emotion.

Honestly, I’m ready to skip the rest of Lando’s scenes.

Carbonite.

Okay so when Vader tells the Troopers to put Han into the carbon freezer, Chewbacca attacks, if you notice, Vader just lets him. It’s not because, “hey let’s not anger the Wookiee more.” It’s because according to a scene in The Clone Wars animated TV show, Chewbacca saved Anakin’s padawan, Ahsoka. I like to think Vader was finally paying his debt to the Shriwook for saving Ahsoka.

Han calming down Chewie by telling him to look after Leia.

Han and Leia’s second kiss

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Leia looks so damn sad and scared.

Chewie literally pulling Leia into his body to try and lessen the pain she was in.

The fact that Luke doesn’t realize that it’s Han.

Luke slowly realizing that he didn’t see Han with Leia and Chewie.

The only lightsaber fight between Luke and a Vader that I remember.

I’m not gonna comment on Chewie chocking Lando.

That force jump.

The biggest plot twist in cinematic history, according to the Internet, is about to happen.

R2 getting electrocuted

R2 going to fix his husband.

Oop, Luke’s hands about to get cut off.

Mark Hamill’s scream.

“Luke, there is no escape. Don’t make me destroy you. Luke, you do not yet realize your importance. You have only begun to discover your power. Join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy.”

“I’ll never join you!”

“If you only knew the power of the dark side. Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.”

“He told me enough. He told me you killed him.”

“No. I am your father.”

“No, no, that’s not true. That’s impossible!”

“Search your feelings. You know it to be true.”

The iconic “Noooo.”

“Luke. You can destroy the emperor. He has foreseen this. It is your destiny. Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son. Come with me. It is the only way.”

Skywalker men are such idiots and always are so dramatic.

The poor film editor, having to make it look like Luke is falling and is just playing with the footage they got of Mark Hamill writhing around.

And here we see just how powerful Leia and Luke are.

“Leia. Hear me. Leia”

“Luke.”

Luke’s just swinging his legs.

Light speed fail x3

“Luke.”

“Father.”

“Come with me.”

“Ben. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Luke, it’s your destiny.”

Mark Hamill is such a talented actor

Welp, Anakin’s gonna kill everyone.

“May the Force be with you.”

Luke’s fake hand.

The chills I get during the ending music.

And that was The Empire Strikes Back. All in all a good classic.

#caitlyn watches #the empire strikes back

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evien-stark · 4 years ago

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✧I Need You✧ Chapter 164

“He usually picks up on the first ring!”

The alien was struggling with its communicator. You were running thin on patience. But for one reason or another your shock and fear had died. Mostly because… well he wasn’t very threatening. And you sensed he was very scared of you. Scared you really would blow a hole through him. Tony had eased up a little too, but was still waving his hand around. “Ten seconds ended a minute ago, you know.”

Really. Honestly… truly… it was amazing how annoyed the two of you were. And not just. Blown away. Blown away that you were standing in front of another lifeform. One that could shapeshift. One that had taken Nick Fury’s place. No telling how long for.

How did that not shake you to your very core?

Had you really become that jaded? Were you that tired?

“You know…” You sighed a breath out but kept your hand up. Just for good measure. “Even if he does pick up, how am I supposed to believe it’s not another one of you? You’re already a liar.”

Tony tipped his head your way. “You know, that’s a very good point.”

“Look- he put me up to to this- I’m just doing him a favor-!” This alien was so very frantic. It really did back his story. That he was just standing in.

The communicator on the other line picked up and you heard Fury’s voice. “If you blew your cover I want nothing to do with you.”

You and Tony shared another very exasperated look and at the same time read each other’s minds. “Yeah. That’s Fury.”

The alien shoved his communicator your way. “Here. I told you so. Please put the weaponry away now. We can be nice with each other.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you get a grip, Shrek.”

Fury spoke again. “And you blew your cover with those two? I told you to get in and out, Talos-”

Said Talos whipped the communicator back his way. “I tried. What, you think I invited her for tea? I tried to get him alone. She showed up unannounced!”

“She does that.”

“She is right here.” You were beyond done. Stepping forward you yanked the communicator out of his hand and he backed up immediately once it was handed over. Turning it your way, you gave Fury a very angry glance. “And if you’ve been fooling around with aliens this entire time-”

“You’ll what?” He scoffed at you.

“I’ll tell everyone about this. LUNA’s been recording the whole time. Clearly you’re trying to keep this a secret.” Nick Fury had an alien running around doing work for him. Yeah. That was pretty big news. “And- just for the record- I don’t want to keep any more secrets for you- so please give me a reason not to.”

Fury scoffed. “Yeah. You two are playing the same games that got you in trouble when we first started coming around. You’ve got enough secrets without me.”

Tony interrupted the two of you barking at each other as he waved his arm again with a sharp little reprimand, “Hey hey- away from the door. Back up. Now.”

Talos had been trying to slip out. He put both his hands up again. “Alright, alright-”

He pointed to that bale of hay. “Sit down.”

“I’m going- I’m going…” As Talos backed down to sit again, you watched him. Waiting until he was fully seated with Tony’s looming presence keeping him sequestered to put your attention back on the communicator. “Why is this thing doing your busywork?”

“That thing is Talos. A skrull. He works for me. He owes me.”

Talos made a very frustrated noise. “Favors are running pretty thin at this point, to be honest.”

Everyone in the room ignored him. You just ended up shaking your head. “Stop. You know what? I don’t care. Don’t explain this to me. The less I know the better.”

“At least we agree on that.”

You didn’t want to carry this around for Fury. It’d just be another thing on a pile of other things. And maybe Fury was right. Maybe you had too many secrets of your own to worry about what the hell he was doing. Or why. Clearly this alien wasn’t a threat. “I just need one thing from you and then you’re free to go.”

“Oh. Am I being held on your orders?”

“Yeah. You are. So listen up.” Taking just a moment to gather your courage again. To ask again. “Did you authorize SHIELD experiments on me sometime in 1990?”

Fury didn’t have an immediate response back. That was… probably bad. Fury without snark? Trouble. But he at least wasn’t as meek as the pretend Fury had been. And he didn’t seem like he’d just back down and run. Instead he barked out a harsh laugh. “That’s what this is about? You throw the world into chaos and the only person you’re concerned with is yourself?”

“Not actively. But while I have you-”

“You don’t have anything. Believe it or not, I wasn’t the director of SHIELD the moment I joined. Certainly not in 1990.” Alright. ...that tracked. And made sense.

But- it also wasn’t what you were asking. He was dodging. “I don’t care what you’re the director of. Or when you started. I asked if SHIELD-”

“I heard you. Stark’s been digging around where he shouldn’t have been- to no one’s surprise- and finally got around to telling you, is that it? What do you think he found?”

You began shaking your head, lifting the communicator closer. “No. We’re not playing that game.” His next avenue of attack to avoid answering you was to try and play you and Tony against each other. That was never going to happen. “There was a girl on that file- 1990- she was some labrat for Tesseract experiments-”

Fury was probably hundreds of miles away, but he set a cold stare on you that did its job. You were suddenly chilled to the bone as he cut you off. “That woman is Carol Danvers. And if you knew anything about her, you’d know you’re not even half the woman she is.”

There was some sort of flicker of weird recognition from Talos, and you even caught his head whipping up in your peripheral, but you ignored him. “SHIELD experimented on her?” You needed to get to the bottom of this. Okay. So. It wasn’t you. Was that good? Is that what you wanted? Right now you weren’t sure. But it was somebody and if she was out there-

“You’re not even close. You never will be. Just let it go. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“The researcher on that case led you to me. So cut the bullshit for once and just be honest with me.” It was a struggle to remain calm. To not raise your tone and yell at him. But what would it accomplish? He’d just get what he wanted. A rise out of you. You were determined not to give it to him.

There was a small window of silence. The two of you stared at each other. And finally he gave something up. “The scientist on that case went nuts when he picked up a similar signature. You’re lucky you’re not dead. I’ll give you the address where you can send my thank-you card.”

...this really wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to owe Nick Fury anything- and now he was saying he put someone in the ground- someone on his own team- to save your life? No. This really wasn’t what you wanted at all. “The signatures-”

“Look. I’m very busy. And you’re a day late and ten bucks short at this point. The Tesseract has nothing to do with you. Carol has nothing to do with you. You didn’t crawl out of one of our labs. I can promise you that.” This wasn’t satisfying at all. You were walking out of this conversation with nothing. “Talos will reassume his position. His cover is not to be blown.”

This reminded you of a lifetime ago. Natasha had shadowed you, too. And when she’d been revealed, Nick had asked- or told- this same thing to you.

“How long has this been going on?” As you asked you looked up at Talos, and he tipped his head back up to look at you in kind.

But Fury chuckled, and it drew your attention back. “I thought you said you didn’t wanna know anything.”

Despite your better instincts, it seemed you really couldn’t help yourself. “What is he? Why is he here?”

Talos groaned out a noise as he stood, like he was tired and his muscles ached. “He is right here. You can just ask nicely.” Funny, you’d taken similar offense not five minutes ago.

Fury cut between the two of you. “I’ll leave everyone to it.” That was it. That was the end of the call. The screen went black. He was just trusting you wouldn’t go blabbing to the entire team. Or the world. He hadn’t even asked how Talos had blown his cover. Only figuring it had something to do with you and Tony-

Maybe he’d expected that- maybe he wanted-

“So.” Tony stopped your thoughts circling the drain. The ones that plagued you, when you’d been a little tighter under Fury’s control under SHIELD. The ones that wondered why he did things or didn’t do things. What the ulterior motives were. All the angles. You didn’t want to go down that path again. You didn’t have to anymore. “What are you, exactly?”

One blink of your eyes and then another and he’d changed. Back into that facade of Fury. Funny. Now that you knew it was a disguise you couldn’t unsee it. The cracks in the seams. The fakeness of it all. Talos crossed his arms. Fury’s voice came out of his mouth. “My people are called Skrulls.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but ask, “And what do you owe him?”

He grinned. “Why not ask him that?”

Tony rolled his eyes in that overly dramatic yet entirely sincere way of his. “You try asking that guy anything.”

Talos laughed. “That’s exactly my point.”

The two of you stared at him a little bit longer as he put his hands in his pockets, and then Tony turned suddenly, coming over to you, “Team meeting.” Said only a couple of seconds before he came closer and started murmuring. “We trust this guy?”

“Absolutely not.” As if he had to even ask that.

“Yeah. That’s my thinking too. So. What’s the plan?”

It might have been childish and entirely terrible to put your shoulders up in the huge shrug that you did. But you were tired. And you didn’t have any answers. “My vote is ignore this and maybe he’ll just go away.”

Tony seemed to be considering this. A lot. He cast a glance over his shoulder and then quickly turned back to huddle slightly with you. “Fury’s employing aliens and you just wanna look the other way on it? Who knows how many others are out there?”

This was probably bad news. Tony already had enough on his plate. And his mental state regarding… otherworldly affairs was not the best. There was no doubt he would not be able to rest with this new information on hand. That was a problem. A deep sigh welled out of you and you straightened your back, half turning to Talos. “Does Fury have any other Skrulls working in his employ?” And while he opened his mouth to speak you pointed at him. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll know.” Looking him square in the eyes.

Talos considered this for a long moment. Then finally, “None currently.”

Tony looked between the two of you but in the end deferred to you, watching you closely to wait for your judgment. About the only thing that mattered to him in that moment. You looked. You looked deep. But you weren’t getting deception off him. “Are there plans to?”

To this Talos gave a brazen shrug. It was weird now. He was definitely not trying to pretend to be Fury at all, even while wearing his face. “How should I know? You know what he’s like. Everything’s on a need-to-know basis.”

Tony’s nose twitched in a bit of a scrunch, forehead wrinkling as he made quite the face. “And you- some guy masquerading around in his place- don’t need-to-know things?”

“Not currently.”

Anger flared up within Tony and you tried to put a soothing light over it, raising your hand to give him a small touch over his heart. Talos was being … well. He was being an asshole. But what more could you expect of someone in his position? Considering who he worked for, especially. And in what capacity.

While you wanted to curb him to heel, someone fast approaching had you putting a hand up in warning to stop current discussion. Both men looked at you, and then the three of you looked as Steve opened the barn door and poked his head in. He also realized he’d interrupted something. “...everything okay in here?” It took a few seconds to register that Nick Fury was there. “Oh.”

Talos put on quite the act pretty immediately, lifting his head in a bare acknowledgment. His tone dried up. “Nice to see you too, Rogers.”

Steve stepped in a little more and crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Talos-Nick sighed. “You know, when I left, the world was a bit of a mess. But not quite like the one you’re all in now. Thought I’d check in.”

“You won’t find me disagreeing.” Steve’s haughtiness not only bugged you but also ticked Tony off to a terrible degree.

They must have been having a heated discussion out in the yard while you’d been speaking with Laura. He had been pretty angry about Ultron, and you imagined that hadn’t changed after what had gone on in Johannesburg. To think Tony had been taking the brunt of all that… as usual…

You turned Steve’s way. “We’re fine. We’ll be out in a minute.”

The two of you shared a long look. It even looked like he might be attempting to stare you down. Too bad for him you weren’t in the mood. Eventually he broke with a shake of his head. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

There was complete, stale silence in the barn until Steve actually removed himself and closed the door. When he did, Talos dropped the act again. But only to ask, “How did you know he was coming?”

For all his stresses, this seemed funny to Tony for some reason, a little laugh escaping him. “You really don’t know anything, do you?” Maybe this was relieving. In some way.

Then again. Talos was asking how you knew someone was coming, but not how you’d forced his hand? He had some strange priorities. ...Fury trusted this guy? Really? Seemed like a poor decision. ...although he’d apparently been instructed to stay away from you. For this exact reason.

Talos knew nothing. And as always, Fury knew more than he was letting on.

You felt a headache coming on. “Are you staying?”

Talos gave a shrug. “For a little while. Then I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

This felt unsatisfactory for many reasons. But the biggest one Tony voiced for you, “Fury just asked you to drop in- why? What’s the point?”

“How should I know?”

The dual groans that escaped you and Tony came from somewhere deep within the both of you. Talos knew little, he was also playing stupid. A terribly tiring mix. You looked at Tony. He looked at you. And you just knew the both of you understood how worn out the both of you were. “Food should be ready by now.”

“Food sounds good.” Agreeing with a slow nod. He hooked a thumb Talos’ way. “He invited?”

It only just occurred that Clint had told Laura something, and then Laura had sent you away. Laura, by Steve’s admission, had also told Tony to go to the barn. To meet Fury. The three of them were in on this. At the very least they knew Fury had been lurking about.

God you really needed a good night’s sleep. Finally deactivating your suit, you took hold of Tony’s arm to lead him towards the door. “Not by me. But I have a feeling he’ll invite himself regardless.”

“Well, hey.” Tony’s voice lowered into a murmur. “He may as well actually be Fury then.”

Talos shouted behind the both of you just as you exited, “You know, I can hear you!”

One more thing. It was always one more thing. You didn’t want to worry about this. You didn’t have enough in you to do so right now anyway. But how many more things were just going to keep happening? Keep showing up?

Screw a night’s sleep. You needed to sleep for an entire year at this point.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Sixty Four

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lxiewrites · 5 years ago

Text

hey there ghouls, it’s ya boys

Ao3

Summary: Keith and Lance try to contact the dead... and it kinda works?

Thanks to @gigili-jiggly for letting me ramble about the boys and ghosts and @bleusarcelle for being such a STICK IN THE MUD with Halloween! Xp

Lance laid on his back, rhythmically throwing this little stress ball he found in the air. It was in the shape of a star and spun when it reached its highest point. He more or less tuned out Pidge and Hunk's scientific ramblings or whatever they were doing, he had no idea what they were talking about anyway. He was in the zone with throwing and catching the squishy yellow star, up and down, up and down. It actually was pretty soothing.

"What are you guys doing?"

...Aaand soothing relaxing time is over.

He scowled over at Keith, tummy turning over. What was he even doing here? He didn't think that Keith would be the type to stay after school. Probably thought he was too cool to join a club or a team. Always a broody lone wolf, with a giant stop sign over his face saying 'don't talk to me'. Okay, something is weird with those metaphors but whatever! It's his own thoughts! He can do what he wants!

"What's it look like, Mullet?"

"Lance," Hunk admonished before turning to Keith with a smile, ignoring how Lance threw up his hands in a massive 'what?!' gesture. "We're just here for robotics club, we're, uh, a little shorthanded right now but you can join if you want?"

Keith's brows furrowed, eyes darting across the three of them. Hunk with his big smiling face hands fiddling with wires and a thing to strip the color from them. Pidge with their smarmy little grin sitting in a circle of discarded parts giving him a short salute and… Lance. Obviously the most brilliant and handsome and charming of the group who's obviously supervising from his position on the couch but whatever. Details.

"This is the robotics club?" Keith drawled, eyes going directly to him.

Instantly something inside Lance prickled, stomach all spikey and annoyed. "Yeah, got a problem with that?"

He could hear Hunk using that mother-hen tone with him again and he knew for sure Pidge was rolling their eyes and he could look over and throw the star at them or something, take the prickly pressure off of him, but he kept his eyes locked on one Keith Kogane. Watching how those weird purple-blue eyes--honestly it really depended on the lighting (not that he spent a lot of time wondering at the color of Keith's eyes or anything)-- narrow, head tilting as those indigo (the lighting wasn't the greatest so it was closer to indigo) eyes flickered around the room, no doubt taking in the cobwebs and black and orange streamers. "No, but... isn't this the art room?"

"Technically," Pidge piped in, pushing their glasses up their nose. "But it's not being used for anything today and the shop room is being used for a car or something. I don't know but it's a mess."

"Oh."

Keith shifted a bit on his feet, almost squirming under their stares, his thumb running over his knuckles wrapped around the strap of his bag.

"If you want you can join us," Pidge said. They looked around and shrugged. "It's a little messy but you could probably find a space."

"Yeah!" Hunk agreed, "Just sit anywhere, dude, we're pretty chill."

Hunk looked over at Lance, eyebrows raised, trying to communicate via facial expression. Which Lance pointedly ignored. They specifically left the couch alone and he called it and he was having a nice and relaxing time with his--oh fine!

He sat up, moving his legs over to give Keith room, embellishing the move with a wave of a hand.

Keith made his way over, carefully avoiding small parts and pieces scattered over the place. They definitely did some rearranging before they completely took over. The tables were all shoved to one side of the room, pressed up against the wall displaying the best work and portraits, nearly impossible to work at unless you wanted to sit on top of the tables. And while he's all for anarchy those tables have been around since the eighties he did not trust sitting on one of them. They left the paint-splattered couch in the back alone to actually sit on while Hunk and Pidge scattered their work across the floor. Delicate pieces of machinery and wires laying out where anyone could step on them along with tools and various nuts and bolts.

Keith finally made past the minefield and the way-too-old couch sagged under his weight. Lance shuffled even more to the side until his arm brushed against the art cabinets, fiddling with the stress star in his hand.

"What are you doing here, Keith?" Hunk asked as conversational as ever.

Keith shrugged. "My ride isn't coming until later. I didn't think anyone would be here."

"Ah, sorry for interrupting your alone time, dude. Do you come to the art room often?"

"Sometimes."

Eloquent as always. He peeked over, noting how stiff he was. The couch was old but it was comfortable and plush, but Keith looked like a statue, backpack on his lap like a shield. He was going to wear through the straps with how much he was rubbing the course fabric between his fingers. Silently, Lance tossed him the stress star.

Keith fumbled, lips pulled into a small frown and turning to look at him. Lance was carefully keeping himself sitting forward and occupying himself with his cuticles, biting off a section of dead skin. He fought down a satisfied smile when he heard the backpack hit the ground.

"Well, it's a nice place.” Hunk continued, oblivious, hands and mind preoccupied with the device in his hands. “My friend Shay comes here a lot. She's really good." Hunk nodded to the artboard barricaded by all of the tables.

Pidge scoffed, "Yeah, sure, friend." Their hands leaving their robot part to put up air quotes.

"She is!"

Lance laughed as Hunk sputtered, his deep rich brown skin turning ruddy and red. "Buddy, you went on and rambled about her for, like, an hour."

"I just respect her as an artist!"

He could feel Keith relax into the couch, back slumping, hands rhythmically squeezing the star, tracing his fingers around the letters printed on the side... He could even see a little smile.

"Maybe we should make a truth detector," Pidge teased, hazel eyes glimmering, smirk in place.

Hunk groaned, "Guuuyyyss, I'm serious! She's just a friend!"

"For now!" Lance had to add, just to see his friend blush so hard he could almost see the smoke burst from his ears.

"What are you guys working on right now?"

Lance turned to see Keith star at the different parts scattered around the linoleum floor.

Pidge lit up, brandishing her piece into the air like how Rafiki did to baby Simba. "My greatest creation!"

"It's going to be a recon offline virtual encryption radar or ROVER for short. It's basically a droid."

"It's way cooler than that!" Pidge insisted, glaring at Hunk for his betrayal of their creation. "It's going to be able to scan a surrounding area and break any encryption code that might be present. It's going to be able to send signals into space and pick of distant radio chatter and…"

This is usually the part where Lance tunes them out. They start getting into the details and using terms he doesn't know. All he knows is that it might be slightly illegal and probably could've helped Nicholas Cage steal the Declaration of Independence. The more technical mumbo jumbo and his brain decides to vacate.

He could practically feel his eyes glass over as they start feeding off of each other, looking over to Keith to see if he got anything from their ramblings to find him staring at him with a confused look on his face. It almost struck Lance at how much... cuter he was? Instead of a permanent frown and a 'don't mess with me or I'll punch you' attitude he looked a lot softer. One eyebrow higher than the other, mouth softened into something that wasn't a smile but it wasn't an angry scowl, his head was even tilted to the side like a confused puppy.

Deflect, deflect, deflect. He cleared his throat and shrugged with an 'I don't know' sound.

They looked back at the two on the floor who somehow got to arguing about some sort of thing and doing it once or twice? Whether it was safer or unneeded? Listen. He doesn't know crap about robots or what they're talking about he's just here to test stuff out.

God. He could just feel the awkward descend on them. Should he say something?

He shifted, the silence uncomfortable and heavy in the air, he blurts out, “So what are you doing for Halloween?”

Keith’s brow furrows when he looks at him, “Halloween?”

“Y’know, trick or treating, pumpkins, costumes, ghosts?”

Slowly Keith shakes his head, brow still furrowed in confusion, like Halloween isn’t this national holiday that is beloved by all. “I don’t really celebrate Halloween, it’s kind of… boring?”

Lance reared back like Keith just bitch slapped him. ”Boring?” Lance turned to face Keith fully, he looked mildly suspicious but otherwise impassive as Lance smacked himself in the chest. “Halloween is my lifeblood. How dare you.”

Keith’s lips twitched, scooting around to rest his arm along the back of the couch. “It’s just another holiday that’s capitalized by the candy companies.”

Lance stabbed a finger in the air between them. “You earn that shit. It’s in fun shapes like fangs and eyeballs and you go around in costumes and scare the shit out of your friends.” Both hands come up, clenching in the air like he could grab the spirit of Halloween and shove it in Keith’s face. “It’s hanging out with your friends and getting candy, and it’s watching scary movies and all of the spooky stuff.”

Keith is completely unconcerned by how Lance is so close to tackling him and shoving candy corn down his throat. “Yeah but you can do all of those things at any time of the year. The candy is just candy but in different wrappings, you can technically wear a costume at any time, and all the spooky and scary stuff can happen any day of the year. Ghosts and hauntings can happen at any time not just Halloween.”

“Okay, point, but the aesthetic. All of it is amplified by Halloween and ghosts are more likely to come at Halloween because that’s when the veil is thinnest and they have an easier time coming to Earth or something.”

“You guys believe in ghosts?” Pidge scoffed, face scrunched up in amused disbelief.

Lance gave her a funny look. “And you don’t? I would’ve thought out of all of us you would.”

They chocked on their laugh. ”Me? Why?”

“You know, like, like,” he waved his hand in the air like it could physically keep his thoughts going, “all that energy has to go somewhere, so the souls or whatever become ghosts or spirits.”

“Lance,” Pidge said, “there is no scientific proof of a soul. And if the argument is energy then it would just be the electricity in the brain keeping vital organs alive until it runs out. No ghosts.”

“Okay, but there are so many weird things that happen with no scientific explanation. Why can’t here be ghosts?” Keith chimed in.

“Can we just, like, not talk about ghosts? Is that a thing that can happen?” Hunk smiled a queasy smile, shoulders shuddering.

“Hunk! Not you too!” Pidge cried.

Lance leaned forward, an evil smile creeping across his face. “Our school is built on an old cemetery you know.”

Keith leaned forward; eyes gleaming smile tugging at a corner of his lips. ”Really,” he said, not quite a question.

He grinned. “Years ago the old cemetery was too full and there wasn’t enough room. So they decided to move it but they only moved the headstones, not the bodies.” He tapped his foot on the floor. “Corpses are rotting under us right at this moment.

“LALALALALA,” Hunk shouted, fingers in his ears. “Nope! Nope! Nuh-uh, we’re not talking about this.”

“Oh my god, there’s no such things as ghosts!” They shouted over Lance’s laughter. “Ghosts aren’t—“

The lights turned off, shrouding them in darkness.

“—real.”

Lance’s heart jumped when he heard a scream, matching it with his own, two more joining his. Leather wrinkled under his fingers, as he blinked his eyes to adjust to the dark. He could just make out the shape of Hunk’s hands covering his mouth. He relaxed his grip. “Hunk!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” His hands waved in the darkness. “My bad!”

“Can I have my jacket back?”

Lance jolted at Keith’s voice right next to him. As in right next to him. “Fuck, uh,” he released his hold on Keith’s jacket, haltingly smoothing it out, “sorry.”

Lance didn’t hear his response, or if he made one in the first place because Hunk decided to screech again, sending the hairs on Lance’s arm straight up.

“Oh god, I felt something brush against me!”

Lance felt his pulse in his wrists and his cheeks, his nerves getting twitchy as adrenaline started pumping. “Hunk, please tell me your joking.”

“I’m not, man! Something brushed against me! And it felt cold!” A dark shadow that he was hoping, praying, that it was Hunk stood up. “What if it’s a ghost?! What if it’s one of the people in the cemetery that really doesn’t like art or robots or something?!”

Lance stood up, squeezing his hands into fists to get rid of the unsteady feeling in his limbs, heart starting to pick up. “Okay if there is a ghost I say we just book it.”

He felt Keith stand up next to him. “If it’s a ghost they probably need help, to, like, move on or something. We should try to communicate with it and help it.”

Lance turned to look at him, only wishing that Keith could see the incredulous look on his face. “Keith, buddy, I don’t know if you have seen any horror movies but that never goes well.” He punctuated the syllables in never to drive the message home.

He winced at a bright light that blinded him, blinking away the black spots that appeared in his vision.

“Yeah, except it’s not a fucking ghost you dumbasses,” Pidge said behind their phone light their tone the definition of “done”. “It’s probably a short fuse, c’mon, Hunk, we’re the only ones that are gonna be able to fix it. I don’t trust these two yahoos.”

Hunk whined, head tipping back. “But there are ghosts. And we shouldn’t split up! That’s just spelling disaster in horror movies! We’re going to be picked off one by one!”

“Would you rather sit in the dark?” They rolled their eyes at Hunk’s whine, moving behind him to push him to the door. “Come on big guy, I’ll protect you. Ghosts can’t hurt those that don’t believe in them.”

The last thing Lance heard was Hunk whining down the hall. A fading, “They’re the first one’s to go!”

“Why are they going to fix the fuse?” Keith said behind him, making him jump. He almost forgot he was there the guy was so quiet.

“The maintenance guy, Coran, is sick or something. I think he said slipperies but I have no clue what that is.” He nodded to where his friend’s left. “They help him a lot. I don’t think the school even knows, pfft. That good ‘ol school funding!”

He felt a little shot of pride at the little huff of laughter but immediately tensed when something crashed. A scream in his throat he whipped around, eyes darting around in the darkness seeing nothing.

His muscles jumped, throat closing, when a hand wrapped around his upper arm, a bright beam of light illuminating the wall before them. His arm hurt where Keith’s fingers dug in, his lip nearly white from how hard he was biting it, eyes intent as he looked to see the source of the crash.

Lance drew closer, arms brushing but Keith still didn’t let go, eyes settling on a brass corner sticking out from behind one of the tables. Relief came but it didn’t stay, muscles still poised in fight or flight, heart pumping and insistent against his chest. “It’s fine,” he croaked. “A painting just fell.”

“Did you mean what you said about the school being built on a cemetery?”

“Maybe,” Lance cleared his throat, ignoring how it cracked, “My older brother Marco told me, he had to move to this school when they rebuilt it here, like, twenty years ago.”

“Maybe the ghosts need help moving on, like, if they receive closure on their resting ground being disturbed.” Keith’s voice was just above a whisper, hushed.

Lance’s skin fucking crawled. He whirled on Keith, his dark, dark eyes wide and serious. “How do you supposed we do that?!” A harsh whisper that scraped through the air like nails on a chalkboard.

“We communicate with them,” Keith whispered back, not nearly as harsh. It was actually annoyingly even. “An Ouija board. We can write it out on a piece of paper and use a necklace or something to hold above it as a pendulum or cut out a circle.”

“How do you even know this?!”

“…I watch a lot of paranormal videos.”

“Jesus Fuck.” Lance scrubbed his hands against his face. “How do you know we’re not going to contact a demon or something?”

“I don’t.”

“Fuck, fuck, no.Absolutely not. Not happening, nuh-uh, no—“

Ten minutes later he was sitting on the ground in a little circle of discarded robot parts—were these parts like… body parts of robot pieces? Ugh, okay, no thinking that—across from Keith, a piece of paper between them and Keith’s phone light next to the paper casting shadows across their faces.

“I hate this. I want you to know I hate this.”

Keith only gives him a noncommittal hum, finishing cutting out the circle with safety scissors they found. At least if they’re killed by a poltergeist it won’t be by overly sharp scissors.

Keith slaps the circle on the paper, eyes narrowed and determined. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

But he sets his hands on the paper anyway, fingertips brushing Keith’s as they start to slowly slide the improvised Ouija thingy over their improvised Ouija board. They aimlessly slid it around the letters, the paper sticking to itself slightly.

It was silent between them. Which was new. They’re almost never quiet with each other, someone—usually Lance— saying something. It felt heavy. Weighed down. Like another presence in the room. Like a gho—

There was a lump in his throat as he tried to ignore the silence. His attention expanding all at once like someone turned the dial in his brain up to an eleven. And somehow that was better and worse than the silence. Every tiny sound from the wind rattling the windows to the minute creaking of the room, amplified by the silence between him and Keith, loud enough that it was distracting. The darkness so black there was color.

He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the soft shh shhhof the paper. Ignoring the shuffling sounds in the walls his brain conjured up. Focusing on the soft huffs of breaths between them as his heartbeat took center stage as a rapid beating drum in his inner ear. Reminding him of how all those victims in horror movies could hear their blood pumping as they died. Pushing down that voice in the back of his head reminding him of all the stupid horror movies he watched like Paranormal 3 or The Ring or The Conjuring—

“So how are we supposed to contact them or whatever?!” Lance said, a little too fast, a little too loud, trying to drown out the voice and images flashing across the forefront of his mind.

“I don’t know, don’t you just shout at the spirits to make contact and they… just… do?”

“Why are you asking me?!” His heartbeat was loud as he looked at Keith, fuzzy with black at the edges as his eyes adjusted again.

Keith’s jaw and eyes were tense, little lines creasing at the corners as he stared down that their hands. “I don’t know! I don’t like this any more than you!”

“You know, if we were smart we would just leave.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t fix anything!”

“We’d be fixing our lives, Keith!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“You know,” Lance brought up his hands, clapping them together, mouth pressed in a straight line, “this is a bad idea. We should go and leave and come back in the morning.”

“Fine. You go, I’m staying.” Keith crossed his arms, mouth firm as he stared at Lance.

Maybe another time Lance would have left. Shouted something at how he was just being plain stupid. Which he was! But he could see the rapid pace of Keith’s jugular in his neck. How pale he was, his fingers rubbing together. His normally pink and plush bottom lip thin and white as he bit it.

He sat back down.

He really wanted to find his friends and leave, and while he knew somewhere deep down they were not being haunted a bigger and louder voice was telling him there was a chance. A slim chance but there was this big, gaping possibility. And he would never forgive himself if Keith got his guts ripped out by a ghost if this possibility happened to come alive.

“Fuuuck, I hate this.” He glared at Keith who looked at him with relief, the tension between his eyes a little less stressed, his shoulders relaxed away from his ears. Lance could feel his heart kick up a notch and he didn’t think it was because of ghosts this time. He intensified his glare. “I hate you.”

Keith smiled at him. “You ready to contact the dead.”

Lance shook his head. “Jesus fuck.” Put his hands back onto the paper circle.

“Spirits,” Keith called out, eyes darting to the corners of the room. “Please. Let us help you.”

They waited a beat. He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to feel like to use an Ouija board, if there was supposed to be a pull or a tug or, hell, an electric shock or something. But he was getting zip. He looked at Keith who just shrugged.

Keith called out again. “If there’s anyone here, please say something.”

This time Lance closed his eyes, who knows maybe the ghost was shy or something. He let his hands slide side to side with Keith’s, not feeling a particular pull but—

Fuck

Lance shot his eyes open. Heart beating fast and this time it definitely was not because Keith had a cute smile or pretty eyes. He heard something.

That shuffling from before. In the walls. It wasn’t in his head but he could hear it. In the room. Around him. And once he heard it heard it he couldn’t un-hear it.

“Keith,” he whispered. “I think I hear something.”

Keith looked at him with wide eyes, so wide he could see how his purple-blue-indigo irises were nearly engulfed by fear, the pupils only leaving a thin rim of color surrounding them.

“What,” he whispered back.

The sound traveled. Started at the back, right behind him and the couch and moved. And if his body wasn’t fucking paralyzed it would be shaking because that’s how his insides felt. Organs trembling as the rest of it locked up tight.

He didn’t look, didn’t want to look. Looking only makes it real; he’ll see whatever is there and get his face eaten off by a fucking demon. But he could still hear. Hear how that scrabbling turned to scratching. And by now, with him being so quiet, barely breathing, Keith could hear it too.

They locked eyes, both hearing it. Adrenaline starting a slow course through his veins, muscles twitching, heart jumping. He could see how Keith’s eyes slowly slide from his and he squeezed his fingers bringing them back to him.

He mouths, “I don’t see anything.”

Lance squeezes his eyes shut until colors flash in a kaleidoscope behind his eyelids, the scratching sound even louder, getting closer. Nails on a chalkboard, nails at his throat.

It was a ghost. It was a fucking ghost and he and Keith were gonna die and their corpses were gonna be found in the morning because of course Halloween was on a school’s day—

He felt a ghostly hand brush against the small of his back and he fucking leaped—

Straight into Keith's lap screaming. Keith’s hands fisting in the back of his shirt shouting in his ear so loud it was going to be ringing the next day— if he lived.

Heart in his throat he waited for the ghosts to do some shit where they pried him off of the newfound lifeline he had grasped in his arms, pulled around the room and shook like a doll.

And all of a sudden it was bright. Bright, bright, bright, bright. And all he could think of was ’do ghosts glow?’before he heard.

“What the fuck is wrong?!”

He shot his eyes open, black dots and bright light blinding him for a second before he could see Hunk and Pidge in the doorway eyes wide with panic.

Throat sore, he stopped screaming Keith quieting down soon after though both of their chests heaved as they tried to catch their breaths.

“What. The fuck. Is wrong?!” Pidge shouted again.

No ghost. The light was on. His friends were here. He dropped his head to Keith’s shoulder and breathed. Arms tightened around him.

Not looking up, he declawed his hand from Keith’s back, waving it at his friends. “Wanna explain, Keith?”

He felt a similar press of a forehead against his shoulder, the sigh fanning across his collarbones. Keith murmured something into his shirt.

Using his body he shook them both. “Come on, Keith, tell them what your idea was.”

Another sigh. “ We tried to use an Ouija board to contact the spirits.”

“Eh, eh, eh, it was Keith’sidea! All his! I wanted to leave!”

“You would’ve left without me?” Hunk said, pouting. He placed a hand on his chest. “Buddy, I’m hurt.”

Lance reached a hand towards him. “No, no, buddy! I would’ve found you first and then booked it!”

Hunk thought for a moment before nodding. “Accepted.”

“I told you guys there were so such things as ghosts,” PIdge said, exasperated.

Keith finally let him go to turn around. “But we did make contact with the ghosts!”

“Yeah!” Lance nodded, fervently, backing up what Keith was saying. “There was a ghost and it touchedme!”

Pidge squinted and looked between them while Hunk’s face screwed up in horror. “How did this hypothetical ghost make contact?”

“There was a lot of scratching noises, like it was in the walls and, again, it touched me!”

Pidge's suspicion fell from their face, expression blank. They smacked their lips together and looked at Hunk. The big guy losing the horrified look on his face, lighting up in relief and understanding. Pidge blinked slowly before bringing up a hand to rub at their forehead, pointing their other hand toward the cabinet doors. “I found your fucking ghost, morons.”

As one, Keith and Lance turned to look and found a little mouse cowering in front of the cabinet. It paced in front of the doors, little claws scrabbling at the wood, trying to find its way in.

Lance felt blood rush to his face and shared a look with Keith, who was also red from the tips of his ears to where it disappeared under the collar of his shirt. He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Keith to look at Pidge and Hunk sheepishly. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“It’s a good thing you got the lights going,” Keith piped in, cheeks still red.

Hunk’s nose wrinkled. “Actually, we didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Lance asked.

“When we got there everything was fine. Nothing looked out of place and we didn’t know what to fix, so we just left and were going to tell Coran in the morning.”

“The lights came back on when we were walking back and heard you yahoos screaming,” Pidge finished.

Lance took a deep breath. Nerves fried and muscles sore from being so tense. That entire fiasco might have been a mouse but no. Just no. He’s not risking it. He got up and helped Keith up, a single-minded mission to get the fuck out of dodge.

“Okay, we’re all leaving.” He grabbed their backpacks and tossed them to their owners and started shooing them out the door despite Pidge’s protests and Hunk’s comments about cleaning up. “Let’s go.” Next to them another painting from the art wall fell. “NOW!”

A/N: okay, yes, it might be a day late for Halloween but in my defense I got sick and my body snuck up on me and hit me over the head with a club

#lexwrites #klance #keith #lance #ghosts #spoopy #Halloween #supernatural #high school au

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